The Angel Alejandro Page 3
“I don’t know. It just came on.” He stepped close enough that she felt his warmth. His scent was stronger, sweeter, now. With no warning, he reached out and touched her hair. “It’s shiny.”
She swallowed. “Um, thanks.” She stepped back.
“You hit your head. You were bleeding profusely.”
“So it was you in the pond.”
He smiled and, as if on cue, the clouds broke, sending a fresh stream of sunlight through the kitchen window. “I put you in your bed.” He glanced at her red sweater. “I removed your garments so you wouldn’t wet the bed.”
“What?” Madison’s cheeks went hot.
He nodded and beamed. “You are dry now.”
Though he lacked an accent, she suspected English wasn’t his first language. “Do I know you?” She was certain she’d seen him before. “Have we met?” But she couldn’t imagine she’d forget a face like his.
Alejandro’s shoulders lifted, his palms turned outward. “I do not know. I do not remember.”
She was dumbfounded. “Who are you?”
He blinked. “I am Alejandro. You said so.” Recognition lit his eyes. “And you were drowning.”
“But where did you come from?”
“You called me.” With a sticky hand, he picked up a spatula and turned it this way and that, examining it as if he’d never seen one before.
Madison squinted. “I didn’t call anyone. How could I call you while I was drowning? I don’t even know who you are. And where did you put your clothes?”
“You called me.” His silvery-gray eyes twinkled.
Perhaps her own memories were fractured. I did fall, smack my head and almost drown-
“You did drown,” Alejandro stated. “I saved you.”
Is he psychic? She stared at the man in the pink kimono.
Madison’s head thrummed. She took a seat at the dining table and checked her phone. A text from Dette informed her that the rock shop was open and all was well. Madison rubbed the back of her head. The goose egg was bigger than ever. But I’m thinking clearly. I’ll be fine. It’s no big deal. “So you don’t know who you are, where you’re from, or what you’re doing here?”
Alejandro eyeballed the plastic bear on the counter. “Do you have any more of that?”
Madison watched him a long moment. He was awfully good-looking for a whack-job, but he wasn’t very bright. She decided to take it one question at a time. “Where are you staying?”
He blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Where do you live?” She said the words louder, slower. He’s not deaf, you idiot.
“I do not know.”
Well, this isn't going anywhere. “Why don’t you just tell me what you do know about yourself?”
“Nothing.”
He couldn’t be serious. “Are you for real?”
He looked down at himself, poked his abdomen. “Yes. I am real.”
The irony was too much. I suffer a head trauma and he’s the one with amnesia. “Maybe you got hurt while you were helping me.” Or maybe he was in a traffic accident that wiped his memories. It still didn’t explain his lack of clothing but it was the best theory she had. “Do you have any wounds? Any pain?” She stood. “Let me see your head.” He lowered it and she touched his hair and paused - it was like touching gold-spun silk, and this close, his smell was intoxicating. She felt her chest and neck redden and tingle. She withdrew her hand; she needed to keep her wits about her. “I think we need to get you to the hospital.”
Alejandro shook his head. “No.”
“If you’re hurt, they can help you. If you were in an accident, they might even be looking for you.”
His eyes narrowed to hard silvery glints. “I said no. I will not go. There are sick people there and they make me tired. I do not like hospitals.”
His tone was firm; she didn’t dare argue. She was half-relieved - if he didn’t go, she wouldn’t have to go, either. Even if I should. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
He sighed. “I am sure.”
Madison didn’t know much about amnesia, but heard that it wasn’t uncommon for the victim to remember certain things about themselves - favorite foods, favorite brands of beer - yet have no idea where they lived. This explained why he knew his first name, but not where he was staying. “I really think-”
“I do not hurt anywhere.” His breath was soft - sweet, like the rest of him.
She swallowed hard, her gaze just touching his lips. “Well, my head feels like it’s splitting at the seams.” Stepping past him, she reached into a drawer where she kept aspirin. “We need to figure out who you are and get you home.” She downed three pills with a glass of water.
He nodded. “Yes. I would like that very much.” He watched her drink, his pewter eyes wide.
“Do you know your last name?”
His head tilted. “Alejandro?”
“Never mind. We’ll figure that out later. Are you thirsty?”
“I think so.”
He watched intently as she filled a glass for him. He brought it to his lips and Madison averted her eyes when the robe inched upward. He drained it in a few gulps, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “What flavor is this called?”
This guy was getting weirder by the minute. “It’s a special blend. We call it tap water and you can have as much as you want.” She gestured at the sink and Alejandro turned the handle, watching with whack-job fascination as the water emerged. He filled his cup and drained it in seconds.
“Were you in an accident?”
“You were in an accident. I saved you. Do you not recall?”
She eyed him, trying not to be beguiled by his black-lashed eyes, his square jaw, his powerful body, his … He could be a serial killer! But she didn’t think so. “I don’t think you’re a local. I would have seen you before now.” Of course, she couldn’t help thinking she had seen him before. And that body! It made her head throb harder so she cut the thought off, crossed her arms, thinking, thinking. “You’re a tourist!”
“A tourist?”
“Yes. You’ve probably been in town before and that’s why you seem familiar! Maybe this is one of the places you like to vacation. Maybe you go to Mammoth to ski. Does that ring any bells?”
He cocked his head. “Bells?”
“I’ll bet that’s what it is. I have an idea ...” He needed to have his memory jogged. That’s how it worked on TV, anyway. “I think we need go out and see if you recognize anything.”
“We are going out?” He stepped closer to her, beaming like a kid on his way to Disneyland.
God, he smells good. She stared at the pink robe, crookedly tied and stretched open at his chest. It wasn’t like her to gawk at men. Maybe it’s because I hit my head. “Yes. We’ll start at the motels and see if any clerks remember you.” Again, she thought of the police, and again she dismissed the idea. Even if Clint wasn’t on duty, he’d find a way to make this his business, and Madison wasn’t about to open those floodgates.
“We need to get you dressed first.” She paused, tapping her tooth. “But in what?”
“I do not know.”
“I do. My dad’s clothes.” Madison had saved some, despite her mother’s wishes. She wasn’t sure she liked the idea of dressing the stranger in her father’s clothes, but what choice was there? “I need to get the ladder.” She wasn’t eager to climb one again, but if they were going to recover Alejandro’s identity, she wasn’t going to do it with him wearing a pink kimono.
Natural Habitats
The Prominence Police Department - a quaint brick building in the downtown district - welcomed Nick Grayson with the familiar smells of burnt coffee and stale donuts. He’d made it his first stop on his tour of Prominence. The twin doors were in need of a good Windexing and his entrance brought up the balding head of a desk sergeant. “Help you?” The man’s tone was edged with impatience. He clicked his computer mouse with great fervor as if to emphasize the importance of his task....
The man - his nameplate read Sgt. Horace - flashed him a derisive smile. “Great. Welcome to Prominence. There are brochures at City Hall.” He gave his mouse some quick taps. The sound of a synthetic machine gun rat-tat-tatted and he groaned as his online game took an apparent turn for the worse.
Real charmer, this one. Grayson put his hands in his pockets and took in the tiny front office. A couple of old chairs that appeared to have been salvaged from the city dump nested on either side of the main doors and aside from a scatter of paperwork, the other desks were empty. The beige linoleum was faded and unmopped and the fly-speckled overhead lights blinked, groaning rather than humming, as if their job was even more taxing than Sergeant Horace’s - which was probably true.
“Nice place you got here,” Nick said.
“Mm-hmm.” Horace’s shiny pate bobbed with intensity as his long, hairy index finger click-click-clicked his mouse. A great explosion sounded, followed by the dire downward timbre of game-over music and Horace was on his feet quicker than a bee-stung howler monkey. “Bullshit!” he shouted at the computer. “Bullshit!”
Nick was growing more amused by the moment. “Having trouble catching the bad guys?”
Horace fixed him with beady, close-set eyes. “Look man, I know you’re new to town, but I’m trying to work here.” He crossed his spindly, hairy arms and gave Nick a look of superior contempt.
The door behind Horace burst open and another man, a stocky Nordic type, tossed some paperwork in front of Horace. “I’m heading out. Look these over and-” His eye caught Nick and held him a moment. “You must be …”
“Nick Grayson.” He stepped forward and held out his hand.
The man smiled and extended his giant paw. “Lieutenant Pullman, Marty Pullman.” His handshake was firm and dry. “I see you’ve met Sgt. Horace.”
Nick eyed the balding wonder. “Not really-”
“Sgt. Horace,” said Pullman. “This is Nick Grayson. Our new chief of police.”
Horace’s jaw fell, his stained yellow teeth glistening behind chapped lips. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”
“You didn’t ask.” Nick smiled. “Plus, I wanted to see the local law enforcement in its natural habitat.”
Horace’s acne-scarred cheeks reddened and his gaze flicked to his screen. His protruding Adam’s apple bobbed like a monkey on a stick.
“So,” said Pullman, clapping Nick on the shoulder. “Seen the town yet?”
“Not much of it, but I plan to do some exploring.”
“Well, you’re in luck. I’m about to go on my rounds. I’ll show you the highlights of our little community.”
“That’d be great.”
Nick and Pullman left the station, Sgt. Horace gaping after them like a goldfish.
* * *
“Just hold it in place, like this.” Madison put her hands on either side of the ladder, hoping he understood.
Alejandro nodded and put his hands above hers. “Like this.”
“Yes. Don’t let it wobble when I start climbing.”
“Wobble?”
Madison rocked the ladder back and forth. “Wobble. Do not let it wobble.”
He nodded. “I will not let it wobble.”
Madison mounted the first step and paused, apprehensive. She didn’t want a repeat of yesterday’s fall.
“I will climb it if you want,” said Alejandro. “I like to be up high I think.”
But Alejandro wouldn’t know his way around the attic. Not to mention, she didn’t want to watch him climb in the kimono. “It’s okay. I’ve got it.”
She climbed, removed the access cover, then boosted herself up. The ladder wobbled a bit as she took that last step, but Alejandro’s hands were fixed tight, his eyes glued to the task. He was taking his job very seriously.
“Okay,” Madison called down.
He stared up at her and she gave him a thumbs up, which appeared to confuse him.
“Stay there,” she said. “I’ll be back.”
“I will not let it wobble.”
The attic was chilly and dark. Finding the bare bulb, she pulled the hanging string and the room lit up. A wave of nostalgia struck as she looked over her once-loved treasures - dollhouses, a child’s baby carriage, stuffed animals - all caked in dust. Motes floated lazily in what light glowed through a small attic window.
Passing the boxes of her father’s rare fossils and stones, she crouched in front of a stack of books, running her finger down the spines, reading the titles. His interests had included anthropology and nature. An archeology professor, he was the greatest man Madison had ever known - smart, handsome, kind. She’d been so young when he’d died, just a child, but she still missed him.
She’d been in dark, terrible grief for a long time, but just a few weeks after his death, her mother, who hadn’t a sentimental bone in her body, began talking about cleaning out his stuff. Madison had become very upset and began hiding away his possessions, one small thing at a time, so her mother wouldn’t notice they were missing.
Then one day, the dump truck came and Madison saw her mother outside waiting in the driveway, surrounded by mounds of black trash bags. The garbage men lifted bag after bag into the back of the big truck. Crying, Madison ran outside to stop them, but was too late. She arrived just as a man in stained gray overalls gave her a big grin and friendly wave as the truck took off. Had her mother not held her in place, Madison would have given chase.
She hid the rest of his belongings in the attic, where her mother never set foot. Dad’s things were out of Mom’s sight and they never spoke of it - or him - again.
And now, thought Madison, this is all that’s left of him. She looked at the books, the box of clothes, the old camera, and several boxes of fossils. There were even some half-empty bottles of aftershave. She opened one and inhaled. It made her both happy and sad.
“It isn’t wobbling.” Alejandro’s voice cut the silence.
Madison capped the aftershave. “You’re doing a great job,” she called. “I’ll be down in a minute.” She slid the box of clothes to the access opening, and peered down at the strange man in the pink kimono.
He gazed up at her. “Did you find the garments?”
Garments? “Move the ladder and I’ll drop them down.”
He did, and she slid the box to the opening and let it fall. Alejandro moved the box and replaced the ladder.
She started down. “I think we’ll find something you can wear-”
Two firm hands gripped her buttocks and she froze on the ladder. She should have been offended by his improper move but her reflexes were off-kilter or something. Instead, a warm feeling came over her - a smooth tranquility … followed by the buzz of arousal. Alejandro’s touch was so warm, so strong, so … inappropriate! Coming to her senses, she whipped her head around and glared. “Excuse me?”
His hands fell away. “You are leaving?”
She touched ground and wiped dust off her pants. “What?”
“You asked me to excuse you.”
“I was referring to your hands on my ass.”
“Oh.” He clearly didn’t understand the infraction. “I did not want you to wobble.”
She stared at him. “Seriously, who are you?”
He blinked. “Alejandro.”
Bad Vibes
As the old black and white Crown Victoria made its way up and down the quiet empty streets, Nick Grayson knew he was going to be hard pressed to find ways of passing time in Prominence. The town had a quiet, barren Night of the Comet vibe that was both peaceful and eerie.
Marty Pullman pointed out the landmarks, none of which needed explanation. A few bars and cafes, a bowling alley and a gas station edged the aging downtown district. In the windows and across sever
al of the streets, Nick saw posters and banners boasting of the upcoming Founder’s Day Parade and Fair. Most were decorated with mining pans, pick axes, and miner’s burros, but none of them were without a cartoonish round rodent.
“That’s the strangest beaver I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s not a beaver.” Pullman’s face was serious. “That’s Winkie the Golden Hedgehog. The town mascot. He only has one eye.”
“Aren’t hedgehogs illegal in this state?”
“Not when Joseph Willard first founded this town. He had a one-eyed pet hedgehog he brought with him from England. It’s said that Winkie sniffed out the first nugget of gold.”
“Joseph Willard, huh? He sounds charming.”
Pullman snorted. “He was quite the gentleman, on the outside anyway. He was on his way to Bodie to do business when he stopped off here.”
“What do you mean, ‘on the outside?’”
Pullman gave him a sidelong glance. “Joseph Willard had some … unusual tastes, most of which our citizens have chosen to forget. We’d rather celebrate him as the founder of our town than dig up old dirt.”
Sensing Pullman’s hometown pride, Nick decided not to pry. “Looks like Prominence has an anniversary coming up.” He glanced at banners posted to the street lamps.
“February second. It’s our one hundred and fiftieth anniversary, so it’s a pretty big deal this year. It’s a big deal every year, of course. In a couple of weeks, there’ll be a parade, a carnival, all kinds of stuff. You’ll be seeing plenty of Winkie the Golden Hedgehog.”
Grayson had a hard time imagining there were enough people in town to even have a parade.
As if reading his mind, Pullman said, “The fair’s a big tourist attraction, so we get a lot of out-of-towners who will keep us very busy. Great for the economy, rough on the PPD.”
“How do you mean, rough?”
“Just the usual. Drunks. Graffiti. Brawls.” He paused. “Want to make a coffee stop?”