Chapter Twenty-Five
When David arrived home after work Friday, Bianca greeted him at the front door, tail wagging. A record played in the background, deep male vocals over dark and foreboding music, but Meredith was nowhere in sight—not in the living room, kitchen, or laundry room.
“Meredith?”
Not a sound from upstairs.
The gingham curtains billowing in the open back door gave David his answer. Pushing them aside, he stepped out onto the deck. At the far corner, Meredith leaned against the railing, staring off in the direction of the Midnight Wood.
“Meredith,” David repeated, and laid a hand on his arm. “What are you doing?”
Meredith turned, blinking in confusion. “I was just—” He broke off uncertainly, brow furrowed. “I don’t know. I can’t remember why I came out here.”
“Well, come on, then,” said David. “We need to be back at the Corner Store by seven, and you take forever to change.”
He expected Meredith to counter that he himself was free to be as fashionably late as he liked, but he only turned away to look toward the Wood again.
“David?”
He checked his watch. “Hmm?”
“If—if anything were to happen to me, you’d see that someone looks after Bianca, won’t you?”
It was six already, and Meredith did spend far too long getting ready, and of course traffic must be taken into account, and—
“What?” Of all the nonsensical things to worry about at a time like this. “Of course nothing’s going to happen to you. Mrs. Jupiter has the situation under control, so long as you do as she says. Now come on.”
This time, Meredith made no protest at being ushered back inside.
Trying to ignore the unease prickling at the back of his mind, David combed his hair, changed into a dark suit, and debated over his choice of necktie.
His favorite, a diagonal stripe in a silver gradient, would be a touch too monochrome, so he selected a blue paisley print instead (given to him by Harriet at Christmas one year, though in the past he’d always found it too whimsical for his taste).
There was nothing left to do but wait on Meredith.
David found himself pacing the living room and resisting the urge to begin returning items to their proper places.
Except, to his bewilderment, he found that everything was in its proper place, and had been recently dusted to boot.
He’d resorted to straightening the sugar bowl on the kitchen table when footsteps sounded on the stairs at last.
“What do you think?” Reaching the bottom of the staircase, Meredith gave a slow twirl, showing off his black cocktail dress, cut very low in the back and exposing most of the feather tattoo down his spine.
“You really went and bought it,” said David in astonishment.
“Course I did,” said Meredith. “What do you think, are the heels too much?” He extended one foot to display a high-heeled sandal in bottle green, doubtless from the women’s section, though after the past five years, David found that such distinctions had ceased to hold much meaning.
“No, no, you want a spot of color,” he said. “I’m just surprised you found them in your size.”
“Do you know, I only wear a ladies’ size eleven?” asked Meredith cheerfully.
“I actually didn’t need to, thanks.”
He gave another twirl, then made a face at his faint reflection in the window glass. “Feel I’m missing something, though. Need a bit more sparkle.”
“You sparkle enough all on your own.” It was meant to be a mild insult, but somehow sounded like anything but when David spoke the words aloud.
“Do I really?”
The question was so earnest David couldn’t stop himself from answering, “Like starlight.” Then, remembering, he cleared his throat and added, “Hold on, I’ve got just the thing.”
He hurried down the hall to his room and returned with Meredith’s strand of black pearls. “Meant to give this back to you the other day and it slipped my mind entirely.”
Meredith turned away, then ventured an expectant look over his shoulder, and David understood what he wanted.
He nearly made a comment about not having signed on to play lady’s maid, but it wasn’t particularly witty, and in any case, it was much more interesting to make a pretense of having difficulty with the clasp of the necklace and watch Meredith shiver at his touch.
“Oh, you do like that,” murmured David, and leaned in to press a kiss to the nape of his neck. “I’ve found your weak spot.”
The next thing David knew, he found himself spun around and pushed over the kitchen table, its edge biting into his thighs as he braced himself to avoid falling flat atop it.
Meredith pressed himself close against David’s back, there was the threat of teeth at his earlobe, and then the harsh growling whisper: “I ought to fuck you over this table right now so you can still feel me all night while you’re trying to impress all them business people you care so much about. Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
To his own surprise, David found that he would like that very much indeed.
Instead, Meredith released him. “But,” he said innocently, “I’m afraid we haven’t time. Wouldn’t want to make you late, after all.”
“A man is allowed the occasional poor decision.” A feeble protest, but it was the best David could come up with.
“Perhaps after.”
“Right.” David took a deep breath and tried to redirect the inconvenient blood flow by sheer force of will. (The new discovery that being manhandled in such a fashion had made him instantly hard was pushed aside for later consideration.) “Let’s go, then.”
—
By the end of their short drive to the Corner Store, thanks to an intensive mental review of tax regulations surrounding charitable donations, David had managed to put Meredith’s words out of his mind and was no longer at risk of public indecency.
The two of them joined the other attendees filing into the lobby.
At the registration tables, each guest was given a glossy pamphlet about the Corner Store and the beneficiaries of the auction’s proceeds, and assigned a randomized number for bidding.
“To make it more interesting,” Steve Corner explained. David nodded and pretended not to notice the eye-watering scent of vodka on his breath. “I have to hand it to you, Carew, it was a good idea of yours to hire professional staff for this.”
In all honesty, it was because David had wanted to avoid being roped into handling the finances of the auction himself—but as the whole event was a tax write-off, the more expensive, the better.
He simply nodded again, signed the registration sheet, wished Corner luck, and hurried away to catch up with Meredith.
Though it was early, the first level of the Corner Store was already crowded. It appeared Corner had made heavy solicitations in the local arts scene, judging by the dazzling mix of avant-garde and traditional formal attire on display.
The sales floor had been rearranged, racks and merchandise carted away and concealed behind partitions.
At the far end of the room near the mezzanine stood a buffet table, and waitstaff circulated distributing champagne cocktails.
Much of the space, however, was taken up by a labyrinth of display tables draped in expanses of sumptuous textiles.
A description card and bid sheet accompanied each lot—gift baskets, luxury clothing items, intricate beadwork, service vouchers displayed in picture frames, and all manner of pottery, paintings, and jewelry.
David recognized the work of Harriet’s grandmother (two sets of mittens knitted in thick natural wool with geometric motifs), a collage of Cliff Richard bearing Kinley’s illegible signature, and, even before Meredith pointed them out, a few pieces of jewelry by Manuel Holland.
Only a few tables down, they found Meredith’s series of now-framed drawings.
“Damaged Scribblings Nos. 1 through 5,” David read aloud from the card. He ought to have looked at the donation form when Meredith had filled it out. “Not a very encouraging name.”
“It was supposed to say Deranged,” complained Meredith. “That’s what I wrote.”
“That’s even worse.” David held back the obvious remark on the difficulty of deciphering Meredith’s handwriting.
“But you’re the one who said it.”
“I never did.”
“You did, that day I drew Siouxsie Sioux riding into battle on a vampire bat, remember? And you said I was trying too hard to imitate Ralph Steadman, and then I stomped around and cried a bit?”
“Oh, yes.” David did now recall saying something of the kind, and his cheeks warmed with guilt. “Sorry about that.”
“Nah, you had a point.” Meredith offered a sheepish smile. “Actually helped me make some progress once I got over my wounded pride.”
David glanced over the pictures. A knight upon his faithful steed in armor made of broken crockery.
A drunken giraffe twisting its neck into an impossible corkscrew as it leaned down to sip a martini through a crazy straw (from an equally twisted glass garnished with tiny skulls on a skewer).
What appeared at first glance to be a collection of abstract swirls and jagged angles that resolved itself into a landscape of towering, leering wildflowers and brambles with grasping thorny tentacles. And—
“You’ve given away the Forkupine?” he asked in dismay. “I thought you liked him.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t.”
David frowned, but before he could reply, his attention was caught by the final drawing. “What the hell is this nightmare creation?”
“Oh, do you like it? It’s stargazy pie with rats instead of fish.”
At a total loss, and mouthing rather like a fish himself, David could only ask, “Why?”
“It just made sense, David.”
Before David could question precisely what kind of sense it made, Meredith shivered. “Cold in here.”
“Yes, well, it is spring still,” David pointed out. “Perhaps you ought to have considered that before wearing a backless dress.”
“Perhaps you—oh!” Meredith darted past David to throw his arms around Kinley, who had not bothered to swap out his leather jacket for anything more suited to the occasion.