Dead Suite (18 page)

She was about to exit her e-mail account when a new message popped up. It was a reply
from the woman who wrote the blog a couple years ago about fingers being taken by
a prostitute killer in Albuquerque. The e-mail said simply,
If you have questions about that blog posting, call me.
The e-mail was signed, leaving a phone number with a 505 area code.

Sadie picked up her phone and punched in the number, and the call was answered on
the first ring.

“Hello?”

“My name is Sadie Novak. I e-mailed you about the blog you wrote a couple years ago.”

“Yeah.” She paused and made a sound like she was dragging on a cigarette. “Has it
happened again?”

“Has what happened again?” Sadie asked.

“My sister was one of three prostitutes killed in Albuquerque in 2010. The police
never told anybody about the fingers of the girls being taken. They said it was key,
but they didn’t want it released to the world. Guess they figured that tidbit would
help them find the killer. So far they haven’t found diddly-squat. Where are you calling
from?”

“I’m sorry about your sister,” Sadie said. “I’m calling from Seattle. There’ve been
a few girls killed here. I’m trying to see if there’s a connection. If you don’t mind
me asking, did your sister die from knife wounds?”

“Yeah. They said she was stabbed over twenty times.” She dragged again on her cigarette
and then coughed violently. “Bastard was never caught. I’ve been following the newspapers
all over. Every major city has prostitutes getting killed. I know they’re not all
connected, but it feels like nobody is ever caught.”

“It’s a dangerous business.” Sadie knew it was impossible that all murders in the
sex trade were related. It was a hazardous occupation. “When I searched your local
papers it said the bodies were found dumped in a park just outside town, but it didn’t
say if they were killed there.”

“I imagine they kept it out of the papers so they didn’t scare off tourists, but they
figure the girls were all killed in the same swanky hotel downtown.”

Sadie’s blood ran cold. She took down the woman’s name and promised to call her back
if she learned anything. Then she politely thanked her and ended the call.

She dialed Detective Petrovich. When he answered the call, Sadie blurted, “Owen Sorkin
owns a rental house in Albuquerque. He bought it around the time those three prostitutes
were killed there.”

“And you now think he’s a serial killer because he went to New Mexico in 2010?” Petrovich
sounded even more tired than usual.

“Well, he doesn’t look like a killer.”
And sure as hell doesn’t make love like one.

“I got your message earlier. He owns the house on Halladay Street, and you think he’s
connected to these murders because a ghost that showed up at that house also appeared
at the hotel? That’s a stretch even for you.”

“I know.” Sadie pursed her lips. “I’m probably just jumping to conclusions.”

“I took statements from both of you in that parking lot. When the first finger showed
up on your windshield he was with you, right?”

“That’s right. We were at dinner.” Sadie felt momentarily relieved. “But he came later.
He could’ve followed me and left the finger on my car before coming to the restaurant.”
But that sounded silly when Sadie thought about how sick Owen looked at the sight
of the bagged finger.

“Of course we ran a check on him, but no red flags came up. Looks like a stand-up
guy, but I’ll look into him further.”

“This thing has me jumping at my own shadow.”

“So when did this guy buy the house on Halladay?”

“A few months ago.”

“So the neighbor finally found someone to take it off his hands? Good for him.”

“The neighbor?” Sadie frowned.

“Well, yeah. Roy Huett lives in the blue house right next door. Della Prior left the
house to Huett in her will.” Someone else began talking to Petrovich in the background.
“I gotta go,” he told Sadie.

When she got off the phone, Sadie felt like her head was overloaded. There were just
too many possibilities concerning Halladay Street, and she wished she could speak
directly to ghost Marlene and pepper her with questions about what the hell was going
on.

Sadie decided to dress and go for a jog to clear her head. However, when she returned
home after a two-mile romp around the neighborhood, she found she was only sweaty.
She’d had no epiphany about how to solve any of her problems. The only thing she did
know was that she shouldn’t have slept with Owen.

“Nothing good ever comes from sleeping with a guy you hardly know when your life is
already in the toilet,” she grumbled to herself.

She stripped in her bedroom and then headed toward the shower. She almost stepped
on Hairy, who’d sprawled out on his side in the hallway. The bunny blinked up at her.

“Don’t say it,” Sadie told the rabbit. “Your species isn’t exactly known for sexual
control either.”

She walked into the bathroom and the room began to tilt and sway. Sadie clutched the
sink to steady herself and then slowly lowered herself to sit on the edge of the tub
and lowered her head between her knees.

“That’s it, I need to make an appointment with a doctor,” she mumbled to herself.

Once she was certain that she wouldn’t faint, Sadie climbed into an icy shower. Afterward
she just felt tired, instead of rejuvenated. Maybe she was getting the flu. She needed
to rest. It was still too early to call any of her friends anyway, so she climbed
back into bed with a good book. Her eyes grew heavy after a few pages and she drifted
off.

***

Sadie woke to the sound of a female voice in the room with her. She looked around
but didn’t see anyone. It must’ve been a dream. But she’d been dreaming about fighting
with Zack. She definitely didn’t want to return to that dream. The light was streaming
in through her window blinds. Sadie slid back under the covers and rolled over to
look at the clock. It was eleven thirty in the morning, but she was still exhausted.
She felt like she could sleep another few hours but didn’t want to return to dreams
where Zack judged her.

The phone rang down the hall in her office and Sadie threw back the covers and ran
to answer it. The call had already gone to voice mail by the time she got there. When
she tried to retrieve the message she had to surf through half a dozen messages left
from a couple sleazy reporters wanting to interview her regarding the online video.

Finally she reached the last message. It was from a soft-spoken woman requesting that
she call her back regarding a suicide clean.

“Yes!”

Sadie punched the air excitedly because it was work. Honest work. And because it was
a suicide it meant there’d be no ghosts to deal with. She felt bad for the client’s
pain, of course, but today Sadie would gladly take on the cleanup of a self-inflicted
gunshot wound just to feel like she’d accomplished something.

Her voice was shaky with sleep and Sadie decided a cup of coffee was in order before
calling the client back. While she listened to her coffeemaker hiss and belch she
hummed softly to herself. When she’d filled her largest mug, Sadie turned away from
the counter and came face-to-face with Marlene, the ghost in the brown uniform.

Sadie screamed and jumped back, sloshing hot coffee over her fingers.

“You’re running out of time.” Her faraway voice echoed in the kitchen. The apparition
looked around the room with anxious eyes.

Sadie placed a hand to her thumping heart and took a deep breath.

“Marlene, I need your help. Could you be more specific?” Sadie said. “Who are you
trying to warn me about? There is only so much guessing a ghost whisperer like myself
can handle before going crazy.”

Marlene pointed a finger at Sadie.

“If you don’t stop him, you’ll be on this side with me before long.” Marlene was already
fading, but still she looked frantically around the room.

Sadie had goose bumps.

“Stop who?” Sadie demanded. “Tell me his name!”

“I can’t. He might hear me.” Marlene wrung her hands nervously.

“Is it Owen Sorkin?” Sadie demanded.

“Your friends can help you find the answer. . . . He’s weakening you . . . ,” came
her voice, even more distant now. “That’s why you faint. You’re losing your powers.”

As if just talking about her recent propensity to lose consciousness could cause it,
Sadie felt woozy again. She clutched the counter for support and closed her eyes.
When she regained her equilibrium she opened them and Marlene was gone.

It took Sadie two more cups of coffee and a piece of dry toast to calm herself. She
called Maeva and told her about the warning.

“This Marlene is appearing to you all over the place,” Maeva said. “She’s gotten used
to being in this limbo state. She definitely needs to go over to the other side.”

“She said that I’m losing my powers. I don’t know if I can help her move on to the
other side. I usually help spirits by finding out what’s keeping them here and help
them with a last wish or a message for a loved one. In this case, Marlene seems to
exist to warn me. I’m her last wish.” Sadie stared into her coffee. “And she seems
be too scared to give me the guy’s name. When I asked if the killer was Owen Sorkin
she never replied.”

“Owen? Why on earth would you think the owner of Halladay Street would be the prostitute
killer?”

“I slept with him last night.”

“That only proves you have no self-control. It certainly doesn’t make him a serial
killer,” Maeva said, laughing. “How was it?”

“Amazing. But that’s beside the point. He owns property just outside Albuquerque,
and he was probably there buying that property when other prostitutes were killed
in hotels and their fingers cut off!” Sadie exclaimed.

“Lots of people go to Albuquerque. It doesn’t make them killers.” She paused. “I think
we should get together again with everyone and see if we can provide you with some
spiritual protection, or you should come and stay here with me.”

Osbert began to cry in the background and Sadie thought about what Rosemary had said
the night before. Maeva didn’t have her powers and couldn’t be dragged into this right
now.

Sadie told Maeva she’d talk to her later. When she hung up, she dialed the number
of the potential client who’d called earlier.

The woman answered on the first ring. Using her most businesslike yet compassionate
voice, Sadie made arrangements to meet her at her daughter’s home in the Bellevue
area. The address was only a couple blocks from the suicide she’d cleaned a week ago
for Hugh Pacheo. Her hand went to the pendant nestled in her cleavage, and she played
distractedly with the worn gold disc warming her chest.

The only drawback was that she didn’t have her company van. She’d have to cram all
her supplies into her car and, depending on the scene, it might take a few trips.

Sadie was bolstered by the idea of having a job that didn’t involve a serial killer.
Work that would be fulfilling because it served her original purpose in the bio-clean
business, which was to prevent families from being traumatized a second time by having
to clean up after their loved ones. The spiritual aspect of Scene-2-Clean could take
a backseat for once.

Dressed comfortably in jeans and a button-down shirt, Sadie was headed to Bellevue.
On her way she dialed Rosemary Thingvold, wanting someone to talk to about Marlene’s
unnerving visit. Rosemary reiterated some of what Maeva said.

“She’s moving outside of the hotel and the Halladay Street house to be with you now,”
Rosemary said after hearing the story. “She’s adhered to you and is able to follow
where you are. That makes her stronger than most spirits I’ve dealt with.”

Not long ago Sadie dealt with the spirit of a friend who could travel beyond her place
of death because she’d attached strongly to Sadie.

“In my limited experience, I’ve found that once they can start going here, there,
and everywhere to be with a specific person, they’ve been dead a long time,” Sadie
said.

“That could be why she sounds so far away when she talks,” Rosemary said. “I don’t
like her threats. She’s obviously a danger to you and we should look at doing a circle
of protection on your house.”

“I don’t think she’s the danger,” Sadie said. “She’s warning me. According to your
video, she tried to pull the demon off me at Halladay Street, remember? And obviously,
if she wanted to hurt me in my own house, she could have easily done that while I
was asleep. Alone. In my own bed. Alone. Nobody else was with me.” Sadie cleared her
throat. “Because I was alone and Zack moved out.”

Rosemary paused. “Okaaay. I got it. You were alone.”

Sadie sighed and then blurted, “I wasn’t alone. I just don’t want word getting out
everywhere that I sleep around—”

“I’ve apologized about the video. Your personal life is your own and I would never
include that in company business.”

“Even if the person I slept with was Owen Sorkin?”

“Oh. My. Goddess!” Rosemary shrieked. “He has one fine ass. I knew he had the hots
for you!” She paused. “I don’t know how wise it is sleeping with a client, but—”

“He’s not my client,” Sadie corrected. But then she remembered that, in fact, she
was being paid by Gayla and Owen to help Madam Maeva’s. “Well, not really.”

“Hey, what you do in your personal time is your choice.”

“I need to bounce some information off you and get your feedback.”

Sadie told her everything she knew about Marlene, the fingers, the blogger releasing
information about killings in Albuquerque, and Owen’s connection to the New Mexico
area.

“Are you asking if I believe Owen Sorkin is a serial killer?” Rosemary asked.

“I just gave you a slew of facts and want your gut reaction.”

“Well, my gut says that there are too many points connecting Halladay House to those
killings. It could all be coincidence, or it could be that the connecting factor isn’t
Owen, but you,” Rosemary pointed out. “This ghost, Marlene, might be following you
around . . . following you to Halladay Street and to the Hotel Pacifica. We need to
get together with this spirit and find out what your connection is.”