Living with the Dead (25 page)

Could he be Adele's partner? Maybe her lover? He was almost twice her age, but Hope knew that didn't mean anything.

"There's a guy here," she whispered into the phone. "Ball cap, dark green shirt..."

"I see him."

"Does he look familiar?"

Karl paused. "No, but I see someone behind him who does."

Before she could ask "Who?" a figure stepped from behind a display.

"Is that who I think it is?" Karl asked.

It was.

HOPE

From their separate spots in the bookstore, Hope and Karl watched Adele's partner. It was the redheaded teenage boy from Robyn's apartment. He crept around the displays near the front door, like a shoplifter waiting to make a break for it. After a moment, he slipped farther into the store, sticking to the wall.

Hope headed for the aisle beside his. After a moment, the clairvoyant vision came again, this time flipping between Robyn and random faces. The boy was right on the other side of the shelf, with no one else around, meaning the vibes had to be coming from him.

Robyn had said the figure in Judd Archer's house sounded young. This kid, though, was younger than any of them had imagined. Hope caught a peek of him around a display. If he was old enough to drive, she'd be surprised.

It wasn't just that he didn't look dangerous, with his freckles and red hair and smooth cheeks. When they'd seen him at Robyn's apartment he'd run away, spooked at the first sign of trouble. Even now, his every move, his very bearing screamed that he didn't want to be there. Chaos vibes pulsed from him. Anxiety, fear, confusion. Not a single tremor of anger or hate.

So Hope followed him now with care, knowing he'd seen her Friday night and one glimpse would have him bolting like a rabbit. As she followed, she kept her eyes and sensors on the lookout for the real threat – Adele. If Hope had been picking up a clairvoyant in the store before the boy arrived, it must have been Adele, meaning she was likely still here.

When Hope peeked through a display, she saw the boy straining, his face red with exertion. She recognized that expression as surely as if she was looking in a mirror. He was trying to catch a vision – in his case, a clairvoyant one.

He seemed to be struggling to get a fix. When he finally did spot Robyn, it was with his eyes. Then he ducked behind a shelf, his thoughts a chaotic jumble of indecision. She picked up enough to know his task – get Robyn out of the store.

Hope moved to the aisle beside Robyn. She bounced on her toes, as if the shelf between them wasn't six inches taller than her.

She'd wanted to warn Robyn that the boy was here and Adele likely nearby. But Robyn was nervous enough and if they added this strain, she might tip him off. Yet it soon became clear Robyn was in no immediate danger, because the boy had no immediate hope of completing his assignment.

Flushing Robyn outside must have sounded easy, but now he'd stalled. And wherever Adele was, she wasn't helping.

Hope called Karl and whispered what was going on, then said, "Adele must still be here somewhere.
And
the guy who was following us. As for how he's involved – maybe he's with Irving or – " She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Point is, we need to take him into consideration, too."

"Leave them to me. You watch the boy."

"I don't think he's going anywhere. We may need to flush
him
out. Get him on the run, track him down and question him."

"Good idea."

They hammered out a plan. Then she called Robyn and relayed it to her.

Hope turned a raspberry chocolate bar over, as if looking for a price tag. She watched Robyn through the mirrored display as she passed a table of remaindered books. Behind her, the boy peeked from a shelving unit, then slid out to follow.

Hope counted to ten and turned. The boy was so intent on Robyn that he didn't see Hope until Robyn stopped beside her. Even then, he only hesitated, foot lifted, head cocked, frowning as if she looked familiar but... The memory clicked.

He mouthed a silent "oh." His lips didn't follow up with "shit," but his thoughts did. He moved his raised foot backward and he looked around for Karl. He wouldn't see him – Karl was still hunting for Adele and the mystery man – but the boy's anxiety vibes edged toward panic and his hand inched toward his pocket. Hope had a good idea what was in that pocket, and looked quickly at Robyn, as if she hadn't noticed him.

"Ready to go?" Hope said.

The boy continued through on his backward step, still looking around, but his hand staying outside his pocket, the panic vibes ebbing.

Good. Now if he'd just turn and walk away... Get out of the store, then Karl could follow his trail.

The boy took another slow step backward and smacked into the old man with the walker. It wasn't a hard collision. But the old man was unsteady enough, making his way to the cashier with his prize – a massive hardcover – and that nudge was enough to knock him off balance. The big book hit the floor with a
thwack
that made everyone within earshot jump.

The boy froze. Except for his hand, which darted into that pocket.

"Well?" the old man barked. "Are you going to pick that up for me or not? Bad enough you can't watch where you're going. Don't just stand there..."

He continued to harangue the boy, but Hope couldn't hear him, her attention riveted to that pocket, as the chaos swirled about, as rich and smooth as the best chocolate.

The boy stared at the book, as if praying it would float back into the man's hand. Finally, hand still in his pocket, he bent, stiff-legged, scooping up the book as he mumbled apologies.

As he straightened, a figure stepped from behind a rack, his gaze down, fixed on the book in his hand. It was the gym teacher who'd been talking to the clerk. He noticed the crowd and looked up. He saw the old man still grumbling, and he started to veer out of his way. But then he saw who the old man was chewing out. And he stopped dead.

The chaos vibes surged. Confusion and disbelief and something sharper and stronger, too muddled for Hope to make out. Then the vibes smoothed away as the man's eyes lit up. He said something. A single word. It was too far for Hope to make it out, but the boy wheeled.

The man said it again and moved forward, absently setting his book on a shelf as he passed. The boy stumbled back. He hit the remaindered book table. His free hand windmilled, his other hand flew from his pocket, pulling the gun with it, the weapon sailing into the air and hitting the floor, the clatter swallowed by a clerk's scream.

Everyone stopped. All eyes went to the gun, and that scream echoed through the store like the wail of a siren.

Then, as people realized what was happening, the chaos tsunami hit. Hope reeled under it. Her eyes rolled back, the chaos bliss blinding her. She caught only still shots. The boy, staring at the gun. The man, staring at the boy. The customers, scrambling back in slow motion. A security guard, inching forward, hand going to his holster.

Another wave, so strong Hope's knees buckled. Robyn grasped her arm. Hope pushed her off and grabbed the chocolate display rack. Focus! Damn it, focus! She blinked, jaw clenched.

When Hope could see again, her gaze swung to the security guard. He wasn't much older than the boy, and no less terrified.

Hope tried to move, to do something, anything, but the demon fought to keep her still, smelling disaster and warning her not to interfere, not to get involved, it wasn't safe, just sit back and drink it in, prepare for the chaos feast to come.

Hope grasped the display tighter and pushed off, propelling herself forward. Robyn caught her arm again, whispering for her to let it play out. But Robyn couldn't hear the thoughts pinging through the air; she couldn't feel the fear and confusion. To her, letting it play out meant letting the guard take the boy down quietly and call the police. Only that wasn't going to happen.

Hope pushed past her, but she could tell she wasn't going to make it in time. The guard was only a few steps from the boy. He had his gun raised now, ready. The boy saw that, then glanced at his own weapon on the floor.

"No, no, no," Hope whispered. "Just leave it there. Don't do anything stupid."

She knew the boy and the guard wouldn't listen even if they could hear her. All they could see was that gun on the floor, and all she could see was tragedy pulsing there between them.

The gym teacher broke from his trance, staggering back as if just now realizing he stood between the two young men. As he backed away, he looked over his shoulder, gaze fixing on a carousel of bookmarks. Then he redirected his "stagger" that way, grabbing the carousel as if for support. He wrenched and it toppled into the guard's path.

At the last second, the guard saw the falling carousel and veered out of the way. The boy cast one last glance at the gun, then ran for the doors.

The gym teacher fumbled with the bookmark carousel, as if trying to right it, but only making it worse, blocking the guard so he couldn't follow the boy. The guard finally extricated himself.

The old man waved toward the doors. "He went – "

"The gun," Hope said, pointing. "It's still there."

The guard looked from the gun to the doors. A manager crept over, slinking around the shelves as if trying to assess the situation without getting involved.

"You can't leave the gun there," Hope said. "There are kids in the store."

The manager stepped out then. "She's right. I'll call the police. He didn't steal anything, did he?"

"I don't think so, but – "

"Good. Let the police handle it then. Just get that thing out of here."

Hope backed away, waving for Robyn to head toward the doors before anyone stopped them for a statement. As they escaped, Hope looked for the gym teacher. He was gone.

FINN

Finn had passed the photo of Jasmine Wills all around the station before finding a detective visiting from another precinct who thought the man in the background resembled a guy he'd interviewed as a witness a few years back.

"But my guy died before the case came to trial," the detective said. "Arrogant son of a bitch. Wouldn't give me the time of day, so I was looking forward to putting him on the stand, just to screw up his week. Guy was some head honcho for the Nast Corporation. You heard of it? I hadn't. One of those companies that doesn't seem to produce anything except other companies. My guy's name was Chris, I think. Your guy looks like he could be his brother. I'd pay a visit to the company tomorrow, flash the photo around. From what I heard, the whole damned family works there."

Finn looked up the case. It was almost seven years old. A carjacking. The witness had seen the whole thing, but didn't bother to call the police. Unfortunately for him, a civic-minded passerby had been busy writing down the license numbers of all the not-so-conscientious people who drove off. Kristof Nast. Now deceased, as Finn verified.

Now Finn was trolling the Nast Corporation Web site, searching in vain for photos of the executives while Damon continued roaming the department, eavesdropping. Madoz arrived, looking for an update. Finn gave it to him, then showed him the photo.

"That's Irving Nast," he said without hesitation.

"Are you sure?"

"Yep. Works for the Nast Corporation. Vice president of something or other. He's the CEO's nephew. I had a case a couple of years ago, one of their employees was killed in a hit-and-run. The widow had this nutty conspiracy theory. Claimed the company did it."

"Orchestrated a hit-and-run?"

Madoz laughed. "Yeah. Apparently the guy quit his job the week before. Definitely a hanging offense." He shook his head. "Total bullshit, but I had to follow through. I think the widow was hoping they'd pay her to shut up. Anyway, my liaison with the firm was Irving Nast.

Nice enough guy. Confused as hell about the whole thing, but cooperated fully. Wish they were all that easy."

"Did you have a home number for him?"

"I think so. Let me grab the file."

Finn called Irving Nast's home number and got his wife. That made things tricky. Nast had cooperated with Madoz, but he might be less inclined to do so when the matter involved a potential indiscretion with a very young woman. Without admitting why he was calling, Finn was able to get Nast's wife to tell him where he was – at the office for a few hours – but couldn't persuade her to part with a cell phone number. So a drop-by visit was in order.

As Finn drove to the Nast head office, Damon's fingers drummed against his leg. He had been like that since the shooting, disappearing into his thoughts, sometimes so much that he faded, once vanishing completely for a few minutes before surging back with a fresh spurt of energy.

The woman's death had bothered him, Finn knew, but more than that, watching her husband's shock and grief had reminded him of Robyn. Last night, Damon said he expected he'd be kept away if Finn found Robyn. But Finn knew he'd hoped that being allowed into the fair meant the barrier had been lifted. He'd expected to see her. Now that disappointment kept pulling him under.

Damon balled his fist and shook it. When he rested his hand on the door handle, though, it took only a minute before he started drumming again. His fingers made no sound, and the unnaturalness of it made Finn turn the radio up another notch. It didn't help. He could still feel the weight of Damon's mood.

"How'd you two meet?" he asked finally.

He had to say it twice before Damon responded, "Huh?"

"You and Robyn. How did you meet?"

Damon's eyes lit up, but the smile was hesitant as he studied Finn, judging whether he was just being polite.

"Did you go to college together?" Finn asked.

Damon shook his head. "She was a friend of my younger sister."

"So your sister introduced..."

"Not exactly." Damon's hand moved to his lap, fingers still now. "We met at her wedding – my sister's, that is. Her fiancé was this hotshot stockbroker, liked to throw his money around, so he insisted on a huge wedding. Robyn was more of an acquaintance than a friend, but she made the guest list. They had this wedding planner who was big on forced mingling. You know, putting guests at a table where they don't know anyone? Bobby got the seat next to me. Everyone else was from the groom's side – coworkers and friends."

"So you talked to her, made her feel welcome."

"Bobby didn't need help mingling. She's quiet – compared to me – but she's great at making small talk. Gotta be, in her job. These girls we were sitting with, though? They only knew two kinds of small talk. Gossip and snark. Now, if you want to engage in a serious conversation about the propriety of the groom's stepmother wearing a leather miniskirt to the wedding, Bobby's your girl. But sniping and backbiting? No. That was the first thing that got my attention – the way she handled it. Most people would have joined in just to be included. Bobby tried, very politely, to steer the conversation in more constructive directions. When that failed, she backed out."

"And talked to you."

Damon's smile burst into a grin. "By that point, I was the one doing the initiating. I asked about her job, she asked about mine. Few things kill a girl's interest faster than 'I'm a junior high math teacher,' and I came this close to mentioning my band gig instead. But I could tell that wouldn't fly with Bobby. So I told the truth, and she was cool with it. Interested even. We got talking so much, I didn't notice when dessert was served, which, for me, is a miracle."

He paused, as if watching the movie in his head, one he'd replayed so many times he could mouth along with the words.

"And that was it then," Finn said. "You asked her out."

"Wasn't quite that easy. We were both seeing other people. For me, that other relationship was over before the meal was. Robyn had to be convinced, and that wasn't easy when she wouldn't even have coffee with me while she was involved with another guy."

Finn liked that. It supported the picture he was forming of Robyn Peltier as someone principled and honest, someone he could work with and help... if only he got the chance.

"You ever read
The Godfather
?" Damon asked.

It took a moment for Finn to slide back from his thoughts. "Seen the movie."

Damon's eyes rolled up in thought. "Not sure if it's in the movie. I read the book when I was young. There's this part where Michael Corleone meets his first fiancée, in Sicily, and this old guy says Michael was hit by the thunderbolt. I remember rolling my eyes at that. Really schmaltzy, like something from a bad romance novel. But the night my sister got married, I understood what it meant. Sounds corny as hell, but it's true. You can meet someone and, bam, it's like being hit by a thunderbolt."

"Love at first sight."

"Mmm, I guess so. But that always sounds so... passive. It's not like that at all. It wakes you up with a jolt and you know your life is never going to be the same. Say what you will about fate and that metaphysical shit, but I don't think our meeting was a coincidence, us sitting together, alone, our significant others unable to attend. Me and Bobby, it just... works, you know? We have something." He paused. "
Had
something." Another pause, then Damon looked out the window. After a moment, his fingers returned to the armrest, silently drumming.