Part 13 (1/2)
She nearly shrieked this last part, perhaps unaware of the potential damage to anyone's eardrums nearby. Namely mine again. Even so, my excitement wasn't far removed from hers.
”Are you serious??”
”Yes!”
”That's wonderful news, Fiona!” said Stella, stepping out of the pool with Ryan right behind her.
”I'm hungry, Mommy!” he announced, focused on his growling tummy.
”Me, too!”
Isn't that how it always works? Little brother's urgent tone came out shriller than Ryan's.
”Why don't I fix you some grilled cheese sandwiches?” Stella suggested, wrapping both boys with towels as they stepped into their flip-flops. She grabbed a towel for herself. ”Would you like anything, Jimmy? Fiona?”
”A grilled cheese sandwich sounds pretty good,” I told her, still trying to wrap my mind around Fiona's announcement. ”Do you need any help in the kitchen?”
”No, I'll take care of everything-you and Fiona just relax with the boys in the living room, and I'll call you when everything's ready.”
I must admit, a guy could really get used to such pampering. Fiona warned me it would be like this when we decided to move in for the week. Sort of like the Siren affect on Odysseus and his men, or was that some other Greek myth I'm referring to?
”Thanks, Auntie...I think I'll pa.s.s on the sandwich. Maybe I'll dip into the wonderful stew you fixed last night,” said Fiona, still reading the texts from Jackie. She smiled even more while nodding her head. ”It sure looks like things might finally be looking up for us!”
”Well, I sure hope so!” said Stella, motioning for us all to follow her inside her wonderful home after waving to the Goodlettsville cop parked inside her s.p.a.cious carport. ”Lord knows you two could sure use a break!”
The day disappeared quickly. Before I knew it twilight had arrived, and instead of planning lunch, Stella and Fiona cleaned up after dinner.
The good news is we'll be able to rejoin the NVP gang tomorrow night at Tom's place. One of Nashville's finest will be in attendance, but I believe we can ignore any smirks or cynical remarks while we review the findings from our last three investigations. I'm a little miffed at myself for not getting a picture of that d.a.m.ned mist last week. So far I've only told Fiona about it...and I gave her such a summarized version of events that I'm not sure even she understood the full impact of the experience. I sometimes a.s.sume her gifts will fill in the blanks, but it doesn't always happen.
I look forward to finding out more about the TV series, and I'm a.s.suming we'll work out the details for the two investigations this week. Then on Wednesday, I'll rehea.r.s.e with the band-our final run-through before the big gig on Sat.u.r.day. I would've liked to get one more practice in before the weekend, on Friday, but Mongo has a country gig that night he can't get out of. Frigging traitor.
Other than the fact Fiona and I must return to our day jobs this week, I'd be feeling really good about this week's prospects, given all the music and paranormal research excitement going on. But the thing that Fiona told me earlier, about giving her some time to ponder our safety?
After dinner, we all went back outside. The pool area's an amazing sanctuary, complete with a natural rock spring and waterfall that also feeds the pool. A great place to relax at night, either sitting on the extended patio or in the spa I mentioned earlier.
Not tonight. That fantasy disappeared as soon as my wife brought her tarot cards outside with her.
Stating she felt burdened to 'take a look' at what's going on around us, she normally reserves this kind of reading for her clients and friends outside the immediate family. It's definitely not a good sign she was doing it for us that night.
I tried to distract myself by playing with the kids in the pool, while Stella relaxed in a lounge chair nearby, sipping a gla.s.s of wine. All the while, I wondered what Fiona was picking up from the other side. She chose a table near the pool's deep end, beneath one of the security lamps. The glow provided sufficient light for her to conduct her reading despite the table's umbrella. I could see enough of the cards' reflected surfaces to detect the cross formation she favors.
Some readers say her 'flow and follow through' are incorrect. Maybe unorthodox in traditional occult terms, yet Fiona is always accurate. Always.
”Well, Ed's right about Vito Travini,” she said afterward, out of earshot of the kids and her aunt. She placed her cards back inside her purse. ”The cards and my guides gave me nothing about him.”
She shrugged her shoulders, but the wan expression on her face told me this really bothered her.
”What is it, babe?”
”I'm not sure... it's kind of weird that I didn't pick up anything on him.” She studied my face before going on. ”If he was here, I should've picked up on his energy-especially after everything Ed shared with us. I got nothing, and my guides were silent.”
”Maybe he's so long gone from here that he took his black-a.s.s aura with him,” I teased, which was met by a reproachful glance. ”Okay, I have no idea what to think about all of this.”
She nodded pensively, and then sighed. Deeply, as if her soul might dissipate if she drew another breath.
”The killer is still here...somewhere in our area,” she said, her voice dropping to a hoa.r.s.e whisper. ”The guy I've seen since this all started? He's never left.”
The dude with red hair.
Chapter Twenty.
”So, do we tell everyone the details from your card reading last night?”
6:30 p.m., Monday evening at Tom's place. Fiona and I'd just arrived in Stella's Cadillac, hoping a different vehicle might bring us some luck against the red-headed killer dude still here...somewhere in Nashville. Honestly, that reason was secondary to the fact Stella insisted on Fiona driving her car, since it rarely gets taken on trips of twenty-five miles or more. Ed thought it'd be a good idea too.
Yeah, he showed up in Goodlettsville that afternoon. Though I'm never gonna fall in love with the guy, I think we're beginning to develop some level of mutual respect. In other words, we're not nearly as standoffish to one another. The real test will come if we ever have to interact outside of Fiona's presence. The fur might fly if that happens.
”I don't know,” she replied, pausing while she finished parking the car inside Tom's carport. ”Tonight might not be the right time to say anything, especially when everyone's excited about the television show and the fact we can get together again, after a week in isolation from one another.”
Good point.
”But, if this guy goes on the attack again...could you live with yourself by not saying anything?” I persisted. She regarded me for a moment, her eyes welling with tears. I almost moved to smooth over what I just said, but she stopped me.
”I'll tell them,” she said, dabbing at her eyes so her mascara wouldn't run. ”Just let me do it my way tonight, okay?”
”Sure,” I agreed, making sure I sounded compa.s.sionate. Sometimes I don't, even though I feel empathetic. I'm a bit jaded after spending the last five years at my day gig. ”I'll follow your lead. Should I say anything to remind you if we're about to leave and the opportunity hasn't presented itself yet?”
”No...no, that won't be necessary,” she a.s.sured me. ”I'll make sure to do it before we leave.”
That settled, we prepared to join the others. I a.s.sumed everyone was there, since Jackie's SUV sat parked in the carport along with Tony's truck. Tom returned home last night. The only other person present was the lone metro police officer standing outside the back gate. His patrol car occupied the s.p.a.ce between the SUVs. He smiled and waved to us as we got out of the car.
”Fiona and Jimmy...Alea?” he asked, motioning for us to come over to him.
”Yeah that's us,” I said. Beyond him I could see the tops of Justin and Tom's heads on the other side of the fence. ”Do we need to sign anything to get in?”
”No, that won't be necessary,” he said, smiling sheepishly. A definite sign this guy had a good personality.
My luck with cops hasn't worked out so well. Maybe it's the hair, earrings, and such. Driving a fast car and a Harley does little to help matters, I'm sure. So when I meet a police officer that doesn't seem immediately hung up on appearances and other external bulls.h.i.+t, I sincerely appreciate it.
Jerry Sloan is the cop's name. A veteran of sixteen years, as Tom would tell us later, Officer Sloan stands just an inch or so shorter than me and looks like he works out some. Sporting sandy brown hair with the kind of thick moustache Ed should have, instead of the p.u.s.s.y tickler he prefers, Jerry's intense green eyes make him look like he should be shaking hands at a political rally instead of writing speeding tickets and guarding potential murder victims. But, I was glad to have him there.
”I believe your friends are waiting for you inside, and I'll keep watch out here if you need me,” he advised, flas.h.i.+ng a perfect row of pearly whites.
Even Fiona noticed the man's physique and charm, raising an admiring eyebrow as we moved through the gate to our buds on the other side. The same rules apply to her as me...lookin's 'A-okay'.
”What up, Ale-e-a-a-h-h-s-s?”