Getting Sassy (30 page)

I was about to tell him I wouldn’t be home tonight, but decided the less said the better.

When I hung up, I sat there for a minute. At first I was perturbed with Hedges. Some cop he was. But then I considered all of the elements this story contained—a psychic talking to my dead father, a love letter the psychic’s brother stole, and their connection to a dead woman—well, I guess I couldn’t blame him for being dubious. But that didn’t make me doubt my theory any less. Mary Waltner’s purse had not been found at the scene. If Landis had killed her, he could have tossed it into a dumpster, figuring someone would find it and start using her credit cards. And maybe get arrested for her murder.

Bix uttered a guttural moan from his doggie bed. His eyes were closed and his jowls twitching as though an electric current were running through him. Then his feet started jerking as he pursued some dream creature.

I glanced at my watch. Almost four. I needed to get to Bull’s by seven. That meant I had a couple of hours to spend in a state of anxiety. Or, I could stroll over to my neighborhood psychic’s place and ask a few questions. Granted, if my theory was right and Jack Lan-dis—and possibly Erika as well—had something to do with Mary Waltner’s death, then confronting her could get me in trouble. But if this nebulous promise of my father leaving something for my mother were true, and if that something translated into money, then that meant I would not have to sneak into a party disguised as a caterer, steal a goat and then hold it for ransom. I could call Mick and tell him to find another woman to do his dirty work. I decided I’d risk confronting a killer.

When I arrived at Erika’s shop she was standing behind her desk with the phone to her ear. As I opened the door she looked up. Into the phone, she said, “I’ll have to call you back,” but her expression didn’t change. I had to admit, this woman really had a lock on cool.

Even when I said, “We need to talk,” her composure remained intact. But when I added, “Your brother took something from my mother and I want it back,” I saw something flicker in her eyes. Anger? Surprise? Again, she was tough to read.

When she didn’t say anything, I blundered on. “That is if he
is
your brother.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she regarded me with annoyance. “Of course he’s my brother.”

“You must be proud,” I said, nodding as though I never doubted it. “He steals personal letters from little old ladies.” After waiting a beat, I added, “I think you know what letter I’m talking about.”

Her eyes widened and she drew in a deep breath. “I don’t know anything about this, Robyn. I can’t imagine he would do that.”

“Then you won’t mind telling me where he’s staying so I can ask him about it myself. He’s not returning his voice mail messages.”

Her mouth twisted into a wry smirk. “Are you sure this isn’t personal? Just because he didn’t call you back doesn’t mean he’s out to do you or your mother any harm.”

“Don’t let yourself get caught up in your brother’s appeal. He’s a nice-looking man, but he’s about as exciting as steamed polenta.”

For a second there, I thought she was going to laugh. But then she thrust her chin forward. I moved a step closer. She didn’t back up, but she coiled.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know where he’s staying.”

“Right.” Then I said, “He told me he was in town for a pharmaceuticals conference. Surely you know where that’s being held.”

“He doesn’t have to keep me informed.”

“There was no conference, was there?”

Nothing.

“Gee, I thought he shared everything with you. He made it sound like you practically raised him.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“How did you know Robert Savage?”

Her eyes widened again and she drew herself up. “I didn’t know him, and I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, I have an appointment in a few minutes, so you’ll have to leave.”

“I will. When your appointment shows up, I’ll leave.”

That didn’t make her happy.

I repeated my question. “How did you know my father?”

She shook her head.

“And don’t tell me you met him just this morning.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she said, “It doesn’t matter what you think of my abilities—I am not a charlatan.”

“Just sometimes.”

She didn’t respond.

“You knew my father, didn’t you?”

Her jaw muscles flexed.

I continued. “It’s no coincidence that your shop in California was close to where he lived. He was a customer. He had a fascination with the afterlife. He saw you as a psychic, didn’t he?”

Finally, she swallowed and said, “Yes, he did.”

I nodded. There it was.

But then she continued. “His spirit—your father’s spirit—is very powerful.”

“I’ll bet it is.”

“Your attitude is not helpful.”

“Oh, gee, I’m sorry about my attitude. Your brother finagled his way into my mother’s room, stole a letter from her, and it’s just breaking her heart. I’ll do whatever it takes to get it back.”

This time she sighed. “I wish I could help you, but I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

Again, no response.

“When you and my mother—or rather, my parents—were talking this morning, after you got rid of me, did you talk about something he left for my mother?”

“We talked of many things.”

“You know what I mean.” I paused. “You talked about that letter, didn’t you?”

“Robert only asked if she had received it.”

“What’s in the letter?”

“How would I know?”

“Your brother knows.”

“I haven’t seen him since last night.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“No.”

“If that letter were specific, you wouldn’t still want something from us, then would you?”

She blinked once, slowly. “You don’t know what’s in the letter, do you?”

“I haven’t seen it. Thanks to your brother.”

“Your mother seemed... confused by it.”

“Okay, so you don’t know what it is he left her, do you?”

“Not specifically.” Her mouth twitched. “You don’t strike me as the material sort, Robyn.”

“Whatever he left her, it’s not mine. And it’s certainly not yours.
Or your brother’s. It belongs to my mother. I don’t know what my father gave her or how much it’s worth, but I’ll bet it doesn’t come near to what child support payments would have cost him over the years.”

“You sound quite certain that there is some money.” She paused. “Perhaps it’s just a letter.”

“Then why did your brother steal it?”

“I think,” she said, “if your mother’s memory were clearer, she would recall that she let him take it.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” I kept pushing. “My guess is that the letter doesn’t spell it out. And neither you nor your brother are good at reading between the lines.”

“I’ve never seen a letter.”

“You still need something. Otherwise there’d have been a ‘For Rent’ sign on your shop window when my mother and I showed up this morning.”

“My brother is not an unreasonable man. He would be willing to talk to you.”

“If?”

“Well, if he thought you’d be reasonable.”

“Why should I be reasonable?”

She breathed a couple of times, all the while staring at me.

Finally, I said, “At least tell me where he is.”

“You would be foolish to cross my brother.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I’m warning you.” She waited a beat. “You don’t know my brother.”

“You don’t know me.”

When she didn’t respond, I said, “Did you know a Mary Waltner?”

She hesitated. “Why is that name familiar?”

“She was a lawyer. Robert Savage was a client.”

I waited until she caught up with me. “You said ‘was.’”

“She was found dead in the Warren Forest Preserves two days ago. Strangled.” Erika’s eyes widened, but she said nothing. “I believe she
was here to deliver that letter to my mother. The one your brother stole from her.”

She didn’t respond for several moments and when she did, her words were measured. “I heard about this woman on the news. I also heard they have a suspect they’re questioning.”

“But they haven’t charged him yet.”

“Perhaps it’s just a matter of time.”

“You won’t listen to anything you don’t want to hear, will you?” I decided there was nothing more to be done here. She wasn’t inclined to help me, although she also didn’t sound like a big sister fighting tooth and nail for her little brother. I reached into my purse for my car keys. “If you can’t see that there’s something really rotten going on here, then either you’re blind or you’re a part of it.”

As I pulled out my keys, they caught on my purse strap and I lost my grip on them. They fell to the carpet, landing at Erika’s feet. She bent to pick them up, and as she held them in her hand, her eyes widened as though she’d just seen something odious.

“What?”

She held onto them as she said, “I had an image. It was of an animal. It’s throat is...,” she squinted, “it’s either cut or torn. There’s blood.”

“What kind of animal?”

“It’s black with... I see a moon.” She looked at me. “It’s some kind of animal.” She nodded. “About the size of a large dog.”

Then she handed my keys back to me with a stiff little smile. “But you don’t believe in this sort of thing, do you? So I’m sure it won’t trouble you.”

She left me standing there, trying to keep my mouth from flopping open.

As she opened the door to the back of her shop, she turned to me and said, “If I talk to my brother I’ll ask him about the letter.”

As I turned the panel truck into Bull Severn’s long and winding driveway, I was humming the third movement of Beethoven’s Seventh. Time slowed. And in the few seconds the turn required, I did a flashback to the afternoon’s preparations—Mick delivering the catering truck along with a large-dog-sized crate, me getting dressed in my catering outfit. I’d saved the wig until I got out to the van, which Mick had parked on a side street near my apartment. The catering signs adhered to either side looked authentic enough. I’d peeked under one and learned that the van belonged to the Riverside Players. What Mick’s connection was to an acting troupe, I didn’t want to know. I had both my phones—each set to vibrate—tucked into the pockets of my pants, which helped to add another half size to my frame. The last thing I did before leaving the house was call my mother just to check in on her. She complained about dinner; I promised I would get the letter back for her and said I didn’t know if I could stop by tomorrow, but would call her. The very last thing I did was pick up Bix and give him a big hug. He’s not a cuddly dog—a bit too dignified for that— but he gave me a lick on the cheek as though he understood I was hugging him out of some personal need.

I pulled up to the Severn estate, stopped at the gate and turned off the CD player. I hoped I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone while I was here. I waited. Finally, after what my watch measured as fifteen seconds, during which time all I had to listen to was my pounding heart, the gates swung open. They moved ever so slowly, and I had to force
myself to wait until there was plenty of room for me to drive through before proceeding. Once through, I felt my shoulders sag with relief, but I warned myself that this was only the beginning. I arrived at the place where the drive splintered off in two directions and took the south route where most of the guests had parked, partially on the lawn and partially on the large, paved area. Many of the guests had arrived already, because I didn’t see anyone around the cars. I wedged the van between a Hummer and a Ford Expedition, so I was practically invisible.

I turned off the van and leaned back into the seat, sighing. Now, all I had to do was hunker down and wait for Mick to call. Staying calm would be the challenge. I tried to scratch my stomach through the padding and managed to only irritate the itch. It was going to be a long hour or two. I’d have to try some breathing exercises.

Instead, my thoughts homed in on Erika and what she knew. And as the minutes ticked by, I thought about our meeting and all the questions—troubling questions—it raised. Starting with: how did she know about the goat? That black, big-dog-sized creature she’d “seen” had to be Sassy. The “moon” could have been his white crescent-shaped mark. If she wasn’t truly psychic, then she knew something about the plot I was participating in at this moment. And she wanted me to know that she knew. And if she did know, she must have heard through Mick or someone he had confided in. I preferred to think she really was psychic. Because that other option was scarier.

I opened the window on the passenger side for some cross-ventilation, and tried, once again, to clear my mind. But then it settled on my mother and what would happen to her if this didn’t work. What would happen to her if I got caught? Imagining those scenarios would have me careening out of here and tossing the cell phone, so I let my thoughts scurry back to where they might do some good. I traced the last few days in my mind trying to figure out how Erika could have known, but nothing made sense. It must have something to do with Jack, who was a better suspect to my mind. He might not be a murderer, but I knew
he was a thief. And wasn’t there something about him that made Erika uncomfortable? Sure seemed that way. But Mick and Jack?

A latecomer pulled into the parking area, and I slumped down in the van. The car parked behind me, and I was able to watch in my sideview mirror as the couple emerged from the white Mercedes. They were young, trim and attractive, and he put his arm around her as they walked toward the festivities. I envied them—not for their youth or looks—but for their unencumbered lives. Then again, who knew? I spent a few minutes concocting sordid story lines for each of them. But when I cast the man as a bully, his image morphed into that of Jack Landis. Then I put Jack together with Erika and remembered the odd way they played off each other when I’d met him at her shop. I’d assumed it was me that made her so edgy, but wasn’t there also some odd undercurrent between the two siblings?

I glanced at my watch and saw that I’d spent almost an hour sorting out my thoughts. I took a sip from the water bottle I’d brought, but only a sip. I had to watch my liquid intake. The sun’s last rays burst into flames against the hood of a silver Thunderbird. I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes.