The screen filled with a picture of James watching TV. Sadie felt the effort it took Ford not to reach out and touch his face. Winter sunshine streamed in through the large plate-glass windows of the same room they were sitting in now, basking James in a golden glow. Eyes not leaving the television, James said, “Hey, sugarplum, come over here, look what I found. It’s you, in a school play or something, a hundred years ago. You were quite the performer even then.”
Sadie had seen photos of James, experienced him in both Ford’s subconscious and his memories, and she’d heard his voice on Ford’s voice mail message, but this was her first view of him as a fully realized person. He was handsome, but the word that came immediately to Sadie’s mind was fun. He had a mischievous, ready smile and looked like the guy who would be the life of any party.
The camera stayed on James’s face, looking with concentration at the TV. There was the sound of a little boy saying, “If you prick me, I will blee—ouch, you cut me. You weren’t supposed to use a real dagger. You stabbed me. There’s blood.”
A girl’s voice answered flippantly, “Something to remember me by when I’m gone.”
The boy, sounding desperate now, “Don’t say that. You can’t leave me. I promise I’ll get you everything you want. Just say you’ll never leave.”
A ripple of laughter from the girl. “Define everything.”
Watching this, James guffawed, and Sadie felt Ford’s chest tighten. Hearing James’s laugh set up a tug-of-war inside of Ford, pulling between wanting to savor the joy of that sound and wanting to howl with missing him.
James looked away from the television, right into the camera, and asked, “What is this, sugarbear? Wait, that kid is your brother.”
“When we were little,” Plum’s voice affirmed from off screen.
James leaned forward to stare at the TV. “He’s so small. No wonder.”
“We were young,” Plum’s voice said, a little curt. Her hand appeared in the movie, outstretched for the remote. “Turn it off.”
Grinning, James took the remote and shoved it down his pants. “Come and get it.”
The camera moved closer to James. It stopped right in front of his face, recording up close as his expression went from amusement to surprise to desire, and he said in a husky voice, “Damn, woman, that’s not the remote.”
“Funny,” Plum said, “I could have sworn—”
Ford pushed PAUSE. “I don’t think I need the rest.” His mind became quiet and empty, a single thought drifting around it like a leaf being blown in a spring breeze: He looked so happy. He looked so happy with her.
He moved his gaze to Plum, and Sadie felt him probing for some sign that she’d felt the same way about James as James had felt about her.
Plum cleared her throat. “That was the last time I saw him,” she said. “I left for Paris that next day, and when I came back…” Her lip quivered. She got up. “Let’s have a little drinkie.” When Ford hesitated she said, “You wouldn’t make a girl drink by herself, would you?”
He followed her toward the kitchen, his thoughts saying that he had to stay focused, he was there to get her to talk to the police. But beneath that, Sadie sensed the deep pit of loneliness, now lit with a tiny spark of cinnamony hope that here was someone he could miss James with.
She’s going to hurt you, Sadie wanted to tell to him, though she realized she had no real basis for saying that. For a split second she wondered if she was jealous of Plum, but that would have been ridiculous. Ford was a subject of study to her. It was far more likely that she was reacting to the fact that Plum had shown herself to be nothing but self-serving. Even in the video with her brother they’d just heard, she’d treated his feelings cavalierly.
Jealous. Absurd.
He watched Plum mix vodka with lime juice, listening to the clear chime of the silver spoon against the chrome shaker. He said, “Why didn’t you come to the funeral?
She sprinkled the top with powdered sugar. “Funerals aren’t really my thing. I didn’t go to my parents’ funeral. I’m not going to start now.” She took a sip from the shaker, made a face, and added more vodka. “Besides, like I said, I was on my way to Paris when it happened. I didn’t even know James was dead until I got back.”
Good, Sadie thought. So Plum has nothing more to tell us, and we can go.
But Ford’s mind began the process Sadie now identified as problem solving, picking up pieces and trying them in different places.
“You didn’t want to come to the funeral,” he said. “And you said you didn’t want to talk to Serenity Services, even to tell them about James not using drugs.”
“Because it has nothing to do with me,” Plum snapped. “Because I believe in minding my own business. And because James is dead, so it can’t make any difference to him. Don’t start on that again.”
Ford put up a hand. “I’m not. I’m just wondering, since you’ve seemed to put James completely behind you”—he looked at her hard—”why did you want to meet me?”
She cracked ice into two tall glasses and filled them from the shaker, apparently unconcerned. “I told you. I heard you were asking about me.”
“From who? How did you get my number?”
She pushed one of the glasses across the counter toward him. “It’s not that hard to come by, is it? Why won’t you let this drop?”
Ford shook his head. “I’m just trying to figure out what happened to my brother.”
Plum took a sip of her drink and came and stood very close to him, looking at him over the top of her glass. “You want to know what happened to James?”
Her leg brushed his thigh. Ford’s pulse leapt forward, and Sadie heard the shimmer of a tambourine. “I do,” he said. “I want to know—”
“A lot happened to James,” Plum answered. She gulped her drink and set it on the counter with an elegant chink of ice. “A lot of it right here.” She pushed Ford against the counter. “I told you I went to Paris, right? Did you know the real French kiss has nothing at all to do with two mouths?” She slid her hand to his crotch and moved her eyes to his lips.
A xylophone clanged in Ford’s head and drums sounded like they’d been knocked over. She’s trying to distract you, Sadie warned him. Which means they were good questions. Stay focused. Don’t fall for it.
Ford said, “No. I, uh, studied Spanish.”
Plum tugged the end of his belt out of the buckle and had her finger on the top button of his waistband. She brought her face close enough so their mouths were almost touching. She smelled of vodka, lime, and perfume.
Sadie felt Ford’s pulse jump, and his arousal tickled like tiny butterfly wings all over her body. Plum whispered, “Let me show you how it’s really done,” and slid her body down until she was on her knees in front of him.
The sound of every instrument playing hard at once in Ford’s mind was almost deafening. You don’t want to do this, Sadie told him despite substantial evidence to the contrary.
Plum lowered his zipper and ran a finger down the front of his boxers. All the instruments went on playing their loudest but now with the first hints of some kind of structure. You’re just feeling vulnerable, Sadie told him. You broke up with your girlfriend, and you like the attention, but—
A thousand bombs of sensation exploded over Sadie’s body and the keyboards pounded as Plum slipped her hand into the slit in Ford’s boxers. “Oh, my,” she breathed. “You’re definitely not the little bro—”