Boyfriend from Hell (Saturn's Daughters) (33 page)

Bless Tim’s little heart, he picked up my cue beautifully. He must have jabbed Dane’s shoulder. When the patient yelped in surprise and brought his hand up to the place he’d been poked, Tim apparently pinched his injured hand. That brought a much louder curse.

“I’d be very quiet, if I were you, Senator. That way, we can keep this just between ourselves. Should the
media arrive, it would become a three-ring circus in here. I can attest to that. I might clear a path through the reporters for myself, but you’re kind of stuck, aren’t you?”

“Justine Clancy,” he muttered angrily. “I warned them you were trouble.”

I smiled. “Really, I wasn’t. All I ever wanted to do was mind my own business. And then someone cut my brakes, killed Max, ran over a bunch of nice kids, and then made the mistake of bugging my apartment and following my every move before coming after me with guns. Since I find it hard to believe Max’s family would take him out, no matter how annoying he is, I have to assume you’re the shadowy figure behind all this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” he sputtered. “What would I have to do with a low-life bum like Max? And why should I care what you do?”

None of this would be useful on Tim’s recording. Getting confessions sounded so much simpler in books. I prodded harder. “You don’t lie well, Senator. I thought you were supposed to be better at this—you know I exist or you wouldn’t have warned anyone about me. You wouldn’t happen to be the one pressuring the cops to lean on me, would you? Really bad move, if so.” I popped open my compact, but we were out of the Zone, and Max was kind of hazy. “Anything you want to say to your cuz, Max?”

Vanderventer almost came out of the bed. Tim apparently shoved him back down. The patient did a fine job of biting back a shriek. “What the devil are
you doing to me?” Vanderventer cried in a low voice.

“I’m not doing anything except standing here talking to Max in hell.” Trial law was my favorite class. I’m quick with responses, even if I’m not always so clever with the quality. “Guess the devil thought you might be worth checking out, too. Think Max would send him?”

Max was making noises and faces but I really couldn’t see or hear him well. I just figured he was unhappy with me. Story of my life.

“You have one of those Zone freaks here with you,” Dane grumbled, punching his pillow and attempting to sit up.

“‘Zone freaks,’ that’s nice,” I said nastily. “And who made us freaks?”

“What do you want?” he demanded, not taking up that chemically laden question.

“A confession would be good,” I said. “I copied the plates off your limo when you ran over those kids just before Max died. Maybe you’d like to make restitution? You could keep it anonymous. Most of them don’t have insurance, or the ability to replace the stuff of theirs you ruined.”

“I didn’t run over any kids. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His hair stood on end again as Tim yanked it. The senator swatted at empty air and reached for the light with his bad hand. Tim apparently swatted him in return, because Dane jerked his injured hand back and cradled it against his chest.

“A little warning, Senator. Your chemical goo didn’t
just affect my hair. I’ve learned that when I wish for something—say, seeing you dip your toes in hell—odd things happen. What exactly were you doing playing with charcoal this morning?”

“You’re crazy,” he spluttered, but I could tell he was worried. “Maybe my chauffeur was driving my car, but I wasn’t anywhere near where Max died.”

Milo growled and tried to climb out of my bag. I pushed him down, while wanting to believe I had my very own lie detector. I grew bolder. If Dane had been around when Max hit the wall . . .

The light in my brain flicked on. Vanderventer had hightailed it out of the bank like a bat from hell because someone had warned him Max was likely to hit the wall in the bank’s vicinity. They’d been tailing Max, waiting to see where he’d hit. The bastard. For all I knew, Vanderventer had been hanging around, waiting for it to happen. Any way I looked at it, the senator had to have known Max was going down.

And proving it in a court of law would be next to impossible. The police weren’t going to search a senator’s phone records. For all I knew, he’d been using a throwaway phone. I could have tortured his spooks into snitching, but I wanted to go for the boss man.

“A nice fat check to Barr’s Groceries will work wonders.” I returned to my sweet voice, trying to keep my rage down. “They’ll see the money is distributed. That doesn’t mean I believe you about your chauffeur, but I’ll be good and look for proof. Unless you want to confess, of course,” I added. “Confessing would be
safer than waiting for me to find evidence, because once that happens, I just hand you over to the police and a proper court.”

“This is blackmail,” he grumbled. “I’m calling the cops as soon as I can reach the phone, Clancy,” he retorted, not unexpectedly. “You’re the one who’d better run and hide.”

“Oh, I think not, Senator. This is all a dream. I’m safely home in bed. I have witnesses. But if that check isn’t special-delivered in two days, I really will be your worst nightmare. Good night.”

I heard a smack and saw the senator wince and turn his cheek. I slipped back to the linen cart and left Tim to catch up with me at the elevator.

The screams that followed us warned I didn’t want to ask what had slowed him down. Jennifer had been nice to the kid, after all.

I
treated Tim to hot chocolate and donuts before we crept back into Andre’s house just past dawn. If Andre heard us enter, he didn’t drag himself out of bed to complain. I just had to hope there weren’t any spies watching, because I’d pretty much blown my cover if they were.

I was pretty disappointed that we hadn’t terrified the senator into a confession of any sort. He was a tough bastard. I let Tim keep the wire gear, in case we had better opportunities. I hadn’t expected a lot out
of my midnight foray, but I had hoped for at least a hint of a direction to follow. I wasn’t sure where to turn next. I still had no real evidence that Dane Vanderventer was our villain.

I showered, then prepared French toast for an appreciative Julius, before returning to my quarters to study for the last final. After tomorrow, that law degree would be mine.

Except my thoughts kept wandering, as I tried to find ways of applying my new visualization skill to job hunting. Nothing was coming to me, though. I was having a hard time believing in superpowers, and after Max’s death, I had a very real fear of even pretending to use my deadly gift. From everything I’ve read, with power comes corruption. I knew I’d end up in hell if I used mine for purely selfish reasons. Heck, I might end up there for using them period.

I had to find a normal means of earning money that paid enough so I could hire a lawyer to clear my name so I could find a real job. It would have been nice if I could have done all that in time to take the bar exam in July, but I doubted I could make that. Not that I knew how to do it, but I had a notion that using superpowers for money didn’t reflect high moral standards. Maybe I should ask Themis. Or Sarah. Ugh.

I studied without interruption. No one banged on the door with angry accusations about news reports of the devil haunting a D.C. hospital. I probably needed to minimize exposure of my new gift so that weird activities couldn’t be traced back to me. With a little practice, maybe I could make people think what
I want them to think, instead of instigating the action.

Actually, that would be scary.

I would have preferred a gift that provided automatic proof of wrongdoing, instead of making me work for it—I really wanted to know what was happening at Acme that might have gotten Max’s brakes cut.

Damn superpowers. Not all they were cracked up to be.

My thoughts traveled to that storage unit with Max’s papers. After the encounter with Vanderventer, my thirst for justice was running high. I had a lot of pent-up frustration needing release. I had meant to call Jane and send her over there if she had time. We could look at the papers together. I couldn’t hide forever.

By noon, I’d given up on books. I needed out of the house. The windows told me it was a gorgeous May day meant for enjoying. I was done playing at good little hermit.

I wore the mirror tunic, spike heels, and short shorts to distract from my face, and pinned and covered my remarkable hair with a fedora I borrowed from Julius. Maybe Cora would have a sun hat. I had this idiot idea that the goons would only look for preppy me, and I could walk right past them dressed like an idiot. If they were there at all. Or if they even knew I didn’t limp any longer. Thinking they might have noticed I’d grown gave me the creeps. So I hoped the spies were still explaining themselves to the police.

I headed down the street, enjoying birdsong and
sunshine, at least until I hit the edge of the Zone. I felt as if I’d been asleep these last years and all of a sudden, my eyes were open.

No pretty pansies adorned colorful planters along the edges of a hazardous waste zone. No trees grew. If there had ever been awnings, they had vanished. The only soft surfaces in sight were the people jostling each other on the sidewalks. The neon buildings lost their glow in daylight, simply looking stark and forlorn against the backdrop of the rusted chimneys of the abandoned plant. At least fast-food wrappers and cigarette butts didn’t line the gutters—Mickey D’s wouldn’t open their doors anywhere near here, and cigarettes caused explosions. I really ought to check out the inside of the florist. It might be a little shop of horrors.

I took the main street instead of the alley. I was in a humor for confrontation with goons, not Dumpsters. A gargoyle bent down from the florist’s roof and gave me the evil eye, and while that didn’t bother me as much as slithering garbage cans, it did keep me from exploring the shop.

Milo hung out of my bag, occasionally growling at an abandoned cur slinking from one alley to the next. I hadn’t spent many weekday lunch hours down here. I hadn’t realized how many employees escaped the chemical and steel plants to hit the Zone at noon, or maybe it was just the lovely day that drew them out.

I had to wonder how safe it was for them to eat here. Or were they all gaining some strange superpower with their cheeseburgers?

Actually, I kind of liked the idea of factory workers gaining psychic abilities to keep the powerful Vanderventers of the world in check. But it was probably a dangerous idea for me to imagine it, so I filled my head with white light and entered Chesty’s, whistling.

Diane was back, looking better than ever. If Vanderventer was responsible for sending a rapist to spy on us, he needed to be sent to hell twice. But without proof, I could do no more than follow Diane back to the kitchen, where I was regaled with tales of the miraculous flood mop-up and repeats of the gunman story.

When the staff started crowing over raises in their pay, I got a little uneasy. I hadn’t picked up my pay from Andre yet. Had I really visualized him into giving us money? Superpowers could really provide money? Dangerous temptation and probably hazardous to my afterlife. I bit my tongue until I knew more, but it only seemed fair that Andre pay a reasonable wage to decent people who worked hard.

I tested Jimmy’s tortellini soup and agreed it was to die for. I was testing appetizers when Paddy walked in, and Max’s warning reared its ugly head.

Paddy was Dane Vanderventer’s
father.
He possibly lived at Acme. If anyone knew the family secrets, he did.

“Why does Ernesto allow Paddy back here?” I asked Diane, who had stopped by to grab an anchovy cracker while filling her tray.

She glanced at the gray-haired man looking like a bum in shabby khakis and torn sweater and shrugged. “Because Andre says so. We’ve fed him for as long as
I can remember, even before Ernesto. He’s a harmless old guy.”

“You don’t know who he is?” I thought it might be wise to verify Max’s claims, just in case I really was imagining Max.

“He’s just Paddy. He brings us little inventions in return for food. As far as I know, they all end up in the trash. Gotta get this soup up front.” She trotted off, tray in hand.

I took my plate of appetizer samples over to the shabby old man and set it down in front of him. “We met at my place on Westside, Mr. Vanderventer. How is your family?”

He’d been entering Lily’s apartment. I’d moved before I could question her. Had she been another spy? Or part of the family he kept warning me away from? I hadn’t known her well. Neither of us was at home much.

Paddy was more interested in the food than in me. He studied the construction of a fancy bruschetta topped with a pyramid of olives and cheese, pinned together with toothpicks. The appetizer chef should have been an architect.

“Doing fine,” he said absently, plucking off a cheese cube without bringing the structure tumbling down.

He hadn’t disputed the name I’d called him by. “Is your son out of the hospital yet?” I asked innocently. “I hope he wasn’t too seriously burned.”

That caught his attention. Gray eyes eerily like Max’s narrowed as he studied me and discarded a toothpick holding an olive captive. “We don’t speak,” he said flatly. “Stay away from them.”