Vice(37)

I waited until she floated down the hall, looking like an extra in a  period horror movie, before turning to Abraham. "She's real charming. I  can see why your parents have her on door duty."

"Nora has been here since I was about Conway's age. She supervises the  staff, helps my mother with my father, basically keeps the household in  order." Abraham stroked his hand down my back, although I had a feeling  it was more to comfort him than me. He took a deep breath, holding it  for long seconds before exhaling, glancing at me. "Ready?"

"Oh, always." I hooked my arm through his, nudging him toward the  parlor. "And even if I wasn't, I'm hungry, which trumps almost  everything else."

He barked out a laugh and steered me in to the room, squaring his shoulders and stiffening his spine. "That's my girl."

"Well, bring her over here and let me get a look at her." The booming  voice was an odd contrast to the frail, haggard man occupying the  wheelchair positioned next to the window, more suited to a strapping,  barrel chested figure who could chop firewood for hours. His hair was  steel gray but thick and lush, another contrast when compared to his  heavily lined face. The only resemblance I saw between Marcus Hansom and  his son was the eyes-not the shape, but the color, rich and dark and  chocolatey brown. "So you're the Jackson girl. Left town to go cavorting  around the country and came back because your sister killed her husband  and herself."

"That'd be me." Stepping away from Abraham, I crossed the room,  adjusting my grip on Conway before offering Mr. Hansom my free hand. "I  also bought the Fisher place and fixed it up."

"I heard." He cleared his throat, turning his head and spitting a wad of  mucus in to an actual brass spittoon, ignoring my outstretched hand.  "Heard you put all sorts of bells and whistles in it. Modernized it."

"Again, that'd be me, all about being modern and up with the times." I  took a step forward, practically jamming my hand in his face. The only  way to deal with men like Marcus Hansom was to force them to respect  you, even if it killed them. "Might as well go ahead and shake my hand,  Mr. Hansom, before it gets more awkward than it already is."

He grabbed my hand, squeezing until my knuckles cracked in protest and  Abraham moved forward, his features darkening. When I simply stared at  him, he released me, dropping his hand to his lap. "Most men would have  been on the floor screaming and crying for their mothers."

"I'm a woman, Mr. Hansom. We tend to be made of sterner stuff." Although  my hand was aching, I switched Conway to my other hip, bouncing him  once to settle him. "This is my nephew, Conway."

"Hmm." Mr. Hansom narrowed his eyes, staring at Conway, who stared right back. "He's wearing a dress."

I nodded. "Yes, he is."

"Why?"

"Because he wanted to and it's not hurting anybody." I smiled and cocked  my head. "At least last time I checked, it wasn't. That'd be an awful  powerful dress if it could do that."

"Humph." He shifted his gaze to Dolly, still standing with her hands on  her hips. His lips twitched in what might have been amusement before  firming in to a thin line. "This one looks like she's been rolling  around on the floor. Children should be presentable if they're going to  eat with adults."

"She's an active eight year old. If she looked presentable all the time,  I'd think there was something wrong with her." I gestured Dolly over to  me, nodding at Mr. Hansom. "Say ‘hello' to Abraham's father."

"Hello." She lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes, the look on their faces uncannily similar. "You look mean."         

     



 

Even as Tammy sighed, Mr. Hansom said, "More than one person has called me ‘mean'."

"Well, maybe if you were nice people wouldn't call you names." Dolly  crossed her arms, continuing to glower at him. "Abraham is nice. He  brought us pizza and took us to Savannah and makes Aunt Jeannie laugh.  You should be like Abraham."

"Dolly, that's enough." Not because I had a problem with her mouthing  off to Marcus Hansom but because I wasn't entirely comfortable with the  realization that the kids were quickly growing as attached to Abraham as  I was. "Tammy, come meet Mr. Hansom."

"I'd rather not." Her voice was polite and cool and detached but when I  glanced over my shoulder at her, I noticed her hands were curled in to  fists at her sides and her jaw was tight. "Mama always said if you  didn't think you could be polite to an elder, you shouldn't say anything  to them at all."

"And you don't think you can be polite to me, girl?" Mr. Hansom laughed  before turning his head and depositing another wad of spit in the  spittoon. "You wouldn't be the first although you're the first to say it  to my face."

"Father." Abraham sounded as if he had something stuck in this throat  and when I glanced at him again, I saw that, much like Tammy, his jaw  was tight and his fists were clenched. "What are you having to drink  this afternoon? Whiskey? Bourbon?"

"Your mother said I'm only allowed tea this afternoon since we have...  guests." Mr. Hansom gave another half-smile, half grimace. "I suppose  it's for the best. Something tells me the church mouse standing next to  you doesn't approve of drinking, even if it's in a man's own house."

"Not at all." Tammy returned his grimace/smile, unballing her fists and  clasping her hands at her waist. "I don't approve of people getting  drunk and being horrible to other people just because they think they  can." She lifted one brow and I realized, with no small degree of shock,  she'd picked up the expression from me because Lord knew Loretta had  never been able to do it. "You wouldn't be that kind of drunk, would  you, Mr. Hansom?"

Before he could answer, a wisp of a woman, even thinner than Mr. Hansom,  glided in to the room, her hair perfectly coiffed, her makeup tasteful  and discreet, and her dress so starched I wouldn't have been surprised  if it stood on its own. Crossing over to Mr. Hansom, she rested her hand  on his shoulder and said, "Hello. I'm Mrs. Hansom."

I waited for her to offer beverages or the appetizers the terrifying  Nora had mentioned but all she did was continue to stare at me with  utter emptiness. After a moment, I said, "Jeannie Jackson. My nephew,  Conway, my nieces Dolly and Tammy."

"You're a writer." She didn't spit out the word but it was close.  "How... nonconformist. I have no doubt you have a great deal in common  with Abraham." She shifted her gaze to him, her nostrils flaring, her  lips turning down at the corners. "I've told you how... disgusting I  find those piercings of yours."

"Well, I'm rather fond of them so I asked him to leave them in." I  smiled at her, biting the inside of my cheek when her small frown turned  in to a scowl. "Abraham does like to indulge me, even in the little  things. You know how it is when people are all wrapped up in each  other."

She didn't snort-apparently Mary Hansom was too refined for such a thing  as snorting-but the sound which escaped from the back of her throat was  definitely not ladylike. She patted her husband's shoulder before  stepping away, her gaze sliding over me and the kids before resting on  Abraham. "Lunch is ready."





CHAPTER TWENTY THREE





Lunch reminded me of moving. Over the course of the hour or so it took  for us to make our way through the meal, I found myself thinking more  than once that it wasn't all that bad.

Because nobody died.

There were a few moments when murder looked a possibility. For instance,  when Dolly said she didn't eat peas and Mrs. Hansom remarked children  were required to eat what was on their plate or they wouldn't get  dessert. Dolly's response was to push her plate away and sit with her  hands in her lap for the rest of the meal. Then there was the moment  when Conway tried to sit his doll next to his plate and Mr. Hansom said  toys weren't allowed at the table. Conway had stared at him for so long I  started to wonder if my nephew was gearing up for one of his epic doll  related meltdowns. Instead, he handed the doll to Tammy, who laid it in  her lap without protest and carried on with her meal like everything was  fine. I held my tongue through every snide, backward remark about my  business and career.         

     



 

We might have made it to dessert if Mr. Hansom hadn't started in on Abraham.

"Had Roy Lancaster call me last night." Mr. Hansom ripped open the thigh  of fried chicken, stabbing the dark meat with his fork while spearing  his son with a hard look. "Said he went out to the bar and it was  closed. On a Saturday night."

"I closed around seven last night." Abraham pushed his potatoes from one  side of his plate to the other, exactly as he'd been doing for the last  fifteen minutes. To anyone else it would appear he'd eaten more than a  fair share of his food but I knew better. "Jeannie and the kids moved  yesterday and I wanted to go check on them, see if they needed any  help."