Page 21 of A Shade Too Far
5
Monday kickedoff even worse than Sunday had. Sadie woke up uncharacteristically early, so I ran downstairs to the kitchen to talk to her while she ate breakfast, but she brushed me off, saying there was a meeting for all the camp counselors before work that she had to get to.
She clomped upstairs to grab her stuff and I planted myself on the stairs to confront her before she left. It was important we reached an understanding and that I defused her anger.
I was so preoccupied with talking to my daughter that I didn’t want to answer my phone when it rang, but after the person called back for the third time in a row, I hurried into the kitchen to check the screen. It was Tatiana. I made a face because I didn’t have time to deal with her right now, but she’d get pissy if I ignored her call yet again.
“Hello?” I did my best to keep my impatience out of my voice.
“Call off my nephew or I won’t be responsible for my actions,” she said tersely.
I blinked. Tatiana, riled up? “What happened?”
Sadie was still stomping around upstairs.
“He—”
There was a grunt. “Someone put a death curse on her,” Laurent said, having taken the phone away. “And she’s not taking it seriously.”
His French accent had grown stronger, as it did when he was angry or worried. Even so, hearing it centered me. It was like I’d been wandering in the middle of a vast unknown land, but I could tilt my head back and enjoy the passing clouds for a moment instead of constantly scanning for danger. He was the one person who not only had my back but believed in me.
I’d have smiled if I wasn’t in shock.
“What kind of death curse?” I mentally slapped myself. Dead was dead.
“Oh, are you not willing to help unless you have the specifics? The proper paperwork? Alors, woman, you are not leaving this house.” This last to Tatiana, who was presumably making a break for it.
I clenched my fists. By all means, be an asshole. Because I wasn’t getting enough of that from my kid. “Yeah, give it to me in triplicate with proper bullet points.”
“I’m taking it as seriously as every other attempt,” Tatiana said in the background.
“Precisely my point,” he growled.
“It’s an occupational hazard.” She’d wrested the phone away again.
“And you didn’t think to mention this?” I said. The Moka pot on my glass stove top burbled and I dumped both shots of espresso into my warmed milk, the phone cradled between my ear and shoulder.
“I told you—” Laurent had come back on.
“Not the time for sanctimony, Huff ’n’ Puff.” I took that first delicious sip, my body singing hallelujah as the caffeine hit. “Are you certain?”
Something thunked onto a table on their side of the call, followed by the clatter of glass.
“You need your wits about you,” Laurent said. “No Kahlua in your coffee.”
Tatiana made a loud noise of disgust. “Deviating from my routine isn’t going to make it go away but it might keep me from strangling you, Lolo.”
“Laurent,” I repeated, pacing back and forth, my coffee mug in hand. “Are you positive?”
“Oui. Yes. She got the letter.”
“Letter?” I did a double take. “Are we talking typed? Letters cut out serial killer–style? Wait. I know, was it handwritten in a formal calligraphy? How etiquette forward of the death curser. Hang on.” I paused, my mug halfway to my mouth. “Is that what happened to Santiago?”
Outside, a car horn beeped twice.
“The letter was printed, and we don’t know yet if Santiago got one,” Laurent said. “Tatiana is waiting for a call from his widow.”
“Fuck. Okay, but what does it say? Are there demands or—”
