A Question of Ghosts (20 page)

Becca thought about it and decided to tell the truth. “I’m better. Rachel pumped me full of drugs, and I’m calm now, and sleepy. But I’m afraid I’m going crazy, Jo.”

It came out so casually, it sounded so reasonable, and Becca’s eyes filled again with helpless tears. As if she could see them, Jo wrapped her hand in hers.

“Tell me,” Jo said. That’s all she said, and Becca found she could.

“Bipolar disorder tends to run in families. You know that. I’m beginning to think I’ve caught my mother’s bug. These fugue states I go into. They feel psychotic. I may be losing my grip here.”

Jo waited, but that’s all Becca could get out right now. The tears ran down either side of her face, trickling through her hair to the pillow.

“You’re not having manic episodes, Becca, not as I understand mania. And if you’re having intense reactions to this phobia, that just seems good common sense to me. In the past, the danger has always been in your mind. These days your subconscious is reacting to what has become a very real threat.”

Jo’s logic wasn’t reaching Becca, but her voice was. That low, rich alto, the thoughtfulness of her speech. Unfortunately, it wasn’t calming Becca; it was just making it possible to open the floodgates further. She managed to keep her own voice level. “That’s basically what Rachel told me.”

“Rachel knows you very well. You have a therapist you trust, and loving friends to see you through this. You’ll be fine.”

“My mother had those things, and she wasn’t fine.”

That did it. Becca was undone. Even as sobs convulsed her, she knew Jo and Rachel were right. She knew she wasn’t going to end up on a back ward of Western State, but it was so dark outside and Rachel had only given her one Seconal, and it wasn’t enough.

Whatever unlikely wisdom had told Jo when to be silent must have told her now that more than words were needed. Becca felt her long body ease down onto the bed, stretching out beside hers. Jo’s arm draped lightly across her waist, and Becca curled into her shoulder.

They held each other while Becca wept, and for a long time after her tears finally stopped. Then Jo’s hand brushed beneath her chin, and Becca lifted her face to meet her kiss. Their lips blended with a sweet softness, melding with a natural ease, a perfect fit. Becca’s body filled slowly with a different kind of languor, a liquid, trickling warmth.

“Becca.” Jo lifted her head, and Becca wondered at the honest regret in her voice. “I’ve never made love to anyone. I don’t know how. And I don’t want to learn tonight. I just want to hold you.”

And Becca was saddened all over again that Jo was afraid this would be considered heresy; both that she was inexperienced, and that a moment of such loving physical intimacy had to lead inevitably to sex.

“Don’t you know this is enough?” she whispered. “Becca School is back in session, dear Dr. Call. You’re giving me exactly what I need.”

Jo’s body relaxed against hers, and Becca could feel sleep claim her in seconds. Her exhaustion had finally kicked in, and Becca was relieved there was some hope Jo might actually sleep through the night. There was some hope she might too now, well and dreamlessly, with Jo draped around her like a comforting cloak.

Becca turned her head toward the side table. She couldn’t see the little radio or the Spiricom, but the soft crackle of static drew her.

“Mom?” she said softly. The word felt strange in her mouth. It wasn’t one she had spoken aloud often, certainly not as a name. At five, her mother had been “Mommy,” and Becca had been “little girl.”

Jo had said the Spiricom might make two-way communication possible. Becca wondered fuzzily if her mother was awake out there, in whatever shadowed land she inhabited now.

Her lips still vibrated from that kiss, that unexpected gift. She hoped fervently that Jo wouldn’t regret it in the morning, either the kiss or the welcome embrace of her arms tonight. Becca felt a sleepy but powerful hankering to talk to Khadijah or Marty or Rachel, to have a long and thoughtful chat about the fact that she was falling in love for the first time in her life.

She sighed, and her eyes drifted closed. No one could really advise her on the risk of this romantic folly, about whether loving Jo would ultimately heal or hurt them both. Becca’s wandering mind summoned an image of the Lady of the Rock, and she took comfort from the statue’s maternal gaze.

“
Becca.
”

Becca’s eyes flew open, and she started so hard only the depth of Jo’s weariness preserved her sleep.

Her mother’s voice was different.

She had spoken only her name, but Becca heard the change clearly. For the first time, there was no grief in her mother’s tone, no fear, no pleading. Madelyn Healy was speaking to her daughter as she had never been able to in life, as one woman to another, and her voice was rich with love and a kind of shy, pleased approval.

“
Becca…it’s right.
”

Becca stared into the darkness, her heart pounding. She felt Jo’s soft breath stir her hair, and she understood.

Becca smiled, spiraling down into sleep, filled with a new, growing faith in two things. Her mother had been a wise woman, and they were both right about Joanne Call.

Chapter Sixteen

“Yes, Pam, I believe I’ve admitted you told us to call you at any time.” Jo grimaced and stepped deeper into the bushes, lifting small branches with one hand and clasping her cell with the other.

“Yeah, and last night would have been a
very good time.
” Pam Emerson’s voice crackled in her ear. “I could have been there in ten minutes, Jo, damn.”

“Well, I’m bringing it to you now.” Or half of it. If Jo couldn’t find the doll’s stupid head, Pam would have to make do with decapitated evidence. “It will only take me ten minutes, too.”

“You shouldn’t even have touched it,” Pam pointed out.

“Too late for that. Ah.” Jo bent awkwardly and snagged the doll’s head with her thumb through the hole in its eye. At least the hideous thing would be intact.

She straightened and saw Becca across the street. She was standing by her battered Toyota, the sun shining on her hair, regarding Jo quizzically. “You’re right,” she told Pam, “I should have called you last night. I apologize. I was…distracted.”

“How’s Becca?” Pam’s irritation softened. Jo remembered she knew of Becca’s fear of dolls. She had tried to comfort her with one, the night of the shootings. She felt an unexpected flicker of relief as Pam Emerson clicked solidly in place as a member of their clan.

“She had a rocky night, but she’s better today.” Jo concealed the head of the doll at the back of her belt, wincing as her sore shoulder tweaked. “She’s seeing her therapist for breakfast.”

“That’s a good idea. And I’m seeing you at the station in nine minutes?”

“Nine minutes.” Jo folded her cell and walked down the driveway. She gave Becca a brisk wave of farewell, went to the back of her Bentley, and opened the trunk. She slipped the doll’s head into the tarped bundle containing its body, closed the trunk, and walked straight into Becca. “Omph.”

“Whoops!” Becca steadied her, smiling up into her eyes. “Sorry, Batman.”

“No harm done.” Jo liked the feel of Becca’s hands on her arms, and the fact that she kept them there even after she was steady. “You’re off to see Rachel?”

Becca nodded. “I told her I’d meet her at her place. The way she looked last night, I don’t want her out running around. What about you? You haven’t spilled your plans this morning.”

“Well, I’m going by my office to start cleaning up.” Jo considered lying by omission, but remembered her ongoing lessons in Becca School. “But first I’m bringing the doll to Pam Emerson. It’s in the trunk.”

Becca’s hands tightened on her arms, but only briefly. She looked toward the back of Jo’s car, then back at her. “Okay. Sounds like a good plan.”

“Did hearing that trigger you?”

“No.” Becca really did look fine. “It’s a little hard to explain, but if I’m not actually looking at a doll, I can think of it as an abstract. It’s as if you were terrified of spiders—you wouldn’t be crazy about a dead tarantula in the trunk, but at least you’d know it wasn’t going to crawl up through the seats and eat you.”

“That makes sense.” Jo drank in the warmth of Becca’s jade eyes. The light in them deepened.

“It’s Capitol Hill, so I can do this.” Becca’s voice was lower now, silken, as she stepped closer. “But in case you have issues with public displays of affection, I’m giving you fair notice that I’m about to kiss you.”

Jo actually did appreciate that notice, because touch generally was still hard for—

And then she forgot touch had ever been hard for her as Becca’s arms slid around her neck. She lowered her head and their lips met.

It was really, really nice.

Jo didn’t have words for some things.

Becca must have agreed because she wrapped her arms around her, the kind of hug she was so justly famous for among her friends. Jo had never been so warmly and thoroughly hugged in her life, but Becca was pressing her shoulder and she squeaked.

Becca released her. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re six feet tall and you just went off like a poodle. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Joanne, if I wanted the stoic butch routine, I’d read fan fiction. What is it?”

Jo grinned in spite of herself and shrugged. “We took a tumble down the front stairs last night. I’m fine. It’s just a bruise.”

The light faded from Becca’s features. “Are you sure? Should you see a doctor?”

“I’m sure.”

Becca looked up at her pensively. “I don’t know whether to trust you with this. You’re not very good at taking care of yourself, I’ve noticed. I’m still not sure what you need, at any given time.”

“Please consider Joanne School in session now.” Jo lowered her head until her forehead touched Becca’s, and the words flowed as naturally as rain. “Don’t you know this is enough? You’re giving me exactly what I need.”

The breath went out of Becca and she seemed a bit weak in the knees, an effect Jo had never had on a woman, to her knowledge, nor had ever wanted to. She kind of liked it.

Becca stepped back and pulled her cell out of her pocket. She flipped it open and tapped keys, then mouthed “voice mail” at Jo. “Rachel? Let’s make it dinner tonight, okay? I’m so much better. And something has come up here that’s kind of pressing. I’ll call you later.”

Jo frowned. “Becca, this is a terrible idea.”

“No, it isn’t. I will check in with Rachel, but it can wait for tonight.” Becca slid her cell back in her pocket. “I want to hear what Pam has to say about the doll. Just don’t let me see it. And you’re not cleaning up all that broken glass in your office alone with a bruised shoulder.”

“Becca—”

“And you’re letting me drive.” Becca plucked the keys from Jo’s fingers, chimed open the door, and slid inside the Bentley.

“Becca—”

“Trust. Trust builds relationships.” Becca patted the wheel cheerfully. “Get in, please.”

“Building trust, hell, you want my Bentley,” Jo grumbled. She made her way to the passenger’s side, unsettled by this change in plans, but resigned to it.

Becca pulled away from the house, smiling broadly.

“Spare us the queen’s wave, please.” Jo clicked her seatbelt shut. “Keep both hands on the wheel.”

“I’m an excellent driver. Lots of parking tickets, but that’s Seattle. Not one moving violation in twenty years.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Jo tried to maintain her sulk, but Becca’s obvious pleasure as she steered the elegant car down Aloha was infectious. She turned on the radio, clicking past NPR to a classic rock station, and regretfully turned to business. “We need to tell Pam about our talk with John William Voakes.”

Becca nodded. “Yeah, she might be able to connect us to the cops who investigated him. I’m hoping she’ll have a lead on whoever trashed your office.”

“Well, none of our usual suspects fit. Even if Voakes could have snuck out of that guarded room the other night, he’s too physically weak to do such damage.” The same could be said for Rachel Perry, and Jo couldn’t imagine the pristine Patricia or Mitchell Healy wreaking that havoc. “Becca, the station’s at Twelfth and Pine.”

“Oh. Right.” Becca hit the turn signal. “Sorry. I was just grooving on the ride.”

Jo looked at her. Pam Emerson had given her nine minutes to reach the station, and she had spent one of them kissing Becca. She couldn’t regret that. But the rest of her time had fled long ago, and Pam was waiting. She opened her mouth to say so. “Go ahead. We can cruise for a while.”

“Yeah?” Becca darted her a delighted look. “Hot doggy. I’ll just go around the block.”

She clicked the signal the other way and turned onto Denny. Apparently, the block would include all of Seattle’s downtown district, but Jo sat back to enjoy the ride. They both deserved a little respite under the morning’s mild sun and blue sky, and she was able to relax against the plush seat.

“
Becca!
”

The static of the Bentley’s radio crackled hard, and Madelyn Healy spoke.

“
Becca, the gift held blood.
”

“Jo?” Becca sounded suspiciously calm. “I think our brakes are out.”

*

Becca kept mashing the pedal to the floor, but the effort was increasingly futile. The elegant car shuddered and picked up speed as they rolled down Denny.

“The Bentley has the finest emergency brake ever made.” Jo calmly grasped the hand brake that rested on the console between them and pulled it up. There was one jagged pause in their forward motion before the car rolled on.

“Well, shit,” Jo suggested.

Becca was afraid she might. Denny was a long, straight avenue that sloped sharply down toward the Space Needle, and it intersected with busy streets. They were hitting the end of the morning rush. Becca gulped in air, gripping the steering wheel fiercely.

“Can you turn toward the sidewalk?” Jo clenched the dashboard.

“Wish I could.” Becca darted her eyes left and right, relieved there was a pocket of space around them. Grinding the wheels against open curb would slow them, but no curb was open on Denny. Becca had a choice of crashing into parked vehicles or roaring up on a sidewalk and killing one of many pedestrians. There was time to jump out, but someone could still be killed by this car if they did. “Oh Jesus, Jo, Fairview.”