“We played TAKE IT WITH YOU and I remembered my clothes EVERY TIME but Tara was FASTER and Franzi skinned her KNEE and?—”
“Tell me about it when we get home,” Bruno prodded him. “You’re supposed to be putting on your boots.”
31
CLARICE
If Veronica actually tracked her and then wondered why Clarice’s phone was at mini golf all night, she didn’t ask about it on Monday. The only things that could have been recorded by the pens (if theywerebugged) was Clarice talking to Horatio, and her neighbors arguing. Clarice put one pen in a can by that wall on purpose and put the other in her car glovebox. Those were perfectly reasonable places to put pens, if someone went looking for them.
In fact, Veronica seemed very generally distant. She asked a token question about Clarice’s weekend when she came in late on Monday, didn’t listen to the response, and spent most of the afternoon in her office with the door shut. It wasn’t a busy day, and Clarice had entirely too much time on her hands to think about Bruno, shifters, magic, and her own place in a world that was suddenly much more layered than she’d ever guessed.
She exchanged a few vague texts with Bruno. He thanked her for a great weekend (with a grinning emoji) but didn’t suggest meeting up again. Clarice remindedherself that it had only been a few days, and having a five-year-old made casually hooking up challenging. All she had to worry about was Horatio, who was as affectionate as he’d ever been since Clarice first adopted him and actually sat beside her on the couch that night and didn’t run away and hide when she got up to answer the phone she’d left across the room.
It was just a spammer, with an accent so thick she could barely understand them. Clarice tried twice to politely disengage before she finally hung up.
Tuesday was another day that promised snow but didn’t deliver it. The snowbanks were dirty and jagged-edged, the traveled ways packed hard and lumpy, except where the plows had scraped it down to pavement. Clarice confirmed details with the bank about an inspector’s report, paid a few expected bills, wrote several emails, and went through some old listings to try to polish up their descriptions. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to say that it was a house with character and charm, was it? How flowery was too flowery? Maybe the term fixer-upper was too off-putting for this property.
She kept getting distracted by her memories of showing Bruno houses. She thought about their hot weekend fondly, too, but her favorite recollections were his smiles and laughter as he indulged in her game-show nonsense.
It hadn’tfeltlike indulgence, like he was just humoring her silliness. It felt likeconnection, like they were enjoying the same joke, like they were enjoyingeach other. She’d had good sex before, and knew very well that endorphins and dopamine could flood out common sense and make something feel much more significant than it actually was.
And the sex had beengood.
But the dates had been better. She liked Bruno. Shecaredabout him, and already cherished the secrets that he’d entrusted to her. She wanted to know more about his musical tastes and personal history. Why had he become a psychiatrist? What happened with Gil’s mother? Bruno was someone she wanted to wash dishes next to, even raise kids with.
That was perhaps the most astonishing part.
Clarice had always figured she would be happily childfree, and told herself that Horatio was as much family as she required, but she had enjoyed Gil much more than she would have guessed and was fascinated by his unexpected observations and all the funny things he said. He already glimmered with the person he would be, and Clarice was eager to see how he grew into his big feet and bigger personality.
She was actually imagining how she might fit in their little social unit as she updated listings, thinking about the remodeling that she and Bruno had talked about. The master bedroom closet was big enough for two adults and Clarice didn’t have a huge shoe collection to accommodate…
The phone rang early in the afternoon.
“Clarice,” she said cheerfully, out of long phone-answering habit. “How can I help you?”
“I need you to show a house tonight,” Veronica said briefly. “One of the high-ticket mansions up in the bluffs.” She rattled off the address and Clarice jotted it down. It wasn’t one she was very familiar with; she didn’t concentrate on the million-dollar catalog because she knew Veronica would want those clients personally. And why shouldn’t she? She was the agent of record, and Clarice was just a salesman, still. Besides, Veronica was more comfortable in the kind of company that could afford a house like that.
“What time?” Clarice asked. The prospect made her nervous, but it wasn’t like she had anything else planned.
“Thirty minutes,” Veronica said. “Dress to impress. Is my coat still there?”
Clarice glanced at the coat rack where the white wool coat still hung. “Yes.”
“You should wear it.”
Clarice was still saying “Ok-ay” when Veronica hung up, which was abrupt even for Veronica.
Clarice printed out the property listing, compiled a quick folder of information with both her card and Veronica’s, and left her “sleeping bag” coat on the rack to pull Veronica’s on. Maybe Veronica had wanted her to wear it for the confidence it would give her. It was easier to think she could sell a mansion when she looked like a debutante. She locked the door behind her.
The roads got sketchier as Clarice got further up into the bluffs. The houses here were bigger and further apart, and although the major streets had been plowed, the off streets hadn’t been and they weren’t well travelled. A lot of the people who lived here were snowbirds, enjoying the mild Montana summers and spending the winters somewhere else. Clarice’s car handled the roads all right, but she had to drive slower than she expected and arrived at the address a few minutes later than she intended to. The gate was already open; Veronica must have given them the access code.
To her surprise, there were three vehicles at the house already, a white van that looked like a service vehicle, a deep blue SUV, and a sleek black luxury sedan. Several figures clad in black were milling around the front of them with a more ordinary looking older couple who must be the clients. Were there utility problems that Veronica hadn’t warned her about? Clarice gathered up her folderand her courage, checked her hair in the driver’s visor mirror (hopeless, of course), and went to greet the buyers.
“Hello!” she called, going over her pitch in her head as she came up along the side of the van. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting!” She didn’t offer excuses; they could see the weather as well as she could, and she wasn’t going to throw Veronica under the bus for giving her next to no notice. “Isn’t it just a lovely house? It’s one of the oldest in Nickel City, from before the big mining rush, but it’s been preserved absolutely perfectly. There have been several major upgrades, though, and there’s a full-sized swimming pool!” She hoped that the notes in the file were accurate, since she’d never been to the property.
“We’re not here to buy a house, Ms. Chase.”
Clarice startled as the men turned towards her and she saw that they were carrying alarmingly military guns. She came to a halt. “Oh, I’m not Veronica Chase,” she protested weakly, but someone came up behind her to put something rigid in the small of her back that Clarice realized in a flood of panic must also be a gun.
