“No problem. Let’s start with fixtures,” he said.
I had not realized how much there was, and after a good half hour, we had just scratched the surface, even of only a superficial view of it.
“I don’t want to take up any more of your time,” I told him. “And besides, I don’t think I should be late for my first dinner at the Winston House.”
“No, I wouldn’t do that,” he said. He looked at his watch. “You’d better let me drive you there. It’s on my way home anyway,” he said. I had a feeling it wasn’t, but I agreed, and we left together. Liam’s car was already gone. “He obviously didn’t make any effort to make up for the time lost today,” Michael said, nodding at the parking space. “I don’t know why that kid even bothers to show up at any time.”
“His father told him the same thing, practically.”
Michael grunted.
I thought about Liam. It seemed that everyone was down on him—not that he didn’t deserve it, but if no one was in your corner, you began to believe all the negative things people were saying about you. It reminded me of what Daddy called self-fulfilling prophecies. If enough people told you that you were a failure, you could start believing it, and if you did that, you would cause yourself to fail more and more, fulfilling the prophecy.
“Does Liam live with his father?”
“I suppose you could say that. Yes, of course. The Dolans have one of the biggest houses in Quincy. It’s really a mansion. Three or four families could live in it without getting in each other’s way. I’m sure Ken avoids him, or vice versa. Julia is still living there, too. I hear she’s in a romance with an X-ray technician at the hospital.” He smiled and leaned toward me. “Quincy’s small enough for gossip, but even if it wasn’t, people would still be interested in the Dolans. They’re like that family on that television show. Ken’s a very powerful guy in this city. Politicians are always knocking on his door.”
He stopped talking, shook his head, and looked at me.
“I don’t know what it is about you, Lorelei, but you get me blabbin’ like no one I know. Some days you can count on your fingers how many words I’ve spoken. I’m supposed to be the closed-mouthed, tight-lipped New England guy who’s suspicious of gossips. Look what you’re doing to me.”
“Don’t worry about it, Michael. I’m not much of a gossip. My father always told me to be a good listener first and a speaker later, much later.”
Michael laughed. “Good advice. Maybe he’s from New England?”
“No, Michael. He isn’t from anyplace you’d know.”
“Huh?”
I smiled. “We’re here,” I said, and he hit his brakes.
“Almost forgot. See how much of a creature of habit I am?”
“Thank you, Michael. See you tomorrow.”
“I can pick you up in the morning,” he said as I got out.
“I’m determined to get that walk in,” I said. “Don’t stop if you see me. I won’t want to hurt your feelings.”
He laughed. “Have a good night, Lorelei, and welcome to Quincy. And Dolan Plumbing Supply,” he called as he drove away.
I watched him go. Another vehicle pulled into a driveway a few houses down on my left, but other than that, the street was as quiet as it had been when I first arrived. I stood there, however, and concentrated on the place where I had thought I had seen the elderly man who had sat with me on the plane. Daddy had once told me that he was capable of envisioning more than imagining. When I asked him what that meant, he said it was like being a visual prophet. Sometimes he saw what would be before it would be.
“It doesn’t always happen, and it’s not a hundred percent accurate,” he had told me, “but I don’t ever belittle or disregard my visions.”
Thinking about that now gave me the feeling that he was nearby, warning me. Perhaps greater than my fear of Ava catching up with me was my fear of the Renegades, those of our kind who were outlaws, who followed their own rules and had no respect for territoriality. They moved about at will and endangered us all with their kills. Pursuing one of us was something they did with relish, as if destroying one of us strengthened them.
Despite the strength of the late-afternoon sunlight, the shadows it cast seemed to grow thicker and darker right before my eyes as I stood outside the Winston House studying the street. The shadows’ chill sent me hurrying into the house, where the sound of applause greeted me. Mrs. Winston and Mrs. McGruder stood in the living-room doorway, smiling.
“My nephew called earlier to thank me for sending you over,” Mrs. Winston said. “Seems I haven’t lost my touch when it comes to judging people, and that’s pretty important these days.”
“Amen to that,” Mrs. McGruder said.
“Come in, dear, and enjoy a glass of my special elderberry wine in celebration and meet Mr. Lamb.”
They stepped back, and I entered. Mr. Lamb rose from the sofa. He wore a light brown jacket, a dark brown tie, and dark brown slacks with laced walnut-colored shoes. His reddish-brown hair was cut short, with just a small wave at the front. His smile began in his hazel eyes and drifted through his soft, full cheeks to his pale red lips. He had a cleft chin and was just under six feet tall. He didn’t look chubby so much as slightly overweight, with an almost feminine gentleness to his demeanor. Perhaps, I thought, I was having this reaction to him because I had been confronted by so many muscular, hard-looking men at the plumbing supply company all day.
“Hi,” he said. “Welcome to the Winston House and to Quincy.”