Book 12 - Cruel Zinc Melodies Read Free

To rehearse.’’
    They had a play already?
    Tinnie said, ‘‘No, we’re going to the manufactory. There’s more room. And more privacy. The walk will do you good.’’
    ‘‘I’m so pleased you’re always looking out for me.’’
    ‘‘You’re very special to me.’’
    ‘‘What if I slip on a patch of ice?’’ She was right. It had been a long winter and I’d spent most of it avoiding going outside.
    ‘‘I’ll bring fresh flowers, lover.’’
    Dean finally wandered in, armed with refreshments. Two steps into the room he froze. His jaw dropped.
    He’s old. Around seventy, I’d guess. He’s skinny, shows a lot of bushy white hair this year, and has dark eyes that can twinkle with mischief. On rare occasions. More often they’re alive with disapproval.
    ‘‘Damn!’’ I murmured. ‘‘The old goat is human.’’
    Tinnie wasn’t his problem. He sees her all the time. And he knows Alyx. He’s never anything but polite when she’s around. But the other two . . .
    He pulled it together before he turned into a creepy old man. ‘‘Good afternoon, Miss Tate. Miss Weider. Ladies. Would you care for something sweet?’’
    They all said no, they were watching their figures. And doing a fine job, I have to report. I stayed busy helping them do that. As did Dean. His eyes all but bugged out when the ladies started getting back into their cold-weather duds.

3
    Back from the front door, I asked, ‘‘What happened to you, Dean? You looked like you got a sudden case of young man’s fancy.’’
    ‘‘The one with the marvelous chestnut hair.’’
    ‘‘Bobbi.’’
    ‘‘What?’’
    ‘‘Her name is Bobbi. Bobbi Wilt. Tasty, huh?’’
    He showed me a scowl but it wasn’t his best. ‘‘It’s remarkable how much she resembles someone I used to know.’’
    Someone who’d had a huge impact. Dean was so distracted he was ready to walk into walls.
    He has worked for me since I bought the house. In the beginning he lived with one of his brigade of homely nieces. Then it just made sense for him to move into one of the extra rooms upstairs. That kept him from bringing the nieces round, trying to fix them up. He never said much about his olden days. He was in the Cantard the same time as my grandfather. They never met. He knew folks on my mother’s side.
    None of which matters now. Dean cooks for me and keeps house. And works hard at filling in for my judgmental mom.
    Dean shook like a big old dog that just ambled in out of the rain. ‘‘I guess when you’re my age, everybody looks like somebody you’ve already met.’’
    ‘‘Who does she remind you of?’’
    ‘‘A girl I knew. My own Tinnie Tate. An old regret. It doesn’t matter anymore. It was a long time ago.’’
    Clever. He got in a dig even there.
    ‘‘Must have been something special.’’
    ‘‘She was. She was indeed.’’ He drifted toward the kitchen. ‘‘We’re out of apples again.’’
    Pular Singe is addicted to stewed apples. Dean indulges her shamelessly. Despite ingrained prejudice.
    Ninety-eight of a hundred TunFairens loathe ratpeople just for existing. They can’t help it.
    ‘‘I’m not inclined to pay a premium because we’re way off season.’’
    ‘‘Noted. You aren’t inclined to pay more than the minimum for anything in any season.’’
    Sharper than a serpent’s tooth, the ingratitude of a servant confident in the security of his position.
    ‘‘I hope you have something ready for lunch. I have to go out, soon as I fill up.’’
    He paused long enough to benefit me with his full frontal scowl.

4
    In some parts of town they’d given up trying to keep the streets clear. In others they kept after the snow with a dogged fervor. The city fathers had invoked emergency regulations to keep the more critical thoroughfares passable.
    Lucky me, it wasn’t my day to help clear my block. Unlucky me, it hadn’t snowed. Today’s crew wouldn’t have much to do.
    The sky was a cloudless blue. There was