Believe It or Not (18 page)

He stopped scratching and stared at her. “What?”

“Nothing. Never mind. Get out.”

“No problem,” Frank said, giving his neck one last scratch before standing up. “This place gives me the creeps anyway. Besides, I already said what I had to say.”

“Out!” Violet repeated, pointing the door.

Frank snorted and began moving that direction. “Just don’t forget… tomorrow afternoon. Jed Buckles. Give him an appointment, tell him what he needs to hear, and everything will be fine.”

On the other side of the wall in Drew’s bar, the song was still playing. The title clicked into place in Violet’s brain just as Frank reached the door.

“‘I Hate Everything About You.’”

“What?” Frank said from the doorway.

“Lyrics from the song they’re playing next door. It’s by Ugly Kid Joe. Came out in the early nineties, I think.”

Frank looked over his shoulder at her and laughed. “You’re a real fuckin’ nut job, lady.”

Then he walked out the door, scratching his neck as he went.

Violet was just finishing up with one of her accounting clients when Drew walked in the next morning under the pretense of getting toilet paper from the storage closet.

Okay, so he didn’t really need the toilet paper. He needed to see Violet. Naked, preferably, but fully clothed would do.

“Thank you so much for pointing out we could deduct that trip to Europe,” Violet’s client was saying as he shook her hand. “I can’t believe you even thought to ask if we’d traveled there.”

“Yes, well, Europe was on my mind this morning and I knew you had business interests over there, so it seemed wise to check. I’m glad it all worked out.”

“Me too, Violet.” He laughed. “Heck, maybe me and the missus will start planning another trip.”

He waved and headed out the door, a thick packet of papers tucked under one arm. Violet was still smiling as Drew approached.

“Europe, huh?” he said. “I’ve been playing their
Final
Countdown
album all morning.”

“Oh?”

“Maybe that’s why it was in your head.”

“Hmm,” Violet said, glancing away. “Right. Well, it’s a nice album. Did you need something?”

“Just wondering how things went with Frank.”

Violet sighed. “Not great, but I don’t really want to talk about it. Frank’s the least of my concerns right now.”

“And what are the most of your concerns?”

“I had a meeting earlier with the occupational therapist. She came through to check out the house and make sure it’s safe for Moonbeam to come home the day after tomorrow.”

“And did it pass muster?”

Violet shook her head. “It looks like there’s a lot more to do than I realized.”

“Like what?”

She shrugged. “Moving furniture. Building a wheelchair ramp. Stuff like that.”

“You planning to do all that by yourself in the next twenty-four hours?”

“I can manage.”

“Of course you can. Moving sofas alone is always a good idea.”

“Well—”

“And I’m sure you flew out here with a Skilsaw and lumber in your suitcase. That should come in handy for building the ramp.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Violet said, her jaw set with determination.

“I’ll help you. Tonight at seven, how’s that?”

“You don’t have to—”

“Of course I don’t, but I want to. It’s what neighbors do. I’m sure your mom would do it for me.”

Violet raised an eyebrow. “You think my mother would build you a wheelchair ramp?”

“Well, maybe not that, exactly. But she’d probably turn my coffee table into a toad so it’d be easier to move.”

Violet laughed, a warm, musical sound that made Drew glad he owned a Skilsaw and a hammer. Not in a euphemistic way, but…

“Okay then, I accept your offer. Thank you. How about if I make dinner?”

“Dinner,” Drew repeated, with visions of tofu dancing unpleasantly in his head.

“What do you eat?”

“Well, there are the four basic food groups, and I pretty much eat all of them.”

“You’re not vegan or vegetarian or on a free-trade organic diet or anything?”

“How about if we just order in?”

A look of relief crossed Violet’s face. “You like pizza?”

“Perfect. The more grease, the better.”

She grinned at him. “I’ll see you at seven.”

***

Violet kept her mom’s business cell tucked in her back pocket while she hustled around the house, moving the smaller furniture and digging for tools in the garage. The phone hadn’t rung all afternoon, and Violet wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Frank had said Jed Buckles would call for his appointment today. What was she going to say?

She had stopped by the hospital on her way home from the shop. When she’d told Moonbeam the whole sordid tale of Frank’s threats, Moonbeam hadn’t even flinched.

“Well naturally, dear, a psychic can’t be bought. I’m sure Frank knows that in his soul. Maybe he’s just testing you.”

Violet had gritted her teeth and stared at her mother. “He’s not testing me. And he doesn’t have a soul.”

“No, but he does have a snail penis on his neck,” Moonbeam had said with a gleam in her eye. “Tell me that part of the story again, dear. I enjoyed that.”

The conversation had pretty much petered out after that, with Moonbeam remaining steadfastly convinced that Violet would “do the right thing,” whatever the hell that meant.

Now, as she shoved an end table across the room, Violet glanced down at the phone for the hundredth time. Maybe Jed Buckles wouldn’t call. Maybe he didn’t really want a psychic reading.

Or hell, so what if he did? What was the harm in doing what Frank asked, really?

It’s not like you haven’t spent the last couple weeks making stuff up for everyone who comes to see you
, Violet told herself.

But that wasn’t the same thing. What she’d been doing before was harmless, a carnival act. This was something bigger. Not just a client wondering if she should talk to the cute guy at work, but someone with a lot of money at stake. Maybe his whole livelihood.

And then there was the possibility that she
wasn’t
just making stuff up. A small possibility, but it was there, in every song Drew played over the sound system, his car radio, even hummed in the hallway. What the hell was that about? Obviously, other people could hear the music, so it wasn’t like some magical cosmic thing that only she could sense. But Moonbeam seemed to genuinely have no idea what Violet was talking about when she’d mentioned it. So maybe it
was
just her. Or just her and Drew, to be precise. Maybe some sort of bizarre psychic connection between the two of them.

Or maybe it was just a ridiculous coincidence. That seemed a hell of a lot more likely.

The doorbell chimed and Violet jumped. She had been so braced for a phone call that she wasn’t expecting anyone at the door. She glanced at her watch as she headed toward the front of the house, wondering whether it was Drew or the pizza arriving early.

But it wasn’t Drew on her doorstep.

And if the unwashed, dreadlocked man standing there had a pizza anywhere on his person, Violet was certain she didn’t want to eat it.

She opened the door cautiously and peered out at the man.

“Dude,” he said in greeting, and flipped his butt-length dreadlocks over one shoulder.

Violet caught a whiff of sweat and patchouli and took a step back. “Um, hello?”

He looked up her up and down and nodded approvingly. “Duuuude. Nice.”

Violet resisted the urge to close the door in his face. The man was wearing pants made of paisley patches of fabric, and a shirt that might have been a Hefty bag at one time. His feet were bare.

“Um, can I help you?” she asked.

That’s when she noticed the hammer in his hand.

With a yelp, she grabbed the door and started to fling it shut.

“Dude,” the man said in a reassuring tone as he extended his hammer-free hand. “Chill. Moonbeam sent me.”

Violet stopped closing the door and stared at him. “Moonbeam?”

“I was visiting her at rehab and she said you, like, needed help.”

Violet sighed. “Of course she did.”

“She said you, like, had
needs
… both spiritual and physical.” He grinned at her, showing a piece of spinach on one tooth. “I’m, like, here to meet your needs.”

“Oh, well, that’s very nice of you, but—”

“I thought we could, like, tend to the spiritual first. Tell me, what are you looking for in a life partner?” Violet closed her eyes and silently cursed her mother.

A familiar voice burst through Violet’s thoughts before she could get very far with her curse.

“Am I interrupting a meditation here?” Violet opened her eyes to see Drew ambling up the walkway, casting a curious look at Dreadlock Dude as he climbed the steps onto the porch. Violet was so happy to see him, she almost shoved Dreadlock Dude aside and rushed out to hug Drew.

She thought better of it when she spied the arsenal of sharp-looking tools he was toting.

Drew raised an eyebrow at as he glanced at Dreadlock Dude. Then he met her eyes again. “I can come back later if this isn’t a good time—”

“No!” Violet yelled, and threw the door open. “This is the perfect time.”

“Dude,” said the dreadlocked man, and stepped aside so they could stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the door.

Violet sighed. “Drew. This is… I’m sorry, what was your name again?”

“I don’t believe in names,” said Dreadlock Dude as he extended a hand to Drew. “They’re, like, too confining.”

“Sure they are,” Drew agreed as he gave the man’s hand an agreeable shake. “I wish some of the girls I’ve dated felt the same way. It would make things much easier.”

“Right, because
Jenny
is so tough to remember,” Violet muttered as she stepped aside to usher them both through the door. “I’ve got pizza coming in a few minutes, if you boys want to come in. I ordered extra, so I’m sure there’s plenty for all of us.”

“Excellent,” said Drew, and set his tools down on the porch. Dreadlock Dude frowned and set his hammer beside Drew’s Skilsaw. “I don’t eat animal flesh or dairy products or nightshade vegetables or anything grown in a country that, like, violates the human rights of its citizens.”

Violet sighed. “You can look through the fridge and help yourself. I’m sure everything’s free-trade certified and organic. Moonbeam wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Dreadlock Dude nodded happily at her and ambled toward the kitchen. “Maybe after you and I have been dating for a while, we can, like, move in together with Moonbeam and form a communal cooking collective.”

Drew grinned at Violet as he headed toward the kitchen to join Dreadlock Dude. “That sounds like fun,” he murmured in her ear as he passed. “Let me know when the wedding is so I have time to shop for a gift that isn’t a nightshade vegetable or something made with animal flesh or—”

“Shut up,” Violet hissed as she stole a glance at Dreadlock Dude. He was rummaging through the fridge, searching for something ethical to eat. She leaned back toward Drew. “Moonbeam sent him. Apparently, she thought I needed help with the wheelchair ramp.”

“Apparently that’s not all she thought you needed help with. Maybe I should leave the two of you alone?”

Violet grabbed his arm so tightly she could feel the curve of his bicep. She ignored the flutter in her belly and looked up at him in panic. “Please don’t leave me alone with him.”

Drew grinned down at her, his mouth close to her ear as he kept his tone low enough that Dreadlock Dude couldn’t hear. “I kind of like it when you beg.”

Violet released his arm as the heat crept into her cheeks. She stepped away from Drew and wiped her palms on the front of her jeans. She cleared her throat and addressed both of them in a voice that sounded noticeably shakier than it had a few minutes ago.

“There’s beer in the fridge, iced tea, and I bought a few different kinds of soda. The tea is herbal and free-trade certified, of course. Drew, you like cherry Coke, right?”

Drew shot her a grin as he joined Dreadlock Dude in front of the refrigerator. “Wow, you must be psychic.”

Dreadlock Dude turned and beamed at Drew. “She
is
psychic. Like, a very gifted one, from what Moonbeam and Butterfly say.”

Violet rolled her eyes and took three glasses out of the cupboard. She began filling them with ice as Drew slurped his cherry Coke right out of the can and Dreadlock Dude began unscrewing the cap off a jar of organic stone-ground mustard. He stuck his nose in and sniffed it, and Violet made a mental note to throw it away later.

“So how long have you two kids known each other?” Drew asked as he leaned against the counter.

“Dude, we just met, but clearly there’s, like, an intense spiritual connection between us,” said Dreadlock Dude as he smiled at Violet with mustard on his nose. “I’ve always believed marriage is a draconian and discriminatory institution, but, like, I’m open to considering a sacred union if you want to talk about that.”

“Right,” Violet said. “How about if we just eat pizza? It should be here any minute.”

Dreadlock Dude shrugged and peeled the top off a container of tofu that had been in the fridge since before Moonbeam’s accident. He gave it a sniff before pulling out a rubbery cube and dipping it into the mustard jar. Violet grimaced.

“So you’re a friend of Moonbeam’s?” Drew asked Dreadlock Dude as he took another sip of his soda.

“We’re all part of the same psychic massage group where we use touch to harmonize the astral vehicles,” Dreadlock Dude said. “I’ve only just met Violet, but of course I’ve been hearing about her for, like, ages. She’s, like, way remarkable.”

“Agreed,” Drew said, taking another sip of his soda.

“And her ethical conviction is, like, totally admirable,” Dreadlock Dude continued. “Moonbeam was saying that just yesterday, someone tried to blackmail Violet into compromising her integrity by, like, giving a fake psychic reading to someone.”

Violet felt all the blood drain from her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but Dreadlock Dude was on a roll now.

“I mean, here’s this big shot, like, making all these threats, but here’s Violet sticking it to the man, you know? It’s, like, dude… her ethics totally aren’t for sale. Moonbeam even said—”

“Dude,” Violet interrupted. “Enough, okay? The story’s complicated, and my mom wasn’t there, so—”

“Sticking it to the man, huh?” Drew said, raising an eyebrow at Violet. “How unfortunate for the man.”

Violet blinked at him. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just… maybe we can talk about this later?”

Drew shrugged. “None of my business, is it?”

Violet hesitated. Was that a real question, or a rhetorical one?

The doorbell rang, and Violet almost cried with relief.

“I’ll answer it,” said Dreadlock Dude as he set down his tofu and headed for the door. “Since I’ll probably be, like, moving in here soon anyway, right? I mean, we’ll both want to live with Moonbeam, of course.”

Violet gripped her empty glass, feeling the chill of ice cubes against her sweaty palm. She waited until Dreadlock Dude was well out of earshot before she met Drew’s unreadable gaze.