Touch of Evil (12 page)

My steps were a little bouncier as I headed back to my apartment. I dropped the mail onto the little space left on the counter and went upstairs to change. Every few seconds I heard the

characteristic beep of my thoughtful machine, reminding me I had more messages. A quick glance when I came back down told me that Joe had been busy! The lighted display read 14 since I left for my run. God, was that only this morning? Man, what a day it had been!

I shook my head as I walked back toward the kitchen. The messages and the repairs to the fire escape would just have to wait until after the bills and cooking—mainly because I'd forgotten that the raw beef wasn't in the bag I'd put in the freezer when the cops showed up. Damn.

Twenty minutes later, three pots were cooking on the stove, and the oven was heating. I laughed abruptly at the scene on the television while I was boiling pasta. I flicked my thumb on the pause button on the remote and tracked back to the previous scene.

The wonderful antics of John Cleese and

company sailed across my screen. They were

presently trying to hide a rat—which the Spanish waiter swore was an endangered hamster—from a visiting hotel inspector in one of my favorite episodes of Fawlty Towers. It's a British sitcom that was made shortly after the demise of Monty Python's Flying Circus. Cleese was brilliant as Basil Fawlty, but the show was apparently even too eclectic for the Brits, because there were only eleven episodes made. I'd just bought them all on DVD. There were even interviews with the cast and some wonderful outtakes on the three-disk set. I watched an amazingly realistic pratfall as Basil the person tried to capture Basil the rat, while crammed up against the counter with my head at an angle so I could see the television in the sunken living room. I almost didn't hear the elevator start to move when the audience howled. I hit the pause button again. There was no mistaking it—the freight elevator had started to move down. But it was supposed to be locked off. I distinctly remembered locking it. What the hell?

I stepped across the kitchen, removing a large carving knife from the block on the counter. I held the knife at my waist for an upward swing to the body, searching with my mind to see who the intruder could be. By the time the elevator dinged and the doors opened, the knife was back in its slot. Some days I hate having a brother.

"So! You are home! I have been worried sick about you!" Joe snarled at me as he stalked into the room and sat down on the couch, arms folded angrily. I shook my head and kept stirring the noodles.

I snarled right back at him. "Jesus, Joe! Did it ever occur to you to use the door, or maybe even knock? And I left you a message. Sorry if you didn't get it."

He snorted. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised his feet to rest on the coffee table. "You have that damn television so loud you couldn't have heard a missile strike! You wouldn't have heard me if I had knocked, and yes, I got your message. Was it supposed to make me feel better knowing you could have died?"

I decided to ignore that one. "Y'know, you were almost a shish-kabob, big brother. I was all ready to slice and dice the person walking out of the elevator with the carving knife." I walked down the couple of steps into the pit living room and knocked his feet back onto the floor. "Feet off the furniture. You know better."

He readjusted himself on the couch, but kept his feet on the rug. "Oh, puh-lease, Kate! Like with those woo-woo psychic powers of yours you didn't know full well who was coming upstairs. Besides, I shouldn't have to announce myself like some guy off the street. We're family."

I spun the wooden spoon around in the water just long enough to confirm what I'd smelled. A couple minutes of inattention and now the bottom of the pot was coated with burned lasagna noodles. Guess I was going to use the 9x12 pan instead of the big one. "Even family calls before they drop by."

"You checked your messages lately?" His voice was sarcastic, but held an edge of fear. "There's probably a half dozen from me! First you wreck your truck, then get attacked by the Queen Thrall and get a concussion! But do I get a call from you?

No. I get a message. So, did you get the 'scrip filled? Have you taken the second dose of the medicine?"

I turned back to the noodles before he could see my blush. I'd completely forgotten about the second pill. "I've been fine, Joe. I told you—I'm a big girl. I went grocery shopping. I got the prescription. I had some dinner. Now I'm cooking and trying to relax a little. I took the pill with food, like I was instructed." Okay, so it was a lie. But I would take it before I went to bed.

He grunted agreement, which worked well. I

didn't tell him about the police visit or about Tom. There are some things he's better off not knowing. I changed the subject by hitting the play button on the remote. Basil the rat scurried out from underneath the tablecloth of an unsuspecting diner. I chuckled and pulled the pot from the stove, spilling a bit of the water/olive oil mix onto the burner before pouring the works into a colander in the sink. Joe grabbed the second remote from the coffee table and turned off the DVD player. "Hey!" I shouted, but couldn't reach the remote in time. I winced when the VCR came on. I didn't want him to see what I'd been watching before I left for Tel Aviv last week. I tried to turn it off with my own remote, but the batteries decided to take that precise moment to fail. I sprinted from the kitchen, but didn't make it to him before delighted laughter filled the speaker.

The camera was obviously held by an amateur. The screen remained black until a woman's voice said, "Um, Timothy, it would be easier to see if you removed the lens cap."

Joe hit the pause button and then looked up at me with wonder. "Kate, is this—" I nodded. "Yeah, it's Bryan's tenth birthday party. I found it the other day when I was cleaning." His face softened and he patted the seat next to him. I took a deep, shaking breath. I'd cried my eyes out when I'd watched this the other day. I hoped I'd do better today, because I was out of tissues. Forgot to put them on the grocery list. It was an ordinary home movie of an ordinary event—a child's birthday party. Two parents, three kids. But the parents were both dead now, and the birthday boy might as well be.

"C'mon, Bryan! Make a wish!" Joe's younger self was mugging for the camera, making funny faces to make his little brother laugh.

"Is it chocolate, Mama?" asked the laughing boy under the pointed paper hat while the candles were lit. "With lots of cherries?"

A slender redhead who looked a lot like the woman I see in the mirror every morning knelt down to get into the video. "It sure is, sweetie!

Black forest cake. Just like you asked for. And tonight we're having all the pasties you can eat!" I heard Joe whisper the next words, even as my younger doppelganger said them. "You made mine without turnips, didn't you, Mom? I don't like turnips."

Joe turned on the couch and smiled. "I don't know why you asked every time. She always made some for you without."

I started tearing up, and I hated it. "Yeah, I know she did." I stood up and walked back into the kitchen and started to pull noodles out of the colander while I listened to the laughter and screams as each present was opened. I glanced at Joe and he was enraptured, laughing along with the happy family. I'd done the same right up until the end, and then I was without them again.

I was concentrating so hard on not getting

wrapped up in reliving the past that I didn't notice that Joe had turned it off and was now standing across the center island from me.

His eyes were a little redder than when he'd arrived. I had to go back to the sink or I was going to start to bawl. His words stopped me.

"I stopped by the church today, Kate. Why didn't you tell me?"

I turned to him, confused. "Tell you what? "

"Why didn't you tell me that you've been paying for most of Bryan's care?" He let out an exasperated breath. "I agreed a long time ago to cover half, but you never told me that the bill had gone up over the years."

"That's not fair. I tried. But every time I'd start to talk to you about it you'd change the subject or

'have to go, there's an emergency.' What was I supposed to do?"

He shook his head and stared at the ceiling. His eyes were a little shiny in the light. "No wonder you went ballistic when I leased the new car. Six thousand dollars a month—God, Kate! I'm

amazed you haven't already lost this place trying to cover that. I've been sending you, what, like eight hundred?"

I shrugged, because I didn't know what else to do. "I've been managing."

He snorted and stepped back to lean against the counter. "Yeah, right. You've been managing. I saw the notices on your desk, Kate. You're in trouble, and you've been working like a dog trying to get by."

I felt my back go up a bit. "I make good money, Joe. I can take care of myself."

He stepped forward abruptly and grabbed me

by the shoulders. I looked up into his eyes. "Then take care of yourself. Quit trying to save the rest of us." He released me and turned away. "I canceled the lease on the Hummer. It was still in the rescission period. And I paid Mike for the next three months of Bryan's care."

He turned around, probably to see the shock on my face. You could have driven a Hummer into my wide-open mouth. He sighed. "I try not to be a jerk, Kate. Try to get back on your feet in the next three months, though, because I have to tell you—that payment hurt. Unlike you, I can't work myself into the ground forever. I'll be out of town for a few days at a conference, so just promise me that you'll take care of you for that time. Not me, not Bryan—and not Dylan."

All those warm fuzzy feelings crashed down

around my feet. Damn it! I knew there was more to this than him being decent! I should have seen it coming. "Joe—" My tone was a warning. I saw then the anger that was boiling just beneath the surface. "I'm concerned about you, Kate. Doesn't that mean anything?"

"Your concern means a great deal to me, Joe. But I won't satisfy your need for instant answers. You can't force me to make the decision you want me to. Thank you for picking up the bill with Mike. It was nice of you. But leave now, while there's still hope of my being rational about Dylan." His back had straightened more and more with each of my words until he was ramrod military perfection. His voice took on a rolling Irish brogue and flames beat around each word. "You've always been stubborn, Mary Kathleen Reilly!"

"Don't start with me, Joe. Really truly don't." I turned the television and DVD player back on and went back to stirring the boiling potatoes while the noodles cooled enough to handle. I turned my back on Joe and tried to concentrate on the sound of laughter that had nothing to do with my family. I glanced at the crusted pot bottom, turned on the hot water and added a splash of dish soap. At least I hadn't burned anything important. They always give scads too many noodles for the way I make lasagna. One layer on bottom, one on top, with the middle all steak chunks and ground sirloin in a thick tomato sauce. Five kinds of cheese mixed in and on top make it almost too rich to eat. Almost. I watched from the corner of my eye as Joe

walked toward the door. "The keys, Joe. Leave them on the counter."

He stopped, frozen in his tracks. He knew what I was talking about and had hoped I'd forgotten.

"Who'll water your plants when you have to go out of town?" He was smart enough to guess that the return of the key was permanent.

"The timed misters don't question my judgment." I pointed to the bottom drawer in the cabinet, next to the dishwasher. "There's a replacement lock set and deadbolt in that drawer. I'll change the locks if I have to."

Joe let out a heaving sigh and crossed the room to the breakfast island. He set the key carefully down on the countertop and walked to the door.

"Joe?" I heard him pause with his hand on the knob. "Thanks. I really didn't have the money to pay Mike this month."

"I know." I heard the door click shut behind him.

7

I alternately cooked and froze meals, and watched my DVD while dipping into the pint of rum raisin ice cream with a tablespoon. It really hadn't been too horrible of a day overall. I had expected worse. The more time passed from when Monica attacked me, the easier it was to believe that the queens could control her until she died.

I knew I would have to deal with everything eventually. Spending an evening like this was irresponsible at best, and quite possibly stupid. But for just one evening I intended to ignore reality and pretend to have a normal life. Tomorrow the world might come crashing down on my head. But for tonight, Bryan's care was paid for, I had survived a nasty concussion, and I had actually had a dinner date with a cute guy . . . who was going to move into the building . . . and thought I looked amazing. Wow!

When the last of my cooking was safely stored in the freezer, I loaded the dishwasher and climbed the stairs. There was one last self-indulgent thing I wanted do to before bed.

I love bubble baths. It's one of the few really

"girly" things I do. Showers get me clean. Baths relax me. They're a luxury my schedule can't often accommodate. Considering everything I'd been through in the last forty-eight hours I deserved a good, long, soak. I set the taps running and set out my fluffiest towels before going over to the sink to make my selection.

The cabinet under my bathroom sink is filled with some of the best products from around the world. There are concoctions in every conceivable scent and color, each claiming to be the best in the world at something in whatever native language. Tonight I picked an aromatherapy mix that promised to relax me. I poured the mixture into the water filling the tub with a sigh. The herbal scent was heavenly. Just exactly what I needed.

It was still early when I finished the bath, but I was tired and completely relaxed for the first time in ages, so I pulled on an oversized T-shirt and shorts and put myself to bed. I dreamed of chasing rats and haughty guests, and a cute guy named Tom, not Larry and Monica.

I woke early the next morning, but actually felt rested enough to face up to my responsibilities. I went downstairs and started the coffeemaker brewing before settling in at the breakfast island with the stack of mail I'd brought up the day before. Bills and junk mail, just as I'd suspected. Unfortunately, the letter telling me I could "stuff envelopes in my spare time for big money" started to look good after I'd calculated how much I'd better have to pay my monthly expenses, even without Bryan's care. The situation was grim. With the added expense of fixing the window and fire escape from the attempted break-in yesterday, I'd better make the meals in the freezer last as long as possible. It wasn't impossible to manage. I'd just have to do some juggling. I silently thanked Joe again for paying Mike.