Death and Relaxation (39 page)

“Okay. I need to ask you for your agreement officially. Are you ready?”

Cooper unwound his arms and shook his hands out, like getting ready for a wrestling match.

I waited until he nodded.

“Cooper Clark. Will you accept this power, ancient, magnificent, and pure?” It was a short question. I’d memorized it when I was just a kid. But standing here as the bridge for the power in front of the man who would become the vessel for the power gave the words an authority and weight that I’d never imagined.

“Yes,” he said. “I accept the power.”

I knew there was something else I was supposed to say, but at his agreement, the power leaped.

Leaped out of me, slipped from my hold, and hit Cooper like a lightning bolt out of the sky.

Voices filled the shop, thrumming, shouting, joy and passion. The song, the power, demanded entrance, demanded release. Distantly, I heard my own voice. Small, faint. A whisper among so many others.

I was the connection, the road, the string over which the song of power was plucked. The single point in this world where power and vessel could meet. Join.

I was, for one infinite moment, harmony.

Then silence swallowed me, so dark and soft and deep, I wondered if I’d been wrapped in thick velvet.

“Holy shit,” Cooper said in a trembling whisper. “Holy shit.”

I blinked and the world returned.

Cooper was gripping me by my upper arms, gazing down at me, his eyes filled with a light, a power, an otherness I’d never seen in him. It was alien and strange to see him as not quite the man I knew. But then his lips curved in a very Cooper smile. “Well, that is a hell of a thing.”

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He nodded and stepped back until his arms were at full length. He gently released his hold on me.

“I’m good,” he said. “Really, really good. Delaney, it’s…” He shook his head, all out of words.

Heimdall’s power surrounded him in a low, happy chord. It was where it belonged. In safe hands.

“Good,” I said. “Maybe we can all get some rest.”

“Not yet,” Raven said. “I still have some vacationing to do.” He stepped forward and clapped Cooper on the shoulder, then shoved the other man out of the way. “Help me stash my power in the furnace, chief?”

“I don’t think it works that way.”

“Maybe not with the other gods.” He grinned. “But, hello? Trickster?”

I glanced at Myra and Jean. They both shrugged. “All right,” I said. “Let’s see if you’re right about that.”

Turned out he was.

~~~

BY TUESDAY, the tourists had left. The residents of Ordinary seemed to release a collective exhale. The Rhubarb Rally lights, whistles, and bells were officially packed away and recorded in the history books.

I’d even seen Death, in his pressed slacks, shiny shoes, and bright Hawaiian shirt, standing on the edge of the glittering blue ocean, a bright yellow kite in his hand.

If I were the kind of woman who prayed, I’d pray I’d never have to carry another god power again. It had changed me, left marks somewhere deep inside me, lingering behind my thoughts, my sanity, like scars pulled too tight. I hadn’t told my sisters about that yet. They were worrying enough about me. But the marks the power had left behind scared me if I thought about it too much. I didn’t even know what kind of damage it might have done, didn’t know if it would heal.

I felt ten years older. I ached everywhere.

Reeds had acted as bridges for god powers for centuries. I hoped this was just a part of the job, and the wounds left from the power would heal as quickly as my physical injuries so I could get back to my real job.

Myra was at her desk finishing with the deck hand’s statement. He had corroborated Dan’s story. Walt had indeed been drunk when Margot approached him. She’d offered him a lot of money to take her to Heim’s boat and show her around. He was fuzzy about if she’d stayed on the boat or not. When he woke the next morning and heard Heim had been killed, he’d bolted.

He had a couple misdemeanor priors he was hoping wouldn’t catch up to him.

Dan was still on the hook for waving a deadly weapon at a police officer. I figured the local judge would remove all firearms and explosives from his home, give him a few months of jail time, then move him on to community service.

I was hoping the community service might actually go some distance in changing his petulant attitude. If not that, maybe cooling his heels for a while in jail would.

Lila had come in to see her sister before Margot had been transferred down to the Lincoln County jail. They’d cried while hugging each other.

It didn’t matter how long I was a cop—it was still hard to see people screw up their lives. But Margot had killed Heim, and I couldn’t find any forgiveness for that, even if she’d done it out of a twisted sense of love for her sister.

With her confession, Margot would remain in jail until her trial. After that, it would be up to a jury and judge to decide her fate. I suspected her lawyer would angle for an insanity plea.

Cooper had left town again. But this time he’d left with a big ol’ grin on his face and a cheeky promise that he’d be back when he needed a rest.

He’d finally found his horizon to chase. And Ordinary would always be a home when he needed one. It was still weird that Crow’s power had transferred back to the kiln. I guessed every rule had an exception.

And Ryder…I tried not to think about Ryder.

I thought about him constantly.

The door to the office opened and Jean sauntered in with a gust of cool air. “Guess who got her box filled with free hot donuts this morning?”

“Please tell me that’s not a euphemism,” Myra drawled.

Jean snorted and placed a pastry box down on the coffee station. “Maybe.”

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“I switched shifts with Roy for the week. Why are you here? Aren’t you still shot?”

“I’m healing. Might as well be sitting here doing paperwork instead of sitting at home being bored.”

She worked the lid off the box, her eyes dancing at the contents. “You’re setting a ridiculous standard that I hope you know I refuse to follow. If I get shot, I’m gone for a month, at least. Huckleberry twist?”

“Yes, please.”

She brought me the donut and took a bite out of a maple bar.

I took the knot of glazed huckleberry pastry. It was still warm. “You aren’t kidding. These are fresh.”

She grinned with her mouth full and held up one finger. She picked up my coffee cup and took a gulp, washing the donut down.

“Hey,” I said. “Sick person. Germs.”

“I’m not going to catch a bullet wound. I’ve been thinking about Ryder.”

My stomach flipped but I took a big bite so I couldn’t talk.

“About how he broke up with you in the hospital,” she added.

I had too much donut in my mouth to say anything, so I just glared at her.

Myra was still frowning, a piece of paper in one hand, her pen rocking between the fingers of her other hand.

“Did he say why?” Jean asked.

I stole back my coffee cup and drank. The donut had gone dry in my mouth and my appetite was gone. I didn’t want to talk about this with my sisters. I didn’t want to think about Ryder ever again.

Liar.

“Except that my sisters are suspicious and nosey?”

“He’s different,” Myra said.

“What?”

“Ever since he came back to town a year ago. It didn’t really hit me for a couple months, but there’s something different about him.”

“He’s eight years older?” I suggested.

Why are we talking about Ryder?

She shook her head. “Have you ever asked him about his college training?”

“Some. He got a degree in business and architecture. Why?”

Can we stop talking about Ryder?

“It’s hard to put my finger on it, but if you hadn’t told me what he majored in, I’d guess he’d gone into the military.”

I just sat there staring at her as the chill clenched my chest and stomach. She had just nailed the thing that had been niggling the back of my mind. How he’d come into the station when Margot was holding me at gunpoint. How he’d been calm, demanding, in control.

That wasn’t a small-town boy who had spent his autumns elk hunting. That was a man who knew how to handle firearms and people in life-threatening situations.

Jean hung up the phone. I hadn’t even heard it ring. “Mrs. Yates’ penguin is strapped to a surfboard tied to the jetty. And the tide is rolling in.”

I pressed my finger to my nose.

Jean did too, and Myra, who was seconds too late, swore. “Fine. I’ll go rescue the penguin while you two stay inside where it’s warm and eat donuts.”

“You told me to get some rest,” I said.

She stood and swung her coat on. “I told you to go home.”

“Well, maybe I will.”

I didn’t want to stay here and talk about Ryder any more, and I was pretty sure that was all Jean would want to do.

“What about me?” Jean asked.

“You get to stay and cover Roy’s shift just like you wanted to,” I said.

“Fine. But the donuts stay.”

Chapter 33

MY HOUSE was north of the station. I drove that way through the neighborhoods instead of the main street, weaving between yards peppered with tiny bungalows, rough-hewn cabins, and shiny new condominiums.

It would be easy to go home. It would be easy to rest, to take a few days off.

I had certainly earned it.

But I soon found myself driving out of town, north, just north, the road twisting against hills and fields, the ocean rolling deep and endless to my left. Towns even smaller than Ordinary huddled along the edges of the road, frequent and then fewer as more and more road stretched between them.

I found solace in the road, in the drive, the sound of the engine, the light and shadow of sunlight through trees soothing all my raw edges, inside and out. I tried not to think of Ryder.

All I thought about was Ryder.

Soon buildings were replaced by signs that pointed to rivers, trailheads, and campgrounds.

When the sign to Netarts came into view, I turned left toward the tiny community pressed up against the bay.

Curly’s was a chocolate-colored cedar shake one-story beach house with frothy white trim that perched at the highest end of a wide parking lot ending on a narrow beach and a couple boat ramps. The ice cream store had expanded by adding a barbecue smoker on the side porch, and the painted wooden sign declared desserts, espressos, and sandwiches were now served.

I smiled and got out of the Jeep. It was almost noon, and the day looked like it was going to warm up nicely.

Perfect day for ice cream.

I walked up the wooden stairs and across the covered porch. I stepped into the shop and the cheerful server, a young woman who didn’t know me, my job, my town, or my crazy life, guided me over to a table by the window.

I took the chair that put my back to the door and let me stare out over the bay and the ocean and blue sky beyond.

I ordered ice cream first because life is unpredictable. After that, I settled in for a sandwich. Since the shop wasn’t too busy, I ordered a coffee and let time drift as I stared out at the sand and sky and ocean and didn’t think about Ryder.

Much.

“Mind if I join you?”

I hadn’t expected anyone to find me here. My heart tumbled hard against my ribs, pumping out a flood of feelings too tangled to name.

“Ryder,” I said, my voice almost a whisper. “I don’t think I can do this here.”

“Do what?” he asked quietly. “Have dessert with me?”

I looked up at him. He wore a soft T-shirt and worn jeans, his work boots traded in for a pair of running shoes. His dark hair was mussed from the wind, hazel eyes almost gold in this light. He stood with his weight on one foot, as if uncertain that I would tell him to stay or to go.

He held a caramel sundae in one hand, his other hand tucked in his back pocket, leaving his elbow out at an awkward angle. He used to stand that way in high school when he had to read in front of the class.

“Did you follow me?”

“No. I just thought…” He glanced out the window, and something like sadness passed over his features. “I just thought you might be here. You told me you missed it. Missed this. I saw you leave town. So maybe. Maybe yes, I followed you. I almost didn’t, but then… Maybe I should go.”

Yes.

No.

“You’re here,” I said. “Sit down before your ice cream melts.”

He took the chair across from me, the blue sky and sand framing him as he stole their beauty.

I was still angry. But I’d known him all my life. It wasn’t like we hadn’t argued before. Gotten into fights. We both knew how to apologize, how to keep our friendship a friendship.

I wasn’t sure if that was what we had anymore, if we even had anything to keep.

“So Myra fired you,” I said over the top of my coffee as I held the cup to my lips. I didn’t drink, but I needed the illusion of a barrier between us.

He dug his spoon into the ice cream, mashing and mixing it beneath the caramel, gaze fixed on it, but not eating. “We knew this was a temporary thing.”

I wondered if he meant the job or us.

I took a sip of my coffee. It was cold. I set the cup down and we both stared carefully at the table between us.

“You said Old Rossi was right.” Ryder stuck his spoon in the melting mess of sundae and picked up the paper napkin, wiping his fingers on it. His gaze lifted to catch mine. “Right about what?”

“I don’t think that matters now.”

Gold. His eyes were pools of mossy gold ringed by deep green. I’d been looking into those eyes for so many years. Looking for the man I thought I could love.

“Please, Delaney.”

Myra said he had come home a different man than when he had left. But this man in front of me was the man I’d always known. My once-friend. My always-and-never love, Ryder Bailey.

“He wasn’t happy we hired you. Thought you would be trouble.”

“He said that?”

“Yes.”

“I wasn’t trouble.”

I raised my eyebrows. He winced and looked down.