Visions
Page 80
Clearly, either Ciara or Macy was a fairy child who’d been secreted into a human family. Which would make perfect sense . . . if you lived in the Middle Ages and believed in fairies.
I kept digging, but it soon became apparent there was only one way to prove my switched-at-birth theory: get Macy’s DNA.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
As promised, the Gallaghers’ auto shops had my car fixed and waiting for me by noon. An hour later, I was headed back to Cainsville for my diner shift.
Patrick arrived around four, and the moment he walked through the door I was at his table, filling the mug. When Larry made banana nut muffins for the evening crowd, I brought Patrick one straight from the oven. Yes, I was not subtle about courting his favor. But Patrick doesn’t need subtle. He practically purred under the attention.
The elders noticed, and they were not nearly so pleased. Some game was in play, and they were stuck on the sidelines.
At eight, as Patrick was preparing to leave, I sidled over to his table and pulled out a chair, leaning in to speak to him privately, while making sure everyone else saw me speaking to him privately.
“I need to talk to you,” I whispered.
A satisfied smile. “I thought you might. Why don’t I come back and walk you home after your shift?”
“Thank you.”
As I moved away, I felt Ida’s gaze on me. She sat with Walter and two of the other elders I knew less well—Minnie and Roger. When I headed for the kitchen, she waved me over, ostensibly for pie.
“How are things, Olivia?” she asked. “We really haven’t had time to chat lately. You’ve been so busy.”
“I have.”
“Anything interesting?” Walter asked.
“Not really.” I refilled their teapot with fresh hot water. “I met a girl with a connection to Ciara Conway that I’m trying to puzzle out. Someone mentioned she might have lived in Cainsville. Macy Shaw?”
“Doesn’t sound familiar,” Walter mused. “We may have had a family by that surname, but it’s been years.”
“Many years,” said Ida.
The others nodded.
“I’ll keep digging, then,” I said.
“You’ll let us know if you find anything?” Ida asked.
“Of course.”
—
At eleven, Patrick was waiting outside the diner.
“I presume this chat will take longer than the five-minute walk to your apartment?” he said as I joined him.
“It will.”
We headed for the park.
“The elders aren’t happy with me,” I said. “Seems I was paying a little too much attention to you.”
He smiled. “Their old egos are so fragile.”
“And you do love to see them dented.”
The smile grew. “Perhaps.”
“Then I’ve done you a favor, haven’t I?”
“You have.” He slanted a look my way as he held the gate open. “For credit, I presume. Which you intend to call on now.”
“I do.”
Normally, people don’t like to think you’re only being nice to them because you want something. Patrick didn’t seem to mind at all. Quite the contrary—from the look on his face, he was pleased with me. I understood the game and played it fairly.
“How old are you?” I asked as we sat on the bench.
His dark eyes gleamed. “How old do you want me to be?”
“Gabriel remembers you when he came back before college. You were older than him then.”
“Then presumably I still am.”
“Presumably. He told me a story today,” I said. “When he was young, a man in Cainsville used to speak to him. He’d give him hints about the hidden gargoyles. One day, Gabriel’s mother—Seanna—caught him talking to this man, and she was furious. Made Gabriel swear never to speak to him again.”
“How rude.”
“It is, isn’t it? The man didn’t try to lure him off with candy or any such thing. They just talked. Gabriel never understood why Seanna was so angry.”
“I don’t blame him.”
“Here’s the thing. When Gabriel remembers the man, he seems to think it was you, though he knows it couldn’t be. Clearly you’re not old enough.”
“Clearly.”
“But in his memory, he associates the man with you. Do you know why?”
Patrick shrugged. “Memory is a mystery we cannot hope to solve. I grew up in Cainsville. I have family here.”
“Then would you know why his mother told him not to speak to this man?”
“She must have had some reason for disliking him.”
“Because Seanna herself was from Cainsville originally.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“And you don’t know what she’d have against this man, who was obviously not you.”
Patrick looked at me, and I waited for him to say he had no idea. Instead, he smiled. “Perhaps he gave her a gift she did not want. It happens, between men and women.”
I went quiet for a moment. Then I said, “If I ask you what’s going on in Cainsville, will you tell me?”
Again, there was an easy answer: play dumb. What’s going on? Do you mean local news? Events? But that was one game Patrick didn’t play. He said only, “No.”
“Can I earn the answers?”
“By currying favor with me? No. I like my life here, Olivia. It’s very comfortable. You need to find your own answers. Or get close enough to them that I can help.”
“Will you help?”
“If it’s in my best interests. Currying favor goes both ways.”
“Let’s change the subject, then. Mind control.”
“Ah.”
“We discussed it right before Gabriel and I solved the mystery of my parents’ last crimes. You’ve never asked if that solution had anything to do with mind control. Because you know it did, don’t you?”
“Or I’m simply not interested in knowing. As a possibility, mind control is intriguing. In reality? I have no interest in making people do anything they don’t want to. Far too much effort.” He paused. “Unless it could compel them to buy my books . . .”
“Compel. That’s an interesting word.”
“Is it?”
“You said I need to find my own answers. But what if I was somehow being compelled not to ask the questions? Mentally influenced to avoid even posing those questions?”
I kept digging, but it soon became apparent there was only one way to prove my switched-at-birth theory: get Macy’s DNA.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
As promised, the Gallaghers’ auto shops had my car fixed and waiting for me by noon. An hour later, I was headed back to Cainsville for my diner shift.
Patrick arrived around four, and the moment he walked through the door I was at his table, filling the mug. When Larry made banana nut muffins for the evening crowd, I brought Patrick one straight from the oven. Yes, I was not subtle about courting his favor. But Patrick doesn’t need subtle. He practically purred under the attention.
The elders noticed, and they were not nearly so pleased. Some game was in play, and they were stuck on the sidelines.
At eight, as Patrick was preparing to leave, I sidled over to his table and pulled out a chair, leaning in to speak to him privately, while making sure everyone else saw me speaking to him privately.
“I need to talk to you,” I whispered.
A satisfied smile. “I thought you might. Why don’t I come back and walk you home after your shift?”
“Thank you.”
As I moved away, I felt Ida’s gaze on me. She sat with Walter and two of the other elders I knew less well—Minnie and Roger. When I headed for the kitchen, she waved me over, ostensibly for pie.
“How are things, Olivia?” she asked. “We really haven’t had time to chat lately. You’ve been so busy.”
“I have.”
“Anything interesting?” Walter asked.
“Not really.” I refilled their teapot with fresh hot water. “I met a girl with a connection to Ciara Conway that I’m trying to puzzle out. Someone mentioned she might have lived in Cainsville. Macy Shaw?”
“Doesn’t sound familiar,” Walter mused. “We may have had a family by that surname, but it’s been years.”
“Many years,” said Ida.
The others nodded.
“I’ll keep digging, then,” I said.
“You’ll let us know if you find anything?” Ida asked.
“Of course.”
—
At eleven, Patrick was waiting outside the diner.
“I presume this chat will take longer than the five-minute walk to your apartment?” he said as I joined him.
“It will.”
We headed for the park.
“The elders aren’t happy with me,” I said. “Seems I was paying a little too much attention to you.”
He smiled. “Their old egos are so fragile.”
“And you do love to see them dented.”
The smile grew. “Perhaps.”
“Then I’ve done you a favor, haven’t I?”
“You have.” He slanted a look my way as he held the gate open. “For credit, I presume. Which you intend to call on now.”
“I do.”
Normally, people don’t like to think you’re only being nice to them because you want something. Patrick didn’t seem to mind at all. Quite the contrary—from the look on his face, he was pleased with me. I understood the game and played it fairly.
“How old are you?” I asked as we sat on the bench.
His dark eyes gleamed. “How old do you want me to be?”
“Gabriel remembers you when he came back before college. You were older than him then.”
“Then presumably I still am.”
“Presumably. He told me a story today,” I said. “When he was young, a man in Cainsville used to speak to him. He’d give him hints about the hidden gargoyles. One day, Gabriel’s mother—Seanna—caught him talking to this man, and she was furious. Made Gabriel swear never to speak to him again.”
“How rude.”
“It is, isn’t it? The man didn’t try to lure him off with candy or any such thing. They just talked. Gabriel never understood why Seanna was so angry.”
“I don’t blame him.”
“Here’s the thing. When Gabriel remembers the man, he seems to think it was you, though he knows it couldn’t be. Clearly you’re not old enough.”
“Clearly.”
“But in his memory, he associates the man with you. Do you know why?”
Patrick shrugged. “Memory is a mystery we cannot hope to solve. I grew up in Cainsville. I have family here.”
“Then would you know why his mother told him not to speak to this man?”
“She must have had some reason for disliking him.”
“Because Seanna herself was from Cainsville originally.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“And you don’t know what she’d have against this man, who was obviously not you.”
Patrick looked at me, and I waited for him to say he had no idea. Instead, he smiled. “Perhaps he gave her a gift she did not want. It happens, between men and women.”
I went quiet for a moment. Then I said, “If I ask you what’s going on in Cainsville, will you tell me?”
Again, there was an easy answer: play dumb. What’s going on? Do you mean local news? Events? But that was one game Patrick didn’t play. He said only, “No.”
“Can I earn the answers?”
“By currying favor with me? No. I like my life here, Olivia. It’s very comfortable. You need to find your own answers. Or get close enough to them that I can help.”
“Will you help?”
“If it’s in my best interests. Currying favor goes both ways.”
“Let’s change the subject, then. Mind control.”
“Ah.”
“We discussed it right before Gabriel and I solved the mystery of my parents’ last crimes. You’ve never asked if that solution had anything to do with mind control. Because you know it did, don’t you?”
“Or I’m simply not interested in knowing. As a possibility, mind control is intriguing. In reality? I have no interest in making people do anything they don’t want to. Far too much effort.” He paused. “Unless it could compel them to buy my books . . .”
“Compel. That’s an interesting word.”
“Is it?”
“You said I need to find my own answers. But what if I was somehow being compelled not to ask the questions? Mentally influenced to avoid even posing those questions?”
