Deadworld (5 page)

“Actually, could we bother you for something to drink?”

The opportunity to get up and do something appeared to relieve the secretary. “Sure. No problem.” The loose-fitting red skirt swished back and forth as she hurried down the short hall to the partial kitchen inset into the wall. “There’s fresh coffee,” she called back at them.

“Great for me,” Jackie replied. “Water for Agent Carpenter.” She leaned over Laurel, lowering her voice to barely above a whisper. “What? You sense something?”

The frown relaxed a bit while one hand played idly at the crystal around her neck. “I think I just felt a ghost.”

Jackie arched an eyebrow. “You sure?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Gone now, but it was here when we walked in, and the same feeling from the scene is here. It’s like ghost central.”

That was the last thing Jackie wanted to hear. She avoided asking herself if it could get any weirder. “You okay for this?

“Yeah, just a little unexpected is all. I’ll be okay.”

“Agents, here’s your coffee and water.”

Jackie nearly jumped out of her skin. The woman had made no sound coming up behind them and now wore a curiously innocent expression on her face. She would have put her month’s check on the fact that the secretary was far from that. Jackie gave her a halfhearted smile. “Thanks.”

“I hope it’s not too strong. I watered it down just a bit. Mr. Anderson likes his coffee to hold spoons upright.”

“It’s fine.” Could not fault the guy for that, at least.

He came out then, holding his own steaming mug, brown hair cropped short and laying close to his scalp, and with brilliant, gleaming hazel-brown eyes. Jackie found herself staring and finally blinked away. It was the same look from the video. Nobody’s eyes were naturally that color. He had on rough, leather, square-toed boots; faded blue jeans; and a long-sleeved, navy-blue T-shirt. Not a dress-up kind of guy, but he was fit, lean muscle through and through. He looked a bit older than his forty years. It was the slight crow’s-feet around the eyes, Jackie decided. The rest of his face was smooth, if a bit unshaven.

“Good morning, agents,” he said and nodded to each of them. “I’m Nick Anderson. How can I help you?”

No sign of nervousness in the voice. He appeared relaxed. Jackie took a sip of her coffee. “We’d like to ask you a few questions regarding Archibold Lane.”

His eyes widened a hair. “This a case I’m involved with? The name isn’t familiar.”

Like hell. Jackie shrugged. “Perhaps. We’d just like to talk to you for a few minutes and settle some questions for us. It won’t take long.”
Or it could take all day, depending on how you answer, cowboy.

“Sure,” he said, waving them toward the back. “Come on back. Cynthia? No calls, please.”

“No problem, Mr. Anderson.”

Nick Anderson’s office was quiet and clean, but not compulsively so. There were a lot of Western motif knickknacks around, dominated by a saddle mounted to the wall behind his desk. Either the guy had some real Western blood in him, or he was really over-the-top on the whole cowboy image thing. She had a hard time imagining it as a selling point for a PI.

Laurel picked an old craftsman-style leather chair in the corner, as far away from him as she could get, avoiding the more comfortable-looking, overstuffed chenille chairs in front of the desk. Jackie wondered but said nothing. She decided to stand before the desk between the two chairs, close enough to show him she was not threatened.

Nick stopped before sitting down in his own chair. “Please sit, Ms. . . . ?”

“Agent Rutledge, and thanks, but I’ll stand for now, Mr. Anderson.” She wished Laurel had remained standing as well, but she merely sat in the chair, ramrod straight, clutching the case folder tightly in her hand. Ghost feeling must have been stronger in the office.

He sat down and leaned back, sipping at his coffee. “Okay. Suit yourself. What sort of questions did you have for me then?”

“Can you tell us where you were last night from roughly midnight until dawn?”

“Sleeping mostly. I was up around five thirty to go for a swim.”

Jackie bit off the sarcastic bark of laughter. “At five thirty AM? What pool is open at that time of day?”

He apparently found her annoyance amusing. “It’s quiet then and a pleasant way to begin the day when I have a case to think about. It helps clear my head.”

She found her mouth inching into a matching grin, her eyes locked on to his. What was it about them? They had a fire all their own. Or was it just a trick of the light?

Jackie snapped her gaze away from Nick’s, focusing instead on his mouth. Tricky little shit. This guy was smooth. She would have to see if he could be ruffled up a bit. “You happen to have any witnesses to corroborate this, Mr. Anderson?”

“Only if someone was hiding out at my lake.”

“Bit cold in the morning to jump into a lake, don’t you think?”

“More of an oversize pond, but I find it refreshing, and I’ve a high tolerance for the cold.”

The smile on his face once again had the corner of Jackie’s mouth quivering upward. A quick glance showed her that Laurel was riveted by this man. She sat unmoving, her pen poised on the blank notepad. What the hell was she seeing? Jackie wished she could have a word with her.

“So after the swim to clear your head, you did what?”

“Showered, ate, came into work around eight.”

“Were you here all day?”
Come on, cowboy. Lie to me. Go ahead.

He shook his head once. “No. I left from about nine until one.”

“Doing?” The effort at sounding casual with the question did not fall well on Mr. Anderson. He leaned forward in his chair, placing the now empty coffee cup on the desk.

“Agent Rutledge,” he said calmly, “I was at your crime scene today. I was driving through the area and spotted the circus going on in the park. I was curious, so I stopped to see what it was all about. I ran into Agent Carpenter there when she was about to pass out, and then I decided to leave shortly after. I’d heard and seen enough to know more or less what happened.”

“What did happen, Mr. Anderson?” Jackie suppressed the urge to wipe the smile off his face, though, admittedly, it was the urge to smile along with him that got under her skin more than anything else. If she got the chance, she would have to ask him how he did that.

“Some sociopath exsanguinated a young boy and stuck him under a tree.” There was a note of anger there now, a hard edge to his voice.

“Agent Carpenter? Would you show Mr. Anderson our piece of evidence, please?” When no reply came, Jackie turned and cleared her throat. Christ! What was wrong with Laurel?

“Oh. Sorry.” Laurel flipped open the file folder and pulled out the sealed penny, handing it to Jackie with an apologetic smile.

Jackie frowned and plucked it from her fingertips, giving her a “What the hell?” stare. Laurel smiled apologetically, settling back into the chair. She spun back to face Nick and set the coin down on the desk. “Does this look familiar to you at all, Mr. Anderson?”

Something washed over his face, gone as quickly as it appeared. Surprise? Fear? Jackie could not be sure what. He picked up the coin and studied it intently for a moment, turning it over with large, steady hands. The eyes, which so often gave suspects away, narrowed just a hair. Without their gaze focusing on her, Jackie watched them, but everything about his demeanor remained unruffled and calm.

“It’s a penny.”

Nice deduction, Sherlock.
She snatched the penny out of his hand. “Yes, a rather rare and very valuable penny. You know nothing of it?”

“Should I, Agent Rutledge? Was this found on the boy?”

Jackie handed it back to Laurel, who returned it to the folder. They were not going to get anywhere with the penny. That much was obvious. “Mr. Anderson, what exactly is it that you investigate? Special Investigations is a rather vague name.”

He paused. For the first time, he looked just a bit unsure about how to respond, and Jackie felt a twang of satisfaction run through her. He looked over at Laurel, and Jackie wondered why Laurel’s opinion would make any difference to him.

“Ghosts, Agent Rutledge. Most folk come to me about ghosts.”

Jackie blinked a couple times in disbelief. She heard Laurel suck in her breath. That had not been the answer she expected, but given Laurel’s response, it certainly made some sense. “Seriously? Why does the CEO of a multimillion-dollar medical company spend his time investigating ghosts?”

The bright hazel eyes caught hers again, and Jackie glared back. He certainly looked to be telling the truth, as bizarre as it sounded. “It’s something of a calling, I suppose.”

For about two seconds, it made perfect sense, but then Jackie shifted her eyes away, and the ridiculousness of it all rushed back. “So you expect me to believe a man of your means spends his time being a ghost hunter?”

He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking against his weight. “Why would I make up something like that, Agent Rutledge? I figured the FBI would have already known that. The fact is, I stopped at the park because I sensed a ghost in the area. Likely the boy’s. They will linger at a scene sometimes.”

“No,” Laurel said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jackie turned to look at her. “No?”

“No,” she repeated, standing up and walking up next to Jackie. “It wasn’t the boy’s ghost.”

Nick looked over at her, a genuinely curious look on his face now. “Do you know whose it was, Agent Carpenter?”

“No, but I sense it here, and it’s very close. In this building, I believe.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding. “You’re a medium then. I’d guessed as much.”

She shrugged. “Yes and no. I can sense spirits though, and something really strong is very close by. Do you know what it is?”

At that moment, the office door swung open, and a very pretty, dark-haired woman wearing black wraparound sunglasses poked her head inside.

“Nick! There are feds snooping—” She stopped, seeing the two of them at last, and grinned sheepishly. “Oh. Seems the feds are already here.”

Jackie could hear a definite note of tension in Mr. Anderson’s voice now. “Shel, this is Agent Rutledge and Carpenter. This is my business partner, Shelby Fontaine.”

The grin got wider, and she stepped into the room. “Hi.” She thrust out her hand at Jackie, who took it reluctantly. The skin was very cool and smooth. Her lips were painted a brilliant, gleaming red, and the hair was pulled back into a French-style braid. Her eyes were a crystalline blue, like tropical ocean water glittering in the sun. It took Jackie a second to realize they had the same unnatural shine to them as Nick Anderson. What the fuck? Was it some special PI mind trick? Jackie decided she didn’t like this woman with the model looks and the freaky eyes.

When Laurel took the hand, the friendly smile on her face dissolved like sugar in water. The blood-red nails of Shelby Fontaine’s hand gripped Laurel’s firmly, but certainly not so tight to create the gasp of shock that burst from Laurel’s mouth. The color sank out of her body as though someone had pulled a plug.

“Sweet mother,” she whispered, staggering away from Shelby’s now limp hand. After a second she regained her balance, looking decidedly green, and then bolted for the door. A moment later, the bathroom door in the hall slammed shut, but it did not entirely muffle the sounds of vomiting.

Jackie struggled to close her mouth, which had mindlessly dropped open. What was going on?

Shelby offered a nervous laugh. “I say something wrong?”

Chapter 8

Nick rubbed a hand over his face after Agent Rutledge left to check on Agent Carpenter, slamming the door behind her. Shelby still stood there, hand frozen in the same place, looking back over her shoulder down the hall. If Shelby’s actions had not made the situation completely screwed, he would have found the expression on her face priceless. It took quite a bit to stun Shelby Fontaine.

“Came in the back door, didn’t you?”

His voice snapped her mind back in to focus. “Yeah. I um . . . parked out back when I saw the feds.” She looked back again, rubbing absently at her hand. “What the fuck just happened?”

“Agent Carpenter is a medium,” he said with a wry smile.

“Oh. Shit. You mentioned her before, didn’t you?”

Nick nodded and sat back down. The agents would be back in soon, no doubt about that. “Just in passing.” He lowered his voice then, to make sure the agents could not hear. “She was at the scene, could sense me in the crowd, but didn’t know what to make of it.”

Shelby snorted. “Big surprise there. Bet I just scared the living crap out of her.”

“Probably.”

“They know anything?”

“Just that I was at the scene. I don’t want them to know anything yet. Okay?”

“Nick—”

“Not yet, Shel,” he said, adamant. The agents could not get involved at this point. It would be far too dangerous for them, especially with a medium to clue them into what they were up against. The trick of course would be to maintain a position he would not be forced to lie from, and with a little luck this would be over before they even realized what was happening. He would not lie to them. They were law, after all, and that was at least one code he had not broken over the course of a century and a half.

“Fine, you stubborn shit.” She mumbled the last word and moved out of the way as the agents came back into the room.

Agent Carpenter had a cup of tea in her hand, likely the quick work of Cynthia. Smart woman. It had not even occurred to him to offer anything.

“Everything okay, Agent Carpenter? There’s some stomach flu going around. I hope you haven’t caught it.” It was lame, but Nick felt sorry for her and wanted to say something consoling. It was, however, the wrong thing to say, by the look on Agent Rutledge’s face. Her eyes had narrowed, and her hands were now thrust in her pockets. She knew quite well it wasn’t the flu.

Agent Rutledge’s voice tipped on the fine edge of anger. “Do you sense any ghosts around here now, Mr. Anderson?”

“This building has a couple of them that show up now and again.”

Her mouth drew down into a thin line. “Do you sense any of them
now
?”

This woman was going to be trouble. The sort that would not go away once she sniffed something wrong, and her partner throwing up had put a foul scent in her brain to be sure. “One of them was around earlier, but nothing now. No.” It was the truth, for the most part.

Agent Rutledge glanced back at her partner and then at Shelby. “Want to tell me what happened with your father in 1970, Mr. Anderson?”

Stoic as he could render himself, Nick nearly grimaced at Shelby’s wide-eyed reaction to the question, which likely didn’t go unnoticed. “I was three years old then, Agent Rutledge.”

“Agent Carpenter, can I have that newspaper clipping, please?”

Nick found a familiar news article slapped down on the desk before him. “Ah. Well, my sordid family history is now brought to light.” Out of the corner of his eye, Nick watched Shelby roll her eyes. What a lovely situation this was turning into.

“So you know your father was involved in a case that bears a striking resemblance to this one, Mr. Anderson?”

Nick steeled himself.
Show nothing. This is a solid story I’ve told a thousand times.
“From what I read about it, the method does bare some similarities.”

“You never talked to your father about what happened?”

“My father left just before my fourth birthday. I never saw him again.” His hearing picked up the nearly silent snort of air from Shelby. He gave her a quick, hard stare, but she only sat there with her arms folded across her chest, one eyebrow arched up at him. It was a necessary lie. The feds would not handle the truth very well and would likely throw his ass in jail.

“Anyone told you, Mr. Anderson, that you are the spitting image of your father?”

“On occasion.” This time Shelby’s noise of annoyance was clearly audible, and Agent Rutledge whirled around on her.

“Something here bothering you, Ms. Fontaine?”

“Nothing a swift kick in the head won’t solve,” she said, her ruby lips spreading into a large, not-so-amused grin. “Sorry. I have my own issues with the cowboy here.”

Agent Rutledge said nothing for a moment, looking first at Nick and then back at Shelby. He could tell the agent was stifling some angry reply. He got the impression the fuse on this woman was a bit on the short side.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m getting the shit end of the stick here?”

“Beg your pardon?” Nick said.

“Something’s missing here,” she said, voice lowered. “I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful with me, Mr. Anderson. My partner here throws up because she senses something is off . . .
way
off in this place, and yet you act like it’s just any other day, like ghosts are just a usual occurrence with you.”

“They are, Agent Rutledge.”

“Damn—” She cut herself off and snatched up the article from the desk. “I don’t buy it. You know, it might be to your advantage to cooperate just a little more. The situation here is serious.”

Nick nodded. He felt a little sorry for her, but the truth would just unravel that knot of anger, and nothing would get solved now. She would be back. It was just a matter of time.

“I understand your concern. The murder of a child is about as serious as it gets, and under the circumstances, I would’ve been checking me out as well, but I assure you, I had nothing to do with that boy’s murder.”

The hands came out of their pockets and perched on her hips now. “Why do I find no reassurance in that, Mr. Anderson?”

Shelby chuckled, and when Agent Rutledge faced her again, Agent Carpenter finally stood up. “You know, Jackie, it might behoove us to interview Ms. Fontaine and the secretary separately now. Their perspectives on things might even it all out.”

Ah, cooler heads at last. Nick smiled. He decided he liked the medium. The stable one of the group. They did the good-cop–bad-cop thing pretty well, he had to admit. He managed to wipe off the smile before Agent Rutledge turned back to face him.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. Mr. Anderson, would you mind leaving us with Ms. Fontaine and your secretary for a few minutes? It won’t take long. I promise.” The last word dripped acid on the floor.

Nick got to his feet, all too happy to dissipate some of the tension coiled in the air. “I’ll get Cynthia and let you have at them. I’m sure they’ll cooperate to their fullest abilities.” He nodded slightly and stepped around the desk, walking out of the room without looking back.

“Mr. Anderson?” Laurel said, stopping him in the doorway. “I have one more question first.”

He gave her the friendly smile, hoping she would not come much closer than she already was. “Sure.”

“You said you help people with ghost problems, more or less.”

He nodded. “Yes, I did.”

“How is it exactly that you do that?” She moved over next to Agent Rutledge now, who visibly relaxed when she stopped next to her.

“Difficult to say,” Nick answered. “Being a medium, you should understand the complexities involved in trying to define any sort of psychic ability.”

“Are you psychic, Mr. Anderson?”

From most, Nick would have caught the subtle sarcasm behind the question, but she was utterly serious.

He paused. “I would say no. It’s just something I can do.”

She turned and looked hesitantly over at Shelby, who leaned against her chair. “And you, Ms. Fontaine?”

Shelby smiled—the mischievous smile this time, the flirty “you’re kinda cute” smile he had loved so many years ago. “What about me, Ms. Carpenter?”

“Can we cut the coy bullshit?” Jackie snapped. “Just answer the goddamn question.”

Shelby frowned and sighed at Jackie. “Mr. Anderson and I . . .” She looked over at Nick for a moment, the smile not quite fading away. “We share the ability.”

Agent Carpenter’s eyes widened. “That’s very interesting, and rather unusual.”

Shelby shrugged. “We’re an unusual group.”

Nick wanted to laugh at that but refrained. It did not even approach the truth. Agent Carpenter looked hard at him, with that probing look he knew went beyond ordinary senses. There was little he could do about that. He leaned against the door frame, waiting for her response.

“Thank you, Mr. Anderson. Your cooperation is appreciated. Just a few minutes with your employees here, and we should be done. For now.”

“I’ll just get some coffee and wait for you all out here. I hope you can catch the guy. Truly, I do.”

Cynthia walked up now, and Nick would not be surprised if she had been standing in the hallway the entire time listening in. “They have a few questions for you, Cyn. Holler if there’s a problem.”

She nodded, mouth set firm. He knew she would not be put off by them, but the nerves were still there. “I will.”

Nick started to step around her, but Agent Carpenter stepped up to the door. “Thanks again, Mr. Anderson. We’re sorry to have interrupted your day like this.”

He sensed what she wanted even before her hand began to extend, and he gave her a fleeting smile before ducking around Cynthia and heading for the coffeepot.
Not yet, Ms. Carpenter. You and I both know what you want to find out, and now is not a good time.