Infamous (43 page)

“Why didn’t they stay there?” Alison asked.

“They did for a while—for a few years,” he told her.

He tugged her down so that she sat beside him on his sofa, which was made from impossibly soft leather. She sank into it, leaning back against him, his arm around her shoulders, as she watched the dancing flames. Jamie and Melody had probably sat in this very spot countless times. Not on this particular sofa, of course, since it was one that A.J. had made. But they’d surely sat on something comfortable, pulled up close to the fire.

“But then Quinn found them.”

“What?” She turned to look at A.J., and he took the opportunity to kiss her, which, over the past few days had nearly always led to more kisses and, yes, the idea of making love on this couch, in front of a fire, was a tempting one, but she wanted to hear this. So she pulled back. “Quinn found them? In San Francisco?”

“Yeah,” A.J. said, smiling at her. His hair had dried going every which way, making him look like an adorable blend of little boy and full-grown man. He was very good-looking, and in firelight he was even more attractive. Especially when he looked at her that way—as if he couldn’t get enough of her. “It’s kind of an ugly story. Nutshell version, Quinn hired Pinkerton agents to locate them. Jamie and Melody were careful, but these guys were good. It was the summer of 1900. August. Quinn hired someone to engage Jamie in a high-stakes poker game, and while it was going, he broke into their hotel room, and nearly beat Melody to death.”

“Oh, God,” Alison said.

“It was bad,” A.J. said. “Jamie always hated telling this story, and it wasn’t until I was older that I figured it out—that Quinn had raped Melody. Jamie blamed himself for leaving her alone, or for not being more careful, or God knows what. He also knew that he was lucky that Quinn didn’t just kill her. And the only reason Quinn didn’t do
that
was because he knew he didn’t stand a chance against Jamie any other way. This way, Jamie would walk in, and Quinn would be sitting there, with his gun aimed at Melody. Jamie would immediately surrender his weapons, at which point
Quinn would be able to kill him. It was a two-fer for Quinn, because he wanted to make Melody watch as Jamie died.

“So he tied her up. And then he sat back and had a cigar while he waited for Jamie to return.”

Alison sat there, her head against A.J.’s shoulder, gazing into the fire and trying to imagine the horror that Melody had felt. Beaten, raped, tied up, and knowing that her lover was probably going to be murdered because she couldn’t do anything to stop his killer …

“It was the cigar that tipped Jamie off,” A.J. told her. “He smelled it out in the hallway, before he put his key in the lock and, God, he must’ve just gone cold. He crept outside, climbed up to the balcony, and came in through the window, guns blazing. He shot Quinn in the chest, untied Melody, and got her the hell out of there.” He paused. “You know, he never went into detail when he told this story. He never told me what it was like climbing up the outside of that building, even though their room was on the fourth floor. He’d pulled some kind of amazing superhero stunt, but he never wanted to talk about it.”

“Because he got there too late,” Alison pointed out. “He saved Melody’s life, yeah. But … God, what a nightmare.”

“Yeah,” A.J. said. “Especially when they found out that Quinn survived his gunshot wound. Melody was certain he’d come after them again. It got to the point where she couldn’t sleep or eat, her anxiety was so intense. So Jamie brought her up here. Built this cabin on this spot, because at the time, the glacier made this part of the mountain impenetrable. Now there’s a road behind here that goes all the way down the hill and back again toward town, but at the time there was only one trail in and out. Plus they had the view of the harbor from their porch, so they could keep track of any ships coming in. Jamie kept the place stocked with food and ammunition. This cabin was a fortress.”

“Why not just kill Quinn?” Alison asked. “Turn the table on him—hunt
him
down?”

“Jamie would have had to leave Melody alone to do it,” A.J. said. “No way was he going to bring her back to Jubilation. And maybe the original plan was to bring her up here, put
some guards in place, and head back south. But once they were here? She just loved it so much. She felt safe. Plus, by then, there was a baby on the way.”

“I’ve got to find those diaries,” she said. “You know, Henry Logan wants to make a sequel:
Quinn Part Two
. Or maybe he should call it
Gallagher.”

“Seriously?”

“Same cast, Jamie’s version of the story. He was really lit up by the idea.”

“Add an exclamation point,” A.J. suggested, “and we can make it a musical.”

Alison laughed. “I like it. Dancing cowboys. Singing silver miners. The Kelly Gang pirouetting wildly around the Red Rock Saloon.”

“Right now,” he said, with a laugh, “they’re rolling over in their graves. So what’s the plan for tomorrow? Because Bev called while we were at dinner—she left a message on my machine. She wants to have breakfast with you, if you’re up for it. I figured you would be, since she’s actually read the diaries.”

“That sounds good.” Alison reached for her bag, which was leaning up against the end table, and dug for her calendar. “I’m also hoping to interview Adam. And your mother. And … what is it you always say? For the sake of full disclosure, one of the things I want to talk to her about is … you.”

A.J. wasn’t all that surprised.

“Hmm,” he said. “Are you thinking about forming an alliance and voting me off the island?”

Alison was wearing his bathrobe, with absolutely nothing on underneath it, and as she shifted to put her calendar down on the coffee table, the top gapped, giving him not just a flash, but an extremely nice display of her right breast.

He’d never been much of a look-but-don’t-touch type, and when it came to Alison’s breasts it was hard to touch without tasting, which resulted in his unfastening her entire robe and pulling her down on the sofa, and touching and tasting just
about every part of her he could reach with his hands and his mouth.

They were both too tall to fit on the couch at the same time, so he moved onto the floor, kneeling there as he kissed her.

He felt more than heard her laugh, and he looked up across the fire-lit smoothness of her skin—her stomach, her breasts, and the graceful lines of her collarbone and throat—and into her smiling eyes.

“Hello,” she said. “We
were
talking. I’ve noted that’s your MO. You don’t want to have a certain conversation, so suddenly—what a surprise—we’re having sex.”

“I didn’t want to not talk. I just thought we were done,” he said and lowered his head again.

“So … you don’t want to know specifically what I want to ask your mother about?” she asked breathlessly, adding, “Oh, God, whatever you just did, do it again.…”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “I thought you wanted to talk.”

“I do,” she said. “But oh, my God. Whatever that was, remember that for later, okay?”

“I can do this and listen at the same time,” he told her, then proved his point.

“No, you can’t,” she gasped. “Because I can’t … do this … and
talk
 … and make … any sense.…”

“You’re doing okay,” he said. At least he meant to say that, but it may not have come out clearly.

“A.J.,” she breathed, her hands in his hair. “Oh, God … Oh, yes … Oh,
yes
 …”

It was beautiful, the way she came undone and he wanted to watch her, but he wanted to taste her, too, and his need to taste won. Later, he’d do the same thing with just his hands and let himself look.

He loved that there would be a later almost as much as he loved the way she responded to him—always and instantly. As if her body felt absolutely no hesitation—that at least part of her believed they were meant to be together.

As if she were thinking along the same lines, her sigh of
contentment contained exasperation. “Is that your plan?” she said. “Have sex for four days straight? Get me completely addicted so I’ll just never leave?”

“I don’t really have a plan,” he admitted as he pulled himself back onto the couch, sitting with her legs across his lap. They were long and smooth, and again he couldn’t look without touching. So he touched.

She made no attempt to cover herself back up as she lay there, just gazing at him. “Jamie’s family—back in Philadelphia—was devoutly Catholic,” she said.

It seemed like an abrupt change of subject, but A.J. went with it. “Yeah,” he said. “I read that in your book.”

“You didn’t know?” she asked. “Before?”

“No,” he said. “Jamie didn’t go to church.”

“Never?” she asked.

“Not when I knew him,” A.J. said. “Although, he
did
go to weddings and funerals. The occasional Christmas pageant. But that was it.”

“Huh,” she said. “I guess I just expected … I don’t know. Maybe that someone who’s become a spirit—his word, right?”

A.J. nodded.

“I guess I assumed that in life he’d been … spiritual.”

“You don’t have to attend church for that,” A.J. said. “He was … a deep thinker. A reader. He was always reading something. But he also kept his Bible on the table next to his bed. I know he read it, because sometimes when I went into his room, it was open. It had one of those ribbon markers, you know? A red one. I always liked to touch it, it was so smooth and shiny. He gave it to me—the Bible—for my eleventh birthday. Well, he was intending to give it to me. He’d written in it and bought some paper and a bow, but he hadn’t wrapped it yet. I found it in his dresser drawer after he died.”

“Really?” She sat up. “Do you still have it?”

“Of course.”

Alison pulled her legs off him, so he could stand up and cross to the built-in bookshelves—the same shelves upon
which Jamie and Melody had kept their few precious books when they’d first moved north. It was probably where Melody had stored her diaries.

“How about you?” Alison asked, as she closed her robe and tied the belt securely around her waist.

What a shame.

A.J. knew exactly where Jamie’s Bible was, and he pulled it free. “How about me what?” he asked as he brought it to her.

“Do you consider yourself religious?” she asked, tilting her head to look up at him.

He had to smile. “What, do you think my seeing Jamie is the result of my having some super-fanatical religious paroxysm or something?”

“I’m just trying to figure it all out,” Alison said.

“I believe in a higher power,” he told her as he sat down next to her, “but I wouldn’t go so far as to give it a gender and a name. Sure, I’ve read the Bible. And I’ve read a lot of books by people who offer explanations for what they think it all means. I don’t agree with any of them—not a hundred percent. And I
really
don’t agree with the people who get in my face and tell me that
their
interpretation is the only one of value, with this implication that they have some kind of direct line to their God. The really ridiculous thing is that they’re too stupid to realize that by doing that, they’re breaking one of their own commandments:
Thou shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain
.”

She was flipping through the book, and he could tell that she was a little disappointed. It was a cheaply made edition, with a cardboard cover. It was clearly not the expensive leather-bound Bible Jamie had surely been given upon his first communion, back in Philly in the late 1800s.

In fact, she checked the printing date as, curious, A.J. looked over her shoulder.

1944.

“That makes sense,” A.J. said. “Because Melody gave it to him. Probably after she found out that she was dying.” He reached over to flip the pages to the front, where Melody had
inscribed a note to Jamie, and years later, Jamie had written to A.J.

Melody’s handwriting was careful and neat.

My darling Jamie, My body is worn, but my spirit still sings. And my love for you will never die. Words are cold comfort, I know, but I hope and pray you will find some warmth within. Always yours, Melody
.

Beneath it, Jamie had written in his spidery hand,
To Austin James Gallagher the Second, on the eleventh momentous anniversary of his birth. A man needs to know right from wrong, but should never follow blindly. Also, a life well-lived with kindness and respect for others is the ultimate hosanna and will be recognized as such by whoever up there is in charge. (I suspect it might be Mel by now … ) Live, laugh, sing, dance, but most of all, LOVE with all your heart. Eternally yours, Austin James Gallagher the First, aka Gramps
.

Alison was silent as she read both inscriptions. And then she must have read them both again, and yet again, because she didn’t speak and didn’t look up.

“I always thought he knew he was going to die,” A.J. said quietly, “because he wrote that inscription months before my birthday. I mean, yeah, he always planned ahead, but … He told me he didn’t know. I asked him—recently, you know—and he said he was as surprised as we were when he passed. But I still think he somehow knew it was coming. Subconsciously, maybe.”

She turned to look at him, and her eyes were filled with tears. “You must have loved him so much. And his affection for you is apparent in every word that he wrote.”

A.J. knew where she was going. Jamie was obviously so important to him. It made sense that he should imagine him back again.

“How did I do it, Alison?” he asked her, trying not to let his frustration tinge his voice. “Reading those words that you wrote? I couldn’t even see you clearly from where I was standing.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s just so … I don’t know.
Maybe you
could
see me. Maybe you have really amazing vision, and you could tell what I was writing from the way my pen moved—”

“But I also read from the script.”

“Maybe you got a copy. Maybe you memorized it.”

“If you seriously think I’d do something like that—”

“I don’t,” she said. “I’m just looking for explanations.”

“How about the simplest one?” he countered. “That Jamie really did come back, for whatever reason, and that I really can see and hear him.”