area, still picturing how it must have looked a hundred years ago, filled with unsavory men and sleazy women.
“ Who do you think all these pictures are of?” Zach asked, circling around behind Reilly—giving Chloe a wide berth despite his show of mockery.
Reilly stared at the yellowed photographs in their antique frames, not recognizing anyone.
“ Think they’re the whores?” Zach whispered so Chloe wouldn’t hear.
An old-fashioned portrait hung above the enormous stone mantel on the fireplace. In it, four women sat at a table in front of a bar. Sunlight spilled through the cloudy windows and pinned them all in place like butterflies on a board. Beyond their circle of light, a scattering of dusty and disreputable men watched, as if picture-taking were the most interesting thing to behold. A large black woman stood in the background, her eyes cold even from the distance.
The women in the center seemed to be in various stages of dress and of different ethnic backgrounds. A pale and freckled young woman stood between two other girls, both creamy dark with liquid eyes. None of them looked old enough to be in such a profession. The last sat in the center, features unremarkable except for her light eyes, which looked nearly translucent in the faded picture. Though she was as young as the others, she looked out of the glass with a steady, weighted stare. A woman, not a girl.
There was something hauntingly familiar about her but it took a full minute before he realized what it was. She looked like Gracie Beck. She looked a lot like Gracie Beck.
He stared at the picture as a knot of conflicting emotions tangled inside of him. He didn’t feel Chloe approach until her breath fanned over him. “Do you know why you’re here?”
Like a spider, her words crept across his skin. He jumped and brushed at his ear, turning to face her angrily.
“ I know I’m getting sick of this little guessing game of yours.” He’d been raised to respect his elders, and his sharp tone embarrassed him, but Chloe LaMonte would try the patience of a saint and Reilly was hell and gone from sainthood. He wanted to get away from her. Suddenly, he wanted to get away from here regardless of the fact that he had come by his own free will. The air was thick and muggy, the storm loud and isolating.
“ I’m going to open some windows,” he said, despite the storm, despite the fact that outside was nearly as hot as in. Easier said than done, however. He tried one, then another, but neither would budge. Frustrated, he moved to a third when a loud whirring came an instant before the sound of air blowing through a vent.
Air-conditioning. Miracles did happen. He looked around for the thermostat and found it by the kitchen door. It seemed anachronistic in its surroundings, but Reilly was relieved it existed at all. He crossed to the control, nearly laughing when he saw it fixed at ninety-five. Leave it to Carolina Beck to install air, but refuse to keep it turned low enough to cool. He moved the lever to sixty-five, hoping she wouldn’t go nuts when she found out. Sorry, Carolina, but this is hard enough without being steamed alive.
The sound of a siren approaching startled the entire group. Zach went to the window and looked out.
“ There’s a police car out there,” he said.
Reilly opened the door and watched a uniformed man step from his car and hurry up to the porch. When the officer raised his head and looked at Reilly, his mouth fell open.
“ Son of a bitch,” he said.
Reilly silently echoed that. Though a couple of years younger, Reilly knew him. It was a small town and they’d all gone to school together. Eddie Rodriguez had been a local hero, star athlete, and, last Reilly heard, he’d been given a scholarship to UCLA. Eddie should have escaped Diablo Springs long ago. But here he was with a sheriff’s uniform and a shiny badge.
“ How the hell are you?” Eddie said.
It seemed a ridiculous question after the bizarre night
“ Who do you think all these pictures are of?” Zach asked, circling around behind Reilly—giving Chloe a wide berth despite his show of mockery.
Reilly stared at the yellowed photographs in their antique frames, not recognizing anyone.
“ Think they’re the whores?” Zach whispered so Chloe wouldn’t hear.
An old-fashioned portrait hung above the enormous stone mantel on the fireplace. In it, four women sat at a table in front of a bar. Sunlight spilled through the cloudy windows and pinned them all in place like butterflies on a board. Beyond their circle of light, a scattering of dusty and disreputable men watched, as if picture-taking were the most interesting thing to behold. A large black woman stood in the background, her eyes cold even from the distance.
The women in the center seemed to be in various stages of dress and of different ethnic backgrounds. A pale and freckled young woman stood between two other girls, both creamy dark with liquid eyes. None of them looked old enough to be in such a profession. The last sat in the center, features unremarkable except for her light eyes, which looked nearly translucent in the faded picture. Though she was as young as the others, she looked out of the glass with a steady, weighted stare. A woman, not a girl.
There was something hauntingly familiar about her but it took a full minute before he realized what it was. She looked like Gracie Beck. She looked a lot like Gracie Beck.
He stared at the picture as a knot of conflicting emotions tangled inside of him. He didn’t feel Chloe approach until her breath fanned over him. “Do you know why you’re here?”
Like a spider, her words crept across his skin. He jumped and brushed at his ear, turning to face her angrily.
“ I know I’m getting sick of this little guessing game of yours.” He’d been raised to respect his elders, and his sharp tone embarrassed him, but Chloe LaMonte would try the patience of a saint and Reilly was hell and gone from sainthood. He wanted to get away from her. Suddenly, he wanted to get away from here regardless of the fact that he had come by his own free will. The air was thick and muggy, the storm loud and isolating.
“ I’m going to open some windows,” he said, despite the storm, despite the fact that outside was nearly as hot as in. Easier said than done, however. He tried one, then another, but neither would budge. Frustrated, he moved to a third when a loud whirring came an instant before the sound of air blowing through a vent.
Air-conditioning. Miracles did happen. He looked around for the thermostat and found it by the kitchen door. It seemed anachronistic in its surroundings, but Reilly was relieved it existed at all. He crossed to the control, nearly laughing when he saw it fixed at ninety-five. Leave it to Carolina Beck to install air, but refuse to keep it turned low enough to cool. He moved the lever to sixty-five, hoping she wouldn’t go nuts when she found out. Sorry, Carolina, but this is hard enough without being steamed alive.
The sound of a siren approaching startled the entire group. Zach went to the window and looked out.
“ There’s a police car out there,” he said.
Reilly opened the door and watched a uniformed man step from his car and hurry up to the porch. When the officer raised his head and looked at Reilly, his mouth fell open.
“ Son of a bitch,” he said.
Reilly silently echoed that. Though a couple of years younger, Reilly knew him. It was a small town and they’d all gone to school together. Eddie Rodriguez had been a local hero, star athlete, and, last Reilly heard, he’d been given a scholarship to UCLA. Eddie should have escaped Diablo Springs long ago. But here he was with a sheriff’s uniform and a shiny badge.
“ How the hell are you?” Eddie said.
It seemed a ridiculous question after the bizarre night
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