Page 39 of Speak of the Devil
She had no idea. Possibly Caleb had some idea, since he’d seen into the killer’s soul as the ghost passed through him, but she realized that Monday morning quarterbacking some sixty years after the fact wasn’t going to change anything.
“All right,” she said. “But let’s go back upstairs — it’s freezing down here.”
He didn’t argue. The flames that had run up and down his arms had disappeared as soon as his little magic trick — or whatever you wanted to call it — was over, and she found herself wondering if they’d warmed him at all or were only a physical manifestation of the powers he was employing.
Did he even feel heat and cold the way a normal person would?
She had no idea. He seemed to dress for the weather, or he wouldn’t have bothered with the leather jacket, but….
They headed upstairs. Delia had never thought she’d be reassured by a gutted kitchen, but it felt so relentlessly normal after that icy lower level and the horrible secret it concealed that she was just fine with the exposed subfloor and the pipes for the island’s plumbing sticking up out of nowhere like a strange clump of metal and plastic weeds.
“What’s your plan for the kitchen, anyway?” she asked, and he shot her an amused glance that signaled he knew exactly why she’d brought up that subject.
“I think I want white oak floors everywhere,” he said. “I suppose the terrazzo would be more fitting for the time when the house was built, but these days, most people would prefer wood. Black cabinets and black granite or some other stone for the countertops.”
“That’s a bold choice,” she replied, happy to talk about something so relentlessly normal. “Most people wouldn’t go with that much black.”
“I’m not most people,” he said with a grin.
No, he wasn’t. And if he wanted to do an all-black kitchen here, then she supposed that was his prerogative. Somewhere in this town, there was someone who’d be thrilled with that kind of decorating scheme. It was Las Vegas, after all, not a place known for its subtle understatement.
And even though he hadn’t admitted it yet, she had the sneaking suspicion that he’d grow more attached to the house as time wore on and the remodel really began to take shape, and that he might decide to make this his permanent residence and sell the home he was in now.
Would she want to represent him in that sale?
Best to get through the reno first, she supposed.
He stood in the middle of the kitchen, fists planted on his hips, gaze roving the space as though he was already measuring the cabinets.
Obviously, he wasn’t too worried about the history of the house.
But then, he knew it wasn’t haunted, so there wasn’t anything to stop him from getting the place fixed up and either ready to go on the market…or moved into, depending on what he decided to do once the renovation was finished.
The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
“Have you ever killed anyone?”
Caleb turned toward her, eyebrows lifted slightly. “What a question.”
That was no answer. Even though Delia realized how awful it was that she’d blurted out such a query, considering his background, she thought it was a valid concern.
“Have you?” she pressed.
His head tilted to one side. “If I say yes, will you fire me as a client?”
“No,” she replied at once. “That is, I’ll keep representing you until the sale is final, but after that, you’re on your own.”
He was quiet for a moment. At length, he said, “No, I’ve never killed anyone. Caused some mayhem, sure. But murder? No. It might surprise you, but I lived a pretty ordinary life.”
That comment made her want to laugh outright, but she could tell he was being serious. Then again, what did she really know of his existence, except that he was from Greencastle, Indiana, and that he’d spent the past couple of years in Hell?
“How ordinary?”
The familiar grin pulled at his mouth. “Quarterback of the football team and prom king.”
Now she allowed herself to chuckle. “Those of us who were outsiders in high school might not look at being the quarterback and the prom king as exactly being ‘ordinary.’”
“You were an outsider?” he asked, then added, “You look like prom queen material to me.”
