Dark Corners READY FOR PRC (20 page)

He sounded disappointed but answered my earlier question. “My captain wanted to see me to make sure that this case hadn’t become too ‘personal.’”

“Has it?”

He lifted an eyebrow at me, his eyes searching mine.

“The officer that drove me to O’Malley’s was asking questions about how long and how well I know you—got to love small towns—but you are always available to me.”

“So?”  I wondered if I was imagining it or if Gabriel bristled a bit.

I held up my hand. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s great. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

He took a long drink of water and refilled his glass with the pitcher the server had left at our table. “But?”

“But what are you sacrificing to help me with this and why? This is my life and I have nothing outside of it, so it’s easy for me to forget that you probably do. You probably had a life before this.”

“I'm here because I want to be here. I assured him I could remain impartial.”

“Can you? Had I written that story what would you have done?”

His intense eyes searched mine, though I didn't know what they were looking for. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “But I know I need to see this through to the end. If I turned over this investigation would you let another police officer into your life?”

“Probably not.” Gabriel was a truly nice man and I probably didn't help his case insisting the cops drive me to a bar. “I'll try to behave myself so you don’t get into anymore trouble.”

“I would appreciate that. Does this mean you’ve dismissed your ghost theory?”

“I don’t know. The things that have happened, without so much as a trace of any person . . .  well, a ghost makes as much sense as it doesn’t. However, the story of the murder sounds so much more like a person—I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I've never believed it was a ghost, but I can’t figure out how they do it. Whoever it is has some end goal, I just don't know what.”

Detective Troy looked exhausted and it was probably my fault—so much for his hope of having a dinner free from talking about my troubles. But why did he care so much? I held back that question knowing that I couldn't ask it until I was ready to hear his answer. Pity for the poor man who was trying to help me made me change the subject to something a bit lighter.

“So . . . who do you think will win the Super Bowl?”

He smiled. “That’s over. It was months ago.”

“World Series?”

“I have no idea. I don’t watch much baseball.”

“What is it you do when you aren't detecting or breaking down my door?”

“I like movies, hiking, camping, things like that.”

“Things to escape reality—those are all pretty solitary.”

“They can be, but they don’t have to be. What do you do when you aren’t writing or being terrorized by ghosts?”

“Well . . . .ummm, I really don’t do much besides those things, especially the last couple years. I like reading. I used to like cooking and games.”

“Games?”

“Yes, games like Scrabble, Monopoly, poker, spades, pinochle, you know—board games, not mind games.”

“I would never guessed you as the game type. It's so…”

“Juvenile?’

“Normal.”

Now it was my turn to smile. I hadn’t been called normal in quite some time. "Ah, so you thought I meant games like cult games and sacrificing small animals and what not. . . I gave that up for Lent.”

“Why don’t you do those things anymore?”

“Cult activities? Well, they’ve become so passé. Everyone is doing it these days.”

“No. Play cards, be with your friends...”

“Who has the energy, or friends?”

The rest of the meal carried on the same way:  light and easy. Gabriel was right. We both needed a night off, away from the reality that haunted both of us. After dinner, we went to see an old movie that was playing in an equally old theater. We chose
Arsenic and Old Lace
in hopes that the light comedy would put us further at ease, besides who doesn’t love Cary Grant? The movie was a good choice. It was easy to lose myself in the story, laughing along with the other people in the theater. All in all, it was a great evening, which was surprising after the horrendous, roller coaster of a day.

But too soon we were outside of my house. Dread filled me as I looked at the door. I didn't want to go inside. However, I got out of the car when Gabriel opened my door. A light on upstairs in the master bedroom caught my eye. I hadn't been in there since Detective Troy opened that door. That light had not been on since then; at least I did not think it had been. Who had been in his room? I grabbed Gabriel's arm and pointed up at the window.

“That wasn’t on.”

He looked up “Are you sure?”

“75%.”

“Get in the car. Lock the doors. I’ll check.”

“I’m going with you.”

“Ella, get in the car.”

“No. I've walked into that house to find one person dead already. I’ll be damned if I'm going to find a second one. If you go, I go too.”

“Fine. Stay close.” He pulled his gun from the locked glove compartment.

We silently crept into the house and upstairs. Gabriel flung open the door to the room, but now the light was off. I reached around him and flipped the switch. Nothing was there. It was just as we’d left it. We proceeded to check the rest of the house, but again found nothing at all. After we’d exhausted our search, Gabriel looked at me with a helpless expression.

“You don’t have to stay here tonight.”

“Where am I going to go?”

“You can come home with me.”

I stared at him, my mouth becoming cottony. Part of me wanted to laugh hysterically, part wanted to walk away, and still another, smaller part wanted nothing more than to take him up on his offer, if only—

“Not like that,” he said quickly “I just meant you can stay at my house for the night. Not with me. Separate rooms.”

“Right.” My mind was swimming, but I pressed through it trying not to let things get any more uncomfortable between us. “I'll have to come back here eventually, so what's the point of running away now.”

“Stay at my house tonight. I'll come by here tomorrow with a police dog and see what I can find. Speaking of that, have you thought about getting a dog?”

“I had a dog. She died.”

“When? From what?”

“I don’t know the date. We’d been here a few months. She was acting funny after we moved in, then one morning I woke up and she was dead at the bottom of the stairs.”

“What kind of dog?”

“Toy poodle.”

“I was thinking something a little bit bigger, something for protection. The house, the investigation can wait until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” I echoed. It was such a nice word. Everything could be put off until tomorrow and tomorrow never had to come. Gabriel was offering to extend my peace of mind for a few more hours and right now that was the nicest thing anyone could do for me. I let him lead me back to the car.

Gabriel lived across town in an old brick house with a large porch and stained glass windows. It was charming. Inside, the furnishings looked comfortable and lived in. It wasn’t a large house by any means. It had only one bedroom, which utilized almost the entire upstairs except for a bathroom and some storage. The main floor had a living room, kitchen, office, small utility room, and a small restroom. There was no basement or attic. It was small and comfortable—perfect for one or two people. The best thing about his house was it felt safe and secure. It felt like a home.

Gabriel handed me clean sheets and offered me his room.

“You should have your room. I'll stay on the couch.”

“No, I insist you take the bed. There are clothes in the bottom two drawers.”

“Thank you.” I didn't have the words to express how big of an impact he was making in my life. “You do so much for me and you don’t have to—.”

He looked like there was something he wanted to say, but he settled for “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

I went upstairs and found a baggy Northwestern shirt to sleep in. Crawling into his bed, I was ready to crash when he spoke softly from the stairs.

“Ella, may I come up?”

“Sure.”

Gabriel came around the corner wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants. I could see the other tattoos on his arms.

“How many tattoos do you have?”

He looked slightly taken aback, obviously not expecting this question. “Uh, eight. I came up for a pillow.”

“Oh, sorry here you go.” I handed him an extra pillow. “Are you sure you don’t want your bed?”

“No, you have it,” he said quietly as he took the pillow from me, then he sat on the edge of the bed for a moment and brushed a piece of hair off my face.

“Do you have everything you need?” He still looked like he wanted to say something else. Something more.

“I’m all set,” I said, careful not to invite him to say what he was concealing. We were both better off if words that couldn't be taken back weren't spoken. I wasn't ready to hear whatever it was and Gabriel seemed to understand that too.  He gave me a warm smile before he stood up.

“Sleep well. If you need me I'll be downstairs.’

“Night.”

He gave me one last look before he shut off the light. I heard him trot down the stairs and I drifted off to sleep in a matter of moments. It was, seriously, the best night’s sleep I’d had since I moved to Montgomery—and I didn’t wake up the next morning ‘til after nine. I wondered for a moment if Gabriel had left me there alone, but the notion was quickly dismissed when I heard the lovely sounds of breakfast being made and the smell of coffee wafted up through the air. I got up and pulled my jeans on under the oversized t-shirt. “Good morning. How did you sleep?” Gabriel asked brightly.

I couldn't suppress the small smile that crept to my lips. “Too well. I'd forgotten what it's like to have a good night’s sleep. Thank you.” I wasn’t sure what he was trying to make, but he had a mess. “Can I help?”

“That’s okay” Then he looked at the stove and counter and seemed to rethink his stance. “Actually, that would great. I'm not very good at this.” He said with a sheepish grin.

 “Scoot over. What are we making?”

“Pancakes.”

“You have way too many ingredients out.”

He gave me an exaggerated shrug.

“You’re hopeless. I'll make them.”

I cleaned up his mess and started over. Gabriel kept looking over his shoulder at me, while he made orange juice. I got a pinch of flour and waited for the next time he glanced back and then I blew it in his face. Laughing as the puff of flour dusted his face, I grabbed another handful.

“This is war,” he declared and shook the wooden spoon covered in orange juice at me. Before he could finish I hit him with next handful and grabbed another. I moved around the counter to give myself some coverage, but this enabled him to grab his own handful of flour. I was saved by the phone ringing.

“Truce?” Gabriel asked and offered me his hand to shake. I extended my hand, only to have him shove his last handful of flour in my face. Laughing, he made a mad dash for the phone. I laughed too, wiping the flour off my face.