Stealing Shadows (8 page)

After a moment Cassie said, "I'll keep that in mind."

"And nothing's changed."

"No. Nothing's changed."I have to do this. I have to.

His hand lifted slightly, as though he would touch her, but then it fell when she tensed visibly.

"I'll see you later, Cassie."

"Bye, Ben."

This time he had the sure knowledge that she stood in the open doorway and watched him drive away.

But it didn't make him feel good. It didn't make him feel good at all.

"Maybe she really is psychic." Abby Montgomery banked the pillows behind her and sat up in bed, absently drawing the sheet up over her naked breasts.

Matt Dunbar sat on the edge of the bed to put his socks and shoes on. "I don't believe in that shit."

"Then how did she know about us?"

"A lucky guess. Hell, maybe she saw you slipping in here the other day. But she did not read my mind."

Abby was familiar with her lover's stubbornness. Usually it amused her, just as his occasional macho posturing amused her; she had good reason to know that despite both, he had a generous nature and a heart, as the saying went, like a marshmallow. But today the reminder of how bullheaded he could be made her uneasy.

"Matt, if she can help find Becky's killer – "

"I don't know that she can. The cops out in L.A. gave her a glowing recornmendation, but when I pushed, the detective I talked to finally admitted that she'd sent them down a few blind alleys, and that those detours were costly."

"Most conventional investigations do the same thing, don't they? I mean, you always explore at least a few possibilities that don't pan out in the end."

"Yeah. But it's a hell of a lot easier to explain why you followed a lead if you've got something solid to point to. Anything a so-called psychic tells you is about as substantial as fog, and just as quick to vanish." He shook his head. "No, I just don't buy it, Abby. She must have seen us together, and that's how she knew."

"In public? We barely look at each other in public. And nobody saw me slipping in here to meet you, Matt. I'm always careful, and you know it."

He looked at her quickly, hearing the slight tremor. "Honey, has Gary been bothering you again? Because I can sure as hell get a restraining order against him, you know that."

She shook her head. "No, he hasn't been around lately. Besides, I don't want to do anything to annoy him, at least until the divorce is final."

"That's only a month away, Abby." Matt smiled. "And once it's final, it'd be nice to be able to take you out in public."

Abby leaned toward him and wreathed her arms around his neck. "It would be very nice. Just… let's wait and see, okay, Matt? I don't know how Gary will react when it's final."

His mouth tightened, but his hands were gentle as they stroked her arms. "I've been as patient as I know how, Abby, but there's no way I'm prepared to keep our lives on hold indefinitely just to keep Gary from blowing a fuse. I can handle him."

"It isn't indefinitely. I just want to avoid trouble if at all possible, Matt."

"There won't be any trouble. I'll just kick his ass."

Abby smiled. "Let's wait and see. Another month. That isn't so long, is it?"

"That depends on what you're waiting for." He kissed her, taking his time about it, then eased her back onto the pillows and leaned over her. "I'm waiting for something I've wanted for a long, long time. You."

"You've got me. All the rest is just a formality."

He brushed a strand of bright red hair back from her face. "I also want Gary out of your life, with no excuses to call you or knock on your door. I want to have the right to tell him to go to hell."

"Given the chance, you'll do that whether you have the right or not," she said dryly.

"True." Matt kissed her again.

"Just be patient a little while longer."

"Okay, okay." He sat up, then got to his feet. "I've got to get back to the office."

"Matt…" She hesitated. "This psychic – "

"So-called."

"Did you ever hear the rumors about her aunt? About Miss Melton?"

"What about her?"

"Well, that she knew things. Things she shouldn't have been able to know."

Matt stared down at her, brows raised. "I heard talk. So what? She was a loner, kept to herself, hardly came into town – and when she did, she barely spoke to anyone and was usually dressed oddly for a woman her age. People were bound to talk. It doesn't mean anything, Abby."

Abby smiled. "I guess not. But, Matt – if Cassie Neill can help you, let her. Don't ignore what she has to say."

"You don't usually tell me how to do my job," he noted dryly.

"I'm not now. But I know how stubborn you can be. You've made up your mind she's a phony, haven't you?"

"Maybe."

"Admit it, Matt. You wouldn't even have given her the time of day if Ben hadn't insisted. You know he's no gullible fool."

"No, but he isn't thinking with his head. Not where Cassie Neill is concerned. Beats me what he sees in her, but the lady has certainly grabbed his attention."

Abby opened her mouth, then closed it and shook her head. After that brief pause she merely said, "Just don't let a preconceived idea get in your way, Matt, that's all I'm saying."

"No, I won't." He bent and kissed her one last time, then laughed a little as he headed for the door. "I had no idea you believed in that stuff."

When she was alone in the bedroom, Abby gazed toward the door and murmured, "Oh, I believe in it, Matt. I believe in it."

Ivy Jameson was having a bad day. In fact, she'd had a bad week.

On Monday she'd had the unpleasant duty of taking her mother's old cat to the vet to have him euthanized; Wednesday had come the notice from the North Carolina Department of Revenue claiming she owed back taxes; yesterday she'd had to tear the hide off a TV repairman who obviously didn't know his ass from a three-foot hole in the ground; and today, on this pleasant, warm Friday afternoon in late February, she was being told that her ten-year-old car was on its last wheels, so to speak.

"A new transmission," Dale Newton said, consulting his clipboard. "The brakes are shot. Universal joint. The left front tire is bald – "

"Enough." She glared at him. "How much?"

The mechanic shifted uneasily. "I haven't worked up an estimate yet, Mrs. Jameson. You just asked me to check it out and see if it needed any work. It does. There's more – "

She waved him to a stop. "Just work up the estimate and then call me. But you'd better bear in mind, Dale Newton, that my late husband loaned you the money to get this garage going fifteen years ago. I expect that to make a difference. I expect some consideration for a poor widow."

"Yes, ma'am." Newton smiled weakly. "I'll have the estimate ready in a couple of hours."

"You do that."

"I can give you a leaner, Mrs. Jameson – "

"No. I hate driving a strange car. I'll walk across the street to Shelby's and call a taxi."

"I have a phone, Mrs. Jameson."

"I realize that. What you don't have is coffee. Good day, Mr. Newton."

"Ma'am." Newton watched her walk away, her back ramrod straight, and he wondered, not for the first time, if old Kenneth Jameson had died because he'd been sick – or just plain tired.

Ivy left Newton's Garage on the corner of Main Street and First, walked a block toward the center of town, and then crossed the street to Shelby's Restaurant. A landmark in Ryan's Bluff that had once been a wonderful example of the Art Deco style, and last modernized in the sixties, it had been several times redecorated through the years, and all the individual touches of various owners had left it somewhat garish. It still had a Formica counter and swivel stools at the front, and boasted clear plastic tablecloths over the linen ones.

It was a place Ivy visited regularly and just as habitually criticized, a one-time hot spot that had seen better days but still offered good, plain food and hot coffee right up until midnight, seven days a week.

"This coffee is too strong, Stuart," Ivy told the young man behind the counter.

"Yes, Mrs. Jameson. I'll make fresh."

"You do that. And put in a pinch of salt to draw the bitterness."

"Yes, ma'am."

When Cassie answered a second knock on her front door late Friday afternoon, she was surprised to find a stranger standing there, a young man wearing a dark jump suit with the nameDan on one pocket andSafeNet Security on the other. He was holding a clipboard, and spoke politely.

"Miss Neill? I'm Dan Crowder, SafeNet Security. My partner and I are here to install your security system."

She looked past him to a white van in her driveway with the security company logo on its side and another clean-cut and uniformed young man standing beside it.

"My security system?"

"Yes, ma'am. Judge Ryan sent us."

He certainly hadn't wasted any time.

Dan smiled reassuringly. "Judge Ryan said you were to call him if you had any doubts, Miss Neill."

Cassie didn't call Ben; she called the security company. As she'd expected, Dan's story was confirmed.

Cassie toyed with the idea of sending Dan and his partner away, but in the end let them in so they could commence their work. Because Ben had been right about one thing.

In a small town, it was only a matter of time before the wrong person discovered what she could do.

"Ben?"

On the point of entering the building next door to the courthouse where his office was located, Ben paused and turned to see Jill Kirkwood approaching him. He couldn't help remembering Cassie's assertion that Jill had not accepted their breakup, but still managed to smile and greet her with the same low-key easiness he'd held on to since they'd broken it off.

Sincehe had broken it off.

"Hi, Jill. What's up?"

"Is there any news on who killed Becky Smith?"

He was only a little surprised that she asked. In the brief time it had taken him to walk the two blocks from the downtown office where he'd had an earlier appointment, he had already been stopped three times by worried citizens asking the same anxious question. Still, it wasn't like Jill to be much interested in crime, even a particularly vicious one.

"Nothing new that I know of," he told her. "Matt and his deputies are working on it."

"Does he know that Becky thought she was being followed?"

"She thought – how do you know that?"

"She told me. Came into the store one day last week. Wednesday, I think it was. We got to talking, and she mentioned she'd caught a glimpse of somebody watching her. She sort of laughed about it, said something about having a secret admirer who didn't want to show his face. She wasn't worried about it, so I didn't give it a second thought."

Sohe did watch her before. Another bull's-eye for Cassie.

"You'd better tell Matt about it, Jill. I don't think he knows, unless somebody else told him in the last day or so."

"All right, I'll go see him." She smiled. "I was glad to meet Cassie Neill. I liked her aunt."

"Yeah, so did I."

"She hasn't been in town long, has she?"

"Cassie? About six months, I think."

"Oh. I just didn't remember seeing her before yesterday."

"I'm not surprised. She seems as much of a loner as Miss Melton was."

"Seems? You don't know her very well?"

"I met her Tuesday." He felt a flash of annoyance at being questioned but trusted he kept the reaction out of his face.

Jill laughed a little, with the bright smile and artificial ease of someone aware of crossing the line. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

Obviously his poker face wasn't as good as he'd thought.

Ben said, "Don't be ridiculous. Look, why don't you go and tell Matt what you know. He needs to hear it. The sooner we get this bastard behind bars, the better it'll be for everyone in town."

"Okay. I'll see you later, Ben."

"Sure." For just an instant as she turned away, he considered warning her to be careful, but cast off the impulse as ridiculous and unnecessary. What could he say, after all? Watch out for strangers following you?

She was a smart lady, and knowing what she did about Becky being followed, she would certainly take notice – and take steps to protect herself – if she suspected the same thing was happening to her.

So Ben watched her walk away and said nothing.

Laughing at me. I can hear them. Watching me. Eyes following me. Gotta stop them. Gotta make them pay. My head hurts. I'll show them. My feet hurt. Gotta slow down. Gotta.

Look at that one. So proud of herself. So sure she's the best. She deserves… she deserves… she deserves… My head hurts so bad. Eyes watching me. I wonder if they know… Blood smells like coins.

 

FIVE

FEBRUARY 21, 1999

When Cassie heard the scream, it was so loud in her head that she dropped the glass she'd been holding and clapped her hands over her ears.

"No," she whispered helplessly.

Without her volition her eyes closed, and behind the lids flashed whorls of vivid colors streaked with black. A second scream made her jerk. And hurt her throat.

"No, please… please don't hurt me…."

Abruptly Cassie was somewhere else, someone else. She felt the painful constriction of something around her wrists, felt a sharp edge at her back and cold hardness beneath her. She couldn't see, it was all black, but then the bag over her head was jerked off.

"Please don't hurt me… please, please don't hurt me… please don't– "

The mask he wore was horrible. The character might have been from some recent slasher movie, the face a human one but terribly distorted, and it made her shock intensify, her terror soar.