A Deep and Dark December(18)
“Why aren’t you freaked out by what I just told you?”
“Who says I’m not?”
She shouldn’t have told him. This was a mistake.
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe you,” he added. “Or that I’ll betray your trust.”
“Why?”
“That’s not who I am.”
Tension she didn’t realize she’d been holding drained out of her. That’s not who he was. He certainly hadn’t reacted the way her mother had when Erin’s ability had first started to manifest. Not yet anyway.
“No,” she answered his previous question. “My visions have never wavered like that before.”
“So it only started when you first touched the file on the Lasiter property.”
“Yes.”
“Cerie seems to think the storm and the moon and mercury being in retrograde is messing with her ability.”
“You’re making fun of her.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. She’s…different, that’s all I meant. She isn’t shy about who she is or using her ability. She trades off of it.”
“Different. Right.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Do you know what it’s like to grow up in my family? Those crazy Decembers. They’re witches, they’re fakes, they think they’re special when all they really want is attention. But mostly, people just think we’re nuts.”
“Cerie doesn’t help your case, I’ll give you that.”
“When I was a kid I hated that she made her living off giving fortunes.”
“And now?”
“It doesn’t matter.” But it did. More than she wanted to admit. She still hated it, but it was a part of who Cerie was and what she was to the community.
She felt him watching her as they sat at a stoplight, sure he wouldn’t let her get away with that answer. She’d confided more in Graham than anyone else, including her family. She’d never told Cerie how she felt about her fortune-telling or any of the rest of it. There was something about Graham that made her want to tell him things. Or maybe it was the exhaustion. Her secret was a heavy and tiresome burden to carry for so long.
“What else did you see about what happened at the Lasiter house?”
Grateful for the subject change, she grabbed at the reprieve he gave her. “In the kitchen with Greg before he… died, I saw Deidre answer the door to her killer.”
He gave her a startled glance. “Male or female?”
“Definitely male.”
“How can you be sure?”
“He liked it when Deidre was on top when they had sex so he could watch her boobs bounce up and down.”
“Who doesn’t?”
She glared at him, her mouth dropping open in disgust.
“What?” he teased. “It’s true. Ask any guy.”
Fighting an answering smile, she rolled her eyes at him. The much-needed moment of levity lingered briefly before Graham had to turn back to the road.
“So Deidre was having an affair with the man who killed her,” he said. “Anything else?”
“Deidre’s killer shot her because she got pregnant. He was annoyed with her for that.”
“Damn. Did you see who he was? Anything about him that you can identify?”
“No, he wore gloves and a dark coat.”
“Can you think of anything else?”
“He really got off on being with her. Deidre was in love with him, but she was nothing more than an ego boost for him. While she was divorcing Greg to be with him, hoping he’d divorce his wife, too—he was plotting to get rid of her to protect his marriage and social standing. I didn’t like him. At all. It’s more than almost being in his skin in my vision when he killed Deidre. He’s…sick. His mind isn’t right.”
“So we’re looking for a married man who wanted to stay married. There aren’t very many of those.” When Erin let the silence stretch, he said, “Sorry. Can’t help it.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“No—”
“You haven’t changed since high school. You’re still the same jerk who made fun of my family and me with your friends.”
“I never—”
“Yes you did. I heard you. I’m such an idiot for telling you all that, for trusting you.” She nearly gagged on her stupidity. This was why she had kept her secret so long, this attitude toward anyone in this town who was different.
“Erin, I swear I never made fun of you.”
“I heard you, Graham. You and Greg and Mike Deitz and Chris Worley in the library. Mike found a book on circus people.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Of course you don’t. But I do. You thought one of the freaks in the book looked like my aunt. That set the rest of them off.” Thinking about it now brought back the humiliation as though it was happening all over again. She fought against it. She wasn’t that girl anymore. Or at least she was trying really hard not to be.
“I honestly don’t remember. We were probably just acting like a bunch of *s.”
“Somebody tore that picture out of the book and glued it to my locker.” She wasn’t letting him off the hook. Was he really that blithe to what he and his friends had done to her? Was it just a harmless, victimless prank to them?