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“In Globe. I’m in the Walmart parking lot.”
Her voice continued to shake, as if she was just on the verge of breaking into tears but had somehow managed to hold it together so far. I remembered how young she was, and wondered if I would have been able to maintain even that shaky a level of composure if I’d been put in the same situation when I was just nineteen.
“Do you need me to come get you?”
“N-no,” she said. “Can I come to your place?”
“Sure,” I replied. Reason kicked in a moment later, and I wondered if that was such a good idea. Wouldn’t it be smarter to take her to see Calvin?
But I’d already said yes, and as upset as she sounded, I doubted she wanted to talk to any cops right away. Maybe later, after I’d gotten her calmed down….
“Th-thanks so much,” she said. “You’re in the apartment above the shop, right?”
“Yes,” I said, wondering how she knew that. Then I remembered that she’d been with Lucien the night of the store opening, even if she hadn’t gone with him. Probably, he’d told her all about it.
“I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
The call ended, and I sat there, staring down at the phone in my hand. Once again, I wondered if I should call Calvin. Not to have him come over and grill the kid, but just so he would know she was back in town.
Where had she gone…and why had she returned?
I reassured myself that those answers would be forthcoming soon enough. At least, I hoped they would. I told myself that I couldn’t press her too hard. I’d just do my best to be supportive, and, with any luck, she’d tell me what had happened the night of Lucien’s death. As to why she’d reached out to me…well, if nothing else, I was the only person in the area with any connection to Lucien, now that Athene was dead. In times of crisis, it was human nature to grasp for something that felt even halfway normal.
Should I put on a kettle in case she wanted a cup of tea?
Did she even drink tea? I could make coffee, but that didn’t seem nearly as reassuring. Since she was underage, I couldn’t exactly offer her a glass of wine.
Somehow, I managed to stop dithering long enough to refill the kettle and set it on the stove. Archie, who’d been curled up in the easy chair, opened an eye and shot me an annoyed look.
“Some of us are trying to sleep, you know.”
“Then go sleep in your bed in the office,” I said helpfully.
His lip curled, but he got up, arched his back, and then jumped down from the chair before stalking out of the room.
Probably just as well.
The buzzer sounded from downstairs a minute later, and I raced down the steps, not wanting to risk Violet losing her courage and deciding to go back from whence she came. To my relief, she was still on the back step, slim form shrouded in a black cloak with the hood pulled up to conceal her features.
As a means of disguising herself, I didn’t know how effective the getup was, considering cloaks were in pretty short supply in Globe. But I only said, “Come in, Violet,” then got out of the way so she could step inside. “My apartment is upstairs,” I added, speaking quickly so she wouldn’t get a chance to change her mind about being there. “Come on up.”
She followed me up the stairwell and then into the apartment. What she thought of it, I couldn’t really tell; she dropped the hood as she looked around, but her face was pale, her eyes wide and tragic.
The kettle chose that moment to begin whistling, and she startled, her slender form literally jumping an inch or two before she realized where the sound was coming from.
“Sorry about that,” I said quickly, then hurried into the kitchen to shut off the gas. “I thought you might like a cup of tea. It always helps to calm me down.”
“Peppermint?” she asked, sounding like a little girl inquiring if she could have another cookie.
“Absolutely,” I responded in my heartiest tones. I got out a box of Traditional Medicinals peppermint tea and made some for both of us. Frankly, my nerves needed a bit of settling, too.
A mug in either hand, I went back out to the living room and set them down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Violet took a seat, then reached for one of the mugs and held it between her hands as if she needed it to warm her chilled fingers.
She looked cold, pale and waif-like. When I’d first spotted her at Lucien’s house months ago, she’d seemed almost arrogantly beautiful, like one of those absurdly young models who turned into a fierce Amazon as soon as she started marching down the catwalk. Now, though, she seemed horribly diminished, someone way out of her depth.
Well, she wasn’t the only one. I still didn’t know what the heck was going on, but I told myself I had ten years on her, and so I needed to act like the adult in this situation.
“Are you hurt?” I asked.
