Page 5 of The Devil Went Down to Laughlin
“Would they be coming around on a Sunday, though?” Delia responded doubtfully.
Probably not. Caleb had to admit that he had no idea what proselytizers’ schedules look like, mostly because they’d given his childhood home in Greencastle a wide berth. For all he knew, they’d been able to sniff out something wrong about the house, even though to everyone else in town, the Lockwoods had looked like a perfectly normal — if especially prosperous — family.
“I’ll see who it is,” he said.
Probably schoolkids trying to raise money for football uniforms or something, he told himself as he walked over to the foyer. Or maybe Girl Scouts, although again, he had no idea whether this was even the time of year when they’d be going around and hawking cookies.
When he opened the door, however, he saw the last person he would have ever expected.
Aaron Sanchez, looking like about fifty miles of bad road.
“I need to talk to you,” he said.
Chapter Two
Delia didn’t quite let out a gasp when a grim-faced Caleb led Aaron Sanchez, of all people, into the living room, but she was shocked nonetheless. A little over five weeks had passed since the calamitous poker tournament at the Desert Paradise casino, but Aaron looked as if he’d aged five years. His dark eyes were hollow and haunted, and she guessed that he must have lost at least fifteen pounds or maybe more, his once-athletic build now downright gaunt.
It sure appeared as if he hadn’t survived his demon possession quite as well as Caleb had claimed.
Aaron’s gaze caught the half-drunk bottle of champagne in its silver cooling sleeve, the big live-edge black walnut charcuterie board with its complement of fancy cheese and crackers and fruit. “I’ve interrupted something,” he said.
Rather than offer a demurral, Caleb only replied, “Sort of, but it’s okay. Why don’t you sit down?”
Looking relieved that he wouldn’t have to remain standing any longer, Aaron slumped into one of the club chairs that faced the couch.
“Do you want some champagne?” Delia asked, then wondered if maybe that had been a mistake. For one thing, she wasn’t sure if anyone who looked like the man in front of her should be drinking, and second of all, the Cristal wasn’t really hers to offer. Maybe Caleb would just shrug off the expense, but still, that bottle had to have cost him at least three or four hundred bucks, depending on where he’d bought it, and he might not have liked her offering it as if the champagne was a cheapie he’d bought at the local grocery store.
But Aaron immediately shuddered and said, “No…no alcohol. Some water, maybe?”
Caleb had remained standing, so he said, “I’ll go get it. Just take it easy.”
He hurried into the kitchen, leaving Delia to sit there and try not to look too awkward. “But maybe some food?” she ventured. What in the world had happened to the guy? Knowing she sounded just like her mother, she added, “You look like you could use something to eat.”
Aaron’s gaze moved to the assortment of cheese and crackers and fruit on the coffee table. “Maybe.”
Despite how noncommittal he’d sounded, he did actually sit up straighter, get a napkin, and then put some Irish white cheddar on a cracker. Just as he popped the morsel in his mouth, Caleb reappeared with a glass of water.
“Here you go.”
Because Aaron’s mouth was full, he couldn’t do much more than nod. However, he reached for the glass as soon as he was done chewing and washed everything down with a big swallow.
“Thanks,” he said. “That helps.”
Caleb sat back down on the couch but leaned forward, his gaze frankly curious. “No offense, man,” he said, “but you’re not looking so great. Everything okay?”
Aaron made a hoarse sound that Delia guessed was supposed to be a laugh. He seemed to realize how bad it had sounded, because he quickly gulped down some more water.
“No,” he said after he set his glass of water on the table in front of him — not bothering with a coaster, Delia noticed, but she figured they could ignore that oversight, considering how out of it he seemed.
Besides, the coffee table had a glass top, so the worst damage a drink could do would be to leave a ring behind.
“Things have basically gone to shit,” Aaron went on. For a second, his gaze slid to the partially drunk flute of champagne in front of Delia, and she wondered if he was regretting the way he’d refused a glass a few moments earlier.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and she knew she genuinely was. Just because she hadn’t shared a single speck of chemistry with the guy didn’t mean she wanted him to suffer. “What happened?”
He pushed a hand through his hair, which was in desperate need of cutting. And since he’d always been so put together, obviously wanting to present a professional appearance when he met with clients or hosted an open house, the contrast with the way he looked now was even more jarring.
“Everything’s wrong,” he replied, then looked over at Caleb. “I sort of remember being at the semifinals of that poker tournament where you were playing, but everything after that…well, until about four days later…is a total blank.”
