Chapter Ten
Rodolfo never showed up that night, and the resulting crowd was thin. By midnight, King told me to get lost.
“Don’t know where the boss man has gotten himself to,” he muttered.
“I—uh—saw him out back when I came in,” I said.
King, busy filling a pilsner glass from the tap, glanced up with a frown. “You talk to him?”
“He took off before…” I let my voice drift into silence. He’d taken off before I could ascertain it was actually him—although who else would have been standing outside the bar wearing sunglasses beneath the moon?
“Strange.” King slid the beer to the customer, then slid the money into his huge hand. “He don’t usually disappear so early.”
“Maybe he had another headache.”
The big man’s lips thinned. “There’s nothin’ you can do for him when he’s like that. ‘Cept leave ‘im alone.”
“I know.”
“Girlie, that boy’s got troubles galore.”
“I know that too.” I handed him my tray and notepad. “You said no one else lived here but me.”
“No one does.”
“Who has a key?”
His head tilted as he considered the question. “Me, you, Johnny. A weekly cleaning crew. The accountant.”
“What about former employees?”
“I always get the keys back.”
That didn’t mean someone hadn’t made a copy.
King frowned. “Why?”
I still didn’t want to share the disappearing altar with anyone, but—
“You know anything about voodoo?”
His expression chilled, making his oddly light eyes appear even lighter. “You think because I’m black I know voodoo?”
“That’s not what I meant. I was just curious.”
“Be curious someplace else. I’m a Baptist, born and bred. I don’t hold with that hoodoo shit.”
“Sorry,” I muttered. “Forget I asked.”
I headed to my room, stepping gingerly on the staircase lest the black cat show up again. I should have asked King what its name was.
My cell phone beeped. I checked the message, figuring it would be from one or the other of my parents, calling to make sure my clothes had arrived safely. I was right and wrong. The first was from my mother asking just that. The second was from Sullivan.
“Just wanted to make sure you got back okay.” A long silence followed before he murmured, “Call me.”
I dialed his cell, left my own message. “I’m fine. Thanks for the sandwich and the—” I wasn’t sure what to call it. “Conversation,” I decided. “I’ll be in touch.”
The scent of smoke clung to my hair and clothes so I took a shower, let the hot water beat on my sore shoulders and slightly achy feet. Waitressing wasn’t for sissies.
Strangely enough, I kind of liked it. I got to talk to people, show Katie’s picture. I felt like I was doing something, when for months I’d been doing nothing. I wasn’t having any luck, but at least I was trying.
Who knew? The phrase “like finding a needle in a haystack” actually contained the word “finding.” It could happen.
I glanced around my rented room and was surprised by the wave of loneliness that washed over me.
Sure, I was far from home, but I’d often felt the same in Philly where I lived only ten minutes from my parents. I was alone in a way only a twenty-three-year-old single woman can be. I ached for someone, but there was no one.
I forced myself to turn off the lights, get into bed. The music ended downstairs, but I could still hear the thrum of voices, the occasional high-pitched laughter. Not enough to keep me awake if I’d been at all tired.
I stared at the ceiling. While I should have been thinking of Katie, or even the case, coming up with some sort of plan, instead I found myself thinking of John Rodolfo, wondering where he went when he walked the night, what he did, who he was.
I drifted in that place where time can both fly and crawl, when we’re not quite asleep, but we aren’t awake either. I saw him wandering in the fog, as alone as I was, wanting someone with whom to share the darkness.
I j erked upright. Rising Moon had gone completely silent below me. I glanced at my watch. Three hours had passed.
The moon shone through my window, creating a silver path between it and my bed. The distant howl of a train, the wind, or something with fur, split the night.
I listened as it died away and an odd tap-tap took its place. Curious, I slipped out of bed and followed the silver trail to the window.
The street lay deserted except for a solitary figure moving slowly in my direction, weaving a bit as if drunk, tapping a white cane tipped with red along the pavement in front of him.
I don’t know why I was surprised to see Rodolfo with a cane. Without a dog or a companion, how else would he traverse the city? Still, the apparatus made him seem more vulnerable than he ever had before.
As if in answer to my thoughts, he stumbled, nearly going to his knees before righting himself. Was he drunk?
Before I could think better of it, I left my room, flying down the back stairs and out the door. It wasn’t until the warm wind brushed my bare arms and legs that I remembered I wore nothing but a pair of boxers and a thin tank top.
I hesitated for only a moment, then left the shadow of the building and hurried across the street. No one was out here but the two of us, and he wouldn’t be able to see anything.
“What are you—” I began, then stopped when I saw the blood on his shirt.
Cursing, I ran the remaining steps to his side, grasping his elbow, gentling my hold when he winced.
“What happened?”
“Mugged,” he said softly.
His j aw sported a darkening bruise, as did his cheek. I wondered momentarily how he’d managed to keep his glasses from getting busted, then became distracted by the way he held his body, protectively, as if he’d cracked a rib. The fingers curled around the cane had lacerations on the knuckles.
“Where? Why?” I demanded, and he smiled, just a tiny uptilt of his lips, but I was done for. He was so damn beautiful he made me dizzy.
“I believe the why of it was money, chica. Isn’t it always?”
“How could anyone mug a—”
“Blind man?” he finished. “You can say it. I know that I’m blind.”
My mouth twitched. The better I got to know him, the better I liked him. Which wasn’t good. If I was going to be attracted to a man for the first time in forever, why couldn’t I be attracted to someone like Sullivan?