Page 51 of The Dead Come to Stay
“I need to make a call,” he said, pushing his chair back.
Ashok pushed his chair away, too. “I need to answer one,” he said, winking at Annie. “Be back.”
MacAdams watched him disappear in the direction of the WC.
“Don’t be scandalized, James,” Annie said. “When you have toddlers, it’s all potty humor.”
“Right,” he said, because what else did one say to that? “This has been very useful—today—meeting here.”
“And you’re about to do a runner on lunch, aren’t you,” she said, looking at their half-finished plates.
“I’m sorry, Annie.”
“No, you’re not,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve not seen you this engaged with a case since... possibly ever.” She narrowed her eyes over apple cheeks and pretended severe scrutiny. “There’s something different about you, James MacAdams.”
“I doubt that,” he said.
“No, it’s true. Your slacks have been ironed.”
“Icando laundry, Annie.” He hunted out a ten-pound note for his portion. Annie batted it away, so he stuck it beneath Ashok’s plate.
“He’s a good man, isn’t he?” he asked.
“Yes, he is,” Annie said and smiled. “I’m happy.”
“I’m glad,” MacAdams said. And he meant it.
Chapter 17
Jo had lost her way.
She’d been walking for some time, through rabbit-hole alleyways and back streets, body on autopilot, mind in centrifuge. It had started with an opera cake.
“Marvelous, aren’t they?” Chen had said, ushering her into a musical little café near the Minster. “Layers of almond sponge in coffee syrup, coated in ganache. Bracing and beautiful.”
“But you aren’t having one?” Jo asked.
Chen had ordered tea with milk and sugar for both of them, then a large opera cake... for Jo.
“I’ll be talking. About your father.”
Jo dropped her fork. It fell to the floor and slid beneath a radiator.
“My father? Where is he—Who—”
Chen handed her a second fork. “Shush, shush, eat cake,” she said.
“But—” Jo began. Chen pointed at the dessert. Jo swallowed her question and took a bite. Then another.
“There’s a girl,” Chen said softly. “Sugar down those feelings.And don’t interrupt. I’m going to say some hard things now in a minute.”
Jo bit the fork to keep from interfering with the presentation. Chen took a deep breath and poured tea into her cup.
“Love. It’s messy. So damn messy,” she sighed. “That’s why I have to start far back. With your grandfather, I mean.”
Jo ate cake and listened to Chen, a breathy, soft, humming voice telling her the worst story she’d ever heard.
***
