Light as a Feather, Silent as the Grave

Chapter 30

"Wait. Henry, where is Mr. Simmons right now?" I asked. Trey, fuming, was barely listening.

"He's inside! Looking for Mischa or talking to her, I guess," Henry replied, sounding a little scared. "I'm in the parking lot, waiting."

"Where are Laura and Violet?"

"Violet's with him and Laura's back at the Hilton. She stayed behind just in case you guys turned up there without calling first. Listen, she told me last night that she has a bad feeling about Mr. Simmons."

This inspired Trey to chime in, "Yeah, no shit. Who doesn't have a bad feeling about that guy?"

"Trey," I warned.

"Really," Henry insisted. "She said she gets the sense that he's got something really evil planned, and she tried to cast a spell on a mirror to allow her see what it was, but she couldn't get it to work."

I hated myself for wondering at that moment if Henry and Laura were sharing a hotel room. Or more specifically, sharing a bed in a hotel room, but it was certainly none of my business if they were.

"Okay, well..." I said. "What should we do? We're at least an hour away from Long Beach. Is it even worth it for us to try to figure out how to get back there?" We were closer to Mexico where we stood in that Starbucks than we would be if we travelled back north. If Mr. Simmons flaked on everything he'd told us yesterday and abandoned us in California, a trip back to Long Beach would just add expense and complication to our lives.

Henry hesitated before answering, "I don't know. I honestly don't. Maybe you should just stay where you are. I'll call you if there are any updates."

I ended the call and tried to imagine the scene outside Mischa's Courtyard Hilton residence hotel, but my mind was blank. Trey held up his cupped hands-a gesture intended to imply, "So?"

"Mr. Simmons has gone off-script and just went straight to Mischa's hotel this morning. Henry's not sure what he's up to, and Laura thinks he's not trustworthy."

Outside, the temperature was rising in the small beachside town. It was Sunday morning, and local residents crossed the Pacific Coast Highway barefoot on their way to the beach. Spending a whole day in Laguna Beach was a tempting indulgence. The fact that Trey and I were lucky to be alive that morning after our close call aboard the freight train the day before wasn't lost on me. We deserved a day of sitting on the sand and catching up on sleep. But as always, it seemed too obvious that we should take advantage of our current location and enjoy it.

"What do you think we should do?" Trey asked as we strolled along a strip of boutiques and bistros. I didn't have to ask to know what he thought we should do, which was find a way to get to nearby Irvine and hop on the next Amtrak train to the Mexican border.

I exhaled as if trying to blow all the uncertainty out of my head. "No idea." Laguna Beach, for all its pleasantness, was distracting. Everyone surrounding us was in a great mood, delighted to be enjoying the gorgeous weather, gleeful to be near the waves. Being in the midst of so much emotional activity was making it difficult for me to focus. "It sure would be great if someone could give us some kind of sign about what we're supposed to do next."

At the next corner, Trey nodded in the direction of a Mexican cantina, busy with a brunch crowd. "I see tacos," he quipped. "Maybe that's a sign we should go to Mexico?"

I was on the brink of scolding him when a creepy sensation on my back inspired me to look over my shoulder. A police car had rolled up to the curb behind us, and the uniformed officer behind the wheel had his eyes on me as he lifted his radio talk piece to his mouth. "Trey," I said. "Don't look behind you. We've gotta make ourselves scarce."