Quick Fix (24 page)

The thing is, I hate all that primping and fussing (which was the same reason Dad and Uncle Liam refused to work with them anymore), and frankly most of the photographers were real assholes. Let Brian listen to “Make
love
to the camera, darling!” all day long, and see how cheerful he was then.

Brian paled at the thought of filling in for me, but didn’t refuse. He didn’t dare, not if he wanted me to play real-life Rock Band with him later.

“Sure,” he said, barely choking on it. “I’d be happy to. Anytime.”

Ha. Like hell he’d be happy to. But he’d do it, and that was enough to make whatever retro-punk-hipster-indie hell I had to live through for one evening worth it.

Maybe.

I waded through the stage clothes in Suze’s closet, trying to find something it wouldn’t kill me to wear, because I was
not
going to put on the torpedo tits outfit. I have my limits.

I yanked a piece of neon purple fake leather off a hanger, eyed it dubiously, and started to put it back. Brian caught my hand and said, “Hey, that would work. Suze looks great in it.”

“Where’s the rest of it?” Because it looked like a corset, and not a whole lot else.

“That’s it.” His eyes went all dreamy.

I turned a dubious eye on my brother. “Why don’t you tell me which outfit is your least favorite, because no way am I doing this if you’re going to be looking at me all night with Suze lust in your eyes.”

He coughed and turned red. “I would never … I mean, ew, you’re…” He slid hangers across the bar until he reached the end of the ugly train and shoved an outfit at me. “Here. This one bores me stupid.”

I could see why. It was the only thing in the closet, aside from Suze’s day-job clothes, that had even a modicum of taste. By which I mean it was neither leather nor transparent. “It’ll do.”

“Sound check is at seven. Don’t be late,” he said, heading for the door.

“Wait—aren’t you forgetting something?”

He gave me the classic Brian blank stare.

“The chords, Bri. You know, the three chords I need to know to pretend I can play the frickin’ guitar?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said with the relaxed smile of a man who’d gotten what he wanted.

He was no longer smiling an hour later. “Jesus, sis, how many times do I have to show you?” He grabbed my hand and placed my fingers on the proper strings yet again. Held them in place, and not quite as gently as before.

I glared at him. “Hey, I’m doing my best. You
know
I’m not musical like you and James. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to pay me. Oh, wait … you’re
not
paying me. This is a
favor
.”

His grip lightened and the smile returned, a tad sheepish now. “Look, you have a smart phone, right? Just check out the ‘Ultimate Guitar Tabs and Tools’ app. It’ll all become clear to you, I promise.”

“Bri-
an,
I don’t have a lot of time here, you know.” Plus, my phone is way smarter than I am when it comes to apps. I’m lucky I can dial the damn thing.

“Yeah, yeah. Right. Never mind. I’ll tune the guitar to Drop D. All you have to do is strum. After a few drinks, nobody in the audience will know the difference anyway.”

When I was on my way out the door, he grabbed a stack of paper and stuffed it in my shoulder bag. “These are the lyrics of the songs we’re doing tonight. You know most of them, but there might be one or two you haven’t heard before. Look them over if you get a chance.”

Crap.

*   *   *

I was still out of sorts when I left, albeit a much perkier out of sorts. Caffeine will do that for me. I hated going into any job feeling unprepared, even impromptu favor-type jobs, but I’d muddle through. Family was family.

Speaking of which …
I dialed James. He sounded cheerful on the Molly front. “Just give me another hour or two. I think I found a formula that will stick, but I need to test it for side effects before I give it to Molls.”

“Test it? James, you’re not going to—”

“Gotta go, sis. See you later. We’ll have drinks with Devon—he called and told me he ran into you at my apartment. Said you were the sweetest girl ever, and I was lucky to have a sister like you.” He hung up before I could quiz him further about exactly how he planned to test his new formula. Monkeys? Bunnies? Undergrads?

Oh, well. He was the scientist. Presumably he knew what he was doing. But now it looked like I had a few hours to kill. Guess I could use the time to perfect my guitar skills … nah. That was a lost cause, and I knew it. The lyrics? I’d look over them later. How hard could they be? Songs usually just repeated a lot, right?

Probably wouldn’t hurt to study my subject a little more, though. I’d snatched some of her energy when I’d met her, of course, so I had her aura, but I didn’t know much about her otherwise. Maybe I could pick up some mannerisms if I spent some time with her. This might not be a real job, but studying Suze would be good practice for when I had paying clients. Besides, I was curious about the cougarific woman who was suddenly so smitten with my brother. (Yeah, I’m nosy. Sue me.) And it sure beat obsessing about Billy and Mark, which was my other option for filling the hours.

A visit to Suze’s day job by her new boyfriend’s sister wouldn’t be out of line, would it? A sister who just wanted to get to know the new woman in her brother’s life a little better? Maybe invite her to lunch? Yeah, that would be a nice thing to do. I’m a nice person. It wouldn’t seem weird.

I pulled out my phone and plugged in the name of Suze’s employer, which I’d ingeniously extracted at the last minute from Brian by the simple expedient of saying, “Hey, Bri, where does Suze work? In case anyone asks tonight. Wouldn’t want to give a wrong answer.”

Ah. Just a few blocks away. Handy, that. Wouldn’t even need a cab.

I didn’t have to go in—Suze was in front of the building, wearing one of her deadly dull knee-length dresses and deep in conversation with somebody. When I got close enough to see who, I ducked behind an illegally parked delivery truck, pronto.

Zoo Lady. What the hell?

I crept closer, careful to stay hidden from their view, hoping to get close enough to hear what they were talking about.

The truck started to pull away.

Crap.
Glancing from side to side to make sure I wasn’t observed, I changed my aura to that of an appropriately sized former client (so my clothes would fit), one who lived out of state and had short, blond hair, enough like mine not to draw the attention of anyone who happened to be watching from a distance. Then I inched close enough to eavesdrop.

“… they had to have taken her back here,” Zoo Lady was saying, all the while absently rubbing her monstrous belly, like some ogre hungry for its next meal.

“Don’t worry about that now,” Suze said. “I’ll see if I can track her down through Brian. He’s such a puppy—he’ll let something slip if I approach him right.” Bingo. She
was
involved. But in what?

Zoo Lady laughed, deep and nasty. “Just make sure you’re holding his cock when you ask him. He’ll tell you anything.”

Suze gave her an annoyed look. “Don’t tell me how to do my job. I don’t work for you.”

Okay, then,
I thought.
Who do you work for? Let’s just see where you’re headed.

I followed Suze across Broadway, down Boerum Street to Sternberg Park, taking care to stay far enough behind her not to attract attention. She stopped near the baseball diamond, pulled out her phone, and shot off a text message. Within five minutes (which I spent meticulously retying both of my shoes and pretending to rub a cramp out of my calf), she was approached by a woman walking either a long-haired Chihuahua or a Pomeranian. One of those tiny, yappy dogs, anyway. I could see the woman on the other end of the leash only from behind, but something about her seemed familiar.

I decided to risk getting a little closer, to see if I could hear what they were talking about.

The voice. I knew that voice. Hell, I’d
spoken
in that voice. Recently.

It was my client, Mrs. Thelma Parker, she who was supposedly so painfully shy she couldn’t fend off the overly friendly FONZ board member. Huh. From the authoritative way she was questioning her flunky, she’d gotten over it really fast.

Something else occurred to me. Monica was the one who had recommended this client to me. And now Monica was dead. Or probably dead, I thought, tempted to cross myself even though I wasn’t Catholic, and hoping like hell I’d been mistaken about what I’d seen in the grotto.

Was there a connection?
Duh, Ciel.
How could there not be?

“The other—was she taken care of?” my client asked.

Suze nodded, almost graciously. “Of course. I told you I’d see to it.”

“Show me.”

Suze pulled out her phone, swiped her finger over the screen a few times, tapped it, and held it up for Thelma. It was too far away for me to make out the screen, but Thelma seemed satisfied.

“And where is she now?”

“Don’t worry, no one will be seeing that gorgeous face again,” Suze said with an air of finality I didn’t like one bit. They had to be talking about Monica.

God. Suze was a murderer. Or knew who was.

Oh, crap.
What was I going to tell Brian?

*   *   *

Nothing, I’d finally decided. I wasn’t going to tell Brian a damn thing, not before I’d talked it over with Billy and Mark. Because Suze was right about Brian—he was a puppy. A brilliant, musically gifted puppy, but tender and soft nonetheless. God, he’d be crushed when he found out. Coward that I was, I didn’t want to be the one to tell him.

I’d left messages on Mark’s and Billy’s cell phones, telling them I’d be filling in for Suze with Brian’s band—they would know what I meant by that—and that it was urgent they contact me right away. I hinted as much as I dared over the phone that Suze might be more involved with “everything” than any of us realized. Since I had no idea where they were, that was the best I could do for the moment.

I knocked again on the door to the lab, harder this time. “James? Come on, open up. It’s me.”

There was a click, and the door swung open slowly. Only no one was there. I peeked behind the door. No one there, either. The sound of the Wii came from the alcove, so I guessed that was where Molly was.

“James?” I said cautiously.

A throat cleared close by. Which was really odd, because there wasn’t anybody there to clear it.

“I’m here,” he said quietly.

I scanned the room, a full three-sixty. “Um, not so’s you’d notice. James, what’s going on?” This was freaking me out.

“Here. Beside you. The last formula … there appears to be a slight problem with it.”

I grabbed at the area the voice seemed to be coming from. Hit something solid. Felt my way up arms until I reached a face. “Oh, my God! James, what happened? Why can’t I see you?”

“Well … it’s complicated. I tweaked the formula that seemed to be working to suppress the orangutan aura for Molly at the party. I would never give her anything untested, and I didn’t have a test subject handy, so I took it myself.” He cleared his throat again. “It appears I over-tweaked. The new formula suppresses auras, all right. Even primary ones.”

Jesus. “But you’re not an adaptor. How were you going to tell if it worked on secondary auras by testing it on yourself?”

“I wasn’t testing for efficacy, only safety. I figured if it didn’t kill me, or make me sick, or give me purple and green spots, then it would be safe enough to use on Molly.”

“Geez. Is it permanent? Will we ever see you again?”

“I only gave myself a small dose—it should wear off eventually.”

“Should?”

“Will,”
he amended, sounding more confident. Probably trying to fend off my impending hysteria.

A thought occurred to me, and I suddenly felt myself blushing. “Um, any special reason I can’t see your clothes?” Auras—or, presumably their lack—did not extend to what an adaptor was wearing.

“I had to take them off. Couldn’t exactly let an empty set of clothes go wandering around the lab, could I? I didn’t want to freak out Molly.”

“So you’re naked?”

“Well, yes. I suppose I am.”

“What if you, you know, reappear suddenly?”

He was standing close enough to whisper, so I felt his exasperated sigh as much as heard it. “I don’t know, Ciel. I suppose I’ll grab a handy lab coat.”

“Hey, I was just wondering. Wouldn’t want you to traumatize Molly.” Or me.

“Look, I’m glad you’re here. You have to look after Molly for me until this wears off—”

“I can’t do that—I have to be at Brian’s club in an hour for sound check. I’m doing him a favor and filling in for Suze onstage tonight.”

“You? On a stage? Singing?”

Huh. He didn’t have to sound so shocked. “Yeah,
me
. Playing guitar, too. Brian showed me some chords. I’m gonna wing the rest.”

I didn’t have to see him to know what he was thinking. The waves of skepticism floating through the air were palpable. “Hey, it wasn’t my idea. He wheedled me into it. Probably couldn’t find anyone else to do it on short notice.”

“Well, regardless of your commitment to show business, you’re going to have to stay.”

“I told you—I can’t. Brian’s band will lose the gig if Suze isn’t there. The manager is only keeping them on because he
reeeally
liked Suze when he met her.”

“Then you better find someone else to watch Molly. What about Billy? She’s his sister—he should do it.”

“Billy can’t—he’s busy.” Doing God knew what. Trying to locate Monica’s body, I presumed.

“Too busy to take care of Molly?”

“It’s important.”

“And this isn’t?”

“Look, it concerns Monica, okay?”

“Oh.” I could hear the pain in his voice. He’d really done his best to help Monica adjust to being a nonadaptor. To lose the friendship of someone who’d understood his own position in our world was rough, especially when the loss was so violent. “Have they located her body yet?”

“Not as far as I know,” I said gently. I decided not to mention her connection to my client until I knew for sure it wasn’t some awful coincidence. No point in piling it on. “Listen, where’s Thomas? Molly loves him—maybe he could come take care of her for a little while.”