He blinked at the man, befuddled.
“Miss Harper,” Martinelli clarified, shooting him awhat-else-could-I-meanlook.
“Oh. Right.”
“I don’t think it’s hopeless. And more importantly,youdon’t think it’s hopeless.”
Peter laughed despite himself. “Really? Do go on.”
“If you like omnimancing, you could put in for an actual assignment. Or you could do any manner of job in or outside D.C. Why else would you stay in Ellicott Mills for no pay if not from the hope that Miss Harper will succumb?”
The question hung there for an overly long moment. Was this a trap?
“See, Iknewit,” Martinelli said. “And I think you’re right. After all, I was determined to hate the young whippersnapper who took the job I wanted a few years ago, and that lasted all of, what, two months?”
“Well, you’ve never stopped insulting me, so there wasn’t much of a detectable difference …”
Martinelli flashed his wacky grin, but then his expression turned abruptly serious. “Don’t give up hope. I mean it. Hope is all we have in this patchwork life.”
Peter could do nothing but nod. His tongue felt thick and his eyes prickled. How could he question Martinelli’s friendship? Of the two of them, who was by far the worse friend?
After Martinelli dropped him off at home, however—after he’d brushed his teeth and laid in bed and allowed himself to hope just a tiny, infinitesimal bit—it struck him: He’d never mentioned to Martinelli that he wasn’t getting paid for his work here.
But the magiocracy knew it.
Try as he might, he couldn’t explain that one away.
CHAPTER 18
Peter made the mistake of sitting in an empty pew the next morning and spent the service tucked next to Miss Sederey. Then he made the mistake of staying for after-service pastries, since he’d brought them, and had to disentangle himself from Miss Hennessey. And on the way out, he received not one but two additional dinner invitations he had to decline.
On the bright side, it made skulking invisibly around empty houses seem a relief by comparison. And he had a lot of skulking to do. First Bel Air, then Severna Park, then Upper Marlboro. He returned home hours later, tired out and wondering about the advisability of attempting three more the following Sunday. He would have to play that by ear, he supposed, but at least everyone he’d visited so far had come up clean.
He glanced at his to-do list for the week and realized that, for the first time, he didn’t have a single item on it. None of the town’s collective requests involved personal visits. All his repeat customers, such as Mr. Freelow and his bursitis, were scheduled for later. He’d finally caught up.
The doorbell rang. He went to answer it, laughing under his breath because surely a new request was waiting for him outside, and reflexively glanced in the peephole.
Miss Sederey. Damn it, something more than mere avoidance was clearly required to nip this in the bud. But what? As he hesitated, someone stepped onto the porch behind her. Miss Hennessey. Oh dear God.
“Hello, Alice,” Miss Sederey said, her voice muffled but distinctly cool.
“Lillian.” Miss Hennessey’s salutation held even less warmth.
They looked expectantly at the door. No, there was nowayhe was answering it now.
“Did you ring the bell?” Miss Hennessey eventually asked.
Miss Sederey—simperingly sweet Miss Sederey—rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Of course I did, you little ninny.”
It really was instructive what people said when they thought you weren’t listening.
“He’s not in, so you can go home,” Miss Sederey added, making shooing motions.
Miss Hennessey crossed her arms. “I’ll leave when you leave.”
“Why are you even here? Expecting to tempt him with offers of cheap cuts of meat and second-rate produce for dinner?”
“My family puts a respectable meal on the table,” Miss Hennessey said. Even with the distortion of the peephole glass, he could see from the grim set of her jaw that this was not the first time she’d defended herself from such insults. He began to think her reaction when he’d declined her invitation hadn’t been an act after all.
