by Cat Adams
Oh, crap.
The woman bowed her head in respect. “Princess. I’d hoped you knew something that you could share. But we didn’t want to startle you, so we came first to your healer.”
I felt a chill come over me as I remembered Ivy’s frantic motions. “What’s wrong with my mother? That’s what you’re here about, aren’t you? Where is she?”
The second guard, with a name tag that read Natura, dipped her head politely. “I’m afraid we don’t know. She was taking her daily walk along the beach path but never came back to the facility. Several boats went to the mainland that day, so…”
I tried to process what they’d just said. “Um, let me get this straight. You let a woman known for avoiding the law out of her cell … alone?” Holy Crap! “How long has she been gone?”
Baker let out a low, frustrated growl and wouldn’t look at the woman with her. “Two days. While I wouldn’t have made the same choices as my associate, Princess, please understand that, like you, your mother is royalty. That allowed for more privileges. And since one of her ailments was ocean withdrawal, walking near the water helped center her. For a time after she disappeared, we believed she was visiting with someone, but after searching the whole island, we’re convinced she’s left.”
Great. Just fucking great. They’ve been treating my conniving mother like a freaking celebrity. She would eat that up and absolutely take advantage of it. I reached up to try to rub away the sudden headache that was making my forehead throb. Different headache for a different problem. No wonder Ivy was so panicked. Not only had she probably watched Mom slip onto a boat, she wouldn’t be able to track her over water. Ghosts don’t do well over running water, just like vampires. “Um, wow. I can’t even describe the level of wrong that was. It had never occurred to me in my wildest nightmares that you might let her outside of a walled and spelled environment until she’d gotten massive therapy. But if you’re asking if she’s come to see me, the answer is an emphatic no. I am the last person on earth she would go to in a crisis. She’d be more likely to roll a junkie for money.” I sighed and collapsed back into the chair where I’d been sitting. Well, gosh, hadn’t this been an emotional roller coaster of a session? “Where else have you looked on the mainland?”
Baker’s voice was now embarrassed. “We started with you, Princess.”
I waved my hand in horrified resignation. “Please, don’t call me Princess anymore. I’m just Celia. Part of the problem today is the royalty thing. Let’s just pretend I’m not. Okay? Can I order you not to call me Princess anymore?” My eyes were shut and I realized I was beating my head backward against the pale blue padded headrest.
“Of course, Pr … I mean, Celia. You have that power.”
Fuck a duck. That’s not what I meant. “I don’t want any power. Let’s just go find my mother and get her back where she belongs. I’d rather not involve the mainland police if we can avoid it.” I hated to admit that I was worried about her. She might not be in her right mind after not only being separated from the ocean but also going through alcohol withdrawal. I hoped she wouldn’t do anything drastic or hurt anyone. She’s not a violent person. But desperate people can do weird stuff. The siren guards were more likely to handle her gently. The local cops have encountered her before. She’d be locked up in a heartbeat and there wouldn’t be any more chances. No more island paradises. Just cold, stone walls.
And she’d die.
I wasn’t sure if I could live with that, even though she makes me angry enough to scream every time I talk to her.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and I tensed. It was gentle and I knew she meant well, but I couldn’t help my reaction. Not today. Gwen’s voice was warm and concerned. “Celia? Are you okay? Do you need to talk?”
The laugh that bubbled up and out had a hysterical edge. “Okay? Hmm, let’s see. I got everything off my chest just in time to have an anvil fall on my head. No, Gwen. I’m not okay. I’ll live, but this is very not cool. And no, talking more isn’t going to help.” I wasn’t going so far as to say it was a breach of trust. She hadn’t actually told them anything or let them listen in. She just asked a few questions and used her instincts to see if I was telling the truth. I wasn’t as angry as I was tired and frustrated. It was another thing, another straw on my back, and I could only pray it wouldn’t break me.
The problem was that the most likely person Mom would visit was Gran and Gran absolutely would help her hide from the police. I slapped a palm down on the armrest. “Y’know what? Let’s just go find her. Mom is a creature of habit. She’s only been gone two days. One of them was spent traveling. I know every one of her hangouts. She wouldn’t go anywhere new.” I stood up and showed my therapist my told ya so look. “Sorry, Gwen. Gotta go. One more thing I’ve got to get involved in that I don’t want to.”
“Pr … Celia. We can handle this. We are trained investigators and more than qualified to recapture a prisoner.” Baker sounded confident, and yes, she might have reason to be. Let’s find out.
“Maybe so. But tell me something, Baker. What was your first impression of my mother?” Those hazel eyes met mine for a long moment. “And don’t feel compelled to spare my feelings.”
She nodded once, short and solid. “I considered her passive-aggressive, manipulative, depressed, and angry. A classic addictive personality. Frankly, I believed she was probably a flight risk. But … I am not the one who decides such things.”
That pretty much described Lana Graves. “Good. If we can get her back, and I can get the queen to approve it, do you feel confident you could handle her security from now on?”
“I can make sure she completes her stay with us and doesn’t injure herself. As for whether she can be treated—” She shrugged. “That depends entirely on whether she wants to heal.”
I understood that. “Then it’s time to start making some calls.”
* * *
I wanted a little privacy, so I borrowed one of the conference rooms down the hall from Gwen’s office. My call to Gran wasn’t warm or fuzzy. She’d definitely seen Mom but wasn’t talking. Sure, I could have sent Baker and Natura to question her, but to what end? Her silence when I asked specific questions told me everything I needed to know. Yes, Mom had stopped by Gran’s assisted-living facility. She’d borrowed money and left.
“Okay,” I said after writing down a dozen addresses from the phone directory. “Here’s a list of the bars Mom used to hang out at. Some probably aren’t open during the day, but I couldn’t tell you which. How do you want to do this?”
Baker assessed me with that penetrating look that cops have—deciding whether I could be trusted. I stared back without flinching. I was fully on their side. I wanted Mom back on the island. If they could get her clean in that time, all the better. Finally, Baker took the piece of notebook paper from my hand and tore the list into thirds. She handed one piece to Natura and the third to me. “We’ll split up and trade phone numbers. Whoever first finds the prisoner calls the others. Do not approach her until I arrive. We have procedures and I intend to make sure they’re followed. Otherwise, we’ll lose custody and she’ll have to go back to prison on the mainland.”
I sighed. I really didn’t have the time or the energy for this. I was still worried about John. But he’s a big boy, fully capable of taking care of himself. Maybe it’s just like his sister thought and he was heavily infatuated with another woman and sleeping off a great date.
Did I just think another woman? And did it sting when I thought it? That implied things I didn’t want to consider. Crap.
So yeah, maybe thinking about Mom was a better bet. At least it was a problem that was easily solved. It also kept me away from the house where everybody was likely to find me.
Baker and Natura followed me to the parking lot. I found Rizzoli standing next to my car. Okay, this was the second time he was just too close to where I was to be coincidence. “Are you following me, Rizzoli? Can’t I even go to my shrink without being hounded?”
He didn’t smile. In fact, the look on his face made Baker and Natura tense. Of course, that made my muscles go rigid. “No, I wasn’t following you. I was following the person who was following you. Did you even notice you had a tail coming over here? I expect better from you.”
I thought back. Crap, that was just inexcusable. I should’ve noticed, unless they were very good. But I’d been too busy thinking about what to say to Gwen—how to even begin to explain where my head was at lately. I let out a small growl of annoyance. “No. That was stupid of me.”
“Yeah. It was.” He pulled out the device I’d seen earlier, the one with the blinking lights that checked for bad things. He pointed it at my car. Like before, a chirp sounded and then another and a third. But the fourth one … the one that should happen right before the remote turned green? It didn’t chirp. The remote turned red. “Someone wired your car.”
That widened my eyes. “Wired it to do what? Explode?”
He shrugged. “I just got here, so I’m not sure. I followed the other car until I lost them on the interstate and then came back. I got a plate number, but it was reported stolen.” He shrugged once more. “Not that that means it actually was stolen. That happens, too. We’ll check it out.”
But if it wasn’t the person who followed me— “This place is guarded hell for stout with wards up the wazoo. No way someone should have been able to get to my car to wire it.” Of course, after all my care to be sure I dusted the door handles at the restaurant, had I checked it when I’d come out? Duh. No. Plus, Gerry the guard still worked here. He has made it clear to me that he wants me staked and beheaded. He’s cofounder with Officer Danson of the “Celia Graves Must Die” Club. But if this was Gerry’s doing, it was over. He was going to get arrested and could rot in jail for all I cared.
“It needs to be checked out.” Rizzoli was stating the obvious, but apparently that’s what I needed today.
“Look … Dom.” His brows rose at my use of his first name. “On top of everything else going on in my life right now I have a family issue. I have to find my mother before she does something stupid. And if you know anything about my mom, she can take stupid to new heights.”
He frowned and his eyes narrowed, meaning he did know about my mother. “I thought she was in jail.”
I smiled, but it wasn’t pretty. “She was. That’s why I need to find her. These lovely ladies were sent to track her down.”
His eyes closed and he let out an annoyed noise. He reached into his pocket. “Take my car. I’ll stay with yours until the bomb squad gets here. I’ll try to make sure they don’t detonate the bomb, if that’s what it is.” He tossed me a set of car keys and put out his other hand, apparently expecting mine in return.
I caught the keys in the air and felt my stomach drop. I’d watched cop movies before and I knew what he meant. I looked at my beautiful convertible and winced. Yes, there are bombs that can’t be defused, but please, oh, please, let this be one they can. I love my car. I saved up for years to buy it. “I’ve got a trunk safe with extra weapons. If you can get them out if … you have to, I’d appreciate it. But try not to have to.” I pulled my key ring out of my purse, took the car key off, and handed it to him before turning and starting toward his boring sedan. Then I stopped and turned toward him. “Could I have that remote, too? I’d hate to lose your car, too.”
He made a noise I couldn’t decipher and tossed the box to me. “Push the red button on the bottom to link it to the car. Keep the remote with you. If anyone touches it, the remote will vibrate and sound a tone. I’ll get another one from the bomb squad guys. And for God’s sake, be careful, Celia.”
The way he said my name was the same way I’d said his—an acknowledgment of a new level for us. An I’ve got your back level. “Thanks, Rizzoli. Really.”
“Bring my car back. That’s thanks enough. It would be miles of paperwork if it, or you, blew up.” He didn’t smile, but only just. I stepped past Baker, who was writing down the license plate number on her torn notebook page. “It’s a common model. This will help to know it’s you and can also help when you call. If I ask for the code, give me the last four characters on the plate.”
Actually, that was a good idea. I wrote down 6B82 on my paper for good measure and saw Rizzoli look approvingly at us before he pulled out his cell phone and started making calls.
Rizzoli’s car wasn’t a bad ride, but it wasn’t comfortable, either. When you’re used to seats that fit perfectly and instruments in specific places, it takes time to get used to everything. Baker’s eco-rental, with a GPS unit mounted on the windshield, turned left at the stop sign and I went right. Driving was like managing a boat down the road instead of the roller skate I was accustomed to. By the time I got to my first stop, downtown, I was glad the sign read Closed, because there was nowhere to park that this thing would fit. Another good reason for a small car in this town. But I did have to admit that the tinted windows were better for my skin. It was the first time, other than night, when my arm didn’t hurt from being close to the window. Thank heavens I’d remembered to reapply my sunblock when I left the restaurant.
I was glad I’d written down the addresses in clusters by location. I wouldn’t want to drive back and forth across town because I was sure I was going to clip someone with that honking big trunk. I’d already had several horns blown at me for coming too close to front bumpers when I passed, which was mortifying.
Harry’s Bar & Grille was next on my list. It was a little hole-in-the-wall family bar with windows set high above concrete blocks and covered with neon beer signs. All the signs were lit, so it was a good bet it was open. I didn’t recognize any of the cars, but that didn’t mean Mom wasn’t there. She could have caught a cab. I parked in the lot and went inside. No one there but two old guys sipping from frosted beer mugs in the darkness. I have a picture of Mom in my wallet and I took it out to show them. “Have you seen this woman yesterday or today?”
The two men shook their heads. The bartender, a narrow-faced man with some Middle Eastern in his heritage, looked at the picture while wiping down a glass. “Yeah. Lana, right? She was in last night for a few hours. Hadn’t seen her for a couple of weeks before that. Everything okay?”
I pulled one of my business cards from my purse, not answering because no, everything was not okay. “If you see her again, could you call me?”
The bartender looked at the card and then tapped it with a fat finger when he noticed the name. “Oh. You’re the daughter? Boy, was she hot about something you did. Ranted to some lady for close to an hour. I didn’t listen other than to know she was mad.”
All I could do was shake my head. I’d heard it before. I spent my whole damned life being told by one person or another about the wrongs I’d done my mom. She’d tell anyone who’d listen about how I’d abused her some way or the other. Yeah, it always hurt that she considered me an annoyance or, worse, a threat. But that’s how Mom was. I shrugged. “She’s always mad about something. Could you call?”
He raised one shoulder. “If she comes in, but I doubt she will. Sounded like she and her new friend were taking off, heading up north.”
Well, hell. That wasn’t what I wanted to hear. “You actually heard them talk about leaving town? Any idea where they were headed?”
He paused, like he knew something but didn’t want to reveal any confidences. “They was just talking. Nothing definite. Just ranting. A lot of them do that—talk a good game and then nothing comes of it. But I’ll call you if I hear anything.” He turned away then and walked down the bar length, taking the empty mugs with him on the way.
Uh-huh. I’d definitely come back to this place if I didn’t turn up anything sooner.
The third bar was locked tight. The last place on my list was Sloan’s Tavern. I’d heard Mom mention this place more than once as having a “great party.” I could hear music inside, along with singing, which seemed a little unusual for not even four o’clock. I climbed up the two narrow,
crumbling concrete steps from the sidewalk. Apparently this place hadn’t heard of the Americans with Disabilities Act … and their insurance rates must be in the stratosphere. Drunks and stairs don’t really mix.
I didn’t even have to open the door to hear Mom’s voice. She was apparently already messed up, because she was slurring. God, I didn’t want to do this. But, as promised, I called Baker and Natura to tell them where I was. Now I just had to wait for them to show up … and keep Mom from leaving before they could collect her.
At least that was my plan. Before I got a call.
My phone burbled wetly to life and I pressed the green button. “Hello?”
“Celia, dear. You must talk to her. It’s the only way.”
I recognized the voice immediately, but it sounded odd, distant and mechanical. “Dottie? Talk to who?”
“Go inside and talk to her. That’s why the girl comes and you can find out what’s wrong.” She paused and then concluded, “And you must hurry. Before the others arrive.”
“What girl, Dottie? Can you tell me any more?” But the line went dead. The trouble with clairvoyants was that often they didn’t even remember talking to you about their visions, so it wouldn’t do any good to call her back. Dottie seems to talk her way through the event, where Emma visualizes it and tells you about it later. Vicki had been such a powerful seer that she feared even vocalizing events in case they’d come true just because they were spoken of.
I sighed and stared at the old wooden door with the barred window. If it was important to do this, I guess I would. But I didn’t have to like it. And I knew Baker wouldn’t.
Two steps and a squeaking door later and I was inside the dim interior. Although it wasn’t fair to say it was dim. Only parts were. The rest was lit in vivid red and pink from neon stripes and hearts on the walls. It was like being trapped inside a box of Valentine’s chocolates. The music assaulted my ears—a hideous disco version of “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.” Who would ruin a classic like that? The whole place smelled of alcohol and sweat, and as my eyes adjusted to the weird lighting, I saw five or six people sitting around a pod of tables in the corner. One woman with dark hair was facedown on her arm; the drink at her elbow had the same colors as a tequila sunrise, but smelled far different.