Dead Suite (8 page)

Sadie shouted good-bye to Maeva over her godson’s cries, then snagged her new large
purse and headed to her car.

As she feared, there was no parking on Western and the garage on Lenore was also full.
She found space in a U-Park lot on First, but then she had to hoof it downhill, taking
Virginia to Western. Her feet were holding up in the high-heeled boots but only because
she was bolstered by the idea of the meal to come.

She walked into Etta’s and gave Gayla Woods’s name to the hostess, who showed her
to a booth in front of the large picture window. A thirtysomething brunette in a business
suit was chatting on her cell phone.

“You must be Sadie?” she asked, covering the phone with her hand. When Sadie nodded
Gayla pointed across from her. “Have a seat. I’ll just be a minute.”

Sadie ordered a glass of wine and it arrived before Gayla Woods ended her call.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “Business. You know how it is.”

“Sure.” Sadie offered her a tight smile.

“Well, no reason why we shouldn’t order first and discuss work later,” Gayla said
brightly.

Sadie lifted up the menu and studied it intently even though she already knew what
she wanted. “I haven’t been here in ages and I’ve been craving the fishmonger’s stew
all day.”

“Then you should have it,” proclaimed a male voice.

Sadie lowered her menu to find Owen Sorkin looking down at her with a huge grin.

“Oh. Hello.” Sadie felt a flutter of annoyance that she hadn’t been warned it wouldn’t
be just the two of them.

“When I told Owen I was meeting you, he insisted on coming along,” Gayla explained,
rolling her eyes.

“We
are
partners on the house,” Owen piped up in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Of course,” Gayla said. “So have a seat.”

Owen sat down in the booth next to Sadie. She slid over toward the window but he only
slid closer until they were sitting thigh-to-thigh.

When the waiter appeared to take their orders Owen and Gayla both ordered appetizers
in addition to a main course, so it looked like there’d be little hope of getting
out of the restaurant fast. Plus, she was barricaded into the booth by Owen, so it
would be awkward to try to leave gracefully.

They made polite conversation, with Gayla doing most of the talking, and man oh man
could that woman talk. She spouted at a nervously quick pace about renovations involving
refinishing oak flooring and replacing countertops with granite. Owen put in the odd
word of agreement but mostly sat next to Sadie, stealing longing glances at her cleavage
and making Sadie regret her choice of a V-neck sweater.

By the time the main course had arrived and all the small talk seemed to have exhausted
itself, Sadie plunged into her fish stew along with the topic everyone else had been
avoiding.

“I appreciate you’re in a hurry to do your renovations and now there’s this issue
at the house,” Sadie began, blowing on a spoonful of stew to cool it off before placing
it in her mouth. “But I’m sure whatever this minor setback is, the Thingvolds can
take care of it. Rosemary and Rick are really very knowledgeable about . . . this
kind of thing. You really don’t need me.”

“Ahhh, but we do need you. The ghost said so, remember?” Owen said, leaning in to
whisper the comment softly in her ear.

“More accurately,” his partner corrected, “someone painted that message—nobody said
it—and although we’re not entirely sure what the hell it’s all about, we’re determined
not to leave any stone unturned.” She put down her fork and asked Sadie, “You’re aware
of the previous history of the house?”

“Very sad.” Owen shook his head.

“Yes, a crazy mom poisoned her fourteen-year-old in a botched exorcism and then killed
herself in jail.”

“Obviously you’ve done your research. That’s good.” Gayla picked up her fork and resumed
eating while she talked. “So you can see why the house took a long time to sell. Then
we come along. All we want is to fix the place up inside and out and make sure that
everybody forgets about that little mishap.”

Sadie didn’t agree with calling the murder of a child a mishap, but she didn’t say
so—mostly because her mouth was full of stew. She swallowed and then asked, “Why don’t
you try hiring other workers?”

“The fly in the ointment here,” Owen said, picking up where his partner left off,
“is simple. We need to do renovations but the workers don’t want to do jobs there
because they think the place is haunted. Right now, only a very few people have been
inside and experienced what’s going on. We want to keep it that way.”

“Right,” Gayla added. “If we can take care of the problem and get the place fixed,
it’ll be all well and good, but if the house begins to have a reputation for being
haunted”—she threw her hands in the air—“then poof! There goes our profit.”

“And
is
it haunted?” Sadie asked.

Owen snorted dismissively.

“I’m asking Gayla.” Sadie narrowed her eyes in Owen’s direction and he covered the
smirk on his face by drinking from his glass of wine.

“Well, we had the locks changed and there didn’t appear to be any sign of a break
in,” Gayla said, turning to Owen. “What else could it be?”

“I’m sure a couple creative teenagers could slide open those old windows without a
problem,” he reasoned.

“And what about the workers who got hit by paint cans and stuff?” Sadie asked, regarding
him coolly. “Were those same teenagers invisible?”

“Even grown men can have active imaginations,” he offered, and the way his gaze scraped
hotly over her body Sadie didn’t require any imagination to guess his thoughts.

“None of it really matters,” Gayla said, waving her hand as if to wipe the slate clean.
“Of course it could be kids or jokes, and we have no way of knowing for sure. Right
now it’s all about perception. We’ve told all our workers we’re spending a couple
weeks to ensure the house is ghost free, and if they believe all is well they’re sure
to come back and finish the job. We’ve given them deposits and we don’t want to lose
that money either.”

“Which brings me back to what I said earlier,” Sadie said, pushing her empty dish
aside and dabbing her lips with her napkin. “The staff at Madam Maeva’s will do a
great job. You don’t need me.”

“Like I told you before, I heard Maeva speak at a workshop before and that’s what
sold me on her company.”

“You attend psychic workshops?” Owen sounded surprised.

“It was open to the public and I happened to be staying at the hotel.” She shrugged.
“I was curious and it was fascinating information. Maeva’s a compelling speaker. “But
we want
you
. All we ask is that you go over to the house a couple times with the Thingvolds and
help them out.”

Sadie realized Gayla Woods was a woman who was very used to getting her own way.

“We’re prepared to pay you double your usual rate.”

And Sadie was prepared to take that offer.

“Are you sure?” Owen didn’t appear to be on board with the extra payment, which suddenly
made the deal that much more appealing. Besides, beggars couldn’t be choosers and
if they wanted to pay her double her rate in order to make her sit around ghost busting
with the Thingvolds, she wasn’t in a financial position to turn the offer down.

“You have a deal. I will work with Rick and Rosemary Thingvold in their attempts.
I can’t make any guarantees.”

“Agreed,” Gayla said, but Owen was silent.

Sadie shook hands with Gayla and then offered her hand to Owen, who reluctantly shook
it.

After the meal, Owen insisted on walking her to her car since it was now dark. They
walked in silence. Mostly because Sadie was huffing and puffing up the hill to the
parking garage and her feet hurt.

They rounded the block and Sadie spotted her car where she’d left it parked in the
lot.

“That’s my car. Thanks for walking me,” she said dismissively.

Owen continued walking alongside her.

“What’s that on your windshield?”

Sadie narrowed her gaze but couldn’t quite make it out. As they got closer it appeared
that a clear bag was under her wiper.

“Trash just blew onto my window,” Sadie explained.

Her heart was beating hard in her chest. It could’ve been because of the hike up the
steep street in heels, or it could’ve been the fact that she was obviously attracted
to Owen Sorkin, whose arm was brushing against hers. Then again it could’ve been because
it was becoming clear the bag on her windshield contained something gruesome.

“Oh my God!” Owen called out, and they stopped short just a step from her Corolla.
“Is that what it looks like?”

Sadie swallowed thickly and spoke slowly. “It looks like a severed finger.”

Chapter 4

Owen reached for the clear baggie on Sadie’s windshield as if to be absolutely sure
it was what they thought it was. Then he let out a girly scream, flung the bag a few
feet away, and ran to wrap Sadie in a suffocating hug.

“What are you doing?” She gasped for air and pushed him away.

“I don’t want you to faint again.”

“Me?” Sadie said indignantly, placing her hands on her hips. “I clean up far worse
than this almost every single day. I didn’t faint at your house on Halladay Street
because I was afraid or freaked out.”

“Then why did you faint?”

Sadie frowned. “I don’t know.” She tugged her cell phone out of her pocket. “I gotta
call this in.”

***

Detective Petrovich showed up dressed in a three-piece suit complete with a violet-colored
tie and pale blue dress shirt. Sadie noted his girlfriend, Jenny, was in the car.

“Sorry. I obviously got you away from a big date.”

“More than a date. I was on my knees proposing when you called,” Petrovich said, rubbing
the top of his brush cut with one hand and surveying the scene with the other.

“Congratulations!” Sadie cried and then turned to offer Jenny a thumbs-up.

“I didn’t wait for a response, and we left before I could pull out the ring.”

“Oh.” Sadie glanced again at his date and noticed she looked slightly pissed. “Couldn’t
you call anybody else to help out here?”

“This is mine. If she’s going to marry a detective she’s gotta know this comes with
it.”

Sadie played with the pendant around her neck as she shot Jenny a sympathetic look.

“So where’s the finger?” Petrovich demanded.

“It was under my windshield,” Sadie said. “Now it’s over there.” She pointed to a
parking spot behind her car.

“How’d it get over there?” Petrovich barked. “You know better than to mess with a
crime scene.” He strode over to the baggie and Sadie followed, talking to his back.

“Wasn’t me that tossed it. Owen Sorkin and his partner took me out for dinner at Etta’s
to talk to me about a job. Owen walked me back to my car. He saw the baggie, picked
it up, and chucked it before I could react.”

Sadie nodded to indicate Owen, who was leaning against a dirty brick building at the
side of the lot looking queasy and distinctly uncomfortable at this turn of events.

“Don’t go anywhere until I get your statement,” Petrovich yelled to Owen, who responded
with a weak nod. Petrovich turned to Sadie. “He looks a little fancy-pants for you.”

“It was a business meeting,” Sadie said.

The detective crouched down to stare at the digit in the baggie. He took a small flashlight
from his pocket and shone it on the ground. Sadie crouched next to him.

“It belongs to that dead hooker from the Bay Eminence, doesn’t it? May Lathrop,” Sadie
whispered.

“Won’t know for sure until we do testing,” Petrovich said.

“It’s got the same bright pink polish on the nail,” Sadie said, playing with the necklace
around her neck.

“I’m not in the business of guessing,” Petrovich barked. “And neither should you.”
He got to his feet, turned, and waved to an unmarked car that pulled up at the curb.
“But the more important question here is that if it turns out to be from a crime scene,
why the hell did this body part end up on your windshield?”

And that line of thought did make Sadie feel a little woozy.

“Not like you to get sick over a tiny bit of blood.” Petrovich tilted his head at
her. “You okay? You look a little green.”

Sadie planted her feet farther apart and willed the world to stop spinning.

“I’m fine. Ate too much fish stew.”

“That’s why I never touch the stuff.”

He waved the other detective over and the two chatted briefly before Petrovich took
a statement from Owen Sorkin and then Sadie.

“Sorry, but we’re going to have to impound your car for a couple days,” he told Sadie.
“Ask your boyfriend to give you a ride.”

“He’s not my—,” Sadie started, but Petrovich had already turned and walked away.

Owen put his hand on her shoulder.

“No problem. I’ll drive you.”

They had to walk all the way back to Etta’s because Owen had been able to find parking
for his snazzy BMW M6 coupe directly in front of the restaurant. He opened the door
for Sadie and she slid into the plush passenger seat.

After he’d started up the car she told him her home address and he punched the information
into his GPS.

“Sorry you got tied up in this.”

“I’m not sorry at all. As a matter of fact, this entire thing was an elaborate setup
so that I could have the opportunity to drive you home.”

Sadie laughed. “Really? You chopped off someone’s finger and put it on my dash?”

“Well, no . . . it’s a fake finger . . . got it from a gag shop,” he joked. “If I’d
known you were going to get all serious and call the police, I would’ve just flattened
your tire or something.”

Sadie appreciated that Owen was trying to take her mind off the seriousness of the
matter. She glanced over at this handsome man at home in the cockpit of this gorgeous
automobile and had to ask:

“So how come a guy like you is single?”

“Who says I’m single?” he countered, accelerating smoothly into traffic.

“I just assumed because you’ve been flirting with me like a sex-crazed rock star,”
Sadie remarked. “Of course, maybe you’re just like that with everyone. Probably the
senior ladies crowding the Safeway deli department swoon at your compliments.”

He tossed back his head and laughed. As he brought the car to an easy stop at a red
light he turned and offered Sadie a look that could only be described as smoldering.

“The old ladies are safe. I’m very select in my attentions.” He turned his eyes back
to the road as the light turned green. “You fascinate me, Sadie Novak. I’d like to
get to know you better. Unless, of course, you’re attached. I did ask Rosemary and
Rick if you were single. Rick said you were involved and living with someone. Rosemary
told me you’d broken up and were no longer together with this guy.” He glanced her
way. “Which is it?”

“It’s . . . complicated,” Sadie replied, squirming a little in her luxurious leather
seat.

Sadie was uncertain if she was heating up because of the sexual tension, or if it
was because the seat warmer was heating her tushy to a toasty temperature. She figured
it would be best to just keep quiet the rest of the way. Owen Sorkin had other ideas.

“So what’s your story?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sure you didn’t grow up telling everybody that you wanted to do trauma cleaning
when you got older.”

“No. I wanted to be a primary school teacher. And I was.”

“What happened?”

Sadie turned and looked out her window as if the sidewalks of Seattle were fascinating.

“My brother shot himself.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” he said sincerely.

“Thanks. It was a number of years ago,” she said and didn’t add,
but it still hurts like hell every single day
. “Detective Petrovich did the investigation. Afterward I found out that it’s the
family’s job to clean up the mess left behind. Police and EMTs? Not their job. Most
people don’t realize that until they’re faced with their own personal hell. So I cleaned
up after my brother because there’s no way a parent should ever have to wipe their
son’s gray matter off the bathroom walls of his house.” She shrugged and turned to
face him. “Then it became my calling. I didn’t want other families to have to be traumatized
twice when a family member dies. I researched trauma companies, took all of the extensive
training required, and opened Scene-2-Clean.”

“Wow.” He whistled. “That’s quite a story. What about the rest of it?”

“What do you mean?”

“The psychic stuff. Your work with the supernatural and Madam Maeva’s Psychic Café?”

“Maeva’s my friend. I already told you that,” was Sadie’s only response. “Now, tell
me what’s
your
story? If that house on West Halladay and this car are any indication, the downturn
in the economy isn’t biting you in the ass like the rest of us. What do you do?”

“You know what I do.” He smiled at her as he cornered onto her street then steered
into her driveway. “I buy places, fix them up, and sell them for profit.”

“You finished high school and decided to start flipping houses?”

“Well, no. I trained as a software development engineer. Worked a number of years
at Boeing.”

“A techno geek? No way?”

“Way.” He winked at her. “I enjoyed it, but lots of stress. Then one year I used my
savings to buy a fixer-upper. Made more profit on that house than I did in six months’
work and I enjoyed it more, so . . .” He trailed off.

“So you dropped one career for another. Like me.”

“Something like that.”

“And Gayla Woods? You work with her a lot?”

“Nope.” He cornered sharply and accelerated into Sadie’s neighborhood. “Never had
a partner before, but we both put bids on the house on Halladay Street and decided
that rather than compete on it and drive the price up, we’d share the expenses and
profit.”

Sadie felt more assured that he confirmed what Gayla had already told her. Still,
she got the feeling there was more to his story. He pulled into Sadie’s driveway then,
and she thanked him for the ride. She was about to invite him in for a drink but then
thought better of playing with fire. She shouldn’t give him any encouragement.

“Are you sure you’re okay to be alone?” he asked, turning his body toward her in the
small space of the car. “Somebody left you a pretty strong angry message tonight.”

“The finger?” Sadie raised her eyebrows. “It wasn’t necessarily a threat directed
at me. It could’ve just been meant as a way to taunt the police.”

“Really?”

Damn him!
Now she
was
getting a little freaked about being alone. Then again, she was slightly more freaked
out about being alone with Owen.

He reached out and placed a hand on her leg. “You want me to come inside and look
under your bed?”

“No.” She pushed his hand off her leg and opened the door.

“Fine, but I’ll wait until you go inside and check all the rooms before I leave, okay?”

Sadie smiled. “Agreed.”

She climbed out of the car and her cell phone rang as she walked toward the house.
It was Zack.

“I’m so glad you called,” she told him honestly.

“You texted me about a finger on your car? What’s that about?”

“It’s a long story.” She slid her key into the lock at the front door and stepped
inside.

“I’ve had a bad day,” Zack answered roughly. “I don’t think I can handle one of your
long stories.”

Sadie flinched like she’d been physically hit by his words. Then she closed the front
door behind her and began to flick on the lights in each room as she went.

“I’m sorry if listening to me talk is such a big inconvenience. It seems like everything
about me bugs you these days,” she bit back.

“Look, I’m working my ass off to pay off my medical bills and help you out with your
house. I don’t have a lot left over to be touchy-feely with you.”

“Excuse me!” Sadie paused with her hand hovering over the light switch in the kitchen.
“You are about as untouchy and unfeeling as a guy can get. As a matter of fact, you
haven’t touched me in months!” She angrily slapped the light switch on and leaned
against the wall.

“Look, Sadie, you knew it was going to be like this. I told you that when I got out
of Whispering Groves we needed to reevaluate our relationship.”

“You did? Because I don’t remember the word
reevaluate
. I remember you saying that you wanted a chance to date and woo me. This doesn’t
feel like wooing. It feels like you’re finding a way to leave.”

“I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Give it to me straight,” Sadie demanded, pressing the phone hard to her ear. “I need
to know if we’re on a break or if we’re together.”

“Maybe it’s not that simple.”

“I need it to be black and white. I’m tired of living in the gray area of romance
purgatory. You’ve been home for months but it doesn’t feel like you’re home at all.”
There was a painful pause, so she tried to explain herself more. “I need to be able
to define what we have, Zack. I feel like I’m out floating around in a nonrelationship,
and somewhere between fainting, chopped off fingers, and fishmonger stew my life needs
to make sense.”

“I have no clue what you just said. If you’re looking for a point-blank answer about
us right this second, then I guess I have to say that yeah, we’re on a break.” His
tone was needle sharp and it stabbed right through her heart.

Sadie bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from crying. She waited until she
felt she could speak without bursting into tears.

“Fine. Give me some notice when you’re back in town so I can be out of the house when
you come collect your things.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her
eyes shut tight.

She disconnected before he could respond. She leaned against the kitchen wall and
suddenly remembered Owen still waiting in his car. She walked back outside to his
car. He rolled down the driver window as she approached.

“Any big bad guys in there?” he asked.

“Nope. They’re all in Portland,” Sadie replied, pursing her lips.

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Do you want to come in for a drink?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Inside the house, Sadie introduced Owen to Hairy.

“Wow,” Owen said, obviously impressed. “I’ve never known somebody with a pet rabbit.”

Hairy was significantly less impressed with Owen. The bunny hopped away with a look
of disdain and, Sadie thought, an accusatory twitch of his whiskers.

“Make yourself at home and I’ll get us something to drink. I’ve got beer, wine, or
tequila.”

“A beer’s fine.”

Sadie left him on the sofa while she went to the kitchen. She got them each beers
and poured them into glasses since Owen looked like the type who’d balk at sucking
from the bottle.