Dead and Disorderly (Behind the Blue Line Series Book 2) (17 page)

“What’s her name?” his mother asked, finishing her beer and turning slightly to face him more directly.

Nico blinked nervously. “Her?” He wasn’t sure what else to do, since getting up and fleeing for the front door would attract a lot of undue attention. Simon passed behind him with a tray heavily laden with beers, and he grabbed one smoothly, drinking half of it in one go.

“Dominic. I’m your mother. I gave birth to you. I know you better than you do. Do we get to meet her?” Plucking the beer from his suddenly numb fingertips, she set it just out of reach, a tacit form of carrot and stick. He could tell her and get it back, or he could keep silent and go thirsty. It suddenly occurred to him that his mother was the reason he was such a good negotiator, because she was the queen of unrefusable offers. Damn.

Realizing that she essentially had him trapped, he hung his head in defeat. “Her name is Nahia Nizhoni Wellington,” he paused to take a deep breath before continuing his thought, “and she’s kinda spectacular.”

His mother’s grin brightened immediately as she pulled him in an awkward hug. “Wonderful!” He took advantage of her distraction to rescue his beer, figuring he might need the extra help. “So what kind of name is Nizhoni?”

The upstairs was even hotter than the ground floor, though she wasn’t surprised. With all the dust and filth stirred up on their tour, she was going to need a shower before she met up with Nico anyway, so it didn’t matter that she was melting like a snowman in July in the Mojave.

The doorway at the top of the stairs gave way to a single room, obviously a living space in its former life. It was like a photograph, part of the world frozen in time, apparently not sold off by the bank. A large bed on the east side of the room, a kitchen table on the west, a couple of mismatched upholstered armchairs nearby the door positioned around an old TV. The walls were nicotine yellow and devoid of pictures, dust covered every surface.

“It’s like a tomb,” Nigel whispered from just over her shoulder. His closeness was unnerving, if understandable.

“Great choice of words there, boss.” She swung her flashlight around, reaching out with all her sense for some sort of guidance. “Can you tell me what it is you want me to see?” she asked into the emptiness.

Nigel turned around, the recorder clutched in his hand like a magic wand. “Are you the painter of the murals downstairs?” He waited a beat, “We loved them. They are stunning.”

The silence answered them, much to their disappointment. “Did you live here?” Nahia asked as she walked over and checked out the bedside table. Gingerly, she pulled open the sole drawer, let down to find it empty.  “Did you die here?”

“I painted the pictures.” The voice was accompanied by the bracingly cold breeze from earlier. It was faint, but clear, slightly accented, and surprisingly answering her friend’s questions.

She looked to Nigel, who nodded. Apparently it
did
happen outside her head. “You have something you want to say?” While she waited out the silence, she moved from the bed to a credenza along the wall farthest from the door they’d entered, but nearest to the door to the outside. It had six drawers, three shallow on top, and three deep on the bottom. “What the hell am I supposed to find and where the hell am I supposed to find it?”

“I don’t know, but I hope you find it soon, because I’m dyin’ over here,” Nigel responded. He’d removed his suit jacket and still looked ready to wilt in the sweltering heat.

“Not helping, bro.” She began to pull on the ancient handles of the drawers that used to be brass. The top three were locked and the bottom ones were empty. “You wanna bring that light over here so I can do my thing?”

Her best friend hesitated before crossing the room. “I don’t know, Nye… Is this a good idea?”

She didn’t have an answer for him. She disliked the idea of grave robbing, but she felt in her soul that what she needed to know was in one of the drawers. “I don’t know, honestly. Aurelio, you wanna help me out here? You know I can hear you, talk to me. Why am I here? What do you need from me?”

“Justice. For my wife.” The words came from nowhere, and she could only hope the recorder picked them up, and she shivered at the unexpected cold enveloping her.

“Okay. And how do we do that?”  She sat back on her heels, looking around the sparsely furnished room. If it wasn’t in here, she had no idea where else to search.

The loud knock on the credenza’s top startled her, and she toppled over sideways. “Box.” Whatever the hell that meant. As happy as she was to have established contact with the spirit, it wasn’t making a whole lot of sense.

“I don’t suppose you can just pick that up at the store,” Nigel wondered aloud. Nahia gave him a look and felt Aurelio was probably giving him the same look.

She struggled back to her knees under the weight of the backpack and the oppressive heat. “Nigel,” she snarled and he jumped. “The light?” When he didn’t move, she supplied, “Please?” She felt good about not saying ‘now, goddammit!’ Even though she had somewhere to be soon, this wasn’t the time for impatience.

Nigel growled and then trudged across the room. “You get so damn bossy, I swear to God.”

From across the room something fell, drawing both their attentions. “I don’t think this is the place for that, Ni. Hurry up with the light so we can get out of here.”

After pulling her multi-tool from her bag, she patiently unfolded the screwdriver portion, and slid it between the drawer and the top. It took a quick slide and a twist of the wrist to get the lock to acquiesce, but as soon as she opened the drawer, she jumped back with a squeal. “Mother pus-buckets!” The beam from the flashlight above her revealed a massive brown spider, and she slammed the drawer shut immediately. “Fuck me,” she breathed, smoothing the curling tendrils of hair that had escaped her braid behind her ears. She shuddered in revulsion and eyed the next drawer warily. “I didn’t want nothing in there, anyway.”

For all her bravado, though, she was a little slower in attacking the second lock. “Man.” She paused to take a deep breath, and then another.

Nigel laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, squeezing it in a show of support. Or an extreme desire to end this adventure, she didn’t know, and chose to think the best of him. “Think of it this way: it can’t get any worse.”

She licked her lips and looked at her friend with all the irritated disbelief she could muster. “Jesus, you’re optimistic. Let’s just hope you haven’t cursed us.”

After a rudimentary debrief with his mother, Nico ducked outside for some air. He hadn’t realized how complicated his relationship with Nahia was until he’d tried to explain her beyond spectacular. How they met, what she did for a living, hell, even her name, it was all very hard to be entirely truthful to a woman raised in the Church and wasn’t really as…understanding as he was. To his mother, his girlfriend— and he’d given her the title as a Freudian slip— was a small business owner, a bit of a free spirit, and amazing. That much he hadn’t had to equivocate.

Another glance at his watch said she’d be there in a little over an hour, and he smiled. He loved his family, but would definitely appreciate the brief respite she would offer. As it was, his mind was occupied with accommodations. He’d have his parents in his room, his Nonna and her boytoy in his guest room, which left the couch for his sister. He kinda hoped that Nahia would let him bunk with her for a few days, and was definitely prepared to make it worth her while.

“I know that look.” Nonna came around the corner from the back of the building, a cigarette in one hand and two fingers of scotch in the other. “Don’t tell your mother.”

“Nope. I got no desire to die today.” Nico gave her an indulgent smile and kissed her cheeks, both of them knowing nothing good would come from telling his mother about his grandmother’s vices. “Which look is that, Nonna?”

“The look of a man who has someone special on his mind. Your father had that look when he met your mother in the tenth grade.” She smiled kindly at him and gestured that they sit out on the terrace at one of the empty tables. The growing evening and lengthening shadows of the century-old buildings across the street provided a much-needed respite for the heat. “Tell me about her.”

Nico blushed at her accurate read of him, even though they hadn’t seen each other in far too long. He took her free hand in his, loving its diminutive size and softly wrinkled skin. “She’s wonderful, Nonna. You’ll like her.”

She flicked her ash off to the side and flashed him a mischievous grin. “I’m sure I will.” They sat quietly, enjoying the evening and the sounds of the city, much lighter, he was sure, than what she was used to. “You haven’t been home in awhile.”

He ducked his head at the lightly reproving tone, lifting her fingers to his lips as an apology. “I know, Nonna. Work gets busy. I’m sorry you lost Mrs. I.”

She cupped his cheek, her warm palm just as soothing now as it had been when he was little. “Thank you. You lost her, too, though.”

“I took care of her, just like you said to.” Right before he’d left for college, she’d pulled him aside and told him to look after her
cugina
like he would look after her. He liked to think he’d taken the request to heart and done everything for her, her last day notwithstanding.

“I know you did, Dominic.” He swallowed hard at the utter conviction in her voice. Nonna patted his hand on the table before reaching into her bra to pull out another cigarette, lighting it from the previous one that was still burning.

“Nonna,” he scolded, but couldn’t help but laugh. His grandmother was beholden to no one and did exactly what she wanted, and when. She and Nahia had that in common and would be thick as thieves in no time.

She giggled and gave him a grin reeking of devilry. Then a shadow fell over her eyes. “Ah, Donna and Joe. Damn.” She sipped her drink and stared out at the setting sun behind the downtown skyscrapers. “At least they’re together now.”

Nico was so used to thinking of them as Mr. and Mrs. Ianucci that hearing their first names was a bit jarring. He thought back to his conversation with Nahia about the potential haunting of the restaurant. “You think he stuck around and waited for her?” It wasn’t canon, it wasn’t in the Scripture, and he honestly couldn’t think of what possessed him to ask, but was ultimately relieved when her formerly wistful smile brightened.

Nonna nodded confidently. “Oh yes. I believe he waited for her. Their souls needed each other, it was bigger than love.” She sniffed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, her eyes looking a little shinier than normal, but he didn’t want to bring attention to it, lest she smack him on the back of the head for impertinence. He still had scars.

Her description of Mr. and Mrs. I’s love for one another warmed him, and reinforced his desire for the same thing. Unbidden, Nahia popped into his head again. He’d managed to go a whole ten minutes without thinking about her. A new record.

“Dominic.” The way she said it made him feel like he had been ignoring her, and he was immediately chastened.

Nico shook his head and focused on her. He saw her so rarely; she deserved his undivided attention. “I’m sorry, Nonna. What were you saying?”

She snorted and tossed back her scotch like a pro, slamming the glass down on the wrought iron table with a surprising amount of force for a little old lady. “That you have that look again. Now, you’re going to tell me all about her.”

Nico stood and picked up her glass. “Your ice is dry. I’ll get you another and be right back.” She laughed outright at his evasion technique, but didn’t press him on it. He just hoped he could figure out how much to tell her before he had to return.