Unseen (12 page)

“What did she look like?” Will demanded, fighting his temper with an effort.

Smithson shrugged. “I don’t know. Cute. Little glasses.” He shaped them with his fingers to indicate narrow lenses, then stopped short, as if caught up by something.

“What?” Will demanded.

“I think she had a bruise, man. Kinda had some makeup over her face but there was something by her temple.”

Will’s heart clutched and he felt suddenly suffocated. He realized Smithson had never seen Gemma LaPorte. “What color was her hair?”

“Light brown, I guess.”

“How tall?”

“Five-seven, maybe. Five-eight?”

“What did she say to you?” Will demanded through his teeth. “Word for word.”

Smithson grew silent. He knew he was in trouble. All his whining and posturing wasn’t going to cut any ice with Tanninger. Something was up. Something bad. “She didn’t go in there. You’ve seen him. He’s just the same.”

“What—did—she—say?”

“She talked to me about snack food.”

Will stared. “Did she suggest you go get some? That she’d stay and watch over Letton?”

“No. She never was gonna watch over him.”

“But she thought you might need a snack?”

The silence between them was oppressive. Will waited nearly half a minute, then he grabbed his cell phone, ignoring hospital policy, and ordered Jenkins back to the post outside Letton’s door.

Smithson finally said, “The scumbag’s just the same as he was.”

“You’re relieved of duty,” Will stated tautly.

Smithson looked like he was going to argue, then he strode angrily down the hall and slammed through the door to the stairs.

Gemma parked the truck in LuLu’s lot and headed into the diner. It was busy, the lunch crowd in full swing. Macie gave her an overwhelmed look as she carried a load of plates on her arm and hurried toward a table. “Can you take a few orders? I’ll be with you in a minute. Two booths on the end? Denise is sick again. Probably hung over. It’s just…” She shook her head and her voice trailed off.

Gemma grabbed one of the notepads Macie kept in a stack just inside the kitchen and went to the first booth, where a red-faced man and his long-suffering wife bawled her out for taking so long. Gemma wished she’d gone to the other booth first, as those people were quiet and seemed to understand, at least at some level, that they were short-staffed.

“…long we’ve been waiting?” the man was railing. “I coulda gone in there and made it myself in the time we’ve been at this table!”

Gemma slid the wife a look. She stared back, a beaten woman. She’d heard this rant before, many times, Gemma guessed.

“Why don’t you hire more staff, that’s what I wanna know. There’re people out there dying for jobs. Put out an ad, for chrissake. Unless you like pissing good people off.”

“Harv…” the wife protested.

“Well?” he demanded belligerently, switching his fury to her.

“Do you know what you’d like to order?” Gemma asked.

“For the last half hour, missy!”

Gemma held her notebook and pen in front of her. Memories were flooding back. Working at the diner had been both a bane and a relief. Nasty customers were enough to make her want to pull her hair out, but the job had been a means to escape Jean’s demands.

The wife gave Gemma her order and the red-faced husband reluctantly did the same. Gemma ripped the slip off the pad and handed it to Macie, who’d overheard enough and was heading back to the kitchen. Gemma then went to the next booth, a family of four, who ordered without extra drama.

She met up with Macie in the kitchen. “Bless you,” Macie said. “I was close to a nervous breakdown.”

“It comes back quick,” Gemma said with a smile.

“Trial by fire. Snarky bastard. I am glad you’re here.”

“How do I look?”

“Like someone’s been beating on you pretty badly and you’re trying to cover it up.”

“What a relief. I thought people might think I was in some kind of accident.”

Macie gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Oh, honey, Charlotte’s coming up. I’ve got to have a word with that child. Can you get this order?” She pointed first to a hamburger and a club sandwich that had just come up, then to a booth along the windows. “The lady in the green pantsuit and the guy with the hairpiece.”

She whisked past Gemma. Through the front windows Gemma could see Macie’s daughter Charlotte approaching, swinging her backpack like she was about to hurl it into space. Gemma picked up the plates and took them to the table Macie had pointed out. The man with the hairpiece—black atop his own graying mane—asked for a refill on his cola and Gemma took care of that as Macie got sidetracked just as Charlotte burst inside.

Charlotte took one look at Gemma and rushed toward her, her short hair bobbing, a frown taking over her thin face. “Did you catch him?” she demanded.

Gemma was automatically going to ask, “Who?” but then stopped herself as she realized Charlotte must have seen her chase out after her quarry. She hadn’t realized Charlotte was at the diner that day.

“You saw me go after him?” Gemma clarified.

“Well yeah-uh,” she said, as if Gemma were dense. “You came out the door, dead on his heels. I was still in the parking lot.”

“Did he know I was following him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he just thought you were crazy.”

“But there was no doubt that I went after him.”

“I suppose people coulda thought you were having an attack of some kind. That other guy followed after you. He musta thought you were weird.”

Gemma didn’t know whether to laugh or cry that Charlotte had been at the diner the morning Gemma had run out of the place. She said urgently, “Charlotte, I’m just filling in for a few hours, helping your mom. Could we talk afterwards? I’m trying to remember things.”

“So, now you want me to look out for you?” Charlotte arched a brow.

And Gemma remembered that Charlotte had always wanted to be involved in whatever drama Gemma was living, but Gemma had deemed it too dangerous. Her heart began a slow tattoo. “You recall what I was doing that morning?”

“Sure. You were just drinking coffee. I tried to talk to you, but you were like somewhere else. Intense.”

Charlotte’s hair and eyes were dark brown. She was rawhide lean and had bruises and scrapes running down her legs, which were in shorts, the result of a reckless outdoor life. She was like a street kid, yet she had a loving mother who was overworked and exasperated by her daughter.

Macie wasn’t the only one who loved Charlotte; Gemma wanted to love and protect her with maternal fierceness.

“You okay?” Charlotte asked now.

“Just some memory quirks.”

Charlotte snorted her
so what else is new?
and said, “Well, in case you remember about that dude over on Carriage Way? The one I thought was beating his kids? I was wrong. He was beating his wife. Kids just kinda got in the way, but it’s all okay now.”

“How is it okay?” Gemma said, slightly horrified. Why couldn’t she remember
this
?

“He was in some car accident, or something. Anyway, he’s gone, so he can’t hurt them anymore. Left the family, I think.”

“Did I ask you about him?” Gemma groped for understanding. The conversation with Charlotte was quickly spiraling out of control.

Charlotte pressed her lips together, looked around, then confided, “You’re always worried I’m going to get in some kind of trouble for knowing too much. Don’t you remember? That’s why I told you about Robbie’s dad. You insisted I let you know first if I thought someone was doing bad things to their kids.” She frowned in concentration. “I think that’s why you went after the dude that day. You knew something about him. Something bad. Did you ever catch him?”

“I don’t think so…”

“Huh. Too bad. The way you looked at him…I thought he probably deserved to die.”

Chapter Nine

Charlotte Brandewyne, eleven years old, cursed with boring, limp hair and a pointy nose and chin, and a flat chest that had
no sign
of breasts, where Hester Martin was like a double-D already, and she had blue eyes with sooty lashes—that’s how they described them in those books she’d found in the box in the attic. Anyway, boys just went berserk over those sooty lashes, and though Charlotte wasn’t much interested in boys, she sure as hell wanted them to be interested in her.

But she was thin, knock-kneed, and ran like a gallumphing elephant, according to her mother. That was a lie. Her mom just thought that because Charlotte made so much noise. In truth, Charlotte was fast. Speedy. She’d run from many a bad situation, smelling trouble before it found her.

But…the only thing pretty about Charlotte was her last name. Brandewyne. And it wasn’t even really hers. Her mom’s second husband had adopted her when she was two, and though he’d been gone for just years and years, she’d kept his name. Her real dad was something she thought of fleetingly without much interest.

Charlotte had grown up around Quarry and Woodbine. The grade school she attended was for both towns and some neighboring areas that weren’t towns at all, just a store, or a signpost stuck out somewhere. Charlotte learned early on that she was good at math and reading but her social skills sucked. They didn’t use that word, of course, but hey, it was all the same thing anyway and though she’d never fully understood what social skills were, she’d figured out she didn’t have a lot of friends and that bothered the school counselors and teachers.

Her answer to all that was to simply leave school when she got bored with it. She did her homework. She was good at her assignments. Way better than a lot of the kids. Penelope Messerlin was an absolute dope. She also had big breasts—
tits
as Davey Corulo described them—but then Penelope had been held back about a zillion grades, so sure, she was mature.

The one person Charlotte liked the most was Gemma LaPorte. Gemma was always nice to her. Well, at least when she was in her own head. Sometimes she just drifted away and Charlotte was pretty sure there was a name for what she had. She’d watched a bunch of those
Law & Order
shows, which were kind of boring—lots and lots and lots of talk—but they also had some cool stuff once in a while. Dead bodies with those Y-shaped cuts because the doctors had cut them open. Yuk! But cool.

But Gemma was also psychic. She would suddenly turn around and say, “Who did you say you saw today?” and it was really, really weird, because Charlotte would be about to tell her something that happened to her that very
day
. It was creepy. Made Charlotte feel like caterpillars were walking over her skin. But cool, too.

When Charlotte heard that Gemma was coming in to work this afternoon, she just left school at noontime and walked two miles home. She’d been banished from the use of her bike because her mom thought it gave her too much mobility, so she’d had to resort to walking.

That’s how she’d thought the Bereth kids were getting kicked around by their dad, by walking by their place every day. They lived down this long lane; practically everybody did around here, but she’d seen them come screaming out of the house one day, a man yelling threats at them from inside the house. She’d told Gemma, who’d gone into one of her trances. Charlotte had wanted to follow Gemma around and find out what she did when she was like that, but someone—her mom, the school, people who recognized her—was always dragging her away. And then Gemma didn’t seem too keen on Charlotte’s following her around like a dog.

But now, today, Gemma wanted to talk to her. Seemed to think that she, Charlotte, had some information that could help! Charlotte was as close to a panic as she had ever come. She wanted to have something for Gemma. She wanted Gemma to find her important. The trouble was, she really didn’t know much of anything.

Charlotte was seated on a stool near the kitchen, trying really hard not to bite at her nails. Her mother hated the habit but it really helped her brain juices, to gnaw away at her fingers. Hard to explain. Hester Martin called her own mother a ball-buster. Charlotte wasn’t quite sure what that meant but she had an idea. Hester said her dad called her mom that, so she did, too. Apparently Hester and her dad just laughed and laughed and it made her mom so mad.

Charlotte didn’t feel that way about Macie. Sure, she wished she would just give her some slack. Forget the going to school thing. But the way Hester acted about her mom made Charlotte uneasy. In fact, Charlotte almost wanted to hug her mom after hearing those things, but she stopped herself at the last minute. Mom was just too smart. She would think something was up and bug Charlotte about it until Charlotte would just blurt it all out, which was not cool.

Charlotte was trying to teach herself self-control. But as she sat on the stool, she was in a complete panic about what to tell Gemma. Could she make something up? Some story that would intrigue Gemma? Maybe make her think Charlotte was really, really special?

But Gemma had looked stricken when Charlotte had told her about Mr. Bereth leaving his family. She’d heard he was a really mean guy, though, so it was good he was gone. She didn’t think the Bereth kids would care. Or Mrs. Bereth. Charlotte had overheard one of the school counselors telling another one that Mr. Bereth was the reason Robbie was missing a permanent tooth. That’s why Charlotte thought he’d been beating on his kids. It was only later, when she saw Robbie at school, that she learned he’d been in the way when his dad and mom had had “words.”

Words. Hah. Charlotte had asked if she could see his missing tooth and though he’d initially been pissed, he’d finally pulled back his lower lip and there had been a big hole right in the center, like he was a baby waiting for them to come in. It had made Charlotte kind of sad. Teeth were important. She’d been brushing hers with extra special care ever since.

“Charlotte.”

She straightened up as if goosed, nearly gasping. Her mom didn’t sneak up on her as a rule. “Uh-huh?”

“This wasn’t a half-day of school. Your teacher just called. Wanted to know if you were feeling better after I
picked you up
.” Mom looked pissed.

Well…

“It’s just dumb PE, and I get enough exercise riding my bike. Or walking,” Charlotte added with an accusatory tone.

“You have more than just one class in the afternoon.”

“Math, and I’m two assignments ahead.”

Macie pressed the fingers of one hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. Charlotte braced herself. “Why can’t you just go to school and stay there?” her mom asked. She really looked tired.

“Maybe you could home-school me,” she said hopefully.

“Oh, Lord.”

She whirled back to the job. Charlotte watched her mother and Gemma. She wished they would let her wait tables. She would do a good job. She was gifted. Maybe not in the way Bryce Pendleton’s parents said he was gifted. They were always saying that and Bryce was a…dickwad. She wasn’t quite sure what that meant but she was certain it applied.

With time on her hands, Charlotte pulled out her math book. If she was quick, she could be three or four assignments ahead, maybe five. If she finished the entire workbook what would happen then? They would just have to let her leave fifth grade, wouldn’t they?

Barb caught Will on his cell phone as he was leaving the hospital. “Take you all day to do some interviews?” she asked.

“Smithson show up?”

“Yeah. Pissed at you.”

“What was his version of what happened?” he asked.

She lowered her voice, probably because she was at her desk. “You’re a fucking bastard with control issues and could get violent. Want my version?”

“Shoot.”

“He’s a whiney bitch with Momma issues and could wet the bed.”

Will actually laughed aloud, which pleased Barb and she chuckled quietly. “Are you on your way back?”

“Just got relieved of guard duty. Letton’s not long for this world. The doctors called the wife, Mandy.”

“Where are you?”

“Taking a late lunch.”

“Learn anything about our vic?”

“She was a party girl. I’m going to call Mac and tell him to check Portland clubs. I also have the name of a friend. I don’t suppose you’ve heard what they found at the scene?”

“Not yet. I thought McNally was on the verge of retirement.”

“Maybe he can’t give it up.” Will thought about telling Barb he was on his way to interview Gemma LaPorte, but thought better of it. “I’ve some things to take care of, so I’ll see you later.”

“Hurry back, big guy.”

Will hung up, glad things seemed to have warmed a little with Barb. She was a big girl. Maybe this would pass. Still, it hadn’t seemed prudent to tell her that he was on his way for a tête-à-tête with Gemma LaPorte. Smithson might be a whiney bitch, but he sure as hell saw someone who looked like her.

Will just hoped Ms. LaPorte was at home.

Gemma felt like her head was going to explode. As she picked up the plates in the booth after a party of four, she felt slightly dizzy. Carefully she laid the plates back on the table and took a moment, inhaling several long, deep breaths. She wasn’t well. This accident had set her back far more than she’d wanted to believe. The sights, smells, and noise of the diner were nearly overwhelming.

“You okay, miss?” a man at the next booth asked with concern.

Gemma nodded, carefully picked up the plates again, then headed for the kitchen. She dropped them on the counter near the sink, the top one skittering off and clattering atop an already growing pile. Milo, the cook with the Rasta braids, said, “What’s your problem, girl?”

“Milo.” Macie shot him a look as she entered behind Gemma.

Milo shrugged, unrepentant. “She don’t look so hot. That’s all I’m saying.”

Charlotte slammed her notebook shut and scrambled off her chair in the corner. Seeing the concerned look on her face, Gemma waved her away. “I’ve been away too long from the noise, I think. Or maybe it’s just my on-again/off-again brain.”

“Nuh-uh,” Macie said. “Not like this. You’re white as a sheet and look about to face-plant the linoleum. That’s not your brain. You’re sick, girl.”

“I don’t know how much is a result of the accident, and how much of it’s me.” Gemma sank down on the stool Charlotte had vacated.

“Y’all gonna get outta here?” Milo asked, hands on his hips. He wore a do-rag over his hair and his apron was bright red.

Gemma looked away from him and thought,
He’s about to be a father and isn’t sure what to think about it.
“Do you know the sex yet?” she asked.

He lifted his brows in an exaggerated,
You’re nuts
kind of way.

“Is it going to be a boy or a girl?”

Macie gave Milo a swift look. “Shirl’s having a baby?”

“Jesus, my Lord,” he muttered and slammed back to the grill, scraping at some nonexistent burned-on gunk as if his life depended on it.

Macie slid Gemma a look. “You go, girl,” she said. Then, “Lunch crowd’s over. I can finish up. You get yourself right.” She headed out to the dining room.

Charlotte was staring at Gemma with a kind of awe. “How do you do that? Can I learn?”

“I don’t think so.” She smiled wanly. “It’s kind of a curse.”

“Why can you do it?”

“Just lucky I guess.”

“Is your head really hurting?”

Gemma gently rotated her neck. “Better now.”

“You’re different since the accident.”

“Am I? How?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it,” she said seriously.

Gemma gave her a long look. Whether she knew it or not, Charlotte had information. “What do I do when my brain is ‘off’?”

“Stare off into space. Say some kind of spooky stuff, like you just did with Milo. Like you were thinking about something else, really hard, and then you return.”

“Do I generally remember what I was thinking about?”

“Yeah, I think so. Like when you came out of the restaurant the last time I saw you? You were just totally on him. You remember that?”

“Sort of.” Gemma felt her pulse start to escalate.

Charlotte sensed that Gemma wasn’t being entirely truthful, so she related, “I was outside and you just banged out of the door right after this dude. I don’t know who he was…he was sorta familiar but he looked at me weird. Creepy.”

“How, creepy?”

“I don’t know, exactly.” She thought about it, then shook her head. “But then I saw the one chasing you. He was creepy, too, but different.”

“In what way?”

“He was kind of hunched over, like his shoulders were heavy. He was staring at you, like with laser eyes.”

“Not the guy I was following?” Gemma clarified. “This was a guy following me?”

“Yeah, he had bushy hair.”

“And you’re certain he was following me?”

“Well…yeah…it sure seemed like it…” Now Charlotte didn’t sound so sure.

“Go back to the first guy. Can you remember why you thought he was creepy?” Gemma knew her questions were coming hard and fast, but she was desperate to learn what she had been doing that day. It didn’t sound like she had been following Letton, but maybe…?

“That guy? The first guy? His eyes were kind of—intense. He stared at me like he was stuck on me. Like he was caught in a tractor beam and couldn’t look away. He was a psycho for sure. But the second guy—he’s like a rock. He just had that look about him.”

“Did you see what they drove, either one of them?”

Charlotte screwed up her face, struggling hard. “I think the first guy had a truck. Or maybe it was the second one.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I was heading inside. I didn’t say anything to you because you were like on a mission. Figured you wouldn’t recognize me anyway. You never do when you’re like that.”

She was so matter-of-fact Gemma hardly knew what to think.

Suddenly, Charlotte said, “I’ve got it! You’re more here now. That’s what’s different. Like you’re really back. I can talk to you. Like now.”

“You couldn’t before?”

“You really don’t remember much, do you?” Charlotte looked concerned.