Seeing the Light (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 1) (24 page)

“Yeah, I understand,” I finally said, and took another sip of the perfect coffee. “Do me a favour though, and don’t tell me how you plan on getting those documents. I really don’t want to know.”

“No problem.” He grinned, and in spite of myself, I smiled back at him. “Do you want to stay at the office a few more days? Until you get settled somewhere else? I know it’s not very comfortable, but the price is right.”

I’d been thinking about calling Jasmine and seeing if I could go to her place, but liked the idea of Jimmy the Dead’s office better. At least there were no rug rats roaming around, grinding chewed gum into your hair while you slept.

“Yeah, it sure is. Thanks, James.” And then I said, “I’ll think about it.”

I needed a place to stay, the office was free, which fit into my complete lack of money very nicely, and he had treated me decently since the fire. Why the hesitation?

Because I was afraid he’d read more into me saying yes than just yes. That’s why.

“I’ll let you know this afternoon, all right?”

“All right.” He finished the last of his sandwich and flicked the crumbs from the wax paper on the grass for the birds, a couple of which hopped right up to his feet to grab them in their greedy little beaks. “I should get back to work. You okay?”

“Yes,” I lied, keeping my eyes from his, so he couldn’t catch me. I didn’t feel okay. I didn’t know if I’d ever feel okay again, to be honest. “Thanks for lunch.”

“You’re welcome.” He reached over and touched my hand for a moment, his warmth making my skin come alive. “Talk to you this afternoon.” And then I was alone. Completely alone. Even the birds made a dash for freedom when James disappeared into the Palais.

When I went back into Mr. Latterson’s office, he still had his door shut, so I had time to organize the information I’d gathered from Andrea’s office. In the aftermath of almost getting caught and fired and things, I hadn’t had time to write down what I’d learned.

As I typed out as much as I could remember—including the two thirty-thousand dollar payoffs Andrea had received—I knew that Farley wasn’t going to be happy. He’d been so sure that Henderson was the one. But he wasn’t. He was an A-hole, for sure, but he hadn’t been involved in Farley’s death.

However, it looked like beautiful blonde Andrea just might be. Who was paying her? And for what?

No answers to that, yet. I hoped I wouldn’t have to “do lunch” with her again, in an effort to find out. I didn’t think my liver could stand it.

After I typed out everything I remembered from Henderson’s office, I went through a couple more of the files from Carruthers’ old computer, in an attempt to get as much information organized for Farley that I could. If he came back.

Even as I thought the word “if,” I knew it was not true. Mom had said as much. Farley needed to know more, before he could move on. I hoped that the information I was gathering was what he needed.

Farley:
Back Hanging Around with the Living

I came back sprawled on the floor between the restroom and the hallway going to the Latterson’s old office. I felt old, used up. Like I had nothing left. I couldn’t even move, so I lay on the threadbare carpet, listening as people left work for the day.

I could hear them chirping good-bye to each other as they left the building. They sounded relaxed—alive. I hated them for it.

Then I wondered—had I been gone hours, or days? Didn’t have a clue.

I didn’t want to move, but I knew I had to. I had to get to Marie, to tell her what I’d remembered. It was important.

Instead, I sank a few inches into the floor and stared at the layers of materials covering the wooden joists. A thin skin of cement, enough to get someone, probably an inspector, off somebody’s back, then underlay, then the carpet. I was imbedded in underlay. How odd.

I pulled myself up to standing, barely able to keep my feet under me. I didn’t feel substantial. Okay, realistically, I hadn’t been substantial for some time, but this was definitely different. This time I felt like a ghost. Not of this world. Not even close.

I went to find Marie.

Marie:
Farley’s Back

Farley oozed through the door, looking like a ghost.

All right, so he’d been a ghost for a while, but this time, he looked like it. He still had a little of his colour and glow, but he moved uncertainly, waving like a sapling in a strong breeze, as if he didn’t belong in the land of the living.

In other words, he looked like I felt.

“I know you don’t want me in here anymore, but I have news,” he said. I barely recognized his voice. It sounded as ghostlike as he looked. And then he said, “News from beyond,” and “oohed” a couple of times.

Gooseflesh popped up on my arms. “Stop that, Farley,” I said. “It’s creeping me out.”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Trying for a joke.”

He looked even more miserable, if that was possible, and for the briefest of moments, I wished I could give him a hug.

“So I guess this means you
are
done with me,” he said, his ash dark eyes boring into mine so all I wanted to do was turn away. “You’ve had enough of stupid old Farley. Right?”

“No,” I said. I’d lost enough. I wasn’t losing him, too. “I said that stuff before because I was scared, you know, because I almost got caught and almost lost my job. Farley, I can’t be what you want me to be.” My throat tightened. “I can’t be your friend, but I want to help you. When you’re ready.”

“I feel ready.” His mouth worked. “I don’t belong here anymore. This stuff—all this stuff, doesn’t matter anymore. Does it?”

“Maybe it does.” I stood up and clenched my hands together on my chest. I realized it looked like I was praying, so I released them. “I know you don’t want to talk about moving on to the next plane of existence, but trust me, the alternative is much worse.”

“You’re talking about fading away, right?”

I thought about the ghost in the phone booth who had gone to her own form of hell. “Yeah, fading away is one,” I said carefully. “And there’s other things that can happen. If you aren’t clear about everything.”

“Clear?” He frowned. “Is this something your mother told you?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Mostly. So, please, take my mother’s advice. You need to regain your memory.”

“Regaining my memory will help catch the guys who did it?”

“Maybe,” I said. I tried not to roll my eyes. He had to get off this “catch the bad guys” track. He just had to. “But—”

“Good,” he said. “So let me tell you about my last dream. It wasn’t the same as the other ones. This happened a couple of days before I died.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t decide whether that was good or not, and decided to be absolutely neutral. “What did you remember?”

“I remembered listening to Carruthers. In the vents.”

“The voice you heard was Mr. Carruthers? You’re sure?”

“Yep,” Farley said. “He was trying to talk somebody—I think the name was Samosa, but I could be wrong—into investing in a plan he had for the downtown core of the city. Once the new hockey arena was in place, he figured they’d need a bunch more hotels and stuff, and he wanted to develop as much as he could. He told the guy that he could use the extensive underground malls and walkways already in place to connect all the hotels. Plus he wanted to turn the old Hudson’s Bay building into a great big casino. ‘We’ll be able to bring in the big Vegas acts,’ he said. ‘We can call it Las Vegas north.’”

“Las Vegas,” I whispered. “So that’s where that came from.”

“Yep,” he said again. “He really was giving the hard sell to this Samosa guy. How easy it would be to turn this city into Las Vegas north.”

“All right,” I said, and held up the flash drive. “That ties into what I found in his old computer. He’s been buying up buildings all over the downtown core. So, what you heard was him trying to get someone else to invest. It all ties together.”

“Yeah. It seems to,” Farley said. “But here’s the thing. Remember when you found out about that society trying to get the Palais designated as historical? That apparently was the fly in the ointment. The Palais was like ground zero. If they couldn’t tear it down and build the first hotel, the rest of the plan would fall like a house of cards. Samosa even asked about it.”

“What did Carruthers say?”

“He told Samosa not to worry about it. That he had it handled. What he said was, ‘I got a guy who deals with these kinds of problems all the time. The Palais is as good as gone.’”

Oh.

“That’s what I heard, down in that furnace room two days before I died.” Farley looked at me, his eyes two black holes in the translucent grey of his face. “My boss hired somebody to get rid of the Palais. Somehow, whoever he hired fucked up, and the place is still here. And I’m dead.”

“Son of a bitch,” I whispered. If this wasn’t just a dream—if this really was a memory—Farley had just implicated Carruthers in Farley’s death.

“Yep,” Farley replied. “Exactly.”

“I think I’m going to go back into Carruthers’ computer files and see if I can find confirmation.”

“Confirmation?” He quirked a half-smile, and I felt a bit better, until he glanced over at me and I could feel the deadness of his gaze. “Don’t trust me?”

“I have to be able to show the police something, Farley. I can’t tell them I got the information from a dead guy. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah. I know what you mean.” He got up and walked a few steps away from the desk. Actually, he shuffled, as though he didn’t have the strength to lift his feet.

“Stick with me for a while longer, Farley,” I said. “We’ll get this all figured out.”

“Yeah,” he said again, without turning around. “You probably will.”

And then he left.

There was nothing more I could do for him, past proving that what he’d remembered had been the truth, so I went back into Carruthers’ files to see if I could find anything that confirmed what Farley had said.

The good thing? I found some. Mr. Carruthers had money invested in properties all over the downtown core. Even in the old Hudson’s Bay Building. He had everything set out in a complicated spreadsheet, including money invested, and what could be made if the investments were sold. The numbers were from months before, which had to have been the last time Carruthers had entered anything into the computer.

I couldn’t find any emails, or anything that gave me a hint who this ‘”Samosa” person was, or who Carruthers had hired to destroy the Palais. However, I thought that the spreadsheet and his badly written biography would be enough.

I would take this information to the police, and let them deal with it. Maybe if they reopened the case, that would be enough to help Farley.

I hoped so, anyhow. I really didn’t know what else I could do.

Farley:
Dying for a Bad Cause

I left Marie alone while she worked, and went down to the entranceway. I pressed my face against the barrier, staring out at the tree and the buildings, and the sky. I had died because of a money scheme. And, according to Marie, a bad one at that. The whole idea made me wince. Really.

I’d managed to convince myself that if it had been for a good cause, you know, a noble cause, then maybe it was all right that I was dead. But a shitty—really shitty—scheme to make that clown some cash? That was more than I could take. So I watched the sky, and the trees, and the buildings, and tried not to think about it. At least for a while.

Marie:
Taking It Under Advisement

I carefully saved the information I’d gathered, shut down my computer, and put a call into Constable Williams, the weak-chinned cop who had talked to me about the fire in my apartment building. I decided he was going to help me catch the bad guys.

I figured—actually, I hoped—this was one way to get Farley the closure he needed so he could move on, and I could begin pulling the shards of my life back together. I really needed a checkmark in the win column. It had been a tough couple of days.

So, I was thrilled when the cop answered the phone himself, his nasally voice droning, “Constable Williams, how can I help you?”

The thrill factor receded appreciably when he reacted coolly to my request for a follow-up talk. His day was full, he whined, any chance we could put this over until the next week? I persevered. Well, really, I got massively pushy and wouldn’t take next week for an answer. He reluctantly agreed to meet me at his office in a half hour.

I slammed the phone down and pelted out of the office, barely taking the time to check the door to make certain it was locked. I practically ran all the way to the downtown police station, to make it on time.