MIND READER (8 page)

A glance through the glass told her that it was still pour
ing. She shivered, then wondered if it wasn’t the girl who was cold. “Since you’re busy, I’ll come back later,” Caron
said to Meriam.

“Sure.” She didn’t even bother to look Caron’s way.

Caron tucked her chin and avoided looking at Parker; he’d follow, if only to gloat. She couldn’t wait to give him a piece of her mind; after watching him operate, though,
she needed time to decide how big a piece. What, if any
thing, should she tell him as the case unfolded?

He had his reasons for getting involved. And until she
knew what they were she didn’t dare risk being completely
open with him.

The warm, intimate sounds of him and Meriam laughing shredded Caron’s raw nerves. She stepped out into the
rain, and the door swung shut behind her.

Once again she was alone with her fears and worries.
Isolated. From the dark sidewalk, she glanced longingly back into the illuminated office. Parker
would
follow, wouldn’t he?

Minutes later, Parker met Caron outside. “Well, did you get it?”

“Right here.” She patted her stomach. The spine of the book bumped against her ribs. “We need a phone.”

“There’s one in my car.” He pointed left. “Over here.”

Caron slid into the Porsche. The smell of leather lin
gered in the air. So did Parker’s spicy after-shave. Feeling
her stomach flutter, she cracked open the window, then the
book.

By the time he got in beside her, Caron had her notebook out and had found a Butch Decker listed as the occupant of the sagging house. But there was no phone number in the index. Caron copied the name down, then went on to copy the names and phone numbers of his
neighbors.

Parker draped an arm over the steering wheel. “Well?”

Backed against the wall, she motioned toward the phone
clipped to the dashboard. “Butch Decker.”

Parker passed her the handset, an odd look in his eyes.

Caron dialed Sandy. That he answered surprised and
pleased her. “Hi, it’s me. Caron.”

“You okay?”

Worry.
“Sure.” Caron lightened her tone, hoping Parker
wouldn’t pick up on it. If he didn’t know that Sandy, too, had doubts about the case, she didn’t want to be the one to
tell him. “Can you run a check on a Butch Decker for me?” She gave Sandy Decker’s address.

“Hang on.”

Through the phone, Caron heard Sandy’s computer keys clicking. Parker was watching her nonstop, with that same focus he’d used on Meriam. She hated feeling like a speci
men under a microscope—especially in a car that seemed
to have shrunk the minute he’d gotten into it—but her pride
wouldn’t let her ask him to stop staring.

Sandy came back onto the line. “That’s D-e-c-k-e-r,
right?”

Caron verified the spelling. “Yes.”

“We’ve got nothing on him. Not even a parking ticket.”

“Thanks. I’ll check in later.” Caron hit the hook button.

“Nothing on the man, right?”

Boy, did she wish she could say no. “Don’t look so smug,
Parker. It’s early yet.”

Thoughtful, she studied her list of Decker’s neighbors. Ina Erickson. A good feeling suffused Caron. If the numbers ran as they should, Ina lived directly behind Decker, on Twenty-second Street. Caron dialed the number.

An older woman answered. “Hello.”

“Ina Erickson?” Caron sensed the woman’s uneasiness.
She didn’t receive many calls after dark. And the storm had
her edgy.

“Who is this?”

“We haven’t met, Mrs. Erickson. My name is Caron Chalmers.” Caron closed her eyes and saw a crucifix on Ina’s wall. Though the rest of the modest furniture was
dusty, the crucifix was polished to a high gloss, not a speck
of dust anywhere on it. Ina could be trusted. “My partner and I need to talk with you about something very important. It concerns your neighbor, Butch Decker. I wouldn’t ask like this, Mrs. Erickson, but it’s very important. If possible, my partner, Parker Simms, a private investigator, and I would like to come over right away.”

“Parker Simms?” Ina asked. “Is he related to Charley
Simms, the cop?”

Caron looked at Parker. “His son.”

Ina’s tone lifted a notch. “Why, I knew Charley for better than twenty years. ‘Course, I’m retired now, but in my younger days, I worked at a laundry. A young crackerjack robbed me one night, and the police sent Charley over.
After that, he dropped by once in a while to check up on me.” She paused to grab a breath. “Pretty much kept his thoughts to
himself, but he was a fine man. A body could tell. I was sure sorry to read in the paper that he’d died. Getting shot
like that. I sure did hate it.”

A lump settled in Caron’s throat. Parker had masked his
expression. Had Charley been abducted? Was he the rea
son Parker had gotten involved?

“You and Parker come on over now, you hear? I’ll put
on a pot of coffee. It’s a bad night to be out, what with the
storm and all.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Erickson. We’ll be right there.”

Caron handed Parker the phone. “She knew your fa
ther.”

“A lot of people did.” Parker clipped the phone back to the dash. “He was a cop here for a long time.”

She knew she shouldn’t ask, but something inside made
her do it. “Parker?”

He didn’t answer. His hand was on his thigh. She covered it with her hand. “Was Charley abducted?”

“No.” He moved his hand and cranked the ignition, then
turned on the radio.

Parker obviously didn’t want to talk about it. She turned down the volume almost before she realized she’d moved.
“If we’re going to work together, you’ve got to stop clamming up every time I touch on a subject that’s not com
fortable.”

No answer.

“Maybe I should explain.”

“That would be refreshing.”

Back to sarcasm. Though sorry to see it, she didn’t let it deter her. Talking about Charley had Parker veering close to the emotional bone, and snapping at her to hide it. “I know someone you care about was abducted. I sensed it when we were talking at the restaurant. When Ina mentioned your father’s death, I thought it might have been
him.”

Still no answer.

“Okay, you win.” She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes. She couldn’t force the man to confide in
her. He didn’t like or trust her, so why
should
he confide in
her? His attitude didn’t bode well for their working relationship, but what more could she do? She’d reached out
her hand, and drawn back a stump. The next move was his.

Ina answered the door wearing a dusk-blue bathrobe and
a white shower cap. Raw-boned and wrinkled, she was close
to seventy.

“Hi, Mrs. Erickson. We called a few minutes ago. Caron
and Parker.”

“Do you have any ID?”

Pleased that the woman was cautious, Caron reached into her purse and pulled out her driver’s license. Parker passed a card and stepped into the light on the porch.

“My word, you look just like your daddy.”

Parker gave Ina a smile that warmed Caron’s heart. “Lots of people say I do.”

“Well, they’re right. You’re a cop, too—like your fa
ther.”

“No, I’m not.” Resentment flashed through his eyes, then disappeared. “I’m a private investigator. But I’m
helping the police. So is Caron. That’s why we’re here.”

“Well, come on inside.” Ina stepped back to let them
pass. “Don’t look like the rain’s ever gonna quit.” She
bustled around them. “Hot coffee’s in the kitchen. Come
on back and take off the chill.”

Soon they were seated at Ina’s kitchen table with hot cups
of coffee and large wedges of homemade cinnamon rolls.

Parker bit into one, gave Ina a dreamy-eyed look, then chewed and swallowed. “Wonderful, Mrs. Erickson.”

“Thank you. And call me Ina.” Ina preened and re
filled Parker’s coffee cup. “Now what can I do for you
children?”

Caron looked at Parker. He motioned, giving her the honor of explaining. “I have a gift, Ina.” Nervous, she let out a little laugh. Opening herself up for ridicule was something she normally avoided like the plague.

“That’s good. A woman needs grit today. Things were a
lot simpler back when I was a girl. Why, I recollect once—”

Caron touched her hand to Ina’s forearm.
“Not grit,
Ina.
Gift.”

“Speak up, child. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”

“I said, I have a gift.”

Ina stilled her fork. “What kind of gift?”

Caron took the plunge, left herself vulnerable. “I’m
psychic—I see things.”

“Things?”

“People,” Caron amended, strumming her fingertip
against the coffee cup. “People in trouble. A little girl was
abducted, and no one believes me, including my partner.” She glanced at Parker. Not so much as a muscle twitched.
“I have to find proof to find her, Ina.”

“Uh-huh.” The old woman’s voice grew stronger. “All right. What can I do? And what does Decker have to do
with this?”

Caron cocked a brow. “You believe me?”

Ina nodded. “Yes, I do.”

Parker groaned, and Ina must have heard it. She gave
him a wrinkled frown. “You’re just like your daddy, Parker Simms. Charley wouldn’t believe nothing he didn’t see for himself, either. There’s something you ought to be remembering, boy, that your daddy never did. A body ain’t apt to strut around saying they’re different if they ain’t. People are
mean to ’em for it. So them telling they’re different don’t
make much sense, now does it?”

Parker looked properly chastised, but it was as put-on as
those tilted smiles of his. Still, Caron appreciated Ina’s
support, and there was a mean streak in her that thor
oughly enjoyed seeing Parker Simms on the receiving end
of a pointed finger for a change.

“Thanks, Ina.
 
Honestly, most people miss thinking about that.” Caron swallowed a bite of the roll and shoved a raisin around in her mouth with her tongue.

“Thanks for what?” The woman looked genuinely surprised.
“Darlin’, at my age, it don’t take a genius to figure out there’s more that goes on in this world than I understand.” She laced her
fingers on the table. “Now, what’s this all about?”

“You can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you,”
Caron warned the raw-boned woman. “It could hurt the
girl.”

“I know how to clamp my jaws, child.” Impatience wove
into Ina’s voice. “I see everything that goes on around here,
and I don’t say anything to anyone about it. Can’t abide
gossip. Just can’t abide it, and never could.”

Even with Ina’s assurance, Caron knew the telling was
risky. Ina did keep a lot to herself, and Caron could sense that the woman could be trusted, but this was different. Trying to help, she might blab everything Caron told her throughout the neighborhood. Word could get back to
Decker. Caron might become his new target—or, worse, he
might panic and hurt the child.

A quick glance confirmed that Parker was still entertaining doubts. Caron hated to see that. Why was he so distrustful? “Swear on the cross, Ina. Total secrecy.”

“Not until I hear what you’ve got to say. I didn’t crawl
out of the swamp yesterday, child. And I don’t swear to my
Maker till I know for a fact exactly what it is
I’m
swearing.
If you want my help, you’ll have to trust me.”

Caron propped her elbows on the table. She’d trusted, and been burned. Instinct told her that Ina was a good
woman, that it was safe. But her instincts had been wrong
before. She couldn’t—the girl couldn’t—afford for her to
be wrong again.

“Butch Decker—” she heard Parker begin.

Ina interrupted without hesitating. “Scum. A wart on the backside of humanity by his own choice.”

Caron frowned, then dared to ask, “Have you seen any
thing unusual going on with him in the last few days?”