The Fire and the Veil (Veronica Barry Book 2) (2 page)

“And he might take it wrong and get in a snit.”

Melanie snorted. “Yeah. And I’ve seen Darnell in a snit. It’s not pretty.”

“Really? I was just throwing that out there.”

“Oh my god, I never told you about the Sherman motion-to-strike-testimony deadline fiasco?”

“No,” Veronica said.

“Oh boy. Well, suffice to say that there’s a reason Denise isn’t in Darnell’s good graces. I’ve never seen him so pissed.”

“Maybe you should go back to school, get a degree as a paralegal. Seems like you do Denise’s job better than she does already.”

Melanie paused. “That is a thought.”

“You’d be taking time off without losing momentum in your career. You’d come back to it with better qualifications than when you left.”

“Okay, Mrs. Forsythe.”

“Mrs. Forsythe?”

“My high school guidance counselor.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Yeah,” Melanie said. “You have a point. I’m definitely going to give it some thought.”

“See that you do,” Veronica said in her best imitation of a snotty school counselor voice. Not that any of the school counselors at Eleanor Roosevelt were snotty, but it got a chuckle out of Mel.

“Hey, hon, do you mind if I call you back tomorrow? Angie just got home.”

“Sure thing. Tentative retail therapy date for Sunday afternoon?”

“Wild horses couldn’t tear me away.”

“Tell Angie she’s my favorite student.”

“Teacher’s pet!”

“Yep.”

“As she should be. I’ll tell her. Talk to you soon.”

Veronica put the phone back in her bag and smiled. She checked it again a moment later for the time. Six-thirty. Daniel was meeting her at seven. Should she order another cup of tea? She stared at the pile of dialogues and considered whether she could face them without more tea. She had just made up her mind to order another cup when Daniel came through the glass door of the coffee shop.

Chapter 2

When he saw her, his eyes turned up at the corners like a cat’s, preceding his smile by a split second. Veronica returned his smile and waved at him, appreciating the opportunity to admire him as he approached. His face was all planes and facets, like a diamond. His hair was getting a little long, and the damp had given it a bit of a curl. More than her own, she realized with amused envy. As he approached, his trench coat swung around his legs. He loosened his tie as he collapsed into the comfy chair nearest her. “What a day.”

“Long one?” Veronica asked.

“The longest. Well, no. There’s definitely been worse. But it feels like the longest right now. Especially my feet. Can feet howl? Because right now my feet are howling. Dogs in Roseville are covering their ears with their paws because of the racket my feet are kicking up.”

“Oh, very punny,” Veronica said with a grimace.

Daniel chuckled. “How are you?”

“Fine. The arm doesn’t hurt at the moment. And I got through… oh, about a quarter of my grading.”

Daniel glanced at the stack. “A whole quarter?”

“Don’t mock. That’s almost forty papers. Well, closer to thirty. But that’s a lot.” Veronica pushed the papers into a more tidy pile.

“If you say so. Looks to me like you’ve done more damage to the tea and pastries.”

“Nice. Want a donut, Officer Snotty?”

“That’s Detective Snotty to you.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. She’d agonized over eyeliner for this? He was so infuriating.

She gave him her best withering glare and sat back in the armchair, crossing her arms.

“Ooh, turn off the laser beams, Mr. Spock, I take it back, okay? What am I taking back again?”

“First of all, if you’re going to make a Star Trek reference, get it right. They used phasers, not lasers—”

“Hang on, no one told me I was dating a trekkie—”

“I’m not a trekkie, I just like old movies and TV shows and you knew that weeks before we went out on our first date—”

“You used the word ‘phasers’ in a sentence, Ronnie—”

“Secondly,
Detective
Snarkface, I have
never
given you permission to call me Ronnie—”

“Oh come
on,
as a connasewer of all things old and dusty, surely you appreciate that Ronnie Specter was the
coolest
thing to hit the airwaves in 1963—”

“I am not a
connoisseur
of ‘all things old and dusty,’ as you put it. It’s not like I go antiquing. And my name is Veronica, not Ronnie.”

“What’s wrong with going antiquing?”

Veronica rolled her eyes.

Daniel laughed. He loved to get her all riled up. She knew he did. And yet he still succeeded at it every time he tried. What did that say about her? She cracked a grin. He was cute when he laughed like that. And she knew he saw terrible things when he was working. She couldn’t really begrudge him playing with her a little to get a laugh.

“You better have something nice in mind for tonight,” she conceded.

He wiggled his eyebrows again, but said nothing.

She sighed. “Am I at least dressed right for whatever it is?”

He looked her over, as if his detective’s eyes hadn’t noted the pleated gray skirt, blue paisley blouse and low black heels the moment he saw her. “That should be fine. I do have one question, though.”

“Ask away.”

“Do you eat raw fish? Because if you don’t…”

“Raw fish? Like, sushi? Sure. But will you ever be able to look your clownfish in their shiny little eyes again?”

“Clownfish never make eye-contact anyway.”

“Is that a fact?”

“It is now. Tell me, have you ever had a dance lesson?”

“A dance lesson?”

“Is there an echo in here?” Daniel asked, smirking at her.

“What?”

“You keep repeating everything I say.”

“I do not.”

“Do, too.”

“Oh, this is mature.”

“Just answer the question,” Daniel prompted. She looked at him blankly. “Have you ever had a dance lesson?”

“Daniel, you know my aunt, Cybele. You’ve met her. You know I grew up with her. You know she’s a professional dancer. So I’ll ask you, Mr. Homicide Detective. Have I ever had a dance lesson?”

“Okay… have you ever had a salsa lesson?”

“Salsa? No. Swing, yes.”

He grinned. “You should be fine then, there’s just a little more hip action.”

Suddenly Veronica felt her cheeks warm. “Since when do Koreans go salsa dancing?” she managed.

“You’re not Korean,” he said, his grin widening.

She had no response to that. She hadn’t expected to feel nervous like this, out of nowhere. The image that had come to her, of dancing salsa with Daniel… why was she being such a nerd about this? She felt like she was thirteen again, and going on her first date.

It’s because it means something, she thought. It’s not just salsa dancing. It means he’s planning to kiss me, finally. It means he’s probably thinking about a lot more than that.

Which, come on, he must have been thinking about, if not from the moment he met her, then at least way back at the hospital, when he first asked her out. Why was she freaking out about this? He was certainly not her first.

But he
was
her first in a long time. Her first since Bo Bedragar, three years ago. And that relationship hadn’t gone well at all. One several levels. Not the least of which was
in the bedroom.
So, okay, yeah. That was it. She was getting all awkward because it had been a while, and the last times, with Bo, were pretty disappointing.

Jeez, three years,
she thought. It’s not like she forgot it had been that long—how could she forget something like that?—but now that it looked like she was actually going to end her epic dry spell, the magnitude of
three years
made everything all the more overwhelming.

“You got kind of quiet,” Daniel said, his tone more serious. “Is everything okay? If you don’t want to go dancing, we could just take in a movie—”

“No,” Veronica said, smiling. She covered his hand with hers. His skin felt so smooth, like silk. Touching him made her stomach do a flip. “No,” she managed. “I want to go dancing. Just… uh… be patient, okay? It may take me a little while to warm up.” If only she had the guts to say what she really meant by that. But by the look in Daniel’s dark eyes, he was all too ready to make inferences, as a joke. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him she was genuinely nervous. It was like the old line: Be gentle with me. She sucked on her lips, forgetting about the gloss for a moment. Then it came back to her and she sighed. “Excuse me for a sec, okay? Powder room.”

The restroom was for a single occupant and each wall was painted a different color: magenta, green, navy, and turquoise. Veronica angled herself so the navy wasn’t behind her. Her dark hair tended to blend in with the dark paint, and she needed to see herself clearly.

“Just chill out,” she whispered to her reflection.

Daniel doesn’t want to hurt you.

Her breath caught.

He likes you. He’s concerned right now. He could tell you were upset.

The ghost voice came through sounding blurred, like it crossed some sort of filter.

“I’m not upset,” Veronica murmured, looking around. No one was visible.

The voice was silent.

“Who is this, anyway? Do I know you?”

Veronica felt laughter in the air.

Of course.

“Who are you?”

The voice did not respond. Veronica’s gaze searched the room, but it was futile. It was so rare that the spirits showed themselves to her. At the height of the danger Grant Slecterson posed to Angie, she’d gotten full visions from them, like stepping out of reality and into a dream. But apparently dating jitters didn’t warrant that sort of display.

The voice was familiar. One of the ones she heard the most often. In fact, she was pretty sure that there were a few spirits that just hung out around her all of the time. Or most of the time, anyway. This voice had a female quality to it. Although it was hard to tell. With Sylvia Gomez, Grant’s dead mother, she had recognized her voice because she heard it in visions of Sylvia when she was alive. But when she thought about it, she realized that Sylvia’s voice as a living woman was different from her voice as a spirit. In fact, if she really tried to think about it, she’d have to say that “voice” wasn’t even the right word. The messages she got, that she organized into words in her mind—were they even being sent to her as words? Or something else, that she then interpreted? In any case, gender fell somewhat to the wayside when it came to most of the spirits’ “voices.” She thought this one was a woman. In fact, she suspected she knew who she was. But it would be nice to have it confirmed. It would be nice to know when it was her mother talking to her.

“Wow, and Mel was complaining about her mother getting into her head,” Veronica muttered.

She had a sense of that laughter again.

“Whatever,” she breathed. She quickly reapplied gloss, patted her hair, and walked out of the restroom to join Daniel.

~~~

The salsa bar, Cafe San Paulo, was loud, dark, and crowded, and at first, Veronica found it hard to breathe. When Daniel asked if she wanted a drink, she decided not to mess around with her usual glass of wine. This called for a margarita. The real kind, on the rocks—no pseudo-daiquiri blended stuff. She drank half of it within five minutes and enjoyed the warm feeling it gave her right away.

Daniel raised an eyebrow, though.

“It’s just nice to unwind,” she said into his ear.

“I’m not the only one who had a hard day?”

“I have a few squirrelly kids,” she said back.

He smiled and nodded, sipping his own draft beer and then lifting the glass at her. She lifted her margarita and then downed another quarter of it.

They sat at the bar, facing outwards so they could watch the dance floor. It was only seven o’clock and already a half a dozen couples gyrated and whirled to the music. She could see what Daniel meant about it being similar to swing, with more hip action. Then the thought of him contemplating hip action made her blush. She wished her drink was in a tumbler—a nice cold tumbler—so she could press it to her cheeks. But then, that might be a giveaway that she was feeling flushed.

She thought about excusing herself to the restroom again as she finished her drink. After all, between the tequila and the cups of tea she’d had, it made sense that she’d be in and out of the restroom all night, didn’t it? Oh, god. She had to get a grip.

“Okay, Ronnie,” Daniel said, taking her hand as she opened her mouth to protest the nickname, “let’s get out on the dance floor.” He pulled her so she had to hop off of her stool, and in a moment he had his hand on her hip and he was leading her onto the floor.

Veronica had to stop worrying: it was all she could do to focus on the movements of the dance. The music was full of rhythm and soon she caught the beat of it, swaying her hips to match it. Daniel held her right hand firmly, and guided her through the turns. He’d obviously done this many times before. Soon she found she could relax and trust that he would lead her through the dance. She liked salsa, she realized.

The music flowed without a break into the next song, and they kept dancing. He swung her through a kind of whirling dip. It made her pleasantly dizzy. Probably the tequila helped a bit with that, too. She forgot all about her nerves, and got lost in the music and the dancing.

They only stopped after five more songs. He led her from the dance floor. She felt flushed, but not with embarrassment now, just exhilaration. “I thought you said your feet hurt,” she shouted over the music.

“My feet know when to shut up,” he said into her ear. “They quit howling when it’s salsa time.”

“How long have you been coming here?”

“I started about five years ago,” he answered. “I don’t get out much since I made detective, though. So it’s great to be back tonight. You hungry?”

She smiled. “Starved,” she said. It seemed like that croissant had disappeared hours before. She checked her phone. It was only seven forty-five. “Are you sure you want to leave, though?”

“Yeah,” Daniel said. “I really am pretty beat, I’m sorry to say. Let’s go get sushi. We’ll come back here another night.”