Read Online Black Swan Rising by Lee Carroll - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lee Carroll
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call, but one thing happened after another. How did you find out?”
“Maia called us.” Jay sat back on his heels and dropped the sponge into a bucket of water. Red water. “We came right over, but then we didn’t know where you were. Maia let us in. She said that the police said it was okay to clean up.”
“Where were you?” Becky demanded, punching my arm again. For a tiny girl—she claimed five feet but I knew she was really four feet eleven and a half—Becky’s punch packed a wallop. She had so much bottled energy inside her that it seemed to crackle from the ends of her tightly curled brown hair. When she played drums onstage, she sometimes seemed to hover midair above her drum set. Jay, on the other hand, was slow and deliberate. I often wondered how they played music together, but their band, London Dispersion Force, had been going nonstop since college. They’d just come back from a tour of England and they were recording their first album on a small indie label.
“I took a walk after visiting my father in the hospital . . . andgot some food.” I gestured toward the bags. “Aren’t you guys playing at Irving Plaza tonight? I’m surprised Fiona let you out.” Fiona was the lead vocalist and business manager of London Dispersion Force and a stickler for rehearsal times.
“Fiona said to tell you that if you find out what a-holes did this to you and Roman, she’ll take care of them,” Becky said.
For the second time today I felt my eyes filling up with tears. Apparently baked goods and threats of vengeance made me sentimental.
“Why don’t you sit down,” Jay said, pulling a chair out for me. Jay was the one who always noticed when someone was skating on thin ice. Beneath his laid-back exterior, he was the sensitive one in the band—the one who wrote the song lyrics and made sure everyone was okay. “And tell us all about it.”
“I’ll make some tea.” Becky was already at the sink, filling the kettle. The sight of tears always made her get busy.
“Okay. I’ve got some food.” I pointed to the bags on the table. “There’s plenty for all of us . . .” I stared at the bags and felt a sudden lurch in my empty stomach. How had the baker at Puck known I would need extra for my friends?
“I simply refuse to believe your father arranged the burglary.” Becky swept away any possibility of Roman James’s culpability as neatly as she swept the pastry crumbs off the table. Crumbs were practically all that was left of the two bags of savory tea pies and scones. They were so delicious—the pies had held an assortment of mincemeat, eggs, cheese, leeks, and something with curry; the scones had come with clotted cream and raspberry jam—that I had to resist the urge to lick the buttery flakes not just from my fingers, but from Becky’s and Jay’s fingers andchins as well. A feeling of warmth and contentment spread out from my stomach to the tips of my fingers and toes. My friends’ steadfast belief in my father’s innocence was no small part of the pleasure I felt.
“No way,” Jay said, leaning back and rubbing his swollen belly. “He wouldn’t let those thugs into the house with you here. I say this Dee guy you met at the jewelry store is behind the whole thing. If he was legit, then why would he have packed up shop so suddenly and gone to such lengths to make it look like the shop hadn’t been occupied in years? And why would he use the name of a dead alchemist? It’s obviously an alias. It all smells like a con game. I bet he put some kind of drug in that box that knocked you out.”
I smiled at Jay. He was a big fan of pulp fiction—Doc Savage and The Shadow—and loved elaborate explanations for everyday occurrences. “But even if that were possible, Jay, I wandered into his store randomly.” In my head, though, I heard the baker at Puck saying that the rain had pushed me into Dee’s doorway, the rain that hadn’t been in the weather forecast, but I dismissed the
“Maia called us.” Jay sat back on his heels and dropped the sponge into a bucket of water. Red water. “We came right over, but then we didn’t know where you were. Maia let us in. She said that the police said it was okay to clean up.”
“Where were you?” Becky demanded, punching my arm again. For a tiny girl—she claimed five feet but I knew she was really four feet eleven and a half—Becky’s punch packed a wallop. She had so much bottled energy inside her that it seemed to crackle from the ends of her tightly curled brown hair. When she played drums onstage, she sometimes seemed to hover midair above her drum set. Jay, on the other hand, was slow and deliberate. I often wondered how they played music together, but their band, London Dispersion Force, had been going nonstop since college. They’d just come back from a tour of England and they were recording their first album on a small indie label.
“I took a walk after visiting my father in the hospital . . . andgot some food.” I gestured toward the bags. “Aren’t you guys playing at Irving Plaza tonight? I’m surprised Fiona let you out.” Fiona was the lead vocalist and business manager of London Dispersion Force and a stickler for rehearsal times.
“Fiona said to tell you that if you find out what a-holes did this to you and Roman, she’ll take care of them,” Becky said.
For the second time today I felt my eyes filling up with tears. Apparently baked goods and threats of vengeance made me sentimental.
“Why don’t you sit down,” Jay said, pulling a chair out for me. Jay was the one who always noticed when someone was skating on thin ice. Beneath his laid-back exterior, he was the sensitive one in the band—the one who wrote the song lyrics and made sure everyone was okay. “And tell us all about it.”
“I’ll make some tea.” Becky was already at the sink, filling the kettle. The sight of tears always made her get busy.
“Okay. I’ve got some food.” I pointed to the bags on the table. “There’s plenty for all of us . . .” I stared at the bags and felt a sudden lurch in my empty stomach. How had the baker at Puck known I would need extra for my friends?
“I simply refuse to believe your father arranged the burglary.” Becky swept away any possibility of Roman James’s culpability as neatly as she swept the pastry crumbs off the table. Crumbs were practically all that was left of the two bags of savory tea pies and scones. They were so delicious—the pies had held an assortment of mincemeat, eggs, cheese, leeks, and something with curry; the scones had come with clotted cream and raspberry jam—that I had to resist the urge to lick the buttery flakes not just from my fingers, but from Becky’s and Jay’s fingers andchins as well. A feeling of warmth and contentment spread out from my stomach to the tips of my fingers and toes. My friends’ steadfast belief in my father’s innocence was no small part of the pleasure I felt.
“No way,” Jay said, leaning back and rubbing his swollen belly. “He wouldn’t let those thugs into the house with you here. I say this Dee guy you met at the jewelry store is behind the whole thing. If he was legit, then why would he have packed up shop so suddenly and gone to such lengths to make it look like the shop hadn’t been occupied in years? And why would he use the name of a dead alchemist? It’s obviously an alias. It all smells like a con game. I bet he put some kind of drug in that box that knocked you out.”
I smiled at Jay. He was a big fan of pulp fiction—Doc Savage and The Shadow—and loved elaborate explanations for everyday occurrences. “But even if that were possible, Jay, I wandered into his store randomly.” In my head, though, I heard the baker at Puck saying that the rain had pushed me into Dee’s doorway, the rain that hadn’t been in the weather forecast, but I dismissed the
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