“Reynolds,” he said. “Tell me you’ve pulled it off.”
The muscles in his cheeks tightened in reaction to whatever Reynolds said. He muffled the phone briefly against his shoulder as he turned to look at Davy.
“I have to deal with this,” he said. “But whatever happens tonight, it shouldn’t splash back on you and Trudy. I kept you both clean.”
He turned and walked away before Davy could untangle the knot of ‘being Hill’ and ‘confession’ and ‘he’d forgotten about Reynolds hadn’t he?’. Left under the tree, Davy watched his brother walk away and then turned and kicked a lumpy root.
“Fuck,” he spat out. Then grimaced as he stumbled backward.Thatwas a lot more satisfying to do in combat boots instead of sneakers.
Right. Plans changed. That happened all the time. Davy scrubbed his hands through his hair and took a deep breath of night-sweet air. He just needed to find Hill. That would be a start.
“What are youdoing?” Trudy demanded of a server. She shooed them back towards the kitchen. “I told you, the champagne is for the toast! Take it back.”
The server rolled his eyes but did as he was told. Before Davy could duck past, Trudy turned and caught sight of him. She started to smile and then turned it into a mock-frown as she looked him up and down.
“What happened to the costume?” she asked as she put a hand on her hip. “After all I had to do to get everyone to fall in line.”
Davy’s tentacles lashed restlessly around him as they pinched and slapped at things that Davy couldn’t see. He left them to it—whoever it was probably deserved it—as he reached back to pull his costume on. The folds fell around him with a rustle, and he held his arms out to display it.
“A ghost,” Trudy said. “I suppose it counts. What do you think of mine?”
She did a spin on the toe of her pink stiletto, arms held out so he could see the pink tweed suit she had on.
“Barbie?” he guessed.
That got him a sigh. “Cher,” Trudy corrected him. “FromLegally Blonde.Although at this point, I should just go with the flow and give them Barbie.”
She took his arm, fighting briefly with the folds of the sheet, and guided him toward the buffet.
“Are you having fun?” she asked as she loaded up a plate with crudities and pastry puffs. “I know these events aren’t your thing and you’re only here to please your therapist, but if you give it a chance—”
“I am,” Davy said. It was a bit of a lie, but he thought Hill would appreciate it. “And I appreciate the whole fancy dress thing. I know it wasn’t easy and you didn’t have to do it…”
His voice trailed off.
You didn’t have to do this…
It was the last thing he remembered saying before the updates between body and spirit had fallen into the death-gap. He’d thought it had been a plea, but when he played it back now it was…
Thankful.
Careful, even. The way, maybe, he’d have talked to a woman who’d recently suffered a loss and had still answered the door to him?
A green door. He could still feel the gloss of it under his fingers, had it been the same color as the one in Hill’s picture of his Dad?
“I wanted to do it,” Trudy said. “I’d do anything for you, sweetheart. I’d have done anything for your Dad, too, but hewouldn’t let me in. He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. So if you need something, anything, you ask?”
She pushed the plate of finger foods at him. Davy looked at it and then slid it back onto the table.
“Why did he kill himself?” he asked.
Trudy stared at him. Her face went blank. It was a familiar expression, the holding pattern of someone who needed to run through a filofax of reactions and pick the right one. She went with a wrinkled nose and a shrug of pink shoulders.
“I don’t…I don’t know,” she said. “He did a lot of things he wasn’t proud of, I think, at work. Maybe that just got on top of him? It was never anything to do with you, though. We both loved you so much. You were the reason he tried so hard.”
From behind the veil of the ghost’s sheet, Davy felt cold and a bit tired. He had met her. The memory was blurred by the chunks of Albie that had apparently been scooped out of his memory, but he could see her. Younger. Snappier. Somehow even blonder.
“I know about the house in Player Street,” he said. “I know about the body in the basement. I just don’t know which of you killed me and which of you dug my grave.”
