Page 72 of Miserable Marionette

He lets his spoon clank loudly against his bowl, his eyes boring into my skull like an ice pick.

I take a deep breath, holding it tight in my lungs for an uncomfortable length of time. My leg bouncing beneath my dining room table, something that hadn’t been used in years… long before Dad passed, until Gideon. Now every meal is made for me, provided more often than not right here. Especially when there’s a client, because… ew. Even now, with my new official-unofficial and highly under-skilled funeral directing gig, I still don’t like being in the house when there are clients in the basement. It’s not entirely hard to help out, so long as I don’t have any contact with the bodies, of course. I help get the viewing rooms ready, make sure the flowers are arranged and flags draped. Give hugs and smiles, tissues, condolences. I do, well… what his mom did. It’s that thought that again pushes the questions to the tip of my tongue. Pressing so hard against my clenched teeth, the taste of the hot, savory dumplings in my mouth goes sour.

Gideon abandons eating altogether shortly after I made some failed small talk about the cold, and dear lord, I feel like I’m about to throw up. Anxiety twisting in my gut.

How does one bring up something like this to someone… like him without getting people hurt?

Without making Gideon go all… Gideon?

You don’t.

“You can’t act out like that, Audrey. It’s not how young ladies behave. If you’re crying all the time, how will I know when you’re actually hurt?”

I remember being little, at this very table when it was sitting in the old house, when I’d thrown a fit, and Dad had sat me down for a talk, Uncle Rodney listening carefully from the couch in the living room. Dad had looked so disappointed in me; it was the first time I remember feeling embarrassed to cry. Like the act itself was something terribly naughty.

The silence fills the house, and I hate the staleness of it. The familiarity. I mean, just this morning I was vacuuming the viewing room when Gideon came up behind me, wrapping me in his arms for nothing more than a kiss. This is where we were always meant to be, just as we are now. I’m being silly.

Gideon is my best friend.

He’s never made me feel bad for being upset.

There’s no one in the world I trust more than him.

He’d never laugh or make me feel stupid for asking.

I clear my throat, giving up on my food too, pretending not to notice the disapproving track of his eyes as he realizes how little I’ve eaten.

“Gideon, did you… would you—" I sigh. “I don’t want you to leave me.” The ladder half leaves me in a whisper, my eyes stuck to the dry cornbread untouched in the center of the table.

The sound of his chair scooting back on the hardwood fills my ears moments before mine follows. Jerked away from the table unceremoniously, taking me with it so that he lords above me. I gasp as his hand knots gently in my hair, forcing my eyes to him, his finger making sweet passes on my scalp. “Try again.”

I gnaw on my lip, my heart thumping wildly now. “Well, when I was painting the windows at the alterations shop…”

His jaw clenches, making me pause, his tightening as he presses firmer between my thighs until his legs meet the chair. My eyes are drawn to Krissy on the couch, the desire to tuck her close to me overwhelming. I’d wanted her all day after Jess showed up.

After a deep breath, calming my nerves, the rest comes out as pukey alphabet soup. “Jessica came by the shop today. She said, well, she said a fucking lot. Did you know Detective Altman is still around? Why? There’s nothing here, right? Unless he thought it had something to do with the case.”

I hazard a glance at him, finding his face perfectly blank. “Jessica was saying all this dumb shit and god, she looked like hell, Gideon.” I suck in a breath before setting off on another tirade. “She’s on something, in deep this time for sure, but she kept talking about Altman and how he was on the fence about Bryan. Maybe having him dug up? They can’t do that, right? They wouldn’t… surely. But that got me thinking. Why is Altman here? The Marionettist is his bread and butter. It was yours too.” I take another quick glance at his face. “But then you quit, so why is he here? What if he pokes around and he gets you in trouble with your old job and you have to go—"

My words cut off as he jerks down, releasing my hair. My breath lodged in my throat as he cages me in. “I am not going anywhere you aren’t, Audrey Fisher.”

“But why is he here, Gideon? I thought… well, you said he has no reason to stay around a month ago, and he’s still—"

“He’s a washed-up detective past his prime and desperate to make a—"

“Name for himself, yeah, but surely his higher-ups know where he is. There must be a reason, right? You were working that case too, maybe you could help—"

“Audrey.”

“I mean just to help him, right? Shouldn’t you be back at your other home helping? You know so much about the case, but you don’t talk about it. It’s all anyone is talking about right now.”

“Audrey…” he warns again.

“You seemed so upset and invested after his press conference last month. Oh! And Jessica said something about a fingerprint? What if they make you go back to help? I can’t just leave my house and my job at the alterations shop. The Kessler wedding is too much for Mrs. Johnson to do by her—"

A yelp leaves my throat as Gideon's hand snaps over my mouth, his other going to the back of my head, holding me tight between them. “You’re scared,” he states, simply ignoring everything else. And I mean yeah, that’s a lot of it, but also— “You don’t need to be.”

My spine tingles as he leans forward, brushing his lips over mine, hidden beneath his palm. I swear I can still feel them. “I recused myself from the team as soon as I arrived home. He’s one of twelve assigned to the case. They hardly miss him. Altman’s always done whatever he wanted, never one for rule-following or logic-based assumptions.”