Adelaide Confused (30 page)

“
It doesn’t matter! My
mother’s house is off limits when we’re fighting.” She felt
embarrassed and betrayed that we’d been talking together. I almost
felt bad.

We were in town now, the roads clogged with
traffic. “Slow down,” I warned.

“Slow down? I can’t wait to get you out of my
car!” She didn’t mean it, but it still hurt. I remained quiet, not
wanting to make things worse. Perhaps I shouldn’t have pushed so
hard to get her talking, it certainly felt like a mistake in
hindsight.

Francesca turned down the
narrow alley that ran behind her mother’s house. My little Chevy
stood out like an eyesore, two shades green too many. She jerked
the car into park before demanding that I get out.

I opened the door, setting one foot on the
asphalt. But I stopped to ask, “So when are you going to start
being my friend again?”

The anger was gone, but she
wouldn’t meet my eye. She said, “When you’re done being such a
bitch.”

“
It never bothered you
before,” I replied, shutting the passenger door before hurrying to
my car.

“What do you mean by strolling in here more
than two hours late?” Ben bellowed.

I shut the office door
behind me, glancing at the clock we kept above the counter. Damn,
he wasn’t exaggerating. “Ben,” I said in placating tones, “you know
I would never stroll anywhere.”

He flapped a hand at me
disgustedly. “One day you’re going to piss off the wrong person,
Adelaide.”

I already had. His name was
Beagban. But I didn’t contradict Ben. It made him feel better to
predict my doom, helped to release all that pent up frustration and
worry.

Shuffling things around,
Ben prepared to leave. I heard him mutter about missing his
swimming lessons. I had a growing suspicion that when he said
swimming lessons, what he really meant was water aerobics. And if
one didn’t know how hung up he’d always been about Mary, one might
think he’d enrolled just to hit on his fellow students, elderly
women with joint problems.

He said something else, but
I was only half listening. The office was distracting me, reminding
me of the night before last when in the damp early hours my séance
had been interrupted by a murderer, and his attempt to kill me
interrupted by a ghost. Where my hero was hiding, I had no idea.
The last time I saw him was that morning as he exploded all over my
kitchen.

My life had become dangerous, but what I
found distressing was the absurdity of it all.

Ben was snapping his fingers under my nose.
“Did you hear me?”

I pretended that, yes, I
had heard, though I’d only just noticed him standing by the door
ready to go.

“
I said,” he thundered
gruffly, “that Missy’s been complaining about a can of ravioli,
says you went into her cabinet and moved it.”

Lately I’d been counting
mundane routines, like my job at Sterling’s, as something of a
blessing. The routines kept me busy, giving me structure and a
sense of normality. But being hassled over a can of ravioli was
something I could do without. “I didn’t eat it,” I said flatly,
“only moved it.”

“
I don’t give a rat’s ass
about the ravioli. But that’s the last time I listen to Missy
complain. Next time I’m sending her to you,” Ben threatened. “We’ll
see how you like dealing with her.”

“Fine,” I agreed, pulling back the curtains
and opening the blinds.

Ben left without another
word, slamming the door behind him. Stephen would be getting out of
school soon and I wanted to call Reed before he arrived. I stashed
my purse and sat down to dial.

Trying to contact a
multimillionaire was next to impossible, even if you knew the
direct line to his vacation abode. Eventually I hung up, swallowed
my pride, and redialed. This time I said, “Tell him it’s his
girlfriend calling.” They put me right through.

“Reed Wallace.”

He must have more than one
girlfriend. Why else would he answer the phone so impersonally?
Obviously he wasn’t sure which one was on the line. I forwent
calling him a dick, instead saying, “Hello, Reed.”

“
Ah, Adelaide,” he said
sounding pleased. “I thought it might be you.”

“
Sure you did,” I said,
disillusioned.

“
You’re right,” Reed
admitted, remembering it was hard to bullshit me, even by phone.
“I’m surprised to hear from you so soon after our last
conversation. I thought it would take longer to earn my
forgiveness.”

“
Forgiveness is irrelevant.
I’d still dislike you anyway.”

“
Was there something you
needed?” Reed asked, sounding harried.

Needling the imperturbable
and ever-composed Reed Wallace was something of a thrill. I took a
moment to savor it before putting plainly, “Raina Thompson works
for Lars Hurst. I overheard her conversing with Beagban, she’s
after the book.”

He didn’t say anything.

“
You’re obviously not
surprised,” I said, interpreting his silence.

“
I had her checked out,” he
admitted. “The magazine she claims to be doing a story for hasn’t
heard of her.”

Feeling frustrated, “Why
didn’t you tell me?”

Evidently amused, “Why
would I do that?”

“
Because she’s staying at
Sterling’s! Probably spying on me,” I complained into the
phone.

“
Not anymore. I had her
moved to the Crowne.”

I was insulted on
Sterling’s behalf. It was an old motel, but by no means shady.
“You’re a real bastard,” I told Reed.

“Do I need to point out the incongruity?”

No, he really didn’t. I’d
managed to blame Reed for both her being and not being at
Sterling’s. “Let me guess...” I said, ignoring the fact that he had
a point. “You’ll take care of it.” I meant Raina Thompson in
general.

He understood, simply saying, “Yes.”

The continued use of that
phrase was detrimental to his health. If he said it again I might
kill him.

Reed broke the prolonged
silence. “I am curious to know how you managed to overhear another
such conversation. It would appear you have a knack for
eavesdropping.”

“
I recognized Beagban’s
truck and hid in the back while he was on his way to meet Raina,
that’s all,” I said, leaving out a great many details.

“
That’s all?” Reed echoed.
“Tailing after a murderer seemed like a good idea, did it?” He
actually sounded angry.

“
Well no, not really,” I
admitted. “But I was being proactive. You should give it a try
sometime.”

The accusation hung, as did
the silence.

Then, “Adelaide, how do you know what kind of
vehicle Beagban drives?”

Like the trip to Fort
Frederica, I hadn’t told Reed about Beagban’s latest attack, and I
was reluctant to do so. How could I relate the tale without
including Smith? Besides, I didn’t entirely trust Reed’s solutions.
Vaguely I responded, “He stopped by Sterling’s a few nights
ago.”

“
What! Why didn’t you use
the ring I gave you?”

“
I wasn’t able
to.”

“
Are you alright? Did he
hurt you?”

“
No,” I said smiling. “I
took care of it.”

It started to rain later
that night. It wasn’t abrupt like a torrential downpour, which
lasted only long enough to make the earth feel bathed and clean.
This rain was a steady drizzle, continuing for hours and blanketing
the air with oppressive moisture.

I’d run to and from my car,
but it had made little difference. By the time I got home my
clothes were plastered to my body, hair glued in place, damp and
sticky all over.

It was a fitting start to
the perfectly dreadful thing that followed. I should have taken the
rain for an omen. After all, hadn’t it been raining the day Beagban
attacked me at Sterling’s? It was easy to notice such patterns
after the fact, hindsight and all that. But at the time I was only
concerned with getting dry and little else.

I ran inside and kicked off
my shoes, shedding wet garments as I trudged toward the loft. I
dried my hair with the first piece of clothing to cross my path and
shrugged on the nearest nightgown, an overlarge T-shirt that hung
to my knees. Remembering I had to go back outside, I wriggled into
a pair of long johns and grabbed the rain jacket from my closet. I
was out the back door in no time, squelching through clumps of
soggy, limp grass.

Trying to weave my way
through the shrubbery and climb over the fence was more challenging
than usual. The branches shivered as I walked, shedding cold
droplets to land on the back of my neck while wet leaves slapped at
my bare ankles. I was beginning to wonder if perhaps I’d invested
too much interest in Lucas. Why the hell was I forcing myself on a
man that clearly didn’t want to see me? I had no good answer. I
should probably turn around. But I wouldn’t, I couldn’t.

Aside from being soaked
through, my note was just as I had left it on his back door. I
stared at it for a minute, but decided even that wasn’t enough
proof of his absence. I knocked on both doors, miserably watching
his darkened windows.

A sort of hopelessness
settled over me, a feeling I knew intimately. This was how it had
been for years after the accident, especially before I knew what
was wrong with me. The chaos of my existence had felt like a living
hell. How do you get control of your life when at any given moment
you might break into tears or burst out laughing? You don’t, not
really. You just get good at pretending.

But acclimating to
normality had taken its toll. I now wanted what any twenty-three
year old girl wanted—a boyfriend. No, that was not entirely
accurate. I didn’t want just
any
boyfriend, I wanted Lucas. It
was juvenile and naïve to crave someone you hardly knew, logically
I understood this, but it changed nothing. I was Francesca, and he
was my own Reed Wallace. Sensible thinking was beyond the realm of
reality.

I sulked at my kitchen
table, parked in front of the big window, watching the darkness
beyond my fence. I willed a light to appear, some sign he’d
returned, all the while eating sugary desserts instead of dinner.
Eventually I gave up my vigil and decided to turn in
early.

I was just pulling back the
blankets when my pet ghost appeared. I felt a light tickle at my
ankle, a sure sign of its presence. Looking down I noticed it
wasn’t bouncing around like usual. The smoky impression of its body
had gone stiff. And though its face was a featureless plane, the
place where its jaw should have been gaped and contracted in a
jerky fashion. It was barking I realized with some surprise, I’d
never seen it do that before.

“
What? What is it?” I
asked, completely puzzled.

Its body jerked forward as
it let out another stream of soundless cries. When I did nothing
more than stare stupidly, it began to paw at me, footpads turning
solid. I felt them swipe down my calves, leaving a tingling trail
where the claws had scratched at my off-white pocked long
johns.

I recognized the warning,
something was wrong. But the realization came too late. The ghost
turned to bark at something just behind me. I swiveled around in
time to see Raina Thompson step off the stairs and into my
bedroom.

“
What the hell!” I yelled.
But I was only partially alarmed, the other half of me was calm and
collected, driven with determination. The other part of me was
Raina.

She took one step forward,
swinging her arm in a downward arc. The needle pierced my skin just
below the shoulder, stinging as she injected me with the syringe’s
clear contents.

I batted at her hand,
trying to flick the needle free. But the world seemed to tilt off
kilter and I struggled to maintain my balance. All sound ebbed away
as I crashed to my knees. So did the light, it disappeared slowly
as if I was tumbling down a tunnel. My body crumpled to the floor.
Confused, I prayed not to fall in the wishing well once
more.

I regained consciousness
slowly, feeling disoriented throughout. Shifting was useless, I
couldn’t move, though it took me a few seconds to fully grasp why.
My hands were tied behind my back, more specifically, tied behind
my back and secured to the leg of my own armoire. The thing was a
towering antique of solid oak. It wasn’t going anywhere, and
apparently neither was I.

The grogginess continued to
fade, replaced by my wits. Searching with my fingers, I felt for
the key to my freedom, the Tibetan ring. It wasn’t there, and
neither was Percy’s.

With my safety net gone, I
began to panic. I forced myself to be calm, be logical. Raina
Thompson had come into my house and sedated me, but from the
conversation I’d overheard earlier, I knew she wasn’t working with
Beagban on this. A comforting thought. She might be a cruel,
calculating bitch, but she didn’t strike me as the torture type.
And what was more, if she wanted me dead she could have put
something more lethal in the needle.

I’d just have to wait and
see what she wanted. I mean, I knew she wanted the book. I just
didn’t know how I figured in to her plan for getting it.