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“What do you call taking items that don’t belong to you from someone else’s home without their permission? Aggressive borrowing?”
“I’m not going to have this conversation with you now, Jane. You’re being ridiculous. Look, no one here has to know that we’re related,” Jenny said, glancing around. “We can pretend not to know each other. You can be some person I don’t know that well and don’t want to spend time with.”
“Fine, fine, it’ll be just like school. You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine.” I turned on my heel and rifled through my bag. “Where the hell is the wine?”
I stuck my fingernail in the cork and used a tiny bit of vampire strength to pop it out. I did, however, manage to resist the urge to glug straight from the bottle and snagged a wineglass instead. Full glass in hand, I stomped off to find Nice Courtney. She gave me a questioning look as I took her wine glass and drained it. “Do you two know each other?”
“Apparently not,” I muttered.
Head Courtney called the meeting into session. I stewed while Jenny was introduced and officially welcomed into the group. There was clapping and squealing and cooing. It was a noticeably warmer reception than what I received. They even gave her a little pink rose corsage.>Emery became my own personal Mr. Collins, an irritating rash in human form. And just like the supercilious, socially inept minister from Pride and Prejudice, he got bolder with every visit. First, he asked to see a copy of his uncle’s will, which I happily provided, along with copies of his uncle’s bank statements at the time of his death. However, I started to get annoyed when Emery demanded copies of the current books for the shop, along with inventory lists, my own financial records, and a list of any books I may have taken from the shop. He commented on the number of sales per night, on the high overhead involved in the coffee bar. Then he took up residence behind the counter and casually went through drawers he had no business opening. The more time I spent with him, the less I wanted to give him. I felt the need to protect Mr. Wainwright’s possessions from his sweaty, grasping hands.
“Do you happen to know a woman named Jenny McBride?” I asked after he requested the contact information for Mr. Wainwright’s lawyer so he could set up an appointment with him. “About yea tall, blond, judgmental?”
Hey, considering that my sister was inadvertently in cahoots with Missy the psycho Realtor, I considered it a fair question. Emery’s response was an expression both confused and constipated. For some reason, his not comprehending exactly how annoying his behavior was brought all of my repressed Gabriel-related anger to the surface. I felt the need either to slap Emery or warn him that I was about to slap him.
“I’m only looking after my uncle’s legacy, Jane,” he sniffed. “You’ve made valiant attempts to organize the stock, but, to be honest, you’ve only made a small dent in the problem. You have library experience, but that doesn’t make you an expert on antique or rare occult books. Frankly, I don’t think you know what you have here. You could let a priceless volume walk out of this store for a song and not even realize it. I think you should shut down for a few days and let me bring in an appraiser to look over the older stock.”
“With all due respect, Emery, since your uncle left that legacy to me, it’s mine to sell if I want to, at any price,” I said. “In fact, I’m not legally bound to offer you anything beyond mementos from Mr. Wainwright’s personal effects, but I’m trying to be nice. Now, when I took over the shop, I got a new insurance policy. And I have estimates for the value of the stock. I’ll give you copies of that, but as far as giving you a complete inventory or letting you have some outsider go through the stock title by title, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.”
“And why not?” Emery demanded, his face flushing an unpleasant shade of purple.
“Because I said no,” I said in my “talking to preschoolers” voice.
“I don’t see why you listen to every bit of advice Andrea and that Dick character give you, but you just write off everything I have to say. They don’t have the vested family interest in the store that I do.”
“They’re my family,” I shot back, tapping into my reservoir of Gabriel-related anger. “And they spent more time with your uncle in the last months of his life than you did in the last ten years.”
Emery blanched as if I’d slapped him. “I think I should go somewhere else before we say anything we’re going to regret.”
Emery made a show of slinking out the door with a kicked-puppy-dog expression.
Andrea poked her head out of the supply closet, where she’d been hiding. “You got Emery to leave after less than an hour. Can you teach me how to do that?”
Unfortunately, by “somewhere else,” Emery did not mean he was leaving the shop permanently. Oh, no, he stayed and stayed and … stayed. He sat at the coffee bar and made moon eyes at Andrea. He hung around in the stacks, claiming to be looking for a few books that held special sentimental attachment for him. (I’d hidden the books with the naked-lady-bump engravings.) He annoyed newly turned vampires by trying to get them to take religious tracts. Hell, even Cindy the Goth Mascot would turn and walk out if she saw Emery. She’d gone four consecutive days without a latte. I was starting to worry.
For me, the breaking point was when Emery interrupted my reading yet another letter from my “concerned and vigilant friend,” this one telling me how Gabriel had taken her from an innocent, sexually inexperienced girl to a strung-out love junkie by assuring her that he enjoyed her naiveté, her unpredictability.
I remember feeling Emery standing over my shoulder as I read:
“Gabriel told me that he liked not knowing what I would do or say. He said my innocence was a refreshing change. I don’t have to ask whether he said the same to you. He says this to all of the women he beds. He is as skilled at lying as he is at loving. His ability to manipulate emotions through just the right mix of sweetness and feigned overprotection is unparalleled.”
“What do you have there, Jane?” Emery asked. I ignored him.
I remember Emery clearing his throat and holding his too-soft hand out imperiously, as if I was caught reading his mail. My upper lip pulled back from my teeth in what I considered a warning expression. But Emery was oblivious to it and the hostile tension that seemed to be rolling off me in waves. I remember turning my shoulder slightly, so my back was to him, and continuing to read. Emery’s fingers closed over the top of the page and pulled it out of my hands. I think I had some sort of rage blackout, because I do not remember snarling and flashing my fangs so viciously that Emery ran out of the store. But Andrea said there was a small urine stain on the carpet to prove it, so I had to believe her.
Andrea and I both made elaborate and sadistic threats against Dick if he didn’t take his great-great-grandson out for some quality time. Andrea’s threats were far more effective, as they apparently involved refusal of certain “privileges.” So, Dick took Emery out for an evening of bonding and bowling, practically by force. I hoped Emery would end up with a really embarrassing tattoo.
With the shop cleared of Emery’s presence, I yelled, “OK, Mr. Wainwright, you can come out now. It’s safe.”
He materialized, looking a little chagrined.
“So, what have you been up to?” I asked cheerfully, then glared at him.
“Jane, I’m sorry.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, narrowing my gaze but eventually smiling despite myself. “You said Emery was eccentric and personality-free. You didn’t tell me that he was …”
“An enormous pain in the rear?” Mr. Wainwright suggested.
