The Invited(62)

But now that she’d found him, she wasn’t sure what to say, what to do. Seeing him there with his gun, the strange symbol chalked on the floor, the covered mirror, she felt her nerve slipping away.

Maybe she should tell him she was looking for something, an “antique” of some kind? She looked around for inspiration but nothing seemed plausible—a chair? But what if he tried to sell her one of those chairs in the circle…?

“You’re not supposed to be up here,” he said. His teeth were straight and perfect, like movie-star teeth. He looked like he could have walked straight off the set of some old Western. Like those Clint Eastwood movies her dad sometimes watched.

“I’m sorry. I thought this was a store,” she said.

“Downstairs only. Didn’t you see the sign?”

There hadn’t been any sign telling her to stay downstairs, no roped-off area or curtain.

“No. I’m sorry—I guess I missed it? I came in and called out, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”

“I’m closed anyway,” he said, scowling at her.

She remembered the OPEN sign on the front door. But she didn’t want to argue. Not with a man who had a gun strapped to his waist.

“I’m not here to shop,” she admitted.

“Well, what is it you want, then? If you’re doing some school fund-raiser, selling cookies or raffle tickets or some shit like that, I’m not interested.”

“No. Nothing like that. I’m Lori Kissner’s daughter.” She watched him, hoping these would be the magic words, the key that unlocked the door; that he might even smile, say, Oh, of course, you’re Lori’s girl, what can I do for you?

    He stared at her, poker-faced and silent.

“I heard,” she said, “uh, I heard you two were friends. That she came here sometimes?” She hated how small and unsure her own voice sounded. And it seemed absurd, really. The idea that her mother actually came here, spent time with this man she and Daddy had always made fun of.

Her eyes went to his gun again.

She thought of what Mike had said earlier: It’s the crazy man with the gun.

“A gun is a tool,” her daddy always told her. “But it’s also a deadly weapon. Guns deserve our respect. They demand our focus. When there’s a gun in the room with you, you give it your full attention, Ollie.”

So this is what she did now. She gave that gun her full attention while trying real hard to pretend that’s exactly what she wasn’t doing. She kept it in sight at all times without looking right at it.

“I know Lori, sure. Everyone knows Lori,” he said with a sly smile that made Olive’s skin crawl. “But I wouldn’t say we were friends.”

“But she came here sometimes, right?” Olive persisted.

Was it her imagination, or did he flinch a little here?

He looked from her to the covered mirror, like maybe the answer was there. Maybe the mirror would speak, voice strange and muffled from the heavy drapery-like cloth that covered it. The mirror would tell her the truth.

This man, she knew, was going to lie. She felt it in the way her skin tingled, like she had her very own built-in lie detector. And what was she supposed to do, tell a grown-up who carried a loaded gun everywhere he went that she knew he was full of shit?

“Lots of people come here looking for lots of different things,” he said.

“To talk to dead people?” Olive asked. “Isn’t that what you do here?”

He narrowed his eyes, squinting at her like he was trying to make her smaller and smaller, like if he closed them enough, she might just go away completely.

“Sometimes people come looking for the perfect armoire,” he said. “And sometimes because they have unfinished business with those who have passed.” He started walking, gesturing with his arms, moving in a slow circle. “They have questions they want answered. One final thing they want to say. We offer that opportunity.”

    “Is that why my mother came?”

“Your mother,” he said, voice soft at first, then hardening, “she didn’t come here. The only time I ever saw Lori Kissner was when she bagged my groceries over at the market.”

She looked around the room and smiled. “Sorry I bothered you,” she said. “I can see you’re real busy.” She turned to go.

“I’ll walk you out,” he said, following her out of the lounge, down the hall and the curved stairs with their broken banister, through the crowded mess of the lobby, and all the way to the front door, making damn sure she was leaving. She didn’t turn back to look, but she heard him behind her, his footsteps heavy, his breathing raspy. He smelled like stale cigarette smoke and spicy-sweet cologne. When they were out on the porch, he pulled a pack of Marlboro Reds from his shirt pocket and shook one out. Then he pulled his phone from his pocket, started to look at it, the three mannequins behind him seeming to peer over his shoulder.

“Mr. Barns?” She stopped on the rickety front steps and turned back to him.

“What is it?” He took his eyes off his phone and looked down at her, clearly irritated.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but my mom isn’t around anymore. She left me and my dad.”

He nodded. Of course he knew. Everyone knew.