A Scrying Shame (23 page)

“Uh huh. Anyway, I thought maybe we should—”

“This afternoon?” Riann broke in. “I’ve got a workout with Evan at six, but we should have plenty of time before then.”

“Be right there.”

Riann was in a fabulous mood when Arie arrived. Her effervescence dimmed slightly when Arie pulled out a needle and told her they were going to prick her finger.

“What are you talking about? Where’s your little crystal ball? Why can’t we use that?”

“Because I’m afraid Marissa will keep blocking the, um, channel. I mean, she’s used to coming through to us that way, so we have to try something different.”

“You need my
blood
?”

“We have to try something totally different. And blood is, um, the drop of life. I’ll need a bowl of water. ”

“Right.”

She was back in moments.

It took a little longer to get the drop of blood because Riann kept squealing and pulling her thumb out of reach at the last moment. Arie eventually jabbed out wildly, stabbing Riann’s middle finger on the hand that rested on the table.

A single droplet of blood stained the white tissue.

But it was enough.

Arie felt the pull almost immediately. This time, though, there was no fog, red or otherwise, no chanting or voice from beyond. Arie wasn’t seeing through Riann’s eyes; her body wasn’t feeling what Riann felt, or thinking her thoughts. In fact, Arie felt completely disconnected from all five of her senses.
The normal ones, anyway.

It felt . . . blank. An entirely new and scary place. In much the same way that Arie hadn’t been able to find words vibrant enough to describe the Other Side, now she couldn’t seem to find words disturbing enough to describe the place Riann’s drop of blood had taken her to. A murky, dark place. It felt like being locked in a closet and hearing the scratch of rats in the walls behind her back. Arie sensed things skittering around in the dark recesses of Riann’s soul.

Secrets.

And then Arie was filled with a surge of raw emotions. She knew they were Riann’s, but she didn’t know how she knew, and they weren’t what she might have expected.

Fear was the overriding one, and not the chronic anxiety felt by most discontented, insecure people. This fear was spiky with panic, the same primitive shriek of nerves that Arie had felt months ago when her brain had belatedly registered the sound of her rushing attacker on the night she’d been killed. Waves of terror caused her heart to accelerate. The tinny residue of adrenaline coated her mouth.

But something lurked under the fear. Arie could sense it. She tried to push past the terror, but that only caused panic to well up inside her own body. She tried to relax the way Chandra had taught her.

It helped a little. Instead of fighting Riann’s fear, Arie pictured herself moving into it. Through it. She worked at staying calm.

Sadness and guilt lay beyond the fear.

Riann’s sorrow felt heavy. A leaden thickness settled in Arie’s chest. Tears welled, and her nose started to run. Like fear, the sadness triggered Arie’s memories of times in the past when she’d suffered a great loss. The depression she’d fought when her soul had been forcibly stuffed back into her inert body flooded her heart again. No, not the depression she’d fought—the despair she’d
endured
because sometimes the only way to get past depression was to outlast the bastard.

Arie took a deep breath. She wasn’t done yet. She couldn’t risk letting herself drown in sadness. She had to move on and find out what that guilt was all about.

“What’s going on? Do you see anything?” Riann’s voice cracked through Arie’s concentration like a fist through glass.

Arie gasped. “What?”

“I asked, what’s going on? You’ve been sitting there for like twenty minutes. Usually, you say something.”

Arie checked her watch. It had only been six minutes. Her insides felt as scraped and hollowed out as a Halloween pumpkin. She needed a few minutes.

“Can I have a glass of water?”

Sighing as though she’d been asked to be the surrogate mother for Arie’s baby, Riann stomped into the kitchen. Arie heard water running. Apparently, she no longer qualified for the fancy gyno-water. Over the the sound of the tap, she heard Dick saying something to Riann. Unfortunately, she was too far away to hear what either of them said.

Arie gave herself a mental shake. Riann would return at any moment.

Arie hadn’t expected to be able to psychically connect with Riann, not while she was alive. Maybe, Arie wondered, she could read Riann’s blood because she
was
guilty. Maybe Marissa was still directing—

Riann appeared in the doorway. She crossed the room and held the glass of water out to Arie. No “is the glass half-full or half-empty?” dilemma here. She’d only sloshed about a quarter of a cup of water into it. Arie took a sip. It was warm.

“Come on, already.” Riann sat down on the couch next Arie. “What did you see?”

“It was a little unnerving,” Arie said truthfully.

Riann clasped her hands together with glee. “I bet it was. Did you see my future?”

“Not exactly.” Arie gathered herself then plunged in. “You’re hiding something, Riann. Something about Marissa’s murder. You’re lying about something.”

The joy drained out of Riann as quickly as if someone had hit a delete button. A street-sly wariness crept in.

“Like hell I am.”

“You are. Marissa was angry with you. You two argued. In fact, you fought with her the very afternoon of the day she died. And now, you’re muddying the waters.”

Riann looked confused as well as pissed. “Muddy waters? What are you talking about?”

“It means you’re actively interfering with the investigation. Look, Riann, I’m not trying to upset you.”
So much for being truthful.
Arie reached over and laid her hand on Riann’s. “I’m just telling you what I saw. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

But Riann wasn’t falling for that.

“Whoever or whatever says I’m lying is a liar herself. Marissa and I were closer than sisters. In fact, I was closer to her than her
own
sister. How am I supposed to be interfering with her case? That’s ridiculous.”

Arie tilted her head and stared into the middle-distance as though tuning in to something from the “other plane” as Chandra called it.

“A ring is missing.”

Riann went still.

“A pink ring.” Arie turned her gaze back to Riann. “And there’s something about Kelli. The message I’m getting tells me she’s involved, too. You’re both lying about something, and it has to do with a ring.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Riann sounded far less sure of herself. “I don’t know anything about . . . besides, I thought this reading was supposed to be about me. Why are you still going on and on about Marissa?”

“This
is
about you. It’s about your unresolved feelings. If you were angry at Marissa when she died, it could affect your whole”—Arie scrambled to think of something that would sound suitably esoteric—“your whole aura. It could, um, mess with your psychic energy.”

“My psychic energy?”

“And that would be bad. Very bad. It could change your whole destiny. It could, um, block you from all the fabulous opportunities that the universe has prepared for you.”

Riann’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying that if Marissa and I had a little argument before she died, she could stop good things from happening for me now. Is that it?”

“Exactly,” Arie said. “Of course, it would depend on what the argument was actually about. If you were arguing about something in particular, and then she died, all of that negative energy would still be unresolved.”

Riann jumped up and started pacing. “You know what? It would be so like her. She always had to have the last word.”

“What was the argument about?”

After several long moments, Riann finally turned to Arie. “You really think she can do that? Screw my life up from beyond the grave?”

“Everything here in the material world is a form of energy. Human beings are particles of energy. And energy doesn’t disappear. You can Google that if you want to. Most of the time, after we no longer need our physical shell, our energy goes on to another place. But if something happens that keeps the energy trapped in this world, it can get stuck here.”

“Like ghosts?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes it’s memories that we can’t seem to let go of. The point is, whatever you and Marissa were arguing about that day is blocking the universe from blessing you.”

Riann bit her bottom lip so hard Arie was surprised it didn’t pop. In a low voice, she said, “She was so stupid. She acted like such hot shit because she wrote a book. Big deal. It wasn’t even her idea. We always knew what we were going to have to do to make it in this world. It’s all we ever talked about when we were growing up.”

“Finding a rich guy?”

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Riann snapped. “You have no idea what it was like, growing up the way we did. What’s wrong with finding a rich man? They have a lot of good qualities. They’re smart. Ambitious. I mean, if you have a choice between some poor slob and a rich guy, why not choose the rich guy? It’s dumb to pretend like you wouldn’t. So, yeah. The only difference was me and Marissa admitted it. That makes us more honest than you.”

“Then what did you argue about?”

Riann’s face reddened. “Because she was such a little hypocrite.” She shook her head. “I mean, she went on all of those TV shows and acted like she still believed in all of our
Rich Bitch
stuff, but underneath? After all that, she goes and decides to marry for love. Okay, fine. She made a shitload of money off the first stupid book, so great. Why not marry Chad? What do I care? I mean, good for her, right?”

Arie nodded, but Riann was too engrossed in her tirade to pay any attention.

“But it was like she forgot what the world is like for the rest of us, you know? She started making these nasty little remarks, and I was supposed to pretend I didn’t know what she was really saying. She did it in front of Richard, and she knew how risky that was. She could’ve blown the whole thing for me. She treated Wyatt like crap, too, because he was basically trying to get by the same way she always said she would. I mean, she wrote a whole book about finding a rich husband, and all of a sudden, she’s acting like she’s so much better than me.

“And then . . .” Riann’s voice dropped nearly to a whisper. “After all that bullshit about marrying for love, you know what she did?”

Riann stared at Arie.

Almost afraid to breathe, Arie shook her head.

“She starts running around on him. On
Chad
. Chad is . . . he’s amazing. I mean, he’s handsome, and he’s nice. He’s not what I would call rich-rich, but he comes from money. You know what I mean? Plus, he loved her. It was, like, so obvious. Everybody could see it.”

“That’s what you argued about?” Arie asked. “Marissa was cheating on—”

“It must be nice,” Riann continued, “to have all that money and everything you always wanted without having to . . . she got
everything
she ever wanted. She was even writing another book about why women want rich guys. Only this time, she was getting all psychological and shit. I mean, come on! Who doesn’t want to be rich? What does that have to do with your childhood? Why did she have to go digging all that stuff up?”

“Stuff about her childhood?”

The struggle to tell or not tell warred for a long moment on Riann’s face. “And mine, too, damn it. She . . . she kept something of mine from when we were kids. Something that was private. And she wanted to use that for examples. So, yeah, that’s what we were arguing about. She just . . . she wouldn’t listen.”

“Riann, did you—” A movement in the doorway caught Arie’s eye.

Dick stood there.

For a heartbeat, Riann looked dazed as she struggled with the abrupt transition from rant to reality. She snapped her mouth shut and put on her “happy” face.

“Hello, sweetheart. Are you almost ready?” Dick came farther into the living room.

“I, um . . . I think so.” Turning to Arie, Riann said brightly, “We’re finished here, right?”

“Well—”

Riann crossed the room and kissed Dick on the cheek. She linked her arm through his and rubbed her breast against his shoulder.

Dick’s turn for a dazed expression. His seemed happier, though.

“Riann?” Arie said.

Dick reached up to and covered Riann’s hand with his own, which strategically placed his wrinkled old knuckles directly on her nipple. Arie looked away, but not before she saw him put those knuckles to use. Riann squealed.

“Um, Riann?” Arie tried.

Giggling, although to Arie’s ears, it seemed strained, Riann shifted away from Dick. “I’m sorry, Arie. But we’ll have to pick this up later.”

“But maybe we should—”

“She said later,” Dick broke in, apparently irritated at Arie’s
nipplous interuptus
. He turned and shuffled out of the living room.

“Riann . . .?” Arie tried again, but the woman was already heading out the door.

“Don’t worry,” Riann said over her shoulder. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”

Although Arie had discovered what Riann and Marissa were arguing about, she still hadn’t gotten Riann to admit her part in setting Brant up. Even if she told Connor—Detective O’Shea, that is—it still wasn’t enough. If Dick hadn’t walked in, she might have had a chance to find out precisely how Brant had been set up.

She had to figure out how to talk to Riann without Dick walking in and grabbing body parts.

Arie tried to time her arrival at the gym for right after Riann’s workout session with her trainer, but traffic had backed up during rush hour, and she was later than she would have liked. Afraid she’d missed her chance, she waited until the desk attendant was distracted and darted for the women’s locker room.

She was in luck.

Not only was Riann still there, but given that it was the dinner hour, the room had emptied of other people. The smell of chlorine slammed into Arie’s nose, making her heart race.

Chlorine?
Something about the smell . . .