Kiss Them Goodbye (26 page)

Most of the corridor lights were burned out. Vivian counted doors until she arrived at the room she thought was probably above hers.

The door stood partly open. She reached inside and felt around for the light switch. Apart from clicks, moving it up and down produced nothing. A musty odor made her nostrils flare. Somehow the entire house had to be aired regularly.

Vivian stepped through the opening and cried out. She’d stubbed her toe on a brass doorstop that had been used to keep the door open. She bent to pick up the stop and smiled, couldn’t help it. The episode began to feel like frames from an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

Inside the room, faint moonlight washed a bed, another four-poster with a wooden canopy, a freestanding wardrobe and white-draped shapes of other pieces of furniture. Vivian gave the door a push, opening it wide, and did her best to look around. She heard nothing, which probably meant any unwanted furry friends had skittered away, but she’d need to check for droppings. A lamp stood on a draped table in front of the window and she hurried to see if it had a working bulb.

It didn’t.

At least she’d put her irrational fears to rest and could go and get some sleep.

When she turned back from the windows, a shadowy shape confronted Vivian. A woman in loose, pale clothes, her face indistinguishable in the almost darkness.

Vivian screamed. She screamed, and jumped so violently her legs buckled and she landed on her knees. With her face covered, she bent over, waiting for her pounding heart to explode. Breathing through her mouth, she struggled to calm down, and to find the courage to look up again.

Inch by inch she raised her face. The woman facing her across the room also knelt.

“Damn,” she muttered. “Damn, damn, damn.” The woman she saw was herself reflected in a mirror on the wardrobe door, a door which had swung open.

Shaky and exasperated, she stumbled to her feet. Time to get out of here and stop playing games with her own head.

What had caused the wardrobe door to open?

It happened. End of story.

But now she had to pass the open wardrobe to get to the door. One deep breath and she started forward, watching her reflection in the mirror as she went.

She reached the wardrobe.

”
Vivian
?” Her name, whispered, rushed to envelop her. Muscles in her neck and throat bunched and beat out a pulse of their own. She couldn’t breathe.

The wardrobe door slammed shut. Vivian saw the looming outline of a man, his arms outstretched, his fingers reaching. She went for the gun in her pocket and wrenched it out. Her face flashed hot while the rest of her body felt frozen.

She threw herself at him and tried to shout for help, but her throat wouldn’t move. He was no apparition. When she collided with him he was so solid she would have fallen back if he hadn’t grasped her, one big hand like iron closing on her right wrist, the other around her waist, holding her in an embrace that stole her breath. He shook her wrist, worked his fingers over hers to release them from the gun. She closed her mind to the pain and locked her joints in place.

He cursed softly, pried her fingers apart, and she heard the gun hit the floor and slide.

She had feet.

Vivian kicked, sending pains through her toes inside soft slippers. And she used her left hand, her fingernails. He might kill her, but he’d be carrying enough of her DNA to convict him for it, and his would be on her.

”
Vivian.
” He shook her.

His face would never look the same when she’d finished with it.

“Vivian, it’s Spike!”

O
f all the crazy…She was scared out of her wits. Okay, he could buy that but what would make her mistake him for someone dangerous? Vivian had behaved as if she didn’t know who he was.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he told her through his teeth. Now she was showing signs of collapsing, dammit. “Hold on, I don’t want to trip. Where are the lights?” He lifted her and sat her on the edge of the bed. Dust didn’t fly up in clouds so he guessed he should be grateful for that. “Now, stay put until you calm down.”

He could hear her breath dragging in and out of her lungs.

“You don’t even know me well enough to figure out who I am when you touch me—or hear my voice—or smell me, damn it? I could pick out your scent through manure.”

She actually giggled.

“Pleased I can amuse you,” he said. “Or is all this because you don’t trust me? Is that it? What we’ve had is
all about sex, but you aren’t sure I’m not a killer playing both sides of the fence? If that’s the case—”

“Shut up while you’re not ahead, you idiot.”

Okay, okay, he’d calm down and give her a chance to get over the shock she’d apparently suffered.

“How could you ask me questions like you just did?” she said. “You don’t know why I acted like that. You’re horrible. Mean. You say whatever comes into your head as long as it makes you feel like a big man.”

Spike stood in front of her and shoved his hands into his pockets. When she was composed enough he’d point out that discovering she had a gun on him hadn’t been a great sensation, either.

“All about sex? You should be so lucky. You’re supposed to be my friend.” Her voice caught and she hunched over. “What are you doing sneaking around up here, anyway? On this floor? Are the others going to come here, too, for some reason? Boy, are you going to have some explaining to do. You thought it was funny to scare me out of my skin, didn’t you?”

“That’s enough, Vivian.” She was shocked and he must not let his temper take over. “You left abruptly and it worried me. The rest of them aren’t coming up here because they have no idea you aren’t in your room. And they think I’ve gone outside to talk with Bonine and Wiley.”

“You
lied
to my mother?”

“I didn’t tell the truth to anyone in that kitchen. All I wanted to do was make sure you were okay. Know why?”

“No,” she said.

“Want to know why?”

“No.”

“That does it. You know damn well why. I don’t know how you feel about me because you haven’t told me. Maybe all this is giving me the answer now. I tried not
to love you, but I couldn’t do a thing about it in the end. I told you that today. Know what I’m spending my time worrying about now?”

“No.” She sounded subdued.

“Your neighbors want to buy you out. If they do, you have nothing to keep you around here and you’ll probably leave. That’s what’s making holes in my stomach.”

“You make me so mad,” she told him. “How did you find me up here?”

“I make
you
mad? By…Boa was on her way down from this floor. I didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out you might be here, since you weren’t in your room.”

“How do you know which is my room?”

“Damn the woman,” he said to the ceiling. “I try to come to her, to comfort her, and she gives
me
the third degree.”

“How do you know what my feelings are? You think we’ll sell Rosebank and I’ll leave without looking back. Thanks for the confidence, but you’re right, of course. I’m only ever interested in a little sex without strings.” She got off the bed and before he guessed what she might do, slapped his face with an open hand—and started to cry.

Nothing he did or said was right.

She cried harder and turned her back on him.

Spike shut the door and stood behind her. He put his arms around her and kissed the back of her neck. She had been trembling when he touched her, now she shook even more.

“Neither of us is makin’ any sense,” he said quietly. “But we could. We could make a lot of sense right now.”

“You’re angry. You’re trying not to sound it, but you are.”

Yes, he was. Angry that the two of them could seem to have come so far only to arrive at an episode like this.

“You’re not denying it.” Vivian tried to pull his arms away but he wouldn’t let her go. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why?”

“Because…You know why.”

He knew. “Because you’re afraid I’ll try to make love to you?”

Once more she plucked at his hands. Her breasts rose and fell against his forearms. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” she said. “You want some of that sex you think is the only reason I like being around you. Damn you, Spike Devol.”

“And you don’t want it?” He felt sweat on his forehead and between his shoulder blades. His heart pounded. And he was hot, inside and out.

“I never took you for a violent man, but I feel it in you now.”

He closed his eyes. “I’m not violent. I’ve never been called that until now.”

Vivian reached behind her and drove her fingertips into his thighs. “How wide is the line between passion and violence? There isn’t a line, is there? It’s all the same. Even so-called gentle loving is a kind of violent thing.”

Spike kissed the side of her neck this time, took nips at her skin and the lobe of her ear. Her crying turned into a shaky sighing, and the heat within him made his vision red behind his eyelids.

Her fingertips ran down until her hands were flat on his thighs, slid around as far as she could reach and urged him closer. Some things were beyond a man’s control. Right now there was nothing he could do about his erection, the fact that she’d feel it all too well, or the truth that pounded through his body. Violence? Maybe. Passion? Oh, yeah.

“Spike.”

Spinning her around, he brought his mouth down
hard on hers. They shifted their faces, searching and reaching. He held her head and held her face wherever he wanted it to allow his entry into her mouth, and he made a demand with every tongue thrust.

“I’m goin’ to take you,” he told her. “Say you don’t want it, now, or I’ll believe we both want the same thing.”

Vivian didn’t tell him no, she couldn’t. She had to have him. And she didn’t attempt to unbutton his shirt but tore at it instead. He pulled her hands away and trapped her against the bed with his legs. The shirt came off over his head and she kissed his broad, naked chest before he’d had time to free his arms.

He dragged off his belt.

She unzipped his pants and knew one reason why he was desperate to get out of his clothes. His penis strained and had to hurt in the confinement.

The fingers of one of his hands settling around her neck and the sensation that he locked his elbow and held her off weakened her knees. With his other hand he tore her robe open, and ripped her nightie from neck to hem.

Vivian wanted to cry out but once again had no voice. And she wanted him, all of him, and at his wildness she began to pulse between her legs, to burn, and tried to press her thighs together.

“Tell me,” he said, confusing her. “Tell me if you feel anything for me.” He didn’t stop moving and was naked now. “
Tell me.
”

“I do,” she said. He’d bent over her breasts and pulled on a nipple with his lips and teeth. She grabbed his hair in both hands and held him against her. Spike covered her other breast and squeezed.

With his face buried beneath her jaw, he slid his hands around her hips, gripped her bottom, parting the cheeks, and threw her backward on the bed. She fell and he fell on top of her.

Spike’s hands were all over her. Her flesh ached from her center, the desperation of her response to him spreading in searing waves.

He drove himself into her and she cried out from the invasion, the stretching, the shock. His sobs brought a lump to her throat. Again and again he withdrew until she thought he would leave her, but each time he penetrated her afresh, drove her farther across the bed.

Thin moonlight showed her his features, drawn as if in agony.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered, raising her hips to meet his. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to keep what we have.”

He pounded into her and her climax broke. Almost at once, Spike cried out with his own release. They jerked together, clutching at as much as they could feel of each other.

Spike grew heavy and still atop her. He gathered her into his arms and held her tightly. “I can’t believe you’re here with me. But you are and we can keep whatever we want badly enough.”

“Stay with me,” she whispered. “I want you to stay a part of me.”

He kissed her lips softly, licked the smooth skin just inside softly. “I want to be a part of you,
cher.
Whatever happens, you’ll be with me for as long as I live.”

“I’m frightened for us, Spike. But I love you.”

The fifth day

“W
hat’s up?” Jilly Gable asked Madge. “You sick or somethin’? You look miserable.”

Madge’s feelings had always shown on her face. “Guess we all have glum days. This town doesn’t feel like itself to me.” She’d lost interest in her biscuits and gravy.

Jilly poured a cup of coffee for herself and joined Madge at her table. “Short rush this morning,” she said. They were alone in the shop. Her blond-streaked brown hair had been cut to her shoulders and looked pretty and as superthick as it really was. “I know what you mean about things feelin’ different. Everyone seems down. It’s got to be the deaths at Rosebank upsettin’ all of us.”

As long as Madge could recall, Jilly had worn her hair almost to her waist. Even the idea of her getting it cut off could be another depressing thought. Beautiful as always, her gray-green eyes were a bit sad, Madge thought, and her pale coffee skin didn’t glow the same as usual.

“Do you think that’s what it is?” Jilly said.

“Yes. A couple more miles and Rosebank would be in St. Martin Parish. Green Veil, or Serenity House, or whatever they call it—same thing. And the folks there are pretty much a part of this town now. They change it because they’re different. Not Charlotte and Vivian, really, but—”

“The other ones,” Jilly finished for her. “You don’t like them?”

Madge looked over her shoulder, half expecting to find Cyrus waiting for her answer, a frown on his face. She cleared her throat. “I don’t know them but they have an attitude. They came to the rectory, y’know. Lil was the only one there and they started right in on how they thought the Patins needed help and they wanted to be the ones to help them. Then, the next thing we find out, Susan’s talking about buying Rosebank. And I don’t think that’s because they want to help at all. I think they want the property, period.”

Jilly nodded. “Whenever someone mentions Lil, I think about Oribel Scully and the awful Fuglies sculpture on the rectory lawn. No wonder that woman ended up in a sanitarium. She never could have been right but she sure ran that rectory tight.”

“Hoo mama,” Madge said, looking into the distance and seeing how things used to be when Oribel was around. “I heard Marc Girard’s sister, Amy, intervened for leniency on Oribel’s daughter’s kidnapping sentence. That takes a big heart—tryin’ to help a woman who did you wrong. We’ve had a couple of bad years around here.”

“Now we got more trouble,” Jilly said, deep shadows in her eyes.

Madge didn’t like making her friend feel even worse by dragging up the past.

“I know Marc and Reb would like Amy to let them
know where she is and come home, but she says she isn’t ready,” Jilly said. “Maybe she will be one day.”

She drank coffee and smiled at Madge. “Wouldn’t you like to know what Susan Hurst and Dr. Morgan are up to? I hear about how there’s been a lot of renovation done to the house, but if I ask a question about specifics, I get turned off. It’s almost like the people who worked out there were told not to talk about it.”

“Yes, but who keeps a tight lip around here, even if they’re told to?” Madge laughed. “Every secret that’s told at eight in the morning is being talked about all over town by nine.”

“Maybe they were paid to zip their lips,” Jilly suggested.

Madge shivered. “That Olympia gives me the creeps. It’s as if she doesn’t hear anything that’s said to her unless it’s about Miss Southern Belle or how good she looks. Kinda like a talkin’ doll.” She looked at her watch. “I’m worried about Cyrus. He takes everybody’s troubles on his shoulders. Young Wally Hibbs and that critter of his were over at the rectory first thing, just sittin’ in Cyrus’s office and not sayin’ a thing. Cyrus is preoccupied all the time and he isn’t eatin’ enough. Between supportin’ Spike and Vivian and tryin’ to help out there, and dealin’ with the altar society tryin’ to get rid of poor Oribel’s Fuglies, he hardly has any time. If he doesn’t hurry up gettin’ here, he won’t even have time for coffee before heading over to Joe’s.”

“What’s going on over there, anyway?” Jilly asked. “Joe mentioned having a big meeting this morning, but then he clammed up. Now you say Cyrus is going.”

“Joe’s reading a will.” She’d better not reveal anything more. “Cyrus isn’t going to hear the reading, just be around if he’s needed.”

Jilly frowned. “Why? You can’t say stuff like that, then leave me hangin’.”

“I shouldn’t say. Cyrus would be mad.”

“You really care what will or won’t make Cyrus mad, don’t you?” Jilly screwed up her face. “Forget that crack. He’s your boss and you need to follow his wishes. After I close up this evenin’ I’m takin’ a box of his favorites over to the rectory. Marzipan tarts, best of the best at All Tarted Up, Flakiest Pastry in Town as far as he’s concerned. I’ll do up a few of those meat pies he loves, too. I need another batch so I can give a couple to Gaston. I swear those pies are the reason that dog’s so smart. Even Reb says so now. Maybe I’ll run some over to Rosebank for that little Boa girl. Yep, I’ll just do that.”

Madge knew Jilly had been half in love with Spike and that they’d both been down when things didn’t work out. But trust Jilly to put all that aside and be nice to Vivian.

The pastry shop bell rang and Cyrus came in. One look at his face and Madge knew he wouldn’t make her feel any better. “It’s nine,” she told him. “Lil said you didn’t eat breakfast so you’d better have something here quickly before you have to go.”

A smile transformed his handsome face. “What would I do without you taking care of me?” he said. “See how useless I am, Jilly? Madge has to make sure I don’t starve.”

Jilly was on her feet and going behind the counter. Without looking at Cyrus she said, “I never met a man who didn’t like to pretend he was helpless so he could get a woman to look after him. Guess you’re like the rest. Human.” Still, she didn’t look at him, but Madge did and she regretted the vague confusion she saw in his face.

“Jilly’s joshin’ you, Cyrus. She knows you’re capable of doin’ everything for yourself.”

He turned and gave her his full attention. “Am I?” he said, so serious she couldn’t help but notice, yet again,
how the corners of his mouth flipped up naturally. “I really don’t think I am, Miz Madge. In fact, I think I’d be lost without you. It’s a foolish man who doesn’t give credit where it’s due.” He turned away again, sharply, and ordered scrambled eggs and toast.

Madge blinked back tears. She was the luckiest woman in the world to know Cyrus Payne, to work for him and to call him her friend.

The shop bell jangled again, this time because Ellie Byron and Bill Green came in. “You’re here, Father Cyrus,” Ellie said, panting as if she’d run all the way from Hungry Eyes. “Bill thought you would be. Can I talk to you, please?”

Madge watched the way Cyrus patted her arm and smiled at her so that her tensed face relaxed. “Shall we sit in the window?” he asked.

“Well—”

“I’ve got to get over to Rosebank,” Bill said. “Homer Devol and I are starting work on decorating guest rooms, so those ladies can get going with their renting. Homer can’t get away for more than a couple of hours here and there so we’ve got to make the best of every minute.” Bill wore an old pair of overalls and a green check shirt, open at the neck. A nice-looking man, Madge thought, even if he wouldn’t stick out in a crowd—surely not if Cyrus were there.

“Thanks for knowing where Cyrus might be,” Ellie said, and gave Bill a wave as he left. “He’s a good man,” she said.

“Coffee for you, Ellie?” Jilly called. “I always think it’s nice to be waited on instead of waiting—now and again, anyway.” She chuckled.

“Yes, please.” Ellie raised her face to look at Cyrus. “I’d be happy talking with both you and Madge. If you didn’t trust her, she wouldn’t be where she is. That’s good enough for me.”

Once they were all seated, Ellie laced her fingers on top of the table and leaned forward. She looked from Madge to Cyrus. “This wasn’t a good idea. Runnin’ to you. In fact it’s a terrible idea. I probably imagined things and I’d best just run along back and get the shop opened.”

Cyrus didn’t have a strong measure of Ellie because she was a loner who kept pretty much to herself. What he did know about her, he liked. He’d learned to trust his instincts and his instincts told him this woman was good, if a little unhappy.

She braced her hands on the edge of the table, about to get up.

“I’m always like that when I’ve made up my mind to do something but then had too long to think about it,” Madge said. “I feel silly. Usually I’m convinced my logic is faulty.”

“Nothing you say will go beyond this table,” Cyrus said. “Unless you want it to, of course.”

“That’s just it. I don’t know what I want because I’m not sure I’ve got anything to say in the first place. I can be vague and misplace things. That’s probably what I’ve done now.”

Jilly brought Ellie’s coffee, Cyrus’s eggs and toast, and a plate of pastries. She left immediately. Jilly was one of those perfect hosts who sensed when she should or shouldn’t hover.

“Hang in here with us,” Cyrus said to Ellie. “If there’s something troubling you and we can help, then let us help. But I don’t want to press you.”

He stuck his fork into a large marzipan tart, conveniently set down to face him by Jilly, and transferred it to his plate—on top of the toast. “Marzipan tarts are my favorite things. I’ll just have to do another lap around St. Cécil’s grounds to work this off.”

“Like you need to,” Madge said. “Some things aren’t
fair. All I have to do is look at one of those things and I get another inch on my hips.”

Cyrus smiled at her. He saw absolutely no sign of Madge putting on weight. “Have one of these pastries, Ellie.” He wished he knew more about her. Perhaps he’d get closer to her now that she’d come to him for help.

“No, thank you,” she said. “Do you ever put things where you’re sure you’ll remember, then forget where that was?”

Madge laughed aloud and Cyrus chuckled himself. “I think Madge is laughing at me,” he said. “She has one or two names she uses for that particular foible in her boss.”

“So you do it.” Ellie pointed at him but appeared deeply involved in her own thoughts. “Oh, thank you for making me feel better. I won’t trouble you any longer.”

“Ellie,” Madge said. “You’re looking for any way to chicken out. You didn’t go to Bill Green asking where he thought Cyrus might be just because you hoped Cyrus would admit he has brain farts.”

Cyrus looked at her sharply. Ellie was already laughing and gripping her sides but Madge’s face wore a wary expression since she was clearly waiting to see which way he’d go with his response.

She delighted him over and over again—and surprised him. “Is that so?” he asked her. “Nice turn of phrase. I’m writing a homily about making decisions based on whims. Brain farts could be useful.”

“No, they couldn’t,” Madge said, trying not to laugh with the rest of them.

“I think someone’s been getting into the shop at night and going through the books,” Ellie said abruptly. She snatched up a Danish, looked at it, wrinkled her nose and put it down again.

Cyrus wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“But it could be that I put things in different order than I think I do, though.” She turned pink. “My stock is real big. It wouldn’t be so hard to put books in the wrong place.”

“Have you always done this?” Cyrus asked, knowing the answer.

”
No.
” Ellie’s response was fierce. “I’ve always been able to go right to a book without…” She snapped her mouth shut and carefully took a nut from the top of the Danish. After examining all sides, she put it in her mouth and chewed.

“Is this your first bookshop?” Cyrus asked, and felt guilty for prying.

“No.”

“How many times has this happened?” Madge asked.

“Three nights in a row. I was going to tell Spike but I feel so stupid. How do you prove a thing like this?”

With difficulty, Cyrus thought. “Couldn’t it be that customers do it? Folks have a way of doing what’s most convenient. Just the other day I was in the grocery store lookin’ at the fruit—not a pretty sight, by the way. Anyway, this lady pushes her cart up in front of the pomegranates and gets all excited. Seems she really likes pomegranates. So she bags some up, then takes a box of cereal and a piece of fish, all rolled up in paper where it had been specially cut for her, and leaves ’em on the apples. They were next to the pomegranates. She smiled at me like that was the most normal thing in the world and said she couldn’t afford all of it so she’d have the pomegranates instead of
those.
And off she goes.”

Ellie squinted at him and waited, like there was something else to say.

“And?” Madge said. He could always rely on Madge to help him out if he lost the gist of something he was saying.

“Ah, careless people,” he said with a sense of relief
when he saw the route back to the point he’d set out to make. “They don’t like to be bothered with goin’ back and puttin’ things they don’t want where they came from.”

Both women stared at him until he took his fork to the tart and concentrated on eating every tender crumb before moving on to his eggs.

Ellie cleared her throat. She ignored her coffee and drank water instead. “You’re probably right. It’s just that there’s a kind of pattern. Each book I find out of place is on art of some kind, or it was until this morning. Oh, and I forgot to say it’s never new books, only the secondhand and collectible ones. Rare clocks of the world. Valuable pottery and glass, the kind that sells for millions at auction. Paintings. Several of those. Tapestry. Rugs. Chinese antiques. On and on like that until this morning.”

Cyrus thought it best to let her talk on her own timetable.

“This morning it was different,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder. “It made me think there could be something sinister about it. They didn’t put the books back.”

“Yes,” Cyrus said.

“That is, if I didn’t just miss them there last night and a customer had been considering buying one of them then changed his mind.”

“Like the fish,” Cyrus said.

“
Not
like the fish,” Madge told him. “There weren’t any pomegranates, just books and more books.”