I glare at him but only find empathy where there once was cruelty. What I ask next comes out shaky. “How do you know?”
“I can smell it.” He looks toward the night sky. “It’s not a bad thing, death. At least, my people don’t believe it is. An honorable death brings comfort and freedom.”
I wonder at his words. So many people avoid talking about death. Even Maeve. It’s refreshing to have someone give it to me straight. I don’t know if I agree with his notion. Death certainly doesn’t bring comfort to those left behind. But I absolutely appreciate him not shyingaway from the topic.
“You haven’t eaten.” His brilliant silver eyes lock onto me again.
“I’m fine.”
“I can smell your hunger.” He frowns.
“I’ll eat later.”
“I won’t share what news I have with you if you don’t eat.”
“Seriously?” I sigh. Damien looks resolved, and I want to know what he’s come to tell me. I stand from the rocker and pick up the teacup, then lead him inside to the kitchen, where I pull out the fixings for a ham and cheese sandwich. “Okay. I’m making it. Tell me what you found.”
He reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and withdraws a folded magazine.
Dropping the knife I’m holding into the mayo, I snatch it from his grip. “Echo Mills Today! Oh my God, Damien. Where did you find this?” He takes over making my sandwich while I flip through the magazine.
“After I left you last night, I went back to the warehouse. Ran into our friend on the side of the road. Turns out he had a copy where he’s sleeping. I traded him some shoes and a down blanket for it.”
Heart brimming with new hope, I inspect the pages. Stock photography of a mom with a kid graces the cover, FREE in small caps in the upper right-hand corner. “I’ve seen this magazine before. I think they give it away at the doctor’s office.”
Damien finishes constructing my ham and cheese, cuts it diagonally down the center, and places the plate in front of me. “Eat.”
“Why would Tony publish a free magazine?” I ask him.
He sits down in the chair across from me, lifts a half sandwich between his fingers, and holds it out to me. I biteand chew. Mmmm. Why does food prepared by someone else always taste better? And it doesn’t hurt that my monster is watching me eat it with the type of care commonly reserved for someone you like and respect.
“Most of the time, these types of periodicals make their money selling advertising space,” he says. “Look inside. It’s all ads.”
I open the magazine again and confirm as much. “This is weird. Don’t they usually also have articles in them?” The pages are solid advertisements. I notice one for my grandmother’s nail salon.
“That’s my understanding,” he concurs, feeding me another bite.
“So Tony is making money on the side selling ad space in a free magazine?” I swallow the bite in my mouth. “But where is the money going? Maeve has gone through all the accounts. There are no unaccounted-for deposits.”
“What exactly does Denardi Enterprises do?” Damien pops the last corner of the sandwich half into my mouth. Damn, I’m already on the other half. I must have been hungrier than I thought.
“What doesn’t it do? His family owns a string of car dealerships, a few restaurants, massage parlors, nail salons, mattress stores. He owns an entire strip mall in Richmond.”
“All places that deal in a lot of cash.”
I nod. “I guess, yeah.”
“Maybe he’s siphoning the ad sales through one of the cash-based businesses to hide the income and then pocketing the cash they take in.”
“Hmm, actually, that makes sense. He used to give me a weekly allowance in cash to buy groceries.”
Damien sneers. “Your husband gave you an allowance?”
I release a beleaguered sigh. “There’s a reason I’m not with him anymore.” I rub the back of my neck. “He always gave me cash, though. That supports your theory. But how do we prove it?”
Damien drums his fingers on the table. “That’s the problem. There’s nothing linking the magazine or the warehouse to Tony. We have a company. You and I know he runs it. Unfortunately, aside from your memory of that invoice, we have nothing to prove he has any connection to it.”
Damien holds the last bite of my sandwich between his fingers, and he’s watching me with such care it makes my chest feel warm. I’ve been starved for this type of attention. Part of me suspects he’s doing all this because of the candle. I don’t care. I’m soaking it up like the last bit of gravy at the bottom of the plate.
