Shades (5 page)

Balancing five plates on the round server tray, Liz turned toward the dining room again. When she finished delivering the order to the waiting table, Liz retreated to the wait station for the tea pitcher and coffeepot.

Maria joined her just a moment later. "Can you believe

Michael? Can you believe that he'd see a ghost and not tell me about it?"

"I don't think he's sure he saw a ghost," Liz said.

"What about the lightning bolt?"

"Coincidence."

"Around those three? No way."

"The ghost was Tiller's father," Liz pointed out. "Not anyone Michael knew."

"Look, after the shift finishes today," Maria said, then glanced out at the dining area. "Okay, if this shift ever ends, we'll check around with the realtor and some of the other businesspeople along the street who were here before you and your parents were. Maybe something happened here."

"What?" Liz asked.

"A murder." Maria looked at her. "You think I'm being overdramatic?"

"Yes."

"Then we can keep the operative theory that your mom is wigging out?"

Liz grimaced. "Okay. We'll ask around, but I think there has to be a more reasonable explanation for… "

Car horns blared outside the restaurant on the street.

Glancing up, Liz watched as a thin scarecrow of a man darted across the street out in front of the Crashdown Cafe. She recognized the man as one of the town regulars.

Leroy Wilkins seldom stopped in at the Crashdown Cafe to eat, but he dropped in often for a cup of coffee and to exchange gossip. Thin and wiry, on the edge of looking emaciated, Wilkins was supposed to have been some kind of prospector back in the sixties and seventies. His hair and long gray beard stuck out in several directions. He wore faded and patched jeans, a flannel shirt in the same dire degree of wear, and a battered cowboy hat that might have once been black but now carried an indelible patina of desert sand.

More honking shrilled in the wake of Wilkins's frantic run crossing the street. An SUV couldn't stop soon enough. Tires shredded the pavement. The SUV rocked forward, catching Wilkins before he was able to get clear. Wilkins sprawled across the front of the SUV for a moment, looking like the fresh kill proudly shown off by a mechanical predator.

Shoving from the SUV, Wilkins got up again and ran toward the Crashdown Cafe. He reached the door wheezing, his face mottled red from exertion.

Instinctively Liz looked behind the man. Anyone running like that was being chased by someone… or something.

Worry gnawed at the edges of Liz's mind as she watched Leroy Wilkins claw at the Crashdown Cafe's front door like a feral animal. His arthritic hands kept slipping on the handle. Wilkins managed to get the door open and slide inside. He turned to face the door and the plate-glass windows at the front of the cafe.

"No!" Wilkins bleated hoarsely, raising one hand as if to ward off a blow.

Liz stared out into the street. Besides the stalled traffic, she could see nothing else.

"Keep him back!" Wilkins cried out. He lifted both hands in front of his face and kept stepping back into the cafe. "Keep him back! Somebody help me!"

Several of the nearby patrons stood and abandoned their meals, not wanting to be anywhere near the old prospector.

"Do you see anybody?" Maria asked Liz.

Liz shook her head.

Wilkins turned and fled again. Before Liz could move, the old man was on her, grabbing her by the shoulders and staring into her eyes.

"Make him stop!" Wilkins begged. Saliva flecked his lips and shone in his beard. His breath was foul and harsh enough to peel paint.

"Who?" Liz asked. The old man's fingers dug into her shoulders painfully. She struggled to get away, but he only tightened his grip.

"Swanson!" Wilkins exploded. "Swansons out to get me!"

Liz didn't know who Swanson was, and she didn't see anyone over the old man's shoulder, either. She felt Wilkins trembling, though. "I don't see Swanson," she said.

Taking a step to the side, Wilkins kept Liz between himself and the front door. He peered out at the street. Then his grip tightened on her again, almost hard enough now to make her cry out.

"You're lying the old man shouted. "He's out there! I can see him! He's been followin' me for days!"

From the corner of her eye, Liz watched Michael slip from the kitchen through the door beside the pass-through window. Michael took his apron off, balled the garment up, and tossed it to the floor behind him as he started for Wilkins.

"Swanson!" Wilkins brayed in his hoarse voice. "You're not gonna get me! All that business that we done between us, all of that's over with! You're dead!"

Dead? Liz's mind flipped and spun. Wilkins is talking to a ghost?

Michael reached for Wilkins. The old man still wasn't aware of Michael standing there. Before Michael's hand fell on Wilkins's shoulder, a cloud of swirling debris… fast-food containers and cups, newspapers, and bits and pieces of unidentified matter… rose up from the street.

Liz didn't think the swirling wind was too strange. Dust devils were a common occurrence out in the desert. But she'd never seen one that grew the way the dust devil in front of the Crashdown Cafe grew. In the space of a few heartbeats the dust devil increased in size large enough to cover the cafe's front door and most of the glass window that looked out onto the street.

Liz glanced at Michael, wondering why he wasn't doing something about Wilkins. Instead, Michael had frozen in place, watching the front of the cafe.

What does he see? Liz asked herself. There was no doubt that Michael saw something. She stared hard through the glass, turning most of her attention from Wilkins, ignoring the pain in her shoulders.

All she saw were papers swirling in midair. Some of them slapped against the glass of the door and the window, creating eerie tapping noises, the kind she'd heard on sound tracks of cheesy horror movies. A silvery glimmer sparked out on the street, something that raced in between the traffic. But the glimmer was gone before Liz could be certain she'd even seen it.

In the next instant the dust devil slammed against the front of the cafe. Glass shattered as the windows gave way before the assault.

"NOOOO!" Wilkins shouted, yanking Liz backward. He stumbled and almost fell, only maintaining his balance because Liz kept hers.

Michael launched himself into action, stepping forward and grabbing one of Wilkins's arms. He tore the panicked old man's hand from Liz's shoulder, then spun her out of her captor's grip.

"Noooo!" Wilkins howled, raising both arms in front of him. The wind caught up to him, ripping his cowboy hat from his head. "Don't, Swanson! Don't do… " His frightened plea ended in a sudden detonation of thunder.

A white-hot spark filled the cafe for just a moment. Liz felt the heat of the lightning strike… if that was what it was… but only on her face and one arm because Michael turned her so that he could shield her with his body. Thunder rolled and echoed inside the cafe.

The explosion of light left dark shadows floating in Liz's vision. She barely made out the regular customers and tourists hiding at the rear of the cafe and under the tables.

"Are you all right?" Michael asked.

"Yeah," Liz said. "I think so." Her ears hurt, and a headache had formed behind her eyes. She extricated herself from Michaels protective grip.

Leroy Wilkins lay sprawled on the ground. A dark crimson blush stained his features, spreading out along on his hands and arms as well.

Michael retreated from Liz and knelt on the floor by the old prospector. Michael started to reach for Wilkins's wrist like he was going to check the man's pulse. While he was doing that, several of the cafe's patrons made a quick exit through the door.

Without warning, Wilkins reached up and grabbed Michael's shirt. Startled, obviously a little freaked out by the experience, Michael jerked back and slapped the old man's hands away.

Wilkins gasped and fell back. His mouth worked hard, opening and shutting like a fish out of water. Then he began to shake and shiver the whole length of his body.

"What's wrong with him?" Liz asked, standing behind Michael.

"It went into him," Michael answered.

"What went into him?"

Michael didn't answer.

"You saw it? Liz asked.

Michael hesitated, then he nodded.

For a moment Liz was halfway expecting something to burst out of Wilkins. If something had gone into the old man, maybe now it wanted out. Before she knew she was moving, she stepped back as Michael continued to watch the old man's body jerk and writhe.

"Somebody call nine-one-one!" a man yelled. "Can't you see he's having a heart attack?"

"You know, if I didn't know we were hiding out from your parents, I'd think you were ashamed to be seen in public with me."

A twinge of apprehension rocketed through Isabel Evans, but the feeling was anchored by guilt. She'd never hidden anything from her parents. Well, except for the development of the powers that came with her alien genetics. But now she was hiding possibly the biggest secret she'd had in her life. Not even Max knew. That was pretty bizarre, because she'd never hidden anything from Max, and he'd never been able to hide anything from her since they were kids. But since Tess had left with the baby, Max had had his hands full with his own problems.

And the guy sitting across from her had been totally unexpected, and had so totally knocked her off her feet. She glanced at Jesse Esteban Ramirez seated across the public picnic table. "I'm not ashamed."

Jesse was tall and dark, and extremely handsome. He wore slacks and a dress shirt. His tie was back in his car. Leaning back on the concrete bench, Jesse waved his half-eaten sub sandwich at the desolate surroundings. "The picnic was a good idea."

"I'm glad you think so," Isabel replied. "But?…"

Jesse took another bite of his sandwich. His white teeth flashed. "Why do you think there has to be a 'but? Suspicious mind?"

"On the contrary," Isabel said. "The question came from a trained and orderly mind."

Jesse blotted his mouth with a paper napkin. "There are no 'buts.'"

"I beg to differ. There was a telling absence."

One of Jesse's eyebrows rose in perplexion, arching over a dark, deep orb. Isabel had discovered his gaze to be magnetic, a well that she could gaze into and always find something new and different.

"An absence?" Jesse asked.

"Oh yes."

"And what would this alleged absence be?" Jesse plucked a grape from the bunch Isabel had packed in the picnic basket.

"A decent segue," Isabel told him.

Jesse munched on the grape and appeared to give her accusation his full attention. "Between you possibly being ashamed of me and the fact that the picnic was a good idea?"

"Between your halfhearted attempt to assign guilt for our circumstances and rudimentary effort at changing the subject."

Jesse waved at the empty space around them. When he spoke, his voice was serious. "The picnic is a great idea, Isabel… don't get me wrong. And the food is fantastic. I didn't know you could cook so well."

"It's just sandwiches, potato salad, fruit, and macaroni and cheese," Isabel protested. "Not exactly a true culinary feat. Or even a balanced meal." She felt bad about that, but she'd been in a rush and hadn't had time to run to the store for other items. Brown bagging for one didn't attract too much attention at home, but packing food for two in a rather nifty-looking picnic basket… if she had to say so herself… was a definite giveaway.

"I know, but with you making the meals for these lunches, I don't feel like I'm doing my part."

"What part would that be?"

"The taking-you-out-to-dinner-for-a-good-meal-in-Roswell part," Jesse said.

Smiling, Isabel touched the single red plastic rose in the glass vase between them on the table. The blossom clashed with the red-and-white checked tablecloth she'd brought, but she didn't mind too much. "You brought the flower."

Jesse nodded. "Yeah. But since it's made out of plastic, and this is broad daylight and not a romantic evening, it doesn't have quite the effect I'd hoped for."

"Oh," Isabel reassured him, "that rose had plenty of effect." For just an instant she couldn't believe she'd said that. It was out of character for the Isabel Evans she'd believed she'd grown up to be. But that was before she'd learned all the truths about her own parentage.

And it was before she'd lost Alex… before Tess had killed the guy who could have been her first true love.

"Being out here with you is great," Jesse went on.

"That's a decent save," Isabel said.

"But it's not the same as being able to take you around our city and let people know we're together."

"We can't do that," Isabel said, and the thought turned her cold inside. Her parents had been dealt enough mysteries and changes lately, and one more… especially this one… would have been too much.

"I know," Jesse said. "I'm just frustrated."

"Why?"

Jesse plucked another grape and rolled the fruit between his fingers. "Because I'm afraid we're going to get stuck here."

"What do you mean?"

For a moment Jesse didn't look like he was going to continue. He let out a long breath. "You and me. Stuck. As in, can't go any farther than this."

Isabel leaned back on the hard stone picnic bench. In truth, the rest stop off U.S. 285 between Roswell and Santa Fe wasn't very romantic. After seeing the area a number of times while growing up there, the area could hardly even be called picturesque anymore.

"What are you trying to say?" Isabel asked. She felt her heart thudding inside her chest. Jesse was nearly ten years older than she was. If she'd told her high school friends, they'd have been scandalized even though several of them had crushes on the young male teachers from time to time. In fact, she'd been content to leave the whole dating thing alone because she'd known she was different. Then Max had fallen head over heels for Liz, and Michael started crushing on Maria, and… and Alex had been there for her when everyone else seemed to be going away.

Unexpectedly, memory burned at the backs of Isabel's eyes. She put the remnant of her sandwich down and concentrated on keeping her emotions under control. She looked away from Jesse, trying to find something, anything, to focus on. A silver sparkle in the distance behind Jesse caught her attention for just an instant but disappeared just as quickly.

"I'm sorry," Jesse said in a softer voice.

Isabel, centered once more in what Michael sometimes called her Ice Princess mode, looked back at Jesse. "There's no need to be sorry."

"I hurt your feelings."

"That's my fault," Isabel said. "I shouldn't have left them out there to be hurt." She reached into the picnic basket for the small paper garbage bag she had brought and started cleaning the table.

"Isabel," Jesse said.

"What?" she asked, concentrating on cleaning the table.

"Talk to me."

"I am."

"I said I was sorry."

Isabel nodded. "And I said there was no reason to be."

"This… this situation isn't easy on either of us."

"I know." Isabel put the silverware in an empty plastic container she'd brought for that purpose. Maybe they had to sneak around through Roswell and didn't dare eat in any of the restaurants because they might get caught, but she hadn't wanted to use plastic silverware. She'd bought a handful of her own and kept them separate from the rest in the Evanses' household, part of this other secret life she had from her parents.

Jesse fell silent.

Isabel stopped cleaning and looked at him. "What do you want?"

"For people to know we're together."

"Jesse," Isabel said, "we don't even know if we're together."

"I'm too old for a summer fling," Jesse said. "I gave those up before law school."

For a moment, Isabel felt angry. Then she squelched the emotion. Jesse was trying to be honest, just trying to let her know what was on his mind.

"I," Isabel said distinctly, "have never been interested in summer flings. I've never had one, and I never will."

Jesse spread his hands. "Then what is this?"

Isabel thought for a moment. "This, counselor," she said, "is what we call an exploratory discussion leading to discovery."

"Now you manifest a sense of humor," he grumbled.

A large RV whipped by out on U.S. 285. The sound faded in the distance. High overhead, three hawks floated lazily in the thermals, each of them forming a distinct tri-corner of personal hunting territory.

"I've always had a sense of humor," Isabel said.