Now That She's Gone (11 page)

Kendall looked down the hall toward the courtroom. Good. No sign of the film crew that had ambushed her.

Five minutes later, she was in Birdy's office, spilling her guts and asking for a favor.

“It sounds like a nightmare. I'm really sorry, Kendall. I didn't see any of that coming. I thought the show was on the dim bulb side, but I didn't think they'd pull that on you. And for what?”

“Apparently humiliating someone is considered good TV. At least that's how they couched it when it was all over.”

“About that favor I need,” Kendall went on.

“Yes, anything.”

“I need you to watch Cody tonight so I can attend the reveal.”

“I guess so. Elan can sleep on the couch.”

Kendall shook her head. “It's a bigger imposition than that, I'm afraid. Cody has to sleep in his own bed. I hate to ask, but can you two stay over at our house?”

Birdy thought a moment. “I guess we could.”

“Are you sure?” Kendall asked. “I know Cody likes you.
Trusts
you. I wouldn't ask just anyone.”

Birdy knew that was an understatement. Kendall doted on that child. She was a piece of motherly armor that enveloped the boy since he was first diagnosed with autism. There were no tears about what could, or rather should, have been. Just the devotion of a mother who wanted the best for her baby and was willing to pull the strings, make the sacrifices, and fight the fight to ensure that her son could live a normal life.

As normal as possible. Whatever that would be, it would be forged with everything she and her husband had.

“Absolutely,” Birdy said. “No problem. Let me double-check with Elan. What time should we be there?”

“As late as you want. You could come over and we could watch movies for a while. Cody will be asleep. I have to be over to the Frazier residence for Pandora's walk-through a little after midnight. Juliana, the producer, said two, but I'm not going to show up and find out it's all done.”

“Okay. We'll be there at ten-ish. Want me to bring anything?”

“Just your calm, smart self, Birdy. My life's been unraveling lately and I just need a friend. I need someone I can trust.”

“Deal. See you then.”

Kendall gave Birdy a hug and thanked her.

“I'm mad as hell at the producers and at Brad James, but there's no way I'm going to let Roger and Brit face those manipulative, lying bastards without some backup.”

Kendall might have been steamed, but Birdy didn't mind. She liked it when someone channeled anger toward a purpose.

“I sense that you're holding back, Kendall,” she said.

Kendall let out a laugh, and like her spate of anger, it felt good. “Don't worry. I'm not.”

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

N
eighbors along the shore facing Seattle in Manchester hated what they called the “Flash Cube” when it first was built by Roger and Brit Frazier in the late 1990s. Most of the homes nestled among old cedars and madrona were Craftsman style. A few were completely redone mid-century modern. The first wave of homes had been built by the well-heeled of Seattle as sprawling summer places just a short steamer ride from the city. As the city grew, so did its skyline, turning the views from across the water into something of unexpected and undeniable beauty. By the time the Seattle World's Fair took place in 1962, the skyline found its exclamation point in the Space Needle. Manchester became a hot location for home development—mostly in keeping with the character of the community.

Until the “Flash Cube,” of course. That building changed everything. It seemed that what someone wanted for their personal residence was more important than the character of the place sought by those already there. It was an aberration, a kind of head-scratcher that the locals just didn't understand. It looked so strange. So out of place, so not of the environment they all loved and shared.

It took time, but the Fraziers won the neighbors over. They had two little girls. A Scottie dog. A Volvo, not a Maserati. Their house didn't fit in, but they most certainly did. Brit was a master gardener and made sure that any extra vegetables went to a free box on the main road. Roger, though busy with his burgeoning career, found time to coach the intramural basketball league at Manchester Elementary. Brit spent two hours every Saturday at the library, assisting the overworked librarian in any way that she could. She had a special affinity for older kids who were struggling with reading and research skills. It was a couple of years after they arrived that she went back to school, got her counseling degree, and started the arduous task of trying to help clueless teens at the high school.

When Katy disappeared there was no shortage of support from neighbors on the shore, or of those on the hill above. Nothing like that had ever happened in Manchester before.

And many hoped it would never happen again.

Kendall knew the address. In fact, when the hospital sponsored a home tour for charity, she visited the house with Steven and her mother. She was pregnant with Cody at the time, and a flood of memories came back to her. It was extremely dark now, a little after one a.m. She put on her parking lights and crawled down the fern- and cedar-shrouded driveway to the parking area above the house. There were several vehicles lined up on the gravel lot, two sedans, a rented van, and a Porsche Boxster. The place was mostly dark, except for some dim lighting in what she remembered to be the main living area.

She turned off the ignition and her door swung open.

“You startled me,” she said, looking up and seeing Juliana Robbins, who'd appeared like a ghost outside her car.

Juliana put her finger to her lips. “Pandora is almost done. Your timing is perfect. You need to keep your voice down. I'll take you into the kitchen where the crew is. We're all set up for the reveal.”

“Are the Fraziers here?”

“Not yet. You're a bit early. They won't be here for half an hour. It's all good. It's been crazy in there. I think Pandora is really on to something.”

“It's all good TV,” Kendall said without a trace of sarcasm, a fact of which she was proud just then. That, apparently, was all that mattered.

Juliana didn't say anything, but motioned for Kendall to follow. She led her down the steps to the back door and into the kitchen. At the table were the sound and camera guys, Wyatt Ogilvie, and a bottle of Jack Daniel's.

Before Kendall could say anything, a loud scream came from another room. It was agonal, bloodcurdling.

None of the men at the table batted an eye.

“That's just Pandy doing her thing,” Wyatt said.

“Her thing must be painful.”

The sound and camera guys, both from Seattle, looked a little upset, but followed their employer's lead.

Kendall eyed the bottle of Jack.

“It helps Pandy relax a little,” Juliana said.

“I'm sure talking to the dead is very upsetting,” Kendall said, her tone as flat as Kansas.

“You're not mad at me for the interview?” Wyatt said.

Kendall wanted to punch him, but there was no point in that. She'd already thought of a thousand ways to get even, but none would do anything other than make him a star—which she hoped would never happen.

“Not at all. We all have jobs to do,” she said, taking a seat at the table.

Another scream and crash came from outside the kitchen.

Again, no one moved.

Instead, they started talking in whispers about why Seattle didn't have a decent baseball team—or at least hadn't in decades.

“At least our football team rocks,” the sound guy said.

Wyatt stood up and stretched. He was dressed in the same suit and tie, but it hadn't been marred by a single wrinkle. He must have had a spare, Kendall thought.

“For now their team is doing okay.”

“Okay?” This time the camera guy spoke up. “We're number one.”

“Yeah,” sound guy said.

“Don't get me wrong, Seattle's a nice little town but it's no San Fran and it's a far cry from my new stomping grounds, Manhattan,” Ogilvie added.

Kendall just sat there and watched. The disgraced cop was not only a blowhard but also a braggart. She hated when people called San Francisco “San Fran.” It was as dorky as a local in New York calling their home “The Big Apple.” Only a tourist would make such a blunder.

Headlights pierced the blinds making everyone in the room appear as though they were printed on sheets of school-ruled paper.

“The Fraziers are here,” she said.

Another scream, followed by a strange, soft guttural sound that emanated from the living room.

“Perfect timing,” Wyatt said. “Pandy's done her final whimper.”

Juliana, looking so very excited, hurried out the door to escort the couple and their daughter Naomi inside their home. Kendall watched as they stood in the parking area.

“What's next?” she asked.

“Showtime, Detective. Be ready. Your world is about to be rocked. Pandora is the real deal. I know you're a doubter now, but that's all going to be different once the sun comes up. You'll see.”

The Fraziers looked tired and apprehensive. Naomi looked bewildered, almost swallowed up by the heavy eye makeup she'd put on. She was pretty and resembled her sister a little. Kendall wondered what it was like for her to deal with the specter of a missing sister hanging over every family conversation, every moment since Katy vanished.

“Look,” Roger said, “I know you don't believe in any of this hocus-pocus and we're not so sure either. But it can't hurt, Detective. Can it?”

Kendall looked at Roger, then at Brit. “I guess not. I hope not.”

Juliana stood next to the table, observing the scene. Wyatt actually got up and gave Brit a hug. He shook Roger's hand.

“I was a skeptic at first too. Believe you me. But I'm a believer.”

A Monkees song popped into Kendall's head.

“Are we going to do this here in the kitchen?” Brit asked. “I hadn't planned on that. I would have cleared the counters.”

“No. The living room. Let me check on Pandora. I think she's ready.” She looked at the sound guy. “Mic up the Fraziers.”

With that, the producer disappeared through the restaurant-style swinging doors that led from the kitchen to the living room.

A beat later, she popped her head back in. “She's ready. Come on, guys.”

 

 

The Frazier residence's living room was the reason the place was nicknamed the “Flash Cube.” It was wall-to-wall glass—and capped by skylights. With the lights dimmed as they were, the stars and moon illuminated the space from above. The dining room table had been moved to the front of the window. Outside, a few steps led to the beach and a boathouse. Across the water was the jeweled necklace of the Seattle skyline.

“Pandy's taking a moment to freshen up,” Juliana announced.

“I see,” Kendall said.

“She wants you mic'ed too. Are you all right with that?”

“I think I've had enough,” Kendall said.

“Contract says you have to finish the show if you start it,” Juliana said.

“Fine. But I don't know what I'll have to offer. I'm not a Spirit Hunter.”

“Just relax, Detective. Just go with it. If you go with it, you find the experience a lot more rewarding and less, you know, painful.”

It had already been painful.

Despite the late hour, Kendall couldn't deny there was some strange, collective energy in the room. The Fraziers were nervous, but hopeful. The crew from Seattle seemed to be happy that they were making overtime. Wyatt took his place at the table and motioned for Brit and Roger to sit next to him.

“Pandy will sit here,” he said, indicating the spot at the head of the table.

“Detective, we want you next to Pandy.”

“I don't know about that,” Kendall said. “I'm not that important to the show.”

Her excuse sounded a little feeble, but she figured that she needed to sound like she was going with the flow.

A man with a black mustache and shaved head entered the room and Juliana introduced him as Rex, Pandora's personal cameraman. Another followed him, who Juliana said was David.

“David's job is to tape Rex and his coverage of Pandora. We don't advertise that he's there, but if you watch the show you will probably wonder who was filming him filming her. Just a little technique that we like to keep to ourselves. It's a part of your confidentiality agreement.”

“What happened here?” Brit asked.

“They can't say,” Juliana said, pouncing before Rex or David could.

“Only Pandora will tell you. She's working with a forensics sketch artist right now translating what—and sometimes who—she saw on her walk tonight. She'll be done in five minutes or so. The artist will complete the sketch while we tape. Everyone ready?”

Katy's parents waited for their cue. Naomi lingered off camera. Kendall wanted to throw up. Make that kill Brad James, then throw up.

 

 

Even at that very late hour, Pandora lived up to her hype. She came into the living room wearing nothing but black. Her red hair cascaded down her back and her neck was coiled with silver charms. Moons and stars hung from her earlobes, but at the reminder of the producer she removed them so they wouldn't interfere with the sound. Kendall made a mental note to tell Birdy that she thought Pandora looked more like a witch than a psychic. She didn't say a word at first. It was as if she couldn't be bothered meeting anyone, including the couple whose mystery she'd been called in to solve.

“We need to give her a moment,” Juliana said. “Wyatt, can you get her a cup of tea?”

Kendall was pretty sure the tea was coming from the bottle of Jack in the kitchen. She could smell it on Pandora—along with some other kind of heavy scent. Sandalwood? Made her think of junior high when she and her friends thought incense was very, very cool.

Wyatt got up and returned with a mug of tea.

Her hands shaking a little, Pandora took a sip. She closed her eyes. Juliana signaled the guys to roll tape.

Pandora's eyes snapped open and she looked at each person at the table, one at a time. Finally she spoke to Roger and Brit.

“We haven't met until just now,” she said. “Is that correct?”

They nodded.

“I need to hear it.”

“Yes, we haven't met until now,” Roger said.

“Right,” Brit added.

“I'm very sorry for your loss,” Pandora said.

Brit immediately started to cry. “Loss? Is our baby dead?”

Pandora kept her expression calm and betrayed no emotion. “I will say more in a moment.”

Next, she looked at Wyatt and managed a little smile. “Your mom says hello,” she said.

He nodded and put his balled-up fist to his mouth.

“Hi back, Mom,” he said.

Kendall looked over at Juliana. Juliana mouthed something about how that happens every episode.

Finally, Pandora set her sights on Kendall.

“You're the detective.”

“That's right.”

“You know she's close by.”

“Who?”

“The one you're looking for. She's near.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“It doesn't work that way. If it did I'd win the lottery every week.”

Wyatt let out a laugh.

Kendall didn't have any idea exactly whom Pandora was referring to—was it her mother's spirit? Was it Brenda Nevins? Was it the obvious choice, Katy's presence?

“There's a lot of bad crap going on in this house. A lot of bad, bad energy here. If I were you,” she said, now looking at Brit and avoiding Roger, “I'd tear it down. I'd haul it away piece by piece to the nearest dump. I'd burn it, but glass doesn't burn, does it?”

“What kind of crap?” Brit asked.

“Ask your husband.”

Roger looked surprised. “I don't know what you mean. I used the best materials available for this house. It cost almost a million dollars to build.”

Pandora kept her eyes fixed on his. “It isn't the house that's the problem. It's what I saw happen here.”