The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks - lanyon Josh - Страница 17

Perry read it on the computer monitor, heart pounding, cold sweat breaking out all over his body like he was coming down with flu.

I’m sorry, Marcel had written. I don’t know what else to say. I thought it was over between Gerry and me -- maybe it is, but I have to give it one last chance. I hope we can still be friends. You are a special person in my life, and I know you will soon find someone as special as you.

Perry sat there breathing slowly and quietly, oblivious to the quiet business conducted around him.

It was over. He already knew that, but somehow seeing it in black-and-white ten-point Times New Roman made it more real. He had hoped that once they recovered from the make-up sex, Marcel and Gerry would quickly see how very wrong for each other they were. But clearly this was not the case. Even now they were probably having brunch before going for a long walk on the beach and then heading over to SFMOMA.

Amazing how much pain you could feel and still keep breathing…

And suddenly Perry had had all he could take for one day. He logged off the computer, told his indifferent coworkers good-bye, and got into his car.

Twilight was falling as he drove through the woods. Usually he loved this time of the evening, the gloaming. Trees towered in inky silhouette against a sky that was coolly and mysteriously absent of color. The lineament of fiery foliage was black and ragged in the failing light.

For the first time, Perry realized just how isolated the Alston Estate was. Witch Hollow Wood separated the mansion and grounds from the nearest farm, and the village of Fox Run was twenty miles away.

Mist rose from stygian water as he drove through the long covered bridge. The car tires thumped in the funereal silence.

* * * * *

Because his thoughts had been on Marcel all day, it surprised Perry to realize that he was missing Nick as he let himself in the front door of the old house.

He wondered again if Nick would take the job in California. He couldn’t imagine that he wouldn’t pass the interview, whatever it was. It was hard to picture anyone more capable than Nick Reno. Of course, it didn’t -- shouldn’t -- really matter to him, one way or the other, but the thought of Nick leaving was depressing.

He closed the door and turned the deadbolt. Tattered green holiday garland wound haphazardly up the long banister. More garland draped drunkenly from the chandelier. It probably would have constituted a fire hazard, but the chandelier, like most of the original electrical fixtures did not work. Instead, ugly modern lights had been installed. They glared down on the empty room highlighting the dust, the threadbare upholstery of the battered chairs, the discarded ladder still lying next to the staircase.

From down the hall he could hear Mrs. Mac’s television blaring the local evening news: traffic accidents and sports results -- sometimes it was difficult to tell the difference. Lights shone beneath Jane’s door, and he briefly considered stopping by for a visit.

The thought of Mr. Fluffy discouraged him, his chest tightening at the thought of all that cat hair and dander. Besides, he really didn’t have the energy for small talk. He continued up the stairway, thinking that before the disastrous weekend he’d had his plans for the future to keep him company.

Now there was nothing to look forward to.

Even as the thought registered, he rejected it impatiently. He would be okay once he started painting again. It was just the house getting to him. It felt quieter, more empty than usual.

As he reached the second level, he heard someone knocking from down the hallway. Peering through the gloom, he spotted Jane, dressed in jeans and a bright blue sweater, banging on David Center’s room. As though she felt his gaze, she turned and visibly jumped.

“I didn’t hear you!” she said accusingly.

“Sorry. I was just going to Wat -- my -- apartment.” He regarded her doubtfully. She seemed…agitated. Not angry exactly, but…for sure not her usual relaxed, amused self. Maybe calling in sick to work had been a mistake. The atmosphere seemed to be finally getting to her too, although Jane previously seemed impervious to atmosphere.

She gave a final smack to Center’s door and asked, “Where is everybody?”

“Mrs. Mac’s TV is on. I could hear it from the lobby.”

“I meant humans,” Jane retorted nastily. “I haven’t seen Dembecki or Teagle. Stein has been out all day. I suppose David -- Mr. Center -- is still at work.”

“If you call reading tarot cards work.”

Jane snorted, but she didn’t make the expected joke. Perry had noticed that in the past couple of weeks, Jane’s attitude toward David Center had softened. Jane was so self-reliant and contained he had never considered that she might develop romantic feelings -- especially for someone like David Center, whom Perry didn’t like. It made him feel lonelier still.

“It pays the bills, which is more than my crap job does.” Abandoning her post, Jane joined him in front of Watson’s door. “Goddamn this place,” she said with quiet vehemence.

“Is everything okay?” Perry asked. Clearly everything wasn’t okay, but he didn’t like to pry.

She shot him a sideways glance and muttered, “Yes, fine. It’s this place. It gets on my nerves.”

He could understand that. But this tired and tense Jane was so different from the Jane he knew. Everyone seemed different these days. Ever since Perry had returned from his aborted vacation.

Or had he just not noticed how odd everyone was in those weeks he had been happily cocooned in dreams of a future with Marcel?

Jane added, as though it was the last straw, “And Tiny has run away again. When’s your new chum, G.I. Joe, due back?”

“What makes you think Tiny ran away?”

She made a disgusted sound. “He’s gone. Nobody’s seen him since yesterday.”

Yesterday, after he had opened Watson’s rooms, disposed of the dead fish, and ducked out before Jane could recruit him to fix her leaking windows? Could this be relevant to the other mysterious happenings at the house? Perry couldn’t see how. “It’s not the first time he’s taken off,” he pointed out.

“I didn’t say it was unusual; I said it was annoying.”

Jane followed Perry into Watson’s rooms, poking curiously through the dead man’s CD and DVD collection. Perry had already checked both out. Watson enjoyed film classics such as Behind the Green Door and the music of Bread, the Turtles, and the Bee Gees.

Jane asked, “Don’t you think it’s creepy staying here? It even smells creepy.”

“The whole house smells creepy.”

“True.” Jane scrutinized the framed print of a shapely blonde nude riding a smirking dinosaur.

“It’s creepier in my rooms.”

Jane’s gaze swiveled from the wall decor. “Sweetie, you don’t still think you saw a dead man in your bathtub?” She was laughing at him, though not unkindly.

“I don’t believe I saw a ghost.”

“A ghost?” Jane looked thoughtful. “A ghost,” she repeated slowly. Then, shaking off her preoccupation, she said, “So what did you do today?”

Perry shrugged. “Looked through old newspapers. Hung out at the library.”

“If you’re just going to hang out the library, you might as well go back to work.” She was watching him curiously. He had told Jane a little about Marcel, but even Jane didn’t know how much he had pinned on that virtual relationship.

He went into Watson’s kitchenette and shook the box of Froot Loops cereal sitting on the counter. “Did you want some?”

“Is that your dinner?”

“Sure. Fortified with iron.”

“Sweetie, you need to eat properly. This stuff is for people saving up for decoder rings.” She watched Perry splash milk into a bowl. “So the California thing is all over?”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

Perry shrugged.