Mat was muttering under his breath as he came back around. “The windows are open, and there’s music playing. She probably can’t hear the bell.” He banged on the front door. “More good news, Lucy. Your grandmother likes Smashing Pumpkins.”

“Cool,” Lucy murmured.

The door swung open. A young man in his mid- to late twenties stood on the other side. Everything about him screamed that he was a charter member of the slacker generation: close-cropped hair, goatee, earrings. He wore a T-shirt with a pair of cargo shorts and Teva sandals. “Yeah?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Nealy saw Lucy swallow and step forward.

“Hi, Grandpa.”

Chapter 15

15

MAT CHOKED—NOT easy to do with a mouth as dry as dust. He spun toward Lucy. “Grandpa?”

Her hands were clasped in front of her, she was biting her lip, and she looked like she was going to cry. Then he turned back to the slacker, who was scratching his chest and looking confused.

“I don’t know who you think . . .” He paused and studied her more closely. “Hey, are you—Laurie?”

“Lucy.”

“Oh, yeah.” He gave her an apologetic smile. “You don’t look too much like your pictures anymore. How you doin’?”

“Not too good. My mom died.”

“Man, that’s a drag.” He looked back at Mat and seemed to realize this was more than a social call. “You want to come in?”

“Oh, yes,” Mat said through tight lips. “We definitely want to come in.” He gripped Lucy by the arm and pushed her ahead of him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Nell looked as dismayed as he felt. Only the Demon seemed to be unaffected. She was patting Nell’s cheek trying to get her attention.

They followed the slacker into a living room that held a hodgepodge of comfortable furniture upholstered in dark green and brown velvets, along with a few dusty arts and crafts style tables. There were bookcases on each side of the fireplace, with contents that appeared to be well-read. He spotted some primitive wooden figures, a few pieces of pottery, and a couple of etchings. The sound system that was playing the Smashing Pumpkins sat on a library table cluttered with stacks of CDs. There were magazines lying around, a guitar, a pile of free weights in the corner, and a duffel bag open on the coffee table.

The slacker turned down the music. “You want a beer or something?”

“Yes, please,” said Lucy, darting Mat a nervous glance as she broke away.

Mat shot her a hell-to-pay glare and tried to figure out where to start. “No, thanks. We’re here to see Mrs. Pressman.”

“Joanne?”

“Yes.”

“She’s dead, man.”

“Dead?”

Nell reached for Lucy, as if she could somehow cushion her from the shock. But Lucy didn’t look shocked. Instead she looked as though she knew she was in big trouble.