Page 71 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

“Cissy, I’m sorry,” Sara said, and she actually looked mortified. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought you’d be pleased…. Oh hell. I really am sorry. Hey,” she turned to Rachelle and waved at her. “Another drink, what is it you’re having, Cissy? Latte?”

“No.”

“Chai tea?”

“Mocha, but I don’t need another one.”

“Sure you do. Let me do this,” Sara barreled on. “Please. I’m going now. Go back to work.” She wiggled her fingers at the laptop. “I’ll talk to you later. I’m sorry,” she said again. “Really.” She pushed her chair back and, with a seemingly genuinely rueful expression, slid a few bills from her wallet and handed them to Rachelle. “Keep the change,” she said, hiking the collar of her coat around her neck and shouldering open the door. A gust of rain-washed air swept inside, along with two blond teenage girls, who, for some reason, weren’t in school. Noses red, they approached the counter and Diedre.

Cissy had lost the mood and her inspiration. The story was about finished. She could put the final touches on it tonight, after B.J. went to sleep, but she was finished for the time being.

“She’s a pain,” Rachelle said as she handed Cissy the new mocha.

“Amen,” Diedre said.

Rachelle picked up a few dishes and swabbed the table where the guy in the beret had been sitting just as a brown-haired girl bustled in. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, peeling off her coat to reveal a Joltz apron over her slacks and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

“The cavalry has arrived!” Rachelle teased.

“If I’m the cavalry, do I have to do dishes?” the girl asked.

“What else?”

Cissy left, hiking the two blocks back to her car in the rain. She’d left her umbrella in the backseat of the car, so by the time she’d unlocked the door of her Acura, she was soaked to the skin. Only her laptop in its leather case had thwarted the elements. So much for jogging later or taking B.J. out in his stroller. She glanced at the dark sky and frowned.

Though she hadn’t planned it, she drove around the block and headed up the hill, turning on her headlights and wipers. It was late afternoon, and already, because of the cloud cover, the day was dark as dusk, the rain cold as winter.

It had been a week since she’d visited Gran’s house, and she thought it was about time to face her demons, maybe look at the place with new eyes…as Sara had.

Using her remote, she opened the gate, nosing the Acura into the parking area in front of the garage. Ducking her head against the chilly rain, Cissy ran up the walk to the front porch and let herself inside with her key.

No one was here. As she walked through the gloomy rooms snapping lights on and off, she could tell that Rosa and Paloma were keeping the place up: the floors and woodwork gleamed; the smell of pine and lemon was heavy in the air. Nothing was out of place, but the house seemed old and creaky, a cavernous tomb.

She mounted the stairs to the floor where she’d spent most of her waking hours, checking out the library and the family room, each seeming cold and dark without Gran’s vitality and strong personality. Snapping off lights, she climbed up another flight to the bedroom suites on the third floor. Almost feeling as if she were treading on the grave of her parents’ marriage, she opened the door to their suite and stepped inside. They’d each had a separate room linked by this shared sitting area complete with a fireplace and a private verandah, like their own private apartment within the massive old house.

Cissy felt a chill that cut deep to her soul.

Looking out the glass doors to the private garden, she realized how dark the day had become. Night was falling fast. She touched the back of her mother’s favorite Queen Anne chair and trembled inside.

It seemed like eons ago when they’d all lived here. She felt a pang of nostalgia, of regret, though she didn’t know why. Cissy had never thought of her family as loving, far from it. But it was her family. Or had been.

She left her parents’ living quart

ers and made her way around the staircase to her room. As she walked into the cozy space where she’d spent so many hours as a teenager, she felt a stab of loneliness for what now seemed a simpler life.

Before your mother turned into a psycho.

Refusing to dwell on Marla, she turned back to the hallway and started for the guest room.

Crrreeeeaaaak!

The sound swept up the dark staircase.

Cissy froze.

What was that? A door opening? Or something else?

What?

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