Seeing the Light (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 1) (21 page)

“Yes. Happy to.”

He stopped when he got to the door, and stood, with his hand on the knob, for some time. “Jenner, has anyone been here in the past couple of days? You know, snooping around?”

“Snooping around?” I tried to keep my voice normal, but it was getting more difficult, what with my voice box tightening up like I’d swallowed a mouthful full of lemon juice, or something. “What do you mean?”

“When I wasn’t here. Has there been anybody? Maybe a guy, mid-forties, blond hair, losing it in the back, good dresser—nobody like that?”

I guessed he was describing Helen’s lawyer, and my throat loosened. “No sir. There hasn’t been anybody but you—and Raymond, of course.”

“Of course.” Latterson continued to stare at the glass in the door as though he wasn’t seeing it at all. “Do me a favour, and keep track, all right? If there is anybody?”

“I will, sir.”

I breathed a huge sigh of relief when he finally left. It looked like he didn’t suspect me of anything, which was surprising, since he hadn’t trusted me at all to this point, so I decided not to go to the paranoid place yet, and turned back to my work. My boring, legitimate work, for which I would probably never be paid.

I glanced over at the door to his inner office, hoping that he didn’t check for fingerprints or anything. I belatedly thought of giving it all a wipe down, but threw that thought out when it surfaced. I wasn’t going back in his office again. Not a chance. I’d done my nasty little bit for James, and now I was going to be only Mr. Latterson’s secretary until I could move Farley on and find another job.

As I finished the report, I decided I’d pick up a newspaper on the way home, to start looking for that new job. No matter what I’d said to James down in the board room, I wasn’t working with him. I had to start fresh, once more, with feeling.

Mr. Latterson didn’t come back to the office before I left, and I hoped that was a good sign. I locked the door, and left the building, making sure I didn’t run into James.

Now that I’d decided not to take James up on his job offer, I was having serious second thoughts about this non-date thing we had planned. I thought about phoning him and canceling when I got home. Maybe even text cancel.

All right, so it was weak, but I was feeling weak. Tired and weak, and all I wanted was my mom to tuck me into bed with chicken noodle soup and tell me everything was going to be all right. That wasn’t going to happen, of course. It had been a long time since my mom had tucked me in. Or given me chicken noodle soup.

As I took the bus home, I gave myself a good dressing down. I was a grown woman, darn it, and could handle what life handed me. I didn’t feel much better, but my attitude did go up a couple of degrees when I looked through the want ads and found four jobs to apply for.

“Good. I don’t have to lie to James about the other job thing, anyhow. I legitimately have prospects. He can find somebody else to close up the office for him. He’ll be fine. As soon as Farley moves on, I can get away from Mr. Latterson, and I’ll be fine, too.”

After I made some tea, I stared out the window, watching the traffic blast past my apartment as everyone tried to get home to their loved ones or wherever they were going and trying to feel really good about the way my life was going. Because my mom wasn’t bringing me chicken noodle soup.

She was, however, going to give me some advice about how to deal with Farley. All I had to do was call her, and she’d have what I needed. What I really needed.

I dug my cell phone out of my pocket, almost dropping it when it rang. I didn’t recognize the number, so I put the phone down. It could go to voicemail. I didn’t feel like dealing with anyone I didn’t know. At least I hoped it was someone I didn’t know. I definitely didn’t want it to be bad news about my mother.

It was James.

“Hi there!” he said cheerily as I momentarily reeled away from my phone as though his voice had somehow burned the skin on my face.

“Just touching base,” he continued. “I’ll be there at seven. Hope you don’t mind, but I’ve decided to change our plans. I made reservations for supper, and then I’ve decided we’re going to go dancing.” He rattled off my address, said again he’d see me at seven, and hung up.

Dancing. Good grief. This was sounding more and more like a date. I looked longingly at his phone number, thought briefly about calling him back and canceling everything, but didn’t do it. I glanced at the clock on the stove, instead. I had an hour and a half to get ready. More than enough time to call my mom and get ready for the increasingly date-like non-date.

With fingers that trembled ever so slightly, I punched in my mother’s phone number. She answered on the third ring.

She sounded good. Chipper, like the old days. I knew it was an illusion, but I hung onto it, because I needed her to be well, even if it was only in my mind.

I hunched over the phone as I listened to her well-intentioned lies about feeling much, much better, maybe getting back out into the garden later this week, and formulated my request. This would have to be handled with kid gloves, and I wasn’t that good in kid glove situations. I didn’t want to get her yelling at me again, because sometimes when she yelled, she started coughing, and I was afraid one of these times would be the last time. So I listened to her talk about the condition of the garden, how she’d been neglecting it, adding the occasional “uh huh,” to prove I was listening. Then she stopped. I don’t think it was because she’d run out of things to say. I think she ran out of breath. But I dove into my problems, pretending she was just my mom, for a minute.

“I have a bit of a situation, and I need to ask you about it. And no, it’s not a man,” I said before she had a chance to ask. “I have a problem with a ghost. A guy in the building where I work.

“He died there less than a month ago. He acted like he was going through the stages, you know, but nothing since Stage Two. Interesting bit, he’s trapped. He said it’s like a membrane holding him inside the building. And he keeps disappearing. Like he’s blinking out.”

I held my breath, hoping she’d have the answer that would clear everything up for me. That she’d have my chicken soup. But she didn’t. Not really.

The blinking out had to do with his memory loss, she thought. If I helped him regain his memory, the blinking would stop. Probably.

“Probably?” I asked. “You’re not positive?”

Simple answer—she didn’t know. And she’d never seen a ghost trapped behind a membrane before. Ever.

She promised to think about it, to see if she could come up with something that would explain what was happening with Farley, but her voice turned into a soothing blur that did nothing to soothe me. Mom didn’t have the answer. I really was on my own.

I put down the phone, and slowly began to get ready for my date with James. I had to mop up once, when I started crying and ruined my mascara, but when he drove up to my building, I was looking great if I do say so myself.

I was ready to put on the best performance of my life. That everything was perfectly normal, and this was nothing more than a regular date.

Marie:
Going on the Non-Date

“I don’t understand.”

My jaw was set. I could feel it, like iron, my teeth grinding together and everything, but could do nothing to ease the tension. James noticed, and gripped the steering wheel of his dead uncle’s car, hard.

“I don’t understand,” I said again. “We aren’t going out for supper?”

“No. At least, not right away.” James tried to keep the happy-go-lucky, everything’s peaches and cream sound in his voice, but I could tell it was getting difficult for him. This was the third time around in this conversation, and I was no closer to understanding why we were changing plans. Mainly because I didn’t want to understand.

To be perfectly honest, I saw this as a way out of this sticky non-date situation, and was hoping, with that nasty part of my mind, that if I picked a fight with him, the date would be over before it started.

“It’ll only take a minute,” he said. “Mrs. Latterson’ll be waiting for us. Then we can go for supper and dancing.”

“No. Do not put this car into drive until I understand what the heck’s going on.”

I did not want to meet Helen Latterson face to face. I didn’t want her, under any circumstances, to associate me with James’ detective agency, or whatever the heck he was calling it. All she had to do was mention to Don Latterson that she’d seen me with James, representing his detective agency, for God’s sake, and he’d connect the dots and have me arrested for going through his personal stuff.

“At least let me pull around the corner. I’m going get a ticket here,” James said.

I could hear the traffic piling up around us as we bottlenecked a really congested bit of 124th, and knew he was speaking the truth. I didn’t care.

“No. Don’t move until—”

A big truck, glowering about being caught in the bottle neck, pulled up behind James’ car, blatting its horn impatiently.

“I’m moving around the corner, he’s going to run us over!”

“Fine. Fine.” I ground the words between my teeth as James put the car into gear and lurched forward into the traffic. This caused more blats from the horns of angry motorists as vehicles swerved to get out of his way.

“See, we almost had an accident, you happy now?” James glanced at me and I was pretty sure he saw my face had whitened appreciably. Sheer terror will do that to a person, no matter how carefully she applies her makeup. “I’m sorry I scared you, I just—”

“Had to get the car out of the way.” I could mimic his whine pretty well, I thought, meanly.

“Mrs. Latterson requested this meeting and I have to be there. After all, she’s going to give us a sizable amount of money. Let’s hear her out.”

“Please tell me you didn’t mention my name,” I said.

“I was going to do it at the meeting.”

“Under no circumstances do that,” I said.

He frowned. “Why not? After all, we were going to discuss the idea of you being on the team tonight, anyhow, so why shouldn’t you be introduced to our first official client?”

I tried not to roll my eyes. He couldn’t be that thick.

He caught my eye roll, and his voice iced.

“Do you want to know why I want to introduce you? Because I owe you. You’re the reason she’s getting this information. I wanted to make sure you got the recognition you deserved. That’s why.” His voice was so quiet I could barely hear him.

“Oh.”

I almost felt bad that I was using this as a way to get out of going on a date with him. Then he absolutely creeped me out by turning toward me with a serious expression on his face.

“Are you trying to use this as a way to get out of going out on this date with me?”

“No!” As I tried to act appalled that he’d think that of me, I was reeling. What, could this guy read minds? “No, of course not.”

“Then why are you acting like this?”

I decided part of the truth was better than an outright lie.

“What I did was illegal, James. I broke into her ex-husband’s office and stole personal papers. And photocopied them. I don’t want to end up in jail, because you’re proud of the ‘work’ I did for you.”

“Oh.” It was his turn to whiten. He had obviously not thought of that. “Oh.”

He thought hard, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel of the car.

“So, stay in the vehicle,” he said. “I didn’t mention your name to her or anything, so if you’re out of sight, you can remain anonymous. This is just something about the bill, I think, and I want to get things straightened out. Does that sound okay?”

“Maybe.” I saw my opportunity to break and run disappearing as he came up with a rational way around the situation.

“Good. That’s great. After, we can go for supper. Discuss the case, stuff like that.” He glanced over at me and tried to smile. He almost pulled it off. “Does that sound okay?”

“All right.” My jaw unclenched. I would agree with this, but it was only for the money. Really. “So, where are we supposed to meet her?”

“Tim’s, on 104th Avenue.”

“A coffee shop?”

He had to good grace to look embarrassed. “She said she wouldn’t be caught dead in Chinatown.”

I started laughing, and didn’t stop until we pulled into the coffee shop’s parking lot, five minutes later. It sounded hysterical, but I didn’t care. It felt good to laugh.

Helen Latterson was easy to spot through the window of the crowded coffee shop. She was a tall, stick thin, blonde woman, well dressed, and supremely angry. I could see the rage coming off her in waves, a dull red heat that kept people away from her table. James strode up to her and held out his hand.

She looked surprised and stared at his face for a long calculating moment. She had probably been expecting Jimmy the Elder. Jimmy the Dead. She glanced down at her hands clenched on the top of the table, then back up at James, and spoke.

James’ face contorted, his hand hanging in the air like a dead fish. He finally dropped it to his side, and then started swaggering around, speaking very rapidly as he did so, and I was afraid he was actually trying to act like a private detective, like James Cagney or something. The problem was, from my vantage point, he came across a lot more like Clouseau than Cagney—or maybe it was Cagney, if he didn’t know what the hell he was doing.