The Awakening: A Sisterhood of Spirits Novel (9 page)

“Mom, I’m fine. It’s just an interview. Could you please call Tiffany’s clients and see if you can work them in over the next couple of days?”

Her mother nodded but narrowed her eyes.

The gesture made Sunny smile. “Besides,” she said gently, “don’t you have that dinner cruise in Seattle planned this evening? You’ve been looking forward to it for weeks.”

“But—”

“No more buts today, please, Mom.”

“Okay,” her mother said. “But be careful.”

“I promise. Have fun.” Sunny called Agnes and let her know she could be there in a couple of hours. The woman’s gratitude was as easy to read as her fear had been. Something else tugged at her, a sense of eagerness along with an inclination that something important was waiting for her.

Since she was going without her team, she wanted to keep the meeting informal. Just a quick look-see, she told herself. She had plans later that evening to attend an opening at a new art gallery downtown. She heard a clatter of beads, and a blur in the corner of the hall mirror caught her attention. Mazie stood to the side dressed in her flapper costume. She was one of the few souls Sunny allowed herself to actually see in a corporeal form. She decided when she was very young that having mental images and hearing them was enough for her. She got tired of the ones that would just show up unannounced and scare her silly. Over the years, she learned how to set clear boundaries.

“Be careful,” the apparition said.

Sunny smiled at her. “You been talking with my mother again, Mazie?”

She received no answer, and the original owner of her house faded. If everyone was warning her today about this job, why was she so excited to get there?

*

She’d lost her ever-loving mind; that’s all there was to it. Jordan looked at the plant sitting on the passenger seat of her truck. She had never bought anything living and green in her life. She was sure of it.

She was a little dazed. There she was, minding her own business in the produce aisle when the smell hit the edge of her conscious. A light summer scent teased her memory and must have caused the temporary insanity, because Jordan impulsively put the plant in her cart.

Now her truck smelled like flowers, for Christ’s sake, like a girl’s. Jordan winced before picking the pot up and heading to her apartment. Steve opened his door when she unlocked hers, his grandmother appearing like a shadow behind him.

Jordan peered through the leaves and stared back at them. “What?”

Steve snickered. “Flowers?”

His grandmother slapped his arm and shushed him. “They’re lovely, dear.” She smiled up at Jordan and they followed her into her apartment.

“Come on in,” Jordan mumbled.

“Oh, it’s cold in here,” Agnes said.

Jordan set the plant on the table and turned toward her. “I told you something is wrong with the thermostat in here.”

Agnes shivered. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I called—” She was interrupted by the sound of Steve’s door slamming across the hall. Her face went pale and she looked as if she might faint again. “I called someone to come and help us.”

Steve led her to a chair and sat her down. “Here, Grandma, sit. Water?”

Jordan rushed to get her some and put a glass into her trembling hand. “Help us with what, Agnes?”

The door to her bedroom slammed shut with a bang. Agnes shot to her feet and toddled to the front door in her purple high-tops. “I have to go.” Steve followed her out, leaving Jordan standing in the kitchen with her mouth open, wondering what the hell was going on. Again.

Old houses meant uneven floors, settling, and noisy pipes in the walls. What was the big deal? Any of those explanations would do.

Jordan checked her watch and decided she had time to wash some clothes. She picked up the basket in her closet and headed to the basement. Each wing in the old brick apartment complex had its own laundry facility. She was pretty sure she’d have it to herself at this time of day. It was one of the reasons why she loved the swing shift. There was time to run errands when everyone else was working, and she could avoid the crowds the weeknights and weekends brought with them. So far, Steve was the only neighbor she’d met, and Jordan hoped she wouldn’t have to meet another.

When she opened the heavy metal door to the basement, she was instantly struck by the odor of damp mold overlaid by Pine-Sol. Why did basements always smell? Along either side of the long hall, storage units lined the walls. They looked more like cages with wire fencing and reminded her of the jail. Jordan saw a woman at the end with an industrial mop cleaning the cement floor. The woman was swinging the mop back and forth from side to side. Every third stroke, she stopped to rinse it and do little booty shakes. She never looked up from the task.

Just before Jordan reached the laundry room, the woman saw her, stopped her dancing, and screamed. It startled Jordan into dropping the laundry basket.

“Jeezus. You scared the shit out of me.” The woman held a hand to her heart.

“I’m sorry, and right back at you.” Jordan noticed the ear buds when the woman took them out to drape around her neck. Jordan hadn’t seen them in the dim light, and it explained why the woman hadn’t heard her.

The woman laughed nervously and wiped her hands on her worn jeans. “You’re new here?”

“Yes, I moved in a couple of weeks ago. Jordan.” She shook the woman’s hand.

“Lisa. I live over in the east wing. You’ll see me around since I clean the place for Agnes.”

A rustling sound from behind Jordan had her looking over her shoulder. “What was that?”

Lisa shook her head. “That’s why I wear the headphones so loud. It’s never quiet in the basement, and I scare myself silly if I don’t.”

“Mice?”
Great.
That would explain a lot. “Or rats?”

Lisa smiled. “If it makes you feel better to think that, okay. But Agnes has the exterminators in every three months, and we have resident cats. I clean here, remember? And I have never, not in the three years I’ve lived here, seen any sign of them.” She picked up the mop. “Nice meeting you. The laundry is there.” Lisa pointed to the blue door. “I’m almost through here, and I’m on a schedule today.” She walked back to her bucket. “Watch out for ghosts, Jordan,” she said before turning her back and putting her buds back in.

Jordan picked up her basket and went into the room.
What is it with these people and their cryptic warnings?
Ghosts? It had to be rodents.

Right?

Still, as Jordan loaded the washer, she was aware of the nerves singing along her spine. The intuition she normally only felt when she was on duty. A child’s giggle had her spinning so fast she grabbed the folding table for support. The room was empty and she thought she heard a ball bouncing in the hall. She peered out the door, hoping to see Lisa. Maybe she had a child.

No. The walkway was empty. The only sign that someone had been there were the wet streaks left by the mop. These people were going to drive her crazy, and Jordan had to admit that these days it would be a short trip. Jordan forced herself to take a deep breath and forget about it. She went back upstairs, and while she was waiting for the laundry to finish, she hung the new curtains she’d purchased. She had to admit they made the room homier.

When she gauged enough time had gone by, Jordan returned to the laundry room to switch her clothes to the dryer and flinched when the heavy metal door closed behind her. Her boots echoed on the cement, sounding as if someone was keeping step with her.
Get a grip, Lawson.
She was only nervous because people kept trying to put stupid ideas in her head.

She forced herself to walk at a normal pace and continued to the end of the hallway. The rustling she heard was just her imagination. It was an old building, and the vents were picking up noises from the apartments above and distorting the sounds here. Yes, that was it. Pleased with the explanations, she opened the door and froze.

The room looked like it had been hit with a bomb. Wet clothes were stuck to the wall and floor, the two washers were on their sides, and the dryers were moved away from the wall with their doors open.

As she stood there, a gray T-shirt fell from the ceiling to plop on the wet floor. Jordan bent to grab it, and when she stood, she saw the words written in red on the wall.

Leave, bitch.

Somewhere under the rage she felt at the vandalism, the cop in her took over and she pulled out her phone to take pictures of the destruction. It was personal then. Some asshole in the building had a grudge against the police.
Ghosts, my ass
. It wasn’t the first time that some lowlife had found out what she did for a living and written things on her truck or door.

Jordan debated calling it in and decided not to. She was still new, and she didn’t want to draw attention to herself and invite other cops into her personal life. They’d question the sweet old landlady, who would tell them about ghosts, and Jordan would never live it down. Nope, she wasn’t going to go there.

The last picture she took was of a laundry soap container that looked, well, melted was the only explanation she could come up with. Jordan looked around at the mess. She didn’t have time to clean it by herself, and she didn’t want Agnes to have to come and help. She called Steve instead. He would just have to wake his happy ass up and help her. “’Lo?”

Jordan heard the sleep in his voice. “Come down to the laundry room right now.”

“What time is it?”

“You have five minutes before I take these pictures to your grandmother.” Jordan snapped her phone shut. She wouldn’t really scare Agnes, but she knew that the threat would get him moving faster.

Jordan defiantly put her clothes in the last standing washer and dug out more quarters. There didn’t seem to be any damage to them other than the wild, wet party they’d apparently been to in the last hour.

She heard the door slam then approaching footsteps and waited for Steve to enter. What was he doing, she asked herself when she heard the strange snorting noises. Waiting for an invitation? Jordan pulled open the door.

The hall was empty. “Not funny, asshole!” she yelled. There had to be someone hiding in one of the storage cages. It was the only logical explanation.

The metal door clicked, and Steve appeared in the entry, his hair standing up in tufts around his head.

She waited for him to reach her. “Did you see anyone out there?”

“No. What’s going on?”

She pushed him into the messy room and handed him her phone.

“Whoa.” His face took on a serious tone as he looked at the snapshots and the remaining mess. “When did this happen?”

“Within the last hour. I came down to switch the clothes and found this.” She gestured around the room. “I’m so over this shit.” She rounded on him. “And don’t you dare tell me a ghost did this.”

Steve’s eyes were wide. “Must be a poltergeist. I’ve read they can move heavy objects around and throw stuff.”

Jordan rolled her eyes at him. “Right. You really need to give that horse a rest. The rest of this mess is all yours, buddy.”

“How come I’m in trouble?”

“I have to get ready for my shift,” she answered, and quickly shut the door.

Thirty minutes later, Jordan left for work. When she drove out of the back parking lot and past the front of the building, a familiar car caught her attention. Before she could place it and who it belonged to, the light turned green and she drove through it, still steaming over the vandalism.

*

Sunny parked and grabbed her briefcase before crossing the street. Originally built for officers of the naval shipyard, the old brick building was in a U-shape, the center area filled with grass and border flowers. She could feel the energy of its long history before she even stepped onto the walkway.

An older woman with dyed fire-engine-red hair stood outside the center wing. Sunny delightfully guessed her character by the way she dressed: black leggings, purple Converse high tops, and a Pink Floyd T-shirt. Her mother would love her. She stood and waited with her hands folded at her waist.

A child giggled behind her, and Sunny half turned before realizing it was disembodied and there wouldn’t be anyone standing there. She lived and worked with spirit energy every day, right along with her family and friends. Sometimes it was easy for her to forget that not everyone experienced the world as she did. Agnes was scared enough. Sunny refused to add to it by talking with the child. Instead, she tried to tune out the distracting laughter. She wanted to hear Agnes’s story before she connected with any of them.

“Thank you so much for coming,” Agnes said.

“You’re welcome.” Sunny smiled and followed her to the second-floor apartment. She laughed out loud when she saw the sign hanging on the door:
I am the manager and I have a gun.

Agnes led her to the little living room where she had set the coffee table with a delicate tea set and cookies. Her aged hippie style should have clashed with the frilly apartment, but somehow Sunny knew it worked for Agnes. She felt right at home. Sunny pulled out the notes she made during their phone conversation and held up her black recorder. “I’m going to ask you a few questions. Do you mind if I use this?”

“It’s not going to end up on the Internet on that YouYube-y thing, is it?”

Sunny was amused at the question. “No, absolutely not. Everything you tell me is in the strictest confidence.”

“Okay then.” Agnes looked almost disappointed with her answer before she primped her tight curls. “I’ve never talked with a psychic before.” Her eyes watered. “But I can’t take this anymore.”

Sunny raised her eyebrows. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Chapter Six

Sunny left the art gallery and headed to her car, but seconds later, she heard footsteps behind her and tightened her hold on her tiny clutch, quickening her step slightly. This wasn’t the best neighborhood at night, and she’d parked on the third floor of the garage. She darted across the dark street, pulled her coat against her body, and headed to the elevator. Because she was distracted, her high heel caught in the street grate and she felt herself fall, almost in slow motion. She knew she was going to hit the ground.