The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [85]
“The truth will out.”
“There you go.”
A rather long moment passed while neither of them spoke. The soft in-and-out of her breathing sounded gentle and patient—and not just so the minutes could tick by. He was beginning to take a shine to Madame Romanescu.
“Well, ma’am,” he said at length.
“Shorty?”
“Ma’am?”
“If you do call back, I hope you will call me Romy. It would make me feel . . .” She gave a light laugh. “ A little younger.”
“Oh. All right.” How old was she? Middle-aged, he reckoned. But well-preserved.
“And,” she added, sounding tentative now, almost shy, “it’s what my friends call me.”
“Well, then. I sure will do that.”
They hung up, Oliver with a definite reluctance. He didn’t understand himself at all lately. It took a while, but he finally figured out the source of some kind of pride or one-upmanship or . . . almost a gotcha feeling, all related to Charlie. It went beyond childish, but what it boiled down to was, Look, Grandfather: I get to call her Romy, too.
SEVEN
Molly’s final exam in Attachment and Affect Regulation was on Monday, and she wasn’t ready. She had dogs to walk, plants to water, houses to watch. These days Charlie wasn’t even paying her for her psychic expertise anymore, so why was she wasting a whole precious Saturday afternoon and evening at his place, first telling him his fortune, then going with him to Cartamack Day at his retirement community?
She liked him, that was why. That was the only reason. She’d come in spite of the imminent arrival of his obnoxious grandson, certainly not because of it. What an idea.
“I’m seeing the same thing, Charlie,” she said, back in her old seat at his coffee table. “She has gray hair, and . . .” Molly squinted. Sometimes she really did see something, and sometimes it really did look like a face. “No, that’s all. It’s just too vague. She’s got you on her mind, that’s all I know. And she’s important. Significant.” She’d probably talked herself into that, but it still felt right.
“And she’s nearby?” He sat beside her, leaning forward sometimes to gaze into the crystal ball himself.
“That’s how it feels.”
“So she could be here, for Heart Attack Day.”
“Would you stop? I’m going to say that to somebody accidentally, I just know it.”
He had a mischievous cackle that always charmed her. “So that’s it? That’s all you got?”
“Sorry. I told you, it’s just so shadowy—”
“Okay, then, let’s go.” He jumped up, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get out there so you can find her.”
“Oh, that’s my job now?”
“You’ll be able to sense it,” he said with certainty, helping her put the ball back in the case. “After that, I’ll take over.”
“You’re amazing,” she said in his small foyer while she put on her jacket. “Hey, what happened to the horses?” The biggest piece was missing, leaving its shiny outline on the slightly dusty glass shelf.
“The mustangs? Sent ’em out to get appraised. I want Oliver to know what they’re worth when I give ’em to him for his birthday.”
In the elevator, their side-by-side reflections in the shiny doors made her smile. “You’re looking especially handsome today,” she told Charlie truthfully, admiring his cherry red sweater and pressed khakis. “Which makes it a lot harder for me, you know.”
“How’s that?” He smiled back paternally.
“Every woman here is probably thinking about you, Charlie. You’re a catch.”
“True, but I’m only interested in the one in the ball.”
She tsked, elbowing him. “Your modesty’s irresistible, too. Speaking of Oliver,” and they had been, “where is he?” she asked casually.
“Said he’d be late, some meeting or other. Kid’s a workaholic.”
Cartamack Day was huge, a sort of street fair/open house spread out over the retirement community’s sprawling campus. The main action was on the enormous stone terrace between the community center and the eighteenth green of the golf course, where tables and chairs, a buffet, a stage, and numerous booths vied for space under strings of unlit Japanese lanterns. Charlie took Molly on a tour of the nearest attractions—the lake, the main restaurant, the library,