Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [108]
It caused her pause when on a break Pickett thanked her for having him perform at the party. “This has been a really great gig,” he said. “The place hasn’t changed in all these years. Just endures, like my song. You even still have that funny neon windmill marquee for the drive-in.”
Asha was ladling punch into the black and orange paper cups for everyone. She stopped and considered his words. “You were here before? At The Windmill?”
“Yeah, back in 1963. When the song was still really hot—the first time around. The song went to the Top One Hundred three different times,” he informed her proudly.
She forced a smile as he took the cup of punch and walked away. Glancing up the hill to the drive-in, she watched the pink and aqua neon tube lights outlining the wooden windmill, flicking back and forth so it appeared to be turning. Pickett had performed in the autumn of 1963, less than a year before Tommy and Laura had died. A circle had closed.
A shiver crawled over her. While there hadn’t been any more incidents where she slipped into Laura Valmont’s life, she suddenly felt rather distant, the past sucking at her. Once again, the glass walls, rendered nearly invisible by the night, started to fade, giving way to a time when the pool was unenclosed.
“Asha.” A hand grasped her upper arm and gave a small shake. “Asha, damn it.”
She blinked three times before she saw Jago in his Dracula costume in front of her. Trying to fake it, she smiled. “Enjoying the party, Vlad?”
“Don’t try to shine me on, Asha. This time I want an explanation,” he demanded.
The man was bloody insistent, so she tried to distract him by waving the promise of hot sex under his nose. “Vlad the Impaler. Hmm, think you’ll be up to a little impaling in awhile?”
“Your wish is my impale, Morticia.” She started to walk away before he could question her further, only Jago jerked her around to face him. “Imminent debauchery aside, I want answers. I’m male, so I can be led around by my”—he glanced down with a wicked grin, then raised his hand and wiggled his little finger—“uh, pinkie, but that doesn’t mean I’m forgetful. As soon as the blood comes back to my brain, I’ll remember I wanted answers to a certain situation.”
Asha nodded, realizing despite the playful teasing he was quite serious in wanting to know about her spells.“You can have answers, Jago. Just, later. When we’re alone. The party’s nearly over and I want to enjoy the last few minutes.”
“Okay, reprieve granted. Nevertheless, I want an explanation soon, Morticia.”
“Hey, Asha,” Delbert called, rocking in a glider, with the Dracula kitty sitting contently next to him. He patted the empty space on his other side. “Come sit by old Obi-Wan.”
“Why, Delbert Seacrest, you’re tiddled!” Asha chuckled going over to him.
He gave her a mellow grin. “May the force”—a hiccup popped out, shaking his whole body—“be . . . with you.” With that, he almost fell forward.
“That’s it, Jedi Master. No more punch for you. Come on, Jago. Let’s help Delbert home and tuck him up.”
They each took an arm to aid Delbert to his feet. As they helped the elderly man along, Jago slowed just enough to snatch up his copy of Pickett’s book and two CDs—“The Monster Mash” and Mike Duncan’s, on loan from Colin.“Mr. Pickett, it’s been an honor. Thank you for coming,” he said.
“I was delighted to do the gig. Maybe you folks will have me back next year, but as a guest. I’m finally retiring next month.”
“Count on it.” Jago waved the Mike Duncan CD. “Oo-It, thanks for letting me borrow it.”
Colin beamed. “Hey, you finally called me Oo-it! Told you I’d grow on you.”
As the cat waddled past, following them back to the bungalow, Bobby called to the kitty, “Good night, Clint.”
Jago, Colin and Asha said in unison. “Clint?”
Humming the theme to The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, Asha snapped out the light in the hallway leading to Delbert’s rooms. Sam came around the corner, still wearing his