Infamous (42 page)

We’d had a bit of a chat last time Skinny had knocked on Gene’s door—back when A.J. was on that fancy airplane, while Alison was in the shower.

A.J. seemed convinced that, even if Alison somehow was a target of some thugs back in Jubilation, she was safe here in Alaska.

And I had to agree. What I’d seen of Gene made it clear that he wasn’t any kind of International Man of Mystery. He was strictly local talent, and I use that word
talent
with a great deal of irony and sarcasm. And as for the tall man with the ponytail, well,
he
was the genius who’d hired Gene. I didn’t expect much from him, either.

Across the kitchen, that kiss wasn’t ending anytime soon, so I sighed and popped away, back to Jubilation to check on my good friends Rob and Charlotte, the FBI agents.

I’d been monitoring them to see if I couldn’t figure out
who they were surveilling, but they were as bad as A.J. and Alison when it came to needing their privacy.

In fact, as I jumped in, I had my eyes almost completely shut, but then opened them when I realized Rob was dressed and sitting at their trailer’s little built-in table. Charlotte was nowhere in sight, and Rob had a pensive expression on his face as he looked at a little blue velvet jeweler’s box that was open to reveal a ring. I only got a glimpse, but I’m pretty sure the stone was a diamond.

But he snapped the box shut when the door opened, and he quickly made it disappear into the pocket of his jeans.

“God, I need a shower,” Charlotte said as she started to take off her clothes, which, of course, was my cue to leave.

Rob’s response was to assist her by taking off his own clothes, and I knew from the way Charlotte smiled at him that they were going to be useless in my quest for information, for an hour or so at least.

So I popped away, back up to Alaska, into downtown Heaven.

You know, supposedly, while I was down here on earth as a spirit, I’d feel nothing—no hunger, no thirst, no pain of any kind, no desire. I don’t really have any form—I only appear as human for A.J.’s sake, to make it easier for him to deal with me.

But just because I couldn’t feel hunger or thirst or desire didn’t mean that I didn’t want a big helping of chicken with mashed potatoes, or a tall glass of iced tea.

Or my beautiful wife in my arms.

I wished Mel were with me, holding my hand while we walked the streets of this town that we’d made from scratch, this town that we both still loved.

In some ways, Heaven’s changed a lot in the past thirty-odd years. There’re new houses, new stores. Some of the older buildings have undergone renovations. And the town is crawling with children and new babies.

But in some ways, Heaven hasn’t changed a bit.

Dave Sanders still sweeps the sidewalk in front of his
hardware store every morning, saying howdy to everyone who passes by. Merle still runs up a tab for you at the grocery, regardless of whether or not you can afford to pay on time.

Folks still smile at one another when they pass in the street, often stopping to chat, never too busy to greet an old friend.

And those mountains still loom nearby, sharp and beautiful and covered with snow, even in the summer months. I’ve always figured that those mountains are proof that there is a God. Something that beautiful couldn’t’ve been an accident.

I headed toward Rose’s doctor’s office and stuck my head in, but the lights were off and the place was empty.

I’d been thinking a great deal about the way she’d reacted to bumping into me. She’d definitely felt my presence, the same as Alison had. I’d been pondering the idea of trying to communicate with Rose somehow, by standing in her way and letting her walk through me a few times or something.

Or something.

It was clearly another case of my hoping for divine inspiration to strike at the moment I needed it.

I jumped over to Rose’s house and walked up the porch steps and through the wall, right into the middle of her living room. Of course, it used to be my living room. Mine and Mel’s. So it didn’t feel too much like trespassing.

“Honey, I’m home,” I called out, but of course Rose couldn’t hear me.

I could hear her, though. She was in the kitchen, rattling around some pots and pans and cooking up some of that vegetarian mishmash that she’d taken to eating lately.

Rose is capable of cooking the best damn pot roast in a five-hundred-mile radius, yet recently—well, sometime in the past thirty years, anyway—she became a vegetarian. Now, instead of pot roast that would melt in your mouth, she eats little sticks and twigs and curry this and tofu that.

“What’s cookin’, good-lookin’?” I greeted her as I went into the kitchen.

She was steaming some veggies and cooking some exotic blend of rice. There was nary a roast in sight.

I sat down at the kitchen table. “Lookit here, Rose,” I
said, even though she couldn’t hear me. “I’ve been thinking, and what I’ve been thinking is that it isn’t right that you’ve been eating dinner alone for all these years.”

That was when I noticed. There were two place settings at that table.

The back door opened without even a knock and Tom Fallingstar walked in.

Rose looked up from chopping broccoli and smiled. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he said, taking off his jacket and hanging it on one of the hooks that lined the wall by the door. I’d hung my own jacket there more times than I could count. “Sorry I’m late.”

“That’s okay,” she said.

“I was supposed to cook tonight,” he said. He crossed toward her, and pushed a strand of her hair back from her face.

It was such a small thing, just the gentlest touch, but that, and the way they smiled into each other’s eyes spoke volumes.

Good thing I didn’t really have to breathe, because I’m not sure I could have right then. But for the two of them, this was just another day.

Tom crossed to the refrigerator and opened it. “I’ll make a salad,” he said. He knew exactly where all the fixings were as he moved around that kitchen. It was as if he’d made a salad there every night for the past thirty years.

If I’d been able to, I would’ve wept tears of joy. Rose wasn’t alone the way I’d thought.

They worked together in companionable silence for a good two or three minutes as I studied Tom’s face. He’d been a few years older than Ryan, but still, I couldn’t remember him ever going to the town high school. Then I remembered that even back then, he was traveling and studying to become a shaman. Even back then, when he was just a teenager, it was recognized that there was something special about him.

His wife had died back when young Charlie, his son, was very small. Tom had been one of the many men lingering at Rose’s door after Ryan, too, had passed.

I guess he’d simply lingered longer than the others—knowing a damn good thing when he saw it, and recognizing that Rosie was worth waiting for.

“A.J. looks good,” Tom said, breaking the silence.

Rose nodded. “I like Alison,” she said.

“I do, too,” he said.

“But Heaven’s very different from Boston.”

“True,” Tom said.

“I just don’t want her to hurt him.” Rose paused. “It scares me.”

“I know,” he said. “But from where I stand, I see only possibility. I see two very strong young people—”

“You see him as strong?” Rose asked, putting down her knife to look over at him.

He kept cutting a red cabbage as he answered. “Very. For ten years A.J.’s done something difficult, something that you and I can’t even imagine. And he makes it look easy.”

“No, he doesn’t,” she said.

Tom looked up. “Yes,” he said, “he does. You need to let yourself really look at him. As he is today. Maybe it’s time to put a new picture up in your office. He’s not that fragile boy anymore, Rose.”

Rose didn’t respond. She just went back to cutting the broccoli and they worked again in silence for a while.

But then she said, “A funny thing happened a few days ago.”

“Hmm,” Tom said, cutting a yellow pepper now.

“I was in my office,” Rose said, “and I felt the oddest sensation. You know when you swim and you hit a cold spot?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, this was kind of like that, only it was a cold spot in the air,” Rose said. “Plus there was this odd jangle with it—not quite an electric shock, but close.” She put the broccoli into the steamer with the other vegetables and closed the lid before she turned toward Tom. “What do you suppose it was?”

He looked up at her and smiled. “Jamie,” he said.

She smiled back at him. “Don’t tease.”

“I’m not,” Tom said, matter-of-factly. “He’s here, right now.”

She glanced around the room, looking right through me.

“Can you see him?” she asked Tom, her voice lowered, as if maybe I wouldn’t be able to hear her that way.

He scraped the skinny slices of cabbage and pepper into the bowl with the lettuce, then put down the cutting board and knife. “Not exactly,” he said.

“Then how do you know he’s here?” she asked.

He smiled. “I feel him, his presence. He’s here.”

Medical science stared into the smiling eyes of mystical wisdom. Then medical science smiled, too. But it was a tremulous smile.

“Is Jamie angry with me?” Rose asked, searching Tom’s eyes. “You know … because … you’re here?”

“Oh, no, Rose,” I said. “I’m happy for you. You don’t know how happy.… And I know Ryan would be happy for you, too. It’s long past time, dear.”

Tom shook his head, and kissed her gently on the lips. “Jamie’s not angry,” he said. “He’s glad.” His smile grew broader. “In fact, if I listen very carefully, I can hear him. He’s very frustrated, almost as much as I am, that we’ve been talking about getting married for almost three years now, and you won’t agree that it’s the right thing to do. Right now, he’s telling me that he wants—no, demands—that you come to a decision in my favor, and marry me.”

Rose laughed as she wiped away the tears in her eyes. “You can’t hear him, you big fake,” she said. “Jamie did not say all that.”

“Oh yes,” I said. “I certainly did.”

“Besides, when Jamie was frustrated with me, he’d tease and call me a ninny,” Rose added.

“Jamie wants you to be happy, Rosie,” Tom said, pulling her even closer and kissing the top of her head. “Come on. I promise not to hog the blankets and to keep the cap on the toothpaste. We’ve been friends for half a century, lovers for nearly ten years. The entire town knows that I’m your backdoor man. It’s time you start letting me come in the front.”

“I don’t use the front door,” Rose said.

Tom smiled. “That’s beside the point.” His smile faded and his eyes grew serious. “I know you’ll always love Ryan. The same way I’ll always love Marie. That won’t ever change. But we’re here and they’re not.”

“Jamie never remarried after Melody died,” Rose said stubbornly.

Tom shook his head. “He wasn’t lucky enough to meet someone else he could fall in love with,” he said. “But we
were
lucky, you and I. I love you, and I know you love me. Come on, Rose, we’re good together, and you know it.”

Rose glanced around the room, searching for something. Me, I guess.

“Marry him, Rose,” I all but shouted. “Don’t be a ninny!”

“Marry me, Rose,” he said. “Jamie says it’s okay.” He smiled. “He says,
Don’t be a ninny.”

She looked back into Tom’s eyes and started to laugh and cry both at the same time. “Oh, all right,” she said.

Tom laughed, too. He tried to wipe the tears from her eyes, but soon gave up and just kissed her and held her tight.

And then, I swear to God, Tom Fallingstar looked straight at me and winked.

A.J.’s home was lovely.

When they’d first pulled up outside, earlier that afternoon, the cabin had seemed small and rustic. But as A.J. had brought Alison inside, she’d seen that it had been added on to repeatedly through the years, with several bedrooms and a den and a beautiful kitchen that had a wall of windows looking out over the harbor.

It wasn’t large by any means, but it was warm and welcoming, and filled with richly polished wood and graceful furniture that had either come from A.J.’s shop, or had once belonged to Jamie and Melody, which was thrilling.

Assuming A.J.’s story was true.

July, 1901
. The date was carved into the wood mantel of the fireplace in A.J.’s living room—right beneath the equally elegantly carved proclamation
J loves M
.

Jamie loves Melody.

“They lived here for years,” A.J. said as he saw what Alison was tracing with her finger. He knelt to stoke the fire that was crackling in the fireplace. He’d lit it after they’d come home and shared … dessert.

And no, she would never be able to order Death by Chocolate again without smiling. Broadly.

Post-dessert, they’d showered—out of necessity—and she’d slipped into A.J.’s bathrobe, which was big and warm and fuzzy, like wearing a blanket on a chilly night.

And it
was
chilly. The evening air was a touch too cold, which was flat-out bizarre after all those weeks in Arizona. So A.J. had pulled on a pair of pajama pants, and lit a fire.

“They started out with only this one room,” he was telling her now. “Think about it. That was an enormous change—for both of them.”

She
was
thinking about it. Jamie and Melody could have gone to Europe. To Asia. To Australia. They could have gone anywhere in the world with that money from the bank robbery. Unless A.J. was right, and Jamie Gallagher hadn’t really robbed the Jubilation Bank and Trust.

Unless Quinn had shot and killed the night guard, Bert Perry, and then lied about having received an inheritance from an elderly relative.

An elderly relative whom he’d never named, whom Alison had never been able to trace. Which was not unusual, but God, in retrospect, it seemed obvious that Quinn had lied about everything.

“This was a man who loved crowds and people and parties and expensive hotels,” A.J. was telling her, talking about Jamie, of course. “He loved glitter and gambling. But he moved to a part of the territory that wasn’t even on the map at that time. He worked his butt off to build a new life up here, panning for gold when he could have earned ten times as much playing poker in San Francisco—which was the center of the universe back then, on par with New York City.”