King Among the Dead - Lauren Gilley Page 0,6

table, she realized that Kay had set three places close together, and was already stationed to the left of the head of the table. Rose’s first instinct would have been to sit at the far end, so as not to crowd these kind strangers. No sense bothering them; presuming and wearing out her welcome.

But moving a plate would look like avoidance, and that was its own kind of presumption. It would look like fear, ungratefulness. Bad manners.

She settled in across from Kay and watched from beneath lowered lashes as Beck set down the platters and then slid elegantly into his own seat; he flicked open his napkin and spread it across his lap with a flourish. “Rose, if you’ll start?”

The heaping platter of bacon was right in front of her, and the idea of serving herself from it, taking however much she wanted…

A glance revealed a small smile from Beck, and again he seemed to read her thoughts. “There’s plenty.” Same as last night.

She let out a breath, shifted three pieces onto her plate, and passed the platter across to Kay.

When they’d all filled their plates, and Rose was trying not to inhale her perfectly fried eggs, Kay said, “Okay, honey, if you’re gonna be staying with us…”

A glance proved that Kay was shooting a questioning look toward Beck, fork in one hand, a fresh cigarette in the other.

Beck offered a barely perceptible nod, and Rose felt something unclench in her stomach. A flutter of hope and nerves and that same disbelief that had dogged her all morning.

“…then we’ll have to get you your own things,” Kay continued. “Did you bring anything with you?”

“Um. No, ma’am.”

Kay set her cigarette down on the edge of her ash tray so she could backhand Beck lightly in the arm. “You didn’t even let the poor girl pack a bag? You pig.”

He shrugged and swallowed. “I don’t imagine there was much of anything in the house she wanted to bring with her. Was there?” He glanced over for confirmation.

Rose shook her head. “No, sir.”

Kay snorted.

Beck’s expression didn’t change, save his brows, which went up a fraction. “You don’t have to call me sir.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Why not?” Kay chuckled. “You’ve got twenty years on her, sir.”

“Eighteen, but who’s counting,” he said crisply, and selected more toast from the platter. “Anyway. We can certainly go back to the house and retrieve anything you’d like to keep. The police will have probably found Tabby by now, but it’s nothing we can’t work around.” Another questioning glance at Rose.

She thought of her spare outfit, as grubby and threadbare as this one; her small collection of oddities: a few pretty, striped rocks, a ball of twine, a glittery hair clip she’d found in the gutter one day. Childish things, useless knick-knacks like a crow would collect. She shook her head. “No, there was nothing.”

Beck sent Kay a mild look that seemed to say see? “Excellent. We’ll go this afternoon and see about getting you a new wardrobe and whatever toiletries you’d like for yourself. A phone, too, probably.” This last as he popped a bite of bacon into his mouth, unbothered, like buying a stranger a phone was no big deal. “I have a spare laptop you can borrow, but you might like your own. One with more storage space.”

Kay was nodding along in agreement.

Rose’s head was spinning.

~*~

After breakfast, Beck excused himself to his office with a quick little bow and a sincere thanks to them for doing the dishes. Rose pushed up the sleeves of her grubby shirt and plunged her hands down into the suds, absolutely bewildered at this point.

Beside her, Kay had another cigarette bobbing on her lower lip; she tapped its ash out into a crystal tray on the window ledge between drying plates; managing it didn’t seem to slow her hands or affect her ability to chatter up a storm. At some point, she seemed to realize that Rose was staring out the rain-slicked window at the wet courtyard behind the house, and not listening all that well.

The soft press of an elbow in her side brought Rose back to the moment. “Sorry, sorry.” She nearly dropped the plate she was holding, and scrubbed at it vigorously to hide that she’d been startled.

“Poor chickie. Ain’t nothing to be sorry about. If you were with Tabby for a while, it’s no wonder you’re jumpy as a cat. If Beck hadn’t already – well, and if these old bones were up to it.” She coughed a laugh.