A Scrying Shame (18 page)

“Well, she was going to. She was waiting for the right time. It wasn’t an easy thing for her to do. She was afraid of him, Arie.”

Arie thought about the look on Chad’s face when he screamed at Marissa in the vision. She shivered.

“He killed her,” Brant said. “I know he did.”

“He wasn’t even in town.”

“So what? Maybe he came home, and they had it out or something. All he had to do is turn around and drive back to Chicago.”

“How do you know he was in Chicago?”

Brant blushed.

“She told you, didn’t she?” Arie was horrified. “Were you there that night?”

“No.” Tears pooled in Brant’s eyes. “But I wish I had been. She wasn’t feeling well, and besides . . .”

“Besides, what?”

“We never met at her place. She was always afraid the asshole would walk in.”

Arie looked around the nondescript room. “She came here?”

Brant shook his head. “It was too far for her to drive. The asshole was keeping close track of everywhere she went and how long she was gone. She’d never be able to explain away a three- or four-hour chunk of time.”

“Then where did you meet?”

“Her sister’s. Marissa was paying the rent anyway, so it’s not like she didn’t have some rights.”

“Oh, crap.” Arie gasped. “No wonder the police think you’re involved. Kelli must have told them what you two were doing.”

“I don’t think so,” Brant said. “She seemed cool with it.”

“Don’t be stupid. Kelli is a spoiled brat. She’s not going to cover for anybody, much less her sister’s lover.”

This time, Brant’s voice was laced with anger. “I disagree. She knows how much we loved each other. She’s already proved it.”

“By letting you two fool around in her apartment? What choice did she have?”

“It’s not only that. She’s proved it since then, too. She even sent me—”

Brant’s cell phone buzzed like an angry bee, vibrating across the coffee table in front of them. He reached for it, but Arie grabbed his arm.

“Brant, Marissa was paying Kelli’s way. Of course she’s going to keep her secrets and kiss her a—”

Brant yanked his arm away. “Look, never mind. I know you mean well, but it’s time to go.”

“Brant—”

“It’s going to be okay. Leave it alone.”

Arie had arranged her second day with Riann for later that week. Riann, having had more time to think about possible uses for her minion, had a full to-do list all ready. In addition to the guest list for the still nonexistent wedding and updating her calendar, Riann had decided that she needed to start her own blog. She also decided that Arie, despite having no experience as a web designer, should get it all set up so that all Riann needed to do was dictate her posts. Typing was out of the question because it would surely damage her manicure.

After reiterating her almost total ignorance of all things blog-related, Arie asked Riann what theme she would use.

“Theme?” Riann asked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, what will you be talking about?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I’ll probably talk about whatever comes to mind at the time.”

“But is there going to be a consistent topic?” Arie asked. “Like, some blogs are on scrapbooking or working moms. Stuff like that. They usually have some kind of common denominator.”

“What’s a denominator?”

“Okay, skip that. What sorts of things do you like to talk about? Do you have a hobby?”

Riann shrugged. “I talk about whatever.”

This was a fast train going nowhere. Maybe the concept of a theme was too ambitious.

“How about a color scheme? Do you have a favorite color or style?” Arie worked hard to keep the tone of desperation out of her voice.

Riann shrugged again. “I don’t know. Something pretty. Maybe diamonds. I like diamonds.” She giggled.

“Diamonds,” Arie said. She was supposed to design a website based on . . . diamonds.

Before Arie could figure out how to explain to Riann that diamonds weren’t a color, the intercom near the front door chimed. While Riann answered it, Arie started Googling DIY blog sites. She reminded herself she only needed the job long enough to find Marissa’s killer. Keeping Brant out of jail would be a nice bonus.

Arie’s mother-inside-her-head voice was not amused at her priorities. The real one wouldn’t be either.

Riann called to Arie from the living room.

“Coming, master,” Arie grunted.

As soon as Arie entered the living room, she stumbled to a halt. Kelli sat on the couch with Riann, the two of them chatting in a high-pitched, bubbly tone that dripped with insincerity. Unaware that Arie and Kelli had already met, Riann gestured her over to the couch.

Arie’s stomach started a languorous slow roll as fear flooded it with acid.

At first, Kelli didn’t recognize her, but as Riann began describing the talents of her newly acquired pet psychic, Kelli’s head tilted, and a puzzled look seeped into her eyes.

“Don’t I know you?”

“Uh . . . I don’t think so.”

“I’m telling you,” Riann said, “the things she told me about Marissa are simply amazing. I’ve never—”

“Are you sure? Because you look really familiar.”

Riann, miffed at being interrupted, scowled. “Do you want to hear about this or not? Chad met her the other day, and even he was freaked out.”

Kelli stiffened, and her attention immediately swung back to her hostess. “Chad was here? What did he want?”

Riann smirked. “He came to see me. You know that he and I have been keeping in touch. It’s the least I could do for Marissa.”

At that, Kelli suffered a complete fail as she tried pushing a smile through gritted teeth, allowing Riann to score a point in the mean-girls battle they seemed to be waging. Arie kept very still, hoping to avoid notice. She’d never been any good at making hurtful remarks sound as though they were intended as a compliment—a basic skill for any mean girl.

Unfortunately, she was still standing in the middle of the room. And, of course, when Kelli cast about for a distraction, her eyes fell directly on Arie. It was the boobs that did it.

“I
do
remember you. You’re the janitor.” Kelli glanced around the room as though trying to reconcile the idea of Arie’s presence with Riann’s pristine palace. “No wonder you know all this stuff.”

“What?” Riann looked at Kelli as though the younger woman had lost her mind. “She’s not a janitor. She’s my personal assistant.”

“Actually, I’m both,” Arie said.

“What?”
Riann’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“I’m a hazardous waste technician for BioClean We do biohazard cleanups, like crime scenes or unattended deaths. That’s how—”

“I don’t understand,” Riann said. Her face had still not unscrunched.

“I work—”

“She’s a
janitor
,” Kelli said. “She wears a hideously ugly yellow sweat suit, and she cleans up dead people. She must have been pawing through Marissa’s things. That’s how she—”

“I’m a technician,” Arie said.

“You mean, like, for computers?” Riann asked.

Arie closed her eyes. She really hoped Riann was successful at keeping her body a temple because her brain was never going to be a viable fallback position.

“Who the hell said anything about computers?” Kelli asked.

Time to get control of this situation.

“I work for a company that cleans up blood and other dangerous things at crime scenes,” Arie told Riann in her nanny voice. “That’s how I . . . uh . . . met Marissa.”

“Ohhh.” Riann smiled in relief. “I get it. Yeah, that makes sense.”

“How does that make sense?” Kelli said.

“Because how else are dead people going to find Arie? Do you think they’re going to chase her around town? I mean, duh. If she’s a psychic—and she is—then that’s a perfect job for her to get clients. It’s kind of gross, though, huh?” Riann turned to Arie with her nose wrinkled like a little bunny.

“It can be,” Arie said. “That’s why I have to wear the ugly suit.”

“Oh, my gosh, yeah. I don’t blame you. Except I wouldn’t want to wear it.”

Kelli rolled her eyes. Riann, for the most part clueless, caught that.

“Well, Miss I-Don’t-Believe-In-Ghosts, I guess you won’t want to come to the little gathering I’m throwing together for Marissa’s grieving loved ones.”

“A party?” Kelli said.

“Well, not really a party,” Riann said. “That would be tacky. More like a séance. I’m going to have Arie read for us. I mean, for Chad and Mitch and Wyatt. And, of course, me.” To Arie, she said, “This way, you can make up for whatever happened the other day with Chad. That was so freaky.” Turning back to Kelli, she continued. “It’s too bad you can’t make it. In fact, I guess I’ll be the only girl there.”

Arie looked down to see if her breasts had evaporated. Nope—still there.

“Oh, Riann,” Kelli said sweetly. “You know I wouldn’t miss that for anything. After all, I’m Marissa’s little sister. You know she would want me there.”

Now that Riann had regained her ascendancy, she smiled. “I suppose one more won’t hurt.”

Wonderful.

The gathering at the lake house was everything Arie imagined a socialite cocktail party would be. Soft jazz drifted down from surround-sound speakers, lights had been dimmed, and a bar had been set up in a corner.

The train display had been roped off with theater-style braided gold rope. A trio of guests stood at the barrier, marveling at the miniature world.

Everything looked perfect, except, that is, for their host.

Under an unfortunately form-fitting gray vest, Dick Boyette wore a button-down shirt that seemed an uneasy compromise between teal and mint-green. His tie was . . . plaid. It picked up on the gray and teal, but tossed in stripes of melon and baby blue as well.

Riann probably dressed him
. Dick had to be around the same age as Grumpa, but the resemblance ended there. His clothes were certainly more expensive than anything Grumpa could ever afford. Unfortunately, the style was generations too young for the octogenarian to pull off with any dignity. Even Grumpa in his ratty green bath robe and his blue-veined legs sticking out from the bottom would have been more appropriate than the club scene costume poor Dick was decked out in. And judging from his expression, he knew it.

The rest of the small assembly looked like a photo shoot for one of those glossy-paged fashion magazines. Arie started sweating just looking at them. She had mistakenly assumed Riann was only inviting the wedding party, but there were twenty or so guests. For most of her life, Arie had been too short and her boobs too big to have ever been considered one of the pretty people. In addition to physical beauty—both genetic and engineered—the crowd seemed to have a secret way of looking at the world that she’d never been privy to; they spoke a language she didn’t understand. Fortunately, she wasn’t alone.

Right after Riann had foisted the idea for the gathering on her, Arie had insisted that Chandra accompany her. Riann had balked, but Arie had stayed firm, insisting she needed Chandra’s help running the séance. Eventually, Riann realized that Chandra’s attendance would make it look as though Riann was so affluent that even her assistant needed an assistant. The idea tickled the hell out of her, and permission was granted.

Her mood carried over to the evening, and she waved gaily at the girls when they walked in. However, Riann seemed the only one in good spirits. There was a strange undercurrent of tension that Arie noticed as soon as she and Chandra arrived.

The fact that she was again woefully underdressed didn’t help.

In an attempt to establish credibility as a medium, Arie had chosen to wear a long, black swirly skirt combined with a psychedelic, off-the-shoulder peasant blouse. Unfortunately, that meant either going braless—something Arie hadn’t been able to do since she was eleven—or wearing a strapless bra, which, if there was any hope of such a contraption holding up her boobs, meant wearing a bra so tight it came close to cracking her rib cage. It also severely restricted her breathing. Bending over was not an option. She hoped the clanking and jingling of the many bracelets she’d also donned would cover the sound of her shallow panting.

Chandra had dressed with her usual angsty artiste style, which stood out among the chic fashionista tribe like a flamingo at a peacock parade. Chandra laughed it off and, after stopping to fortify herself with a drink, pushed forward to explore the artwork lining the walls of the apartment.

Normally, in these situations, Arie would have headed for the nearest wall and made like a flower, but she’d backed herself into a corner earlier by telling Riann she would need at least an hour to mingle and “absorb the energies” of the guests before she could attempt a reading. In reality, she knew she likely wouldn’t have another chance to see the whole wedding party in one place again. She’d met everyone except Chad’s best man, but she wanted to get a sense of how they interacted with each other.

Kelli stood at the bar, deep in conversation with Chad. She appeared to be doing all the talking while he did all the pouring. Marissa’s younger sister wore a shimmery white cocktail dress that, even dismissing the short time since the funeral, seemed strangely inappropriate.

Actually, it looked ridiculous. Unlike her petite sister, Kelli was tall and wide at the hips. In a room full of pretty people, she looked almost as out of place as Arie felt.

As Arie drew close, she heard Chad mumble something but couldn’t catch the words. Kelli’s laugh trilled falsely in response, and she reached up to adjust Chad’s already perfect tie. He downed half his drink in one gulp, then slid past the girl and made his way over to a man Arie didn’t recognize. She wondered if it was Wyatt, Chad’s best man.

Kelli scowled as Chad left. Arie didn’t feel like dealing with Her Poutiness anyway, so she pretended she’d been heading somewhere else and angled away. She kept her eyes on Chad and his friend.

Whoever the other guy was, the two made a striking contrast. Chad was an obvious product of wealth. He wore his tailored clothes with ease. His blond hair looked as if it had been genetically bred to flop casually over one eye. His teeth were the result of careful attention by a team of hygienists, dentists, and orthodontists. All in all, he was handsome but in a blurry, generations-of-soft-life kind of way.