Page 12 of Night Falls on Predicament Avenue
Sebastian didn’t move. “I could, but I prefer not to leave a lass alone when she’s in a hard spot.”
The man had no idea. None. Being here was onlyaddingto the curdling of her stomach, the black shutters at the corners of her eyes, the shortness of her breath, the clawing panic in her throat...
A hand brushed hair away from her face. Norah felt a cold washcloth pressed to her forehead, her head resting on a rolled-up dish towel doubling as a pillow that was lodged in the man’slap. He sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor, concern etched into the crevices on his face as he looked down on her.
“Hello.” A smile. A repositioning of the cold cloth. “You took a fall off your chair when you passed out.”
Norah whimpered, wriggling to sit up and leave the odd comfort of his pillowed lap.
“Shh, shh, shh,” Sebastian crooned, his hand pressing just enough on her shoulder to indicate she shouldn’t move, but not enough to make Norah assume she was trapped. “Give yourself time.”
“I need to ... I need to get up.” Norah struggled to sit, and this time Sebastian didn’t resist. He aided her until she was leaning back against the kitchen cabinets. The tile floor was cool beneath her. She drew her knees up to her chest. The wet washcloth had fallen from its place on her forehead.
Sebastian swiped the cloth up from the floor and tossed it above her head into the sink. “You blacked out so quickly, I failed at catchin’ you.” His crooked grin seemed to communicate that she needn’t feel ashamed. “I guess I’m gettin’ old.”
“You’re not old,” Norah mumbled around a thick tongue. The room was spinning. She was already feeling the anxiousness digging at her gut again.
“I’m almost forty.” Sebastian’s smile made lines and dimples appear in his cheeks. “My nieces tell me they’ll gift me with black roses an’ a black balloon bouquet when my birthday comes round. I advised them that if they’re goin’ all black, they should throw in a devil’s food chocolate cake too.”
“How old are your nieces?” Norah asked. She knew what he was doing. He was attempting to redirect her mind from the horror, the panic, the dread of ... everything.
Sebastian stretched his arms toward the ceiling before clasping fingers behind his head. “Emmy is eight. Elizabeth is twelve. I’ve a nephew also, but he’s only three and seems to side with his uncle—he was quite energetic about the chocolate cake.”
“And they live in—”
“Lancashire. Where I was born. I’m the rebel who came to the States about twelve years ago now.”
“For your podcast?” Norah hadn’t listened to Sebastian Blaine’s podcast. His fascination with crime was in direct juxtaposition with hers.
He shrugged. “Among other things.” Pushing off the floor, Sebastian reached over Norah and filled a glass with water, then handed it to her. “Sup it up now.”
She obeyed for no other reason than that she was thirsty.
Sebastian, who wasn’t remarkably tall, slid down to sit shoulder to shoulder with her. He smelled like a chocolate chip cookie. She didn’t know why he did, but it was comforting.
“My sister is older’n me by five years. I was the lad of the family. Still am.” He grinned sheepishly.
“Your parents live in England?” Norah took another sip of water, thankful her nerves were steadying. Although she had the new conundrum of Sebastian’s cozy way of sitting next to her that made her stomach do a flip. She wasn’t sure how to interpret this.
“Lancashire County too. They’re all there. I go back from time to time whenever I can. I travel a lot for research, which is why I’m here.”
Norah nodded, staring at her water glass. A silent camaraderie settled between them.
Sebastian broke the silence by clearing his throat. “There’s no need for you to feel alone here, Norah. I’m available and willin’ to pitch in for whatever you need. I’m here for at least a few weeks.”
“Because of Isabelle Addington’s ghost?” Norah dared to eye him directly. She searched his face. “Or ... other stories?”
Sebastian gave her knee a friendly, reassuring pat. “Let’s just keep it to Isabelle for now, yeah?”
Norah agreed, although she didn’t completely trust him. He was after all an investigator of old crimes and mysteries. Truthbe told, her sister’s murder was as much a mystery as the legends that swirled around Predicament Avenue and Isabelle Addington. It was her worst fear. She’d already lived through Naomi’s murder once—she didn’t want to do it all over again.
“Norah?” a man’s voice called, his tone gravelly from age, along with the inevitable wobble.
“She’ll be in the kitchen,” another voice said, sounding not much different from the first.
Two stooped-shouldered men rounded the corner from the hallway. Norah couldn’t help but feel relief at the sight of them. Brothers and neighbors to 322 Predicament Avenue for as long as she could remember, Otto and Ralph Middleford were the epitome of crusty old bachelors who’d given their time and devotion to labor but who now enjoyed a more leisurely life that included a greater number of coffee breaks. They were the neighborhood handymen and gossips, the lovable types Norah knew she’d be hard-pressed to live without.
“Come here, ya little scamp!” Otto’s arms were spread wide, his knobby fingers waggling in her direction.
