Tangled Souls (29 page)

Bart only gave her a wink in reply and pushed his glasses up on his nose.

After the elevator doors closed, she whispered, “Why are you the only Guardian I’ve seen who wears costumes?”

Once a thespian, always a thespian.

“That’s not an answer.”

He gestured graciously as the doors opened.
Your floor, madam.

Gavenia hesitated at the newsroom doorway, and despite the initial rush of adrenalin, nerves took over. At best she’d have a chance to confront Bill Jones, demand he retract that ridiculous story. The worst-case scenario involved a trip with the cops and a call to Llew to make bail.

That would play really well for Jones
, Bart advised.

“Then we won’t do that,” she whispered. She wove her way through the desk maze, trying to blend in, which proved difficult given the fact that her photo was in today’s edition.

Jones’s desk sported a gold nameplate. As predicted by the receptionist, he was absent.

Gavenia eased herself into a chair next to the desk. As she sat, loose papers fluttered to the floor at her feet. She collected them with difficulty, her hip protesting. As she placed them back on the desk, she caught sight of a valet parking stub from the Mirage in Vegas. It was dated only a few days earlier.

Bart leaned over to inspect the stub.
Hmmm . . . now that’s interesting.

Before she had an opportunity to ponder that discovery, the noise level around her increased. Reporters streamed back toward their respective desks. Jones appeared a few moments later. He stopped in midstride, glanced at top of the desk, and then continued toward her in an arrogant strut.

“Here for another séance?” he asked in a derisive tone.

“No, I’m here for a retraction.”

“Really? You must not be very psychic, then, because there’s no retraction in my future.”

“Perhaps you can explain why you feel the need to make my life a living hell.”

Jones dropped into his chair and swiveled around until he faced her. Lacing his hands behind his head, he propped his feet on the desk, grinning. “It’s what I do. Besides, if you weren’t good for it—”

“I know what I saw, Mr. Jones.”

“I already have an article filed for tomorrow—about one of your people, in fact—but I can change that.”

“‘My people’? You make that sound like we’re the enemy,” she said, her voice rising.

“You all are.”

“I told you the truth.”

Another reporter stopped by the desk. “You need me to call security, Bill?”

“No, not yet.”

Gavenia took the hint. She stood, pressing heavily on her cane for support.

When in doubt, bluff.
“You’re on notice that if you don’t print a retraction, I’ll be filing suit against you and the paper.”

The laugh that issued from Jones’s mouth sent shivers up her spine. “Go for it. We have lawyers sitting around with nothing to do but move paper clips from one side of their desk to the other. They’d love to earn their retainer.”

She shook her head. “You’re racking up a lot of very negative karma, Mr. Jones. Trust me, it always comes around.”

“Is that a threat?” he asked, leaning forward. “Are you going to put a spell on me?” The other reporter took a step backward as if she intended to do something nasty to him as well.

Gavenia shook her head. “I wouldn’t bother. You’re not worth it.”

“There’s where you’re wrong. I’m the best there is because there are no boundaries. I
make
the news, Ms. Kingsgrave. People will remember me for years to come because of what I do.”

Another shiver coursed along Gavenia’s spine. She shot Bart a look, and he gave a low whistle.

Oh boy . . . he’s named his own fate.

Gavenia repressed her answering nod. “So be it, Mr. Jones. It’s your karma, not mine.”

Jones blinked for a moment as if suddenly unsure. He gave a quick glance toward the desk and then back to her.

“I stand by my article,” he said.

“And I stand by my gift.” As Gavenia strode out of the office, patches of conversation filtered around her. No one had missed the scene. When she passed one desk, a young man smiled up at her. She nodded in return, disconcerted by his overly friendly demeanor. It seemed almost treasonous.

As she descended to the lobby, the elevator paused at the third floor. Much to Gavenia’s relief, a heavyset woman enveloped in floral perfume exited, unfortunately leaving most of her scent behind. At the last minute, a man got on. She recognized him: he was the one from the newsroom, the guy who’d smiled at her. He was breathing heavily, as though he’d sprinted a marathon. Now they were the only two in the elevator as it continued downward. She brought her cane up and held it between her two hands, ready to separate the two halves if he proved a threat. A glance toward Bart netted her a shrug. She was being too paranoid. She put the cane back in its place.

The young man turned toward her, gave her another smile, took a deep breath, and said in a lowered voice, “Merry meet!”

Gavenia stared. She’d just received a Pagan greeting from a most unlikely source.

“Merry meet as well,” she replied.
What the hell is this?

The winded man continued, “A responsible reporter would conduct research”—a breath—“before he submits an article.” Another deep breath. “If everything pans out, then he submits it. If not, he shelves it.”

Sensing an ally, Gavenia asked, “Even after the article is submitted?”

“You can always pull a piece before it goes to press,” the young man observed. The elevator gave a slight bump as it reached the first floor.

“What about Bill Jones?”

“He flew to Vegas
after
he submitted the article.”

As the doors began to open, she asked, “To do research or to play the slots?”

“That’s for you to find out. Merry part!” he said, and then swam through the group waiting for the elevator. By the time she’d escaped the throng, he was gone.

“And Merry meet again,” she said to herself, shaking her head at the improbability of encountering a sympathetic soul in the middle of Jones’s ink-stained world.

* * *

As Gavenia waited for Ari to come to the phone at the homeless shelter, she watched people roll their grocery carts to their cars, kids in tow. She’d pulled into the store’s parking lot after Bart warned her not to talk and drive at the same time. While she waited, Gavenia pondered on O’Fallon. How was he doing this morning? Would he blame her for last night? Had Avery gone along with her plan for the Brigit’s cross?

“The world’s shortest nonaffair,” she said, shaking her head as a surge of sadness pushed through her. He’d looked so hot in those blue jeans. Who knew how it might have turned out? “Double damn.”

“Cursing me already?” her sister asked in her ear.

“No, O’Fallon.”

“What’d he do this time?”

“I’ll tell you later. I need your help on the computer.”

“The Jones thing?”

“Yup.”

“Name it.”

“I need to figure out why Bill Jones went to Vegas a couple days ago.”

“Okay, can do. Go to that Starbucks near the condo. I need caffeine. I’ll meet you there in about . . . thirty minutes.”

Gavenia sighed in relief and ended the call. Ari would help her. They often had spats, but they never held grudges. Pity the Irish guy wouldn’t be there to see her take Bill Jones down.

Before she had the opportunity to turn off her phone, “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” announced an incoming call. She scrutinized the caller ID.

Speak of the leprechaun.
“Hello?”

“So where have you been?” O’Fallon grumbled. She heard the clatter of dishes in the background, so he was probably at the diner. “I’ve called three times this morning. If you’re trying to blow me off . . .”

Three times?
“No, it’s just been an ugly morning. I turned off the phone. So how are you doing?”

“Fine.” A pause, and then, “I owe you for last night.”

Gavenia blinked in surprise. “I’m sorry you went through that hell.”

“Yeah, it was hell all right. Avery gave me a Saint Bridget’s cross. It’s done the trick. No more voices.”

Did he know the origin of cross? Was that an attempt to feel her out?

Best not go there.
“I’m very glad to hear that.”

“Can you meet me this afternoon? I have some questions about last night.”

“No, it’s not a good time.” She heard a sharp intake of breath and realized she’d been a bit abrupt. By way of explanation, she added, “I’m willing to talk to you some other time, but not right now.”

“What’s wrong?”

He’d read between the lines. “Did you see this morning’s paper?”

“No, too busy ducking demons. What’s in there I’d care about?”

“An article about psychic charlatans.”

“Hold on, there’s a copy on the counter.” She heard the phone clunk on a hard surface and a few words in the distance, then the PI was back. “Okay, I got the paper. What page?”

“Ten. Ari says the picture sucks.”

Gavenia heard the flipping of pages, another intake of breath, and then, “That son of a . . . Who the hell is this bastard?”

She couldn’t help but grin that the Irish guy was rising to her defense. That felt good.

“I did a reading for him. I didn’t realize he wasn’t legit until after the fact.”

“Do you want me to check him out for you?”

The offer was genuine, and Gavenia knew O’Fallon would turn Jones’s life inside out by the time he got done with him. She thought about it and then shook her head. “No, this one’s mine. You have other things to worry about.”

“This isn’t right, Gavenia, and you shouldn’t take the heat like this. Let me know if you need help.”

“Thanks, O’Fallon. That means a lot to me.”

“Hey, we psychic charlatans should stick together, you know?” he joked.

Gavenia’s eyes widened.
He’s made a lot of progress in one night.

“Your sister’s right: the photo does suck.”

She chuckled. He’d just made the dark morning a little brighter. “I may end up in Vegas running down a lead, but I’ll let you know one way or another.”

“Just be careful, Gavenia.”

“You too, O’Fallon.”

She disconnected the call and leaned back in the seat.

“Talk about change of heart . . . ,” she murmured.

Sounds like the Irish guy is on our team
, Bart observed.

“Oh, yeah,” Gavenia said. She looked over at her Guardian. “Let’s cruise, dude. We’ve got work to do.”

He flipped down his sunglasses and mimed buckling his seat belt. “Let ’er rip, lady.”