Medium Rare: (Intermix) (14 page)

He lowered himself into the leather chair, then sat for a long moment staring up at the back wall. “
P
,” he said finally. “I’m getting a
P
. Somewhere on this side of the room.”

After a moment, Evan slipped a notebook and pen out of his pocket, sliding them carefully into his lap. Might as well take some notes. Might as well also keep a tally of hits and misses. He didn’t think Harry Dominguez was right about Bradford having a higher percentage of hits, but he could keep track.

Rose leaned forward beside him, following Bradford intently. He couldn’t tell if she was really interested or trying to put on a good face for any of Bradford’s assistants who might be watching. Either way, he figured he’d let her do her thing.

After a half hour, he was zoning. The people around him still looked absorbed, even though Bradford had settled into a groove of letters and names and vague messages from the Other World. Apparently, everybody over there was doing fine, but they had some concerns about the old homeplace. Evan had to fight to keep his eyelids open. Even Rose was drooping.

“
A
,” Bradford called suddenly. “There’s an
A
.”

Rose straightened, watching Bradford’s face.

He moved his gaze across the audience, forehead slightly furrowed. “
A
,” he repeated. “Somebody with an
A
. Over here.” He pointed toward their section.

Evan sat still, waiting for him to call for raised hands from everybody with an
A
as he had before. Instead, Bradford pushed himself to his feet. “Over here,” he said again, walking to the edge of the stage.

Beside him, Rose sat rigid, her gaze fixed on Bradford.

Bradford squinted into the audience, shading his eyes for a moment, then he stopped, staring directly at Rose. “It’s you. You’re the one.”

She licked her lips, then nodded once. “Yes.”

“Al. Alex. Alan.”

Rose gripped the arms of her chair tight, watching him in silence.

“Alana,” he said softly. “It’s Alana.”

Her fingers were trembling. Evan reached over and took her hand in his. He wasn’t sure she noticed. After a moment, she nodded. “Alana.”

Bradford was smiling faintly, shrewdly, Evan thought. As if he knew exactly what he was doing. “Alana has a message,” he said gently.

Rose gripped his fingers hard. “What is it?”

“Stop,” he said. “She says to stop.”

Evan watched her jaw stiffen. “Stop what?”

Bradford shrugged, palms upward. “I don’t know. Maybe she thinks you do. Or that you can figure it out. Stop. That’s all she’s saying.” He smiled again, eyes narrowing slightly, then turned away toward the other side of the stage. “
R
. Is there someone with an
R
?”

Rose blew out a breath, leaning back in her chair again. “I should have said Sylvia Morris instead of Alana DuBois,” she muttered.

Evan took her hand between both of his own. Her skin was freezing. “I’m betting the message would have been the same.”

She leaned closer. “Should we still try to get a consultation?”

“Hell yeah.” He watched Bradford work the crowd at the far side. “Now more than ever.”

***

Getting the consultation actually wasn’t difficult at all. Rose was almost disappointed. She’d expected resistance from Bradford’s minions, but they took her name and phone number and told her she’d be called later with the date and time.

Evan put his arm around her shoulders as they walked back to the car. She resisted the impulse to cuddle against his side. “You know he got the information from the card,” he said quietly. “His assistants are probably feeding him stuff from backstage. You must have made an impression on the guy who picked the cards up.”

“How are they feeding him stuff? I didn’t see him wearing a receiver.”

“It wouldn’t be much of a receiver if you could see it.” He gave her a dry smile. “Some of them are small enough to fit inside the ear. That’s what he’s probably using.”

“Did you see it?”

“No. But I know how it works.”

Rose flexed her shoulder muscles. They still felt tight. “So did he know who Alana was? Was he telling us to back off?”

He shrugged. “I’d say he is. We’ll be more certain after the consultation.”

“Assuming there is one. It could turn out to be:
Don’t call us, we’ll call you.
”

“I don’t think so. If Bradford actually knows something about Alana DuBois, he might want to find out what we know.”

“That message meant something else, too.”

Evan turned the SUV out onto the street, heading toward King William. “What?”

“If we’re getting messages from the Other Side, it means Alana DuBois is dead.” Rose wrapped her arms around herself, fighting off a sudden chill.

“If that’s true, it leads to an interesting question. Well, several interesting questions, but one in particular.”

“Which would be?”

“Assuming William Bradford isn’t really in contact with the spirit world, which is what I’m assuming myself, how exactly would he know Alana DuBois is now a spirit?”

She wrapped her arms a little more tightly. “He just got the name off my card. He could assume she’s a spirit based on that.”

Evan turned the car into the driveway of her house. “That would be a good explanation.”

And a much more comfortable one. Rose glanced up at the sky. Still clear. Maybe tonight would be quiet for a change.

The porch light she’d left on glowed dimly, casting shadows across the wooden floor. No raven bodies. No hellhounds. Evan’s hand was warm against her elbow as he walked up the steps beside her.

Suddenly, her thoughts refocused from possible threats along the river to the very palpable threat standing beside her.
Oh, God, should I ask him in?
She turned toward him, trying to be nonchalant and failing absolutely.

He was grinning.

Rose considered how satisfying it would be to punch him. Instead, she gave him a cool smile of her own. “Well, thanks for an . . . interesting evening. I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow when we go to the séance.”

“I suppose you will.” His grin didn’t waver, but his amber eyes sharpened. Clearly he had something in mind.

Clearly, he wasn’t going to get it. “Good night, then,” she said brightly, turning toward the door.

His arm slid around her waist, spinning her around and pulling her tight against him so that she could feel muscle and heat and what seemed to be a very firm erection pressing against her stomach. She saw the amber light glow in his eyes again, and then he lowered his mouth to hers and she lost track.

Fireworks exploded somewhere around them, or maybe it was inside, behind her eyelids. She opened her mouth to him, feeling his tongue slip inside to rasp along her own, tasting, sliding. Her arms tightened around his neck and she drew still closer. Heat built inside her, her veins suddenly on fire with longing. She wanted to wrap her legs around him, push him down beneath her, roll around with him on the floor of the porch.

Click!

Rose lurched back at the sound, ready to fight off whatever it was. Evan had her keys. She hadn’t realized he’d taken them from her hand. Her front door was unlocked.

After a moment, he handed them to her slowly, amber eyes still alight. Somehow she managed to take the keys without dropping them. “Thanks again.”

He blew out a quick breath. “Any time.”

“Good night, then.”

He reached forward, cupping her cheek with his palm, then kissed her lightly on the lips, like a soft promise. “Good night, Rosie. Sleep well.”

As she stepped through her front door, she decided that sleep probably wasn’t going to come too quickly that night for either of them.

Chapter 15

Rose was considering a glass of Grandma Caroline’s special port when she heard Skag bellow.

“Rose, what happened with Bradford? I need your report.”

She gritted her teeth. Someday she’d have to disabuse him of the idea that she was his slave. She paused to pour herself a half glass of port, then strolled into the living room.

Skag floated in his chair, smoking furiously. “I assume your leisurely progress is meant to send a message.”

“Did it work?” She settled onto the couch, balancing her glass.

He blew a cloud of smoke at the ceiling. “Not appreciably. What about Bradford?”

“It was like the first time, for the most part. Except that this time, I got a message.”

Skag levitated a few more inches. “A message? From whom?”

“Supposedly from Alana DuBois. Which of course would mean that she’s dead if you’re willing to believe Bradford is a real medium.”

“What did the message say?” His voice sounded tight suddenly.

“Short and sweet. ‘Stop.’”

“‘Stop’? That was all? Just ‘Stop’?”

“That was the message. In its entirety.”

Skag stared at her for a moment longer, then shook his head. “Too vague. It’s not clear what she’s talking about.”

Rose froze, her glass halfway to her lips. “Are you telling me Bradford’s the real thing? That message was authentic?”

He waved a hand. “I’ve no idea whether Bradford is a real medium or not, although I’m inclined to doubt it. But I’m increasingly convinced that Alana DuBois is, in fact, dead. I’ve been trying to locate her for the past few days, but I haven’t been successful. It’s possible she sent this message via Bradford as a way to contact you directly.”

“It’s even more possible Bradford sent us the message himself, without bothering about Alana.”

“Yes, of course. But why would he do that?”

“He’d do that if he was involved in whatever happened to her and wanted us to lay off. That’s what Evan thinks.”

Skag sighed. “Delwin may be right. If I can find Alana DuBois, I shall certainly ask.”

“What about Bradford’s spirit guides? Any luck there? Or is he a total fraud?”

Skag stared at the burning tip of his cigarette, smoothing the ash against the side of the ashtray. “I haven’t been able to discover anything one way or the other. There seems to be a great void of information surrounding William Bradford.”

“If there’s a void, doesn’t that indicate he’s a fraud? I mean, if no one’s working with him?”

Skag shook his head. “You misunderstand me. With most frauds, there’s a great deal of chatter among the guides, most of it derogatory. Spiritualist frauds inspire contempt and gossip. Bradford, on the other hand, inspires nothing. Only a great silence, as if the spirit world is afraid to speak. In fact, I’m finding some difficulty in getting some of my sources to talk to me at the moment, even about mundane matters.”

“Perhaps there’s nothing to say.”

“Perhaps. Nonetheless, I advise you to treat Bradford with care. He’s far from the harmless fake he seems to be.”

Rose took a last sip of her port. “Well, harmless or not, I tried to set up a consultation with him for Evan and me. Maybe you can dig up some more information before we meet with him privately.”

“I’ll do my best.” Skag gave her a long look as he began to dissolve. “I repeat, treat him with care. He may surprise you in ways that are less than pleasant.”

Evan didn’t show up on her doorstep until late afternoon, which allowed Rose to finish off some Locators business, including sending out a few invoices. Considering how much time the Bradford/DuBois investigation was taking, she figured they needed as much income as they could get.

As he strolled into the living room, Evan seemed to be ignoring last night’s kiss. She decided she might as well play along. “What’s up?”

“Any word from Bradford’s people about the consultation?”

She shook her head. “So what time are we due for the séance tonight?”

“Around seven. Maybe we can grab some food afterward.” He looked deceptively casual.

She decided to call his bluff. “So is this a date, Evan?”

“A date?” He narrowed his eyes, then shrugged. “Sure. Why not.”

“Good enough. Are we wearing costumes?”

He glanced down at his jeans and denim shirt. “Apparently not. At least I don’t think this counts as a costume.”

“All right, then, I’ll go with something simple. Who’s the medium tonight?”

“Tonight? No idea. Why?”

“It’s a logical question. I just wanted to know if it was somebody good.”

He grimaced. “It’s a medium, Rose, not a bluegrass band.”

She settled onto the couch, studying him. His expression seemed sour. “Why so down on mediums, Evan? Did one of them cheat your grandma out of her life savings or something?”

An emotion she couldn’t identify seemed to flash deep in his eyes, but then it was gone. “No. As a matter of fact, Grandma Anton was careful never to give them more than a couple of bucks for an entrance fee. She never went overboard.”

Rose blinked. “I was kidding. You mean your grandmother actually went to séances?”

He nodded, sitting beside her. “Best show in town. She took me along until she got tired of hearing me tell her how the tricks were done. One summer we even went to ‘spook camp.’”

“Spook camp?”

“Spiritualist camp. Big-time mumbo jumbo. Mediums, psychics, faith healers, all the guys. Grandma had a great time.” His mouth twisted into something like a smile.

“I take it you didn’t?”

“It wasn’t a great place for a thirteen-year-old with a good functional knowledge of magic tricks. After two days they threatened to kick us out if Grandma didn’t rein me in.”

“And did she?”

He shrugged. “Sort of. We made a deal. I kept my mouth shut, and she didn’t send me to military school when we got back home.”

He was still smiling that slightly twisted smile, but nothing about it reached his eyes. Maybe he hadn’t been all that sad to leave Grandma Anton behind.

“Sorry, Evan. I didn’t know.”

He leaned down to scratch Helen’s ears. “It wasn’t that bad. And I picked up a lot of information. It’s come in handy in my current profession.”

A quick prickle of warning ran up her spine.
Oh, yes, his current profession. Putting mediums out of business.
And he apparently had good reasons for wanting to do that.

She wondered just what he’d do if he found out she fell into the category of people who needed to be run out of town.

Terrific. Her evening had just become a lot more precarious. “I’ll go change,” she said, pushing herself to her feet.

***

Evan had been curious about what Rose might have chosen for a disguise. He wondered if she could go back to looking forgettable.

He sure as hell couldn’t forget her now. In fact, every time he thought about that good-night kiss the night before, to say nothing of the make-out session on her couch the night the ravens hit, his temperature rose several degrees. He wondered if they could head back to her place after the séance, then told himself to cut it out. He had enough to concentrate on without thinking about Rose’s couch.

When she came back downstairs, she was actually wearing a dress, and she did seem a little less spectacular than usual. He figured it had something to do with the way she’d pulled back her lush hair into a ponytail fastened low at the back of her neck. The dress was nothing special—dark blue, cut slightly above the knee. But her curves made even a simple dress look like pure sin.

“Any problems?” Rose asked dryly.

He dropped his gaze from the general vicinity of her cleavage and opened the SUV door for her. “Nope. Just amazed at how well you clean up.”

“No need to call attention to us, right?”

“Right.” He backed down her driveway and then headed toward the freeway. “What did you do with Helen?”

“Left her at home. Why? Do you think we need her?”

“No. I just wondered how you’d keep her from munching on the furniture while you were gone.”

She frowned slightly. “She seems to pay attention to Lenore, amazingly enough. I figured the two of them could keep each other company.”

Evan wondered if Helen might decide at some point that Lenore looked more like a snack than a companion. Oh well, not his problem.

By six forty-five, the parking lots around El Mercado had already begun to empty out. He pulled into one a few blocks from the séance location. “Okay, for the record, your name is Tiffany LaSeur.”

“Tiffany LaSeur?” She raised an eyebrow.

He grinned. “Like it? I saw it on some spam e-mail I got this afternoon.”

“You think I look like a Tiffany LeSeur?” Her other eyebrow raised as well.

He shrugged. “Better than Elfrida Humphries, which was the other possibility.”

“Good call. And who might you be?”

“Phillip Marlowe.” He slid his notebook into his jacket pocket. Yet another reason for wearing a sport coat.

Rose raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Evan nodded. “I figured Sam Spade sounded too obvious.”

“Considering some of the names we saw on that list from Alana’s séance, you could probably call yourself Long Dong Silver and nobody would notice.” She opened the door of the SUV, squinting at the streetlights. “Lead on, Marlowe. Time’s a-wastin’.”

A small crowd was gathered outside the storefront door, two or three college-age boys, mildly drunk, and a few girls at the side. They bunched together, spilling across the sidewalk and over the curb. Evan took hold of Rose’s elbow, just for security’s sake.

Not that anybody noticed them. One of the boys was busy singing a tuneless version of the
Twilight Zone
theme at the top of his lungs.

“Oh man,” another boy crowed. “You suck.”

“I suck? Dude, you suck!”

“Dude . . .”

The door to the storefront opened and a man stuck his head out. “Keep it down,” he said in a level voice. “Unless you want to spend the rest of the evening in the police substation.”

The boys looked somewhere between outraged and nervous. One of them opened his mouth to protest, then closed it quickly.

Evan saluted his good sense. The man who now stepped into the street looked like a slightly smaller Augie Garcia. He wore dark glasses and a silver ring in one ear, his black hair oiled into a sleek rattail. He carried a clipboard, and he was a few inches taller than most of the boys.

“It’s twenty-five dollars a person. Pay before you go in. Nobody gets in unless their name’s on the list.”

The boys began pulling out their wallets. The girls moved up beside them. Surprisingly, even the assholes seemed to all have dates.

Beside him, Rose grasped his arm tightly. He didn’t know if she was acting or if she was really nervous. Whichever, her hand felt warm. “Do you know him?” he muttered, nodding toward the bouncer.

She shook her head, staring down at her shoes.

Mini-Augie checked off names as the boys and girls filed past him, dropping their money into a cash box.

“Tiffany LaSeur?” He gave Rose a penetrating glance.

Evan’s shoulders tensed, but she flashed a dazzling smile. “Cajun. From Louisiana.”

He gave her a slightly dazed look, then checked off her name.

“You might want to go easy on that,” Evan muttered as they started down the hall. “It makes you memorable.”
And how!

“Go easy on what?” She gazed up with guileless eyes.

“That dazzle thing you do.”

“‘Dazzle thing’?” Her eyes widened.

“You know—when you . . . sort of . . .”

Her eyes widened even more.

He swallowed. “Skip it.”

Illuminated only by tall candles, the séance room had remnants of the cut-rate store it had once been, including cracked linoleum and cheap wood paneling. A battered folding table surrounded by metal chairs was in the middle.

The boys and their dates moved to the far side of the room, muttering to each other and snickering. He and Rose stayed near the door.

After a few moments, a small woman in a maroon dress hurried in, rubbing her hands together.

“José,” she called back through the door. “Can you turn up the heat? It’s freezing in here.”

Evan hadn’t noticed any particular problems, but now that the woman had brought it up, he noticed Rose rubbing her arms, too, her elbows tight against her body.

One of the boys began humming the
Twilight Zone
theme song again, while his date giggled. The woman gave him a flat look.

“I’m Brenda Cerrone. I’ll conduct tonight’s session. If you’ll all please take your seats, we can begin.”

“Does is matter where we sit?” one of the girls asked. Another boy muttered something, and his friend guffawed.

Ms. Cerrone waved a hand. “Just sit anywhere. Let’s get this started.”

Rose slid into the seat beside Evan, hugging her arms across her body.

“Are you still cold?” The temperature felt fine to him.

She shrugged. “Short sleeves.”

“You want my jacket?” he asked a moment before he remembered the miniature recorder tucked in his jacket pocket. He wondered if he could palm it before he passed the jacket to Rose.

“That’s okay. Looks like she’s going to start.”

Ms. Cerrone had taken her seat at the head of the table facing the candles on the rear wall. She was probably the least impressive medium Evan had ever seen—she looked more like a grade school teacher. Maybe five-five, graying brown hair, thick glasses that kept sliding down her nose, no jewelry he could see. Compared to what he’d heard of Alana DuBois and her Little Red Riding Hood getup, this medium looked like a nun.

“Would everyone please hold the hand of the person next to them?” she said briskly. “We must maintain the circle throughout the session. It’s important that we remain in contact. José,” she called, “we’re ready to begin.”

Evan could sense the grins of the boys across the table. Those grins dimmed slightly when Mini-Augie walked into the room, closing the door behind him and then leaning against the wall.

Evan kept his eyes on Ms. Cerrone while he switched on the recorder in his pocket.

“Please join hands,” she repeated.