Practical Magic - Alice Hoffman [87]
“Will you excuse me for a minute?” Sally says. “I’ll be right back.”
She runs upstairs to Kylie’s room and switches on the light. It was nearly dawn when Gillian got home from Ben’s, where half of her belongings are now taking up most of his closet space. Since she has today off, her plan was to sleep as long as possible, go shopping for shoes, then swing by the library for a book on cell structure. Instead, the shades are being cast open and sunlight is spilling across the room in thick yellow stripes. Gillian squirms beneath the quilt; if she’s quiet enough, maybe this will all go away.
“Wake up,” Sally tells Gillian and she gives her a good shake. “Someone’s here looking for Jimmy.”
Gillian sits up so fast that she hits her head on the bedpost. “Does he have a lot of tattoos?” she asks, thinking of the last person from whom Jimmy borrowed too much money, a guy named Alex Devine, who was said to be the singular human life form able to exist without a heart.
“I wish,” Sally says.
The sisters stare at each other.
“Oh, god.” Gillian is whispering now. “It’s the police, isn’t it? Oh, my god.” She reaches to the floor to grab for the nearest pile of clothes.
“He’s an investigator from the attorney general’s office. He found the last letter I sent you and traced you here.”
“That’s what happens when you write letters.” Gillian is out of bed now, pulling on jeans and a soft beige blouse. “You want to communicate? Use the damn phone.”
“I gave him some coffee,” Sally says. “He’s in the kitchen.”
“I don’t care what room he’s in.” Gillian looks at her sister. Sometimes Sally really doesn’t get it. She certainly doesn’t seem to understand what it means to bury a body in your backyard. “What are we going to tell him?”
Sally clutches at her chest and goes white. “I may be having a heart attack,” she announces.
“Oh, terrific. That’s all we need.” Gillian slips on a pair of flip-flops, then stops to consider her sister. Sally can have a fever of a hundred and three before she thinks to complain. She can spend the whole night in the bathroom, brought to her knees by a stomach virus, and be cheery by the first light of morning, down in the kitchen, already fixing a fruit salad or some blueberry waffles. “You’re having a panic attack,” Gillian decides. “Get over it. We have to go convince that damn investigator we don’t know anything.”
Gillian runs a comb through her hair, then starts for the door. She turns when she senses that Sally isn’t following her.
“Well?” Gillian says.
“Here’s the thing,” Sally says. “I don’t think I can lie to him.”
Gillian walks right up to her sister. “Yes, you can.”
“I don’t know. I may not be able to sit there and just lie. It’s the way he looks at you....”
“Listen to me.” Gillian’s voice is thin and high. “We will go to jail unless you lie, so I think you’ll be able to do it. When he talks to you, don’t look at him.” She takes Sally’s hands in her own. “He’ll ask a few questions, then he’ll go back to Arizona and everyone will be happy.”
“Right,” Sally says.
“Remember. Don’t look at him.”
“Okay.” Sally nods. She thinks she can do this, or at the very least she can try.
“Just follow my lead,” Gillian tells her.
The sisters cross their hearts and hope to die, then swear they’re in this together, forever, till the absolute very end. They’ll give Gary Hallet simple facts; they won’t say too much or too little. By the time they have their story worked out and go downstairs, Gary has finished his third cup of coffee and has memorized every item on the kitchen shelves. When he hears the women on the stairs, he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and pushes his coffee cup away.
“Hey there,” Gillian says.
She’s good at this, that’s for sure. When Gary stands to greet her she sticks her hand out for him to shake just like this was a regular old social event. But when she really looks at him, when she feels his grip on her hand, Gillian gets nervous. This guy won’t be easy to fool. He’s seen a lot of things, and heard a lot of stories, and he’s smart.