Chapter Seven #2
David had no opinion one way or another on the aesthetics of the thing, though he must admit to a touch of misgiving at the idea of Meredith being entrusted with such an item.
Then again, none of its purported functions seemed particularly dangerous—or, for that matter, particularly plausible—and chances were that Meredith would forget its existence the moment it was out of his sight anyway.
—
“—and he decoupaged the shelves of the linen cupboard, can you believe it?” David demanded. “Do you know how long that takes to dry? And then—”
Harriet Albert held up an arresting hand over her half-finished coffee.
“Stop. You are so obsessed.” She and David had been good friends for years, ever since meeting in their university’s finance club, and when she’d moved across the country for a job offer in Cleveland, he’d eventually followed.
They still made time to catch up regularly, though their face-to-face meetings had become less frequent over the past few years.
“I am not obsessed,” said David. “And anyway, the man doesn’t allow anything else.
He’s like a—like a Christmas tree covered in baubles and twinkle lights that’s also on fire.
It demands attention. One can’t look away.
Only this particular Christmas tree stands there going, Ooh, don’t these flames sparkle so nice on my tinsel. ”
Harriet’s eyebrows rose until they were hidden by her wispy black bangs. “You seriously need to get out of there. Or get out more in general. It sounds like the two of you get stuck in your own little world.”
“He’s always in his own little world,” lamented David, lifting his coffee mug halfway before setting it back down, “and is constantly trying to pull everybody else into it.”
“Of course,” Harriet suggested, eyes twinkling, “you could just sleep with him already and get it out of your system.”
David’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me? I do not want to sleep with him.” He understood why people did, he supposed. Meredith wasn’t unattractive, if one’s tastes ran that way—which David’s didn’t, and neither did he go in for one-night stands.
“We are talking about the same guy, right? The blondish goth Canadian?”
“That’s the one.” David recalled now; Harriet had once met him briefly when she’d visited Midnight Cottage the summer before. “He isn’t, by the way. Canadian, I mean.”
A dreamy expression came over Harriet’s face as she sipped her coffee. “You could do a lot worse, you know.”
“Excuse me? Since when are you interested in men?”
“I’m not interested,” she protested. “I’m just making an observation.”
David pointed a warning finger at her. “Don’t you even think about it.
” The last thing he needed was for Meredith to go seducing his best friend, or vice versa.
“And in any case, in spite of what you seem to believe, I have never once felt the slightest romantic or sexual inclination toward that—that absurd, jangling, brainless little walking disaster.”
“Obsessed,” whispered Harriet, and laughed at his sour expression. “Okay, okay, that’s the last you’ll hear of it from me. Here’s what you really came for.” She took a business card from her handbag and slid it across the table. “Leonard Flood, my real estate agent. Go ahead and give him a call.”
“Thanks.” That was exactly what David needed to get himself out of Midnight Cottage, even if he would keep his plans to himself on that front for the time being.
Just until the moment was right to break the news, he told himself.
It was too soon after the business with Brian, and he could ill afford to jeopardize his still-precarious invitation to Adalynn Cartier’s wedding.
—
When David returned to Midnight Cottage, a late-model diesel pickup sat parked alongside David’s own cargo van and Meredith’s ancient Cadillac, both rarely driven.
Though the truck was spattered with mud, its new paint gleamed, and the bed was outfitted with a well-maintained toolbox and ladder rack.
Another workman summoned by Bednarek, no doubt.
Perhaps this was the long-anticipated return of the plumber who’d come to see to a minor leak in the upstairs bath the previous week.
He had rendered the facilities entirely unusable, left under the pretext of obtaining the proper alchemical solution, and failed to return that day or any other.
(Plumbing repairs of the ordinary variety were already well beyond David’s area of expertise, and adding magic into the mix only reinforced his conviction that it was a job best left to professionals.)
Or perhaps someone for the exterior repairs—the deck was still in need of repainting, and David was not so sure the treacle wasps had been entirely eradicated.
He made his way around back to check whether any further repairs were in progress. He found the deck itself unoccupied, but the sliding doors stood open, the faded gingham curtains billowing in the chilly breeze—undoubtedly Meredith’s doing.
#55: He’s always going and leaving windows open no matter how unsuitable the weather.
As David crossed the deck, voices carried from inside. The television? No, a real conversation. His curiosity piqued, he lightened his step as he approached the open door. He didn’t, of course, intend to eavesdrop, although he was curious.
It was a man’s voice, one he didn’t recognize, and speaking rather forcefully, though David could make out only a few snatches of conversation: “…wanted you involved…Genevieve…screw this up for me.”
Meredith’s reply came low and indistinct.
David was on the verge of opening the door properly and stepping inside when Bianca began to bark furiously. He froze, but not in time to stop a floorboard from creaking beneath his foot.
“David?” called Meredith, and his tone was so strange that it gave David pause. No, this was not a conversation he was meant to have overheard, and, suddenly well aware of the mistaken impression one might get from his current position, he silently backed away from the door and off the deck.
David hurried back around to enter through the front door and made sure to close it loudly and obviously behind him.
“Meredith?” he called as he stepped into the living room, knowing full well he’d find him there.
He had, in David’s absence, changed yet again, this time back into the striped sweater of the morning, which appeared to be his current favorite, not that David took deliberate notice of such things.
In any case, he was more interested in the stranger standing next to him—a suntanned, straw-blond man with a neatly trimmed beard and a well-worn flannel shirt, a weathered ball cap in his hand.
“Oh. Hello,” said David. “Pardon me for interrupting.”
“Hey, no worries,” said the blond man with an easy smile. “I was just on my way out.”
When Meredith made no move to provide introductions—
#56: He never introduces other people properly, either.
—the stranger admonished, “Aren’t you going to introduce your friend?” Extending a hand, he said, “Florian Schwarzwelder.”
David rather admired how Florian was able to take a firm approach with Meredith, though of course he’d had far more practice.
“ ’S my roommate,” muttered Meredith sullenly, “David.”
“David Carew,” said David.
Florian had a strong handshake and a rather nice smile.
He was quite handsome, actually, though certainly neither available nor interested.
He was taller than Meredith, though not by much, and while the brothers were of a similarly slim build, Florian had some obvious muscle.
There was a difference, too, in the face; Florian’s narrower features lent something of the sly and fox-like to his expression—if one were of a fanciful temperament, which David certainly was not.
“So you’ve been keeping my little brother in line, huh?” said Florian with a laugh.
David managed a laugh as well, because he was supposed to, but internally he quite despaired at this. “Ah, well, I try.”
#57: Nobody can keep him in line.
“Congratulations, by the way,” said David. Managing to sound as if he were only casually aware of the fact, he added, “I hear you’re getting married.”
“Heh. Thanks.” Florian’s cheeks flushed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Anyhow, I’d better get going. It don’t pay to stand around talking.” Putting his hat back on, he pointed a finger at his brother. “Saturday, don’t forget.”
Meredith made a vague sound of acknowledgment. Florian appeared satisfied with this and nodded to David. “See you around, Dave.”
With that, he made his exit.
“What’s Saturday?” asked David as soon as the door had fallen closed. “And what are you doing home? I thought you said you were working tonight.”
“Oh, yes,” murmured Meredith vaguely. “I had someone booked for a long session, but they’ve gone and rescheduled for Tuesday and I’ve had to rearrange everything.
S’pose I could’ve gone in anyway, but…” He made a listless half gesture approaching a shrug and drifted back to his usual spot in the window, sitting on the bench seat properly for once, feet on the floor.
Bianca emerged from beneath an armchair to nose at his ankles with a whine, but he appeared lost in his own world, gazing down at his hands and twisting one of his rings, a bit of green sea glass entwined in decorative wire.
“They say a magpie in the window foretells death, you know.”
“Hmm?” said Meredith absently, and then, with an effort, turned to David. “What?”
“Death,” repeated David.
“I heard you,” said Meredith. “Where’s a magpie?”
“You, you’re a great big magpie with your stripes and sparkles.”
“Oh.” He considered a moment. “But, David, I haven’t got wings.”
“The wings are incidental. Can’t you grasp metaphor?”
“Not really, no.”
Harriet had been right, David decided. About him needing to leave Midnight Cottage as soon as possible. Most assuredly not in her other suggestion.
Meredith drifted off in thought once more and leaned back against the windowpane, but straightened up at once with a wince. “Do you feel like a cup of tea?”
David had meant to retreat to his room to look through some house listings, but Florian’s appearance—surely on wedding business—had bolstered his spirits and seemed to have straightened out Meredith quite a bit, which also bolstered his spirits.
“Oh, I suppose I could spare the time for a quick cup.”
When Meredith only continued to stare blankly at the wall, David scowled and said, “Suppose I’ll put the kettle on, then.”
As he waited for the tea to steep, it occurred to him that he hadn’t previously put much thought into what sort of person Florian might be.
Had he done so, he would’ve expected someone much more like Meredith, not anyone so normal and sensible.
He wondered fleetingly, and not for the first time, exactly how one ended up with a person like Meredith Schwarzwelder.
Not immune to a bit of introspection, David took stock of his reflection in the door of the microwave oven and magnanimously gave due thought to Meredith’s earlier criticism. No, he decided, there was nothing the matter with his moustache. Meredith had simply been in one of his moods.
David carried two cups of tea back to the living room and handed one to Meredith, who spent a moment staring right through David in the most unnerving manner before finally accepting it.
“You shaved,” said David in surprise, only now taking a proper look at him for the first time since arriving home. The offensive sideburns were gone; without them, he looked younger, softer.
“I didn’t mean—” David began, but Meredith waved a dismissing hand.
“Nah, you were right. The look didn’t suit me.”
It hadn’t, but David couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt. Searching for a new topic, he remarked, “It’s funny how you and Genevieve look more alike than you and your brother.”
“Oh, yes. We take after our mothers’ side,” said Meredith, gazing into the depths of his teacup. “Florian favors our dad.”
“I see,” said David, and asked again, “What’s Saturday?”
“Adalynn’s coming to take me shopping.” Meredith raised his teacup, didn’t drink from it, and lowered it with a frown of confusion. “Got to match the others, you know.”
David brightened further still. “So you are going to be a groomsman, then.”
“S’pose so,” murmured Meredith, and then, looking up at David, confirmed, “Yes. I thought you’d be pleased.”
“Naturally,” said David. “Naturally. Very right and proper.”
“Yeah,” echoed Meredith, frown lines still etched between his eyebrows. “Right and proper.”