Alison Kent - Goes Down Easy

Because it had to happen. What he wanted to know was how Della Brazille was connected to Dayton Eckhardt. And he wasn’t leaving until he got the answers he’d come to New Orleans to get.

He had just closed his eyes and was drifting off when he heard the beaded curtain between the shop and the kitchen jangle as someone walked through. Since no one knew he’d made himself at home in the kitchen, he sat up.

And as soon as he saw the dark cloud of Perry’s hair turned to a bright blue-black by the light from the sink’s window, he made himself known. “Perry, don’t freak. I’m camped out by the door.”

The tray of dishes she was carrying didn’t even rattle when she set it on the counter. “I thought you might be. Your SUV’s still outside.”

Why was he not surprised? “You’ve been watching for me to leave?”

“Not for you to leave. Just watching.” She set the plates and bowls in the sink, rinsed and dried the tray.

He thought about getting to his feet, helping out, seeing if he could steer the conversation where he wanted it by showing her that he was as handy when it came to doing dishes as he was with replacing doors.

But then he thought better.

She’d been watching to see if he’d left. She knew that he hadn’t, and yet here she was. Not scared, not running away. He hadn’t forgotten about that pinky swear made behind the counter in Sugar Blues, and was pretty damn sure that was a big part of Perry being here now.

Here in the dark, in the middle of the night, with no one else around to talk her out of anything. And so he stayed where he was and waited to see what she had on her mind. In another minute, she surprised the hell out of him by joining him on the floor.

Resting against a wall of cabinets, she pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them. She was wearing a full skirt again, this one printed with the reds, yellows, oranges and browns of autumn. Gold threads outlining the leaves sparkled where they were spun.

She cleared her throat, breathed deeply. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this except that it’s what I had wanted to tell you before.”

When she paused, he shifted to sit straighter. “I’m listening.”

“I almost think it’s easier to talk to you in the dark,” she said, laughing so softly he strained to hear.

He tried to set her at ease. “I’ve been told I’m hard on the eyes.”

“Then you’ve been lied to,” she replied without hesitation. “You are very…disturbing. You make me forget what I’m trying to say.”

He filed away the ammunition to use later, waited for her to go on.

“Here’s the thing, Jack,” she said, when she finally did. “I’ve lived with Della since I was ten years old. I’ve seen how she suffers because of this gift.”

“Physically?”

She nodded. Her face remained in shadow; he saw the movement in the light through her hair. “Killer migraines that exhaust her for days. And then there’s the worry over the meaning of what she sees. Whether or not a life might be lost if no one can make sense of her visions.”

“Does that actually happen?”

“We have no way of knowing.”

Made sense, he supposed. “If there’s nothing she can do or control, then it seems like a waste to worry.”

“A waste of what?”

He shrugged, uncertain how far beneath the surface the ice in her voice ran. “Her energy? Her time?”

“Della’s not like that. She’s not so…cruel.”

“It’s practical, not cruel.”

Again with the shake of the head. “I knew you wouldn’t get it.”

He wasn’t being hardheaded on purpose. It was just that he didn’t put stock in what he couldn’t see, what he couldn’t touch. “Try me. Start from the beginning. You said you went to live with Della when you were ten.”

“Yes. After my parents’ death.”

Wow. Not good. “That must’ve been tough, losing them both, being so young.”

She tugged her skirt tighter over her knees. “It was. I was pretty confused for a while. But Della had always been a big part of my life, almost more like my older sister than my father’s younger one.”

“Anyone else in the family…special?”

“You mean psychic?” she asked, when he bobbled the word. “Your true colors are showing, Jack.”

“I wasn’t trying to hide them.” Honest enough. He was who he was and knew quite well where he’d come from, what experiences had made him, which ones he would always regret. “’Course I doubt they’re as bright as that skirt you’re wearing.”

“Don’t try to change the subject.”

Was that what he was doing? “I was just saying—”

“You were not saying. You were totally avoiding having the word psychic come out of your mouth.”

“I believe in what I can see, what I can hear and taste and smell and get my hands on.”

She gave a snort. “Especially that hands part.”

He wasn’t going to deny it. “You grew up exposed to your aunt’s visions. I wouldn’t expect you to do anything but defend her.”

She cocked her head to one side, let go of her knees and straightened out her legs beside his. “And what were you exposed to growing up? What happened to close your mind so completely?”

Life, he wanted to say. Deception and lies and bone-deep betrayal. Instead, he tossed back the top of the sleeping bag. He wanted to see if she would move away without the barrier between her legs and his.

But she stayed where she was, waiting, and he ended up giving her some of what she wanted to know, leaving out what he knew about cruelty. “I was exposed to baseball, hot dogs, apple pie, and the United States Marine Corps. And my mind, as far as I can tell, is wide open. Not sure I’d still be here, otherwise.”

Her bracelets jingled softly as she toyed with the fabric of her skirt. “I thought you were here because of the door.”

“I thought you were here to do dishes.”

“They’ll still be there in the morning.”

“So will the door.” And since they were on an honesty roll…“What’s the relationship between your aunt and Dayton Eckhardt?”

That brought her head up. “Why do you think there is one?”

“She’s seeing him.” He shrugged. “Or at least things related to him.”

Perry’s snort told him what she thought of that. “She saw things related to last summer’s killings. That didn’t mean she had a relationship with the psycho.”

Jack still wasn’t buying it. “The headline was designed to put her in the limelight. Why?”

“Unwanted limelight, and how should I know?” She raised her voice. “I had nothing to do with it.”

He pushed harder. “The brick, then. Why would anyone feel the need to warn her off?”

“Maybe because they don’t like her being in the limelight, either.”

More like they didn’t want the kidnapping in the limelight, and the headline gave them the connection to Della. That connection was the key. The big fat who, where, when, how and why. “We’re dealing with two separate elements here.”

“How so?”

“The brick is an obvious warning. What I want to know is, why the headline? Who would benefit from Della’s exposure?”

“A reporter looking for a scoop?”

“But there’s been no hard evidence of Eckhardt crossing into Louisiana. The authorities in Texas are still operating under the assumption that they’ll find him on their side of the state line. Unless…”

“Unless what?” she prodded.

“Unless the reporter knows better.” Jack grabbed for his duffel bag, pulled out a flashlight and the newspaper.

He scanned the story that was nothing but the facts of the case gleaned from the ongoing investigation in Texas, coupled with a larger profile of Eckton Computing’s roots in New Orleans, and the industry buzz about a new software system that would blow competitors away.