by J N Duncan
He followed Jackie to her door, speaking quickly. “I was hoping to clear up some confusing information. Witnesses claim the Cadillac Escalade belonging to one Father Stanford Brisby was empty after it crashed, yet official reports have him dying at the scene.”
Shit. “You’ll have to contact the FBI, Mr. Margolin. I don’t give out case information that hasn’t been cleared for public consumption.”
Again with the smile. Jackie had to admit he had that part of the job down pat. “As you can imagine, I’ve met with limited success in speaking directly with the FBI.”
“And you are expecting me to be otherwise?” Presumptuous prick. “I’m not fond of journalists, and with good reason. I don’t talk to them unless absolutely necessary, and you, Philip, aren’t necessary. Good-bye.” She dug out her keys to unlock the door.
“How is this related to the fire at the Tanenbaum Funeral Home, Agent Rutledge?” He laid his hand over the keys in the lock. “Please. If you could clear this confusion up for me, I’ll be on my way.”
Jackie stared at the hand covering her keys and closed her eyes for a moment. “Let go of the keys, Margolin or I’ll remove your hand.”
Something in her voice must have alerted him, as he abruptly let go, bracing his hand against her door instead. “No need to get prickly. I’m just doing a follow-up story here, and some facts don’t make sense to me. Why did the FBI raid the funeral home after Brisby was supposedly killed?”
She turned the key in the lock. “You’ve got three seconds to step away before I decide to break your hand. Be kind of hard to write the story then, won’t it?”
“Agent Rutledge,” he said, the smile wiped from his face now. “I’ll keep digging. The FBI is concealing information on this, and I’ll find it. I was hoping to get something clear from a primary source.”
Jackie felt a cold rush of air blow through her before a familiar voice spoke softly from behind.
“Perhaps you should leave Ms. Rutledge alone, sir.”
Jackie spun around, her heart up in her throat. “Nick! What the hell are you doing here?”
“Saving a weary FBI agent from a badgering journalist by the look of it,” he said.
Philip took a step back from Jackie, his bravado vanishing in an instant. “I was just asking the agent a few questions about a case is all, mister.”
“And I suspect she said no.”
Jackie recovered from her initial shock and stepped over to Nick. The day was going from horrid to nightmare before her eyes. “Why are you here?”
“Good morning, Jackie,” he said with a feigned smile. “I was in the area. I tried calling.”
“Yeah, but I thought—”
“Agent Rutledge? Did you have any more to say about the Tanenbaum fire?”
Nick and Jackie replied simultaneously. “No.”
“I’ll continue to look into this,” Margolin said, looking decidedly uncomfortable now as he had no way around them to get to the stairs.
“But you won’t be doing it here,” Nick said. “You can leave now.”
Margolin missed the subtle emphasis on the last word.
Jackie couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “Nick. I’m fine. I’m handling it.”
The disarming smile returned to Philip’s face. “She’s got a handle on it.”
With alarming speed, Nick stepped forward, grabbed him by the front of his jacket and pivoted him around, walking Philip to the top of the stair with the ease of handling a child. “I believe I said now.”
“Easy, man,” Margolin said, straightening his jacket. “No harm, no foul.”
“There will be if you do not leave.”
Jackie ran a hand through her disheveled hair. What the hell was he doing? Was he really threatening to beat the guy up if he didn’t leave?
He only stood his ground a moment longer, withering quickly under Nick’s disturbing stare. “I’m gone,” he said, waving them off as he descended the stairs. “I’ll be in touch, Agent Rutledge. You can count on that.”
Nick stood guard at the top of the stair until Margolin exited. “I truly dislike journalists.” He turned back to Jackie. “So. How are you, Jackie? He didn’t bother you too much, I hope?”
Panic coursed through her veins. “Damn it, Nick! What are you doing? Why are you here?”
He stuck his hands into his jeans pockets. “I was so close, it seemed such a waste to not stop by for a minute and say hello.”
“Well, hello,” she said. “Thanks for stopping by, but I’ve got a new partner file to look at today thanks to Belgerman.”
His eyes narrowed a fraction. “I’ve only got a few minutes this morning. Have a spirit to track down before it causes trouble. Maybe we could just have a cup of coffee?”
“Thanks, but I’ve had like four cups already today,” she said. Even with the contacts it still proved difficult to look the man in the eye. It didn’t help that she was lying through her teeth. “I really did have things under control here.”
“I’m sure,” he said. “I apologize. You just didn’t look in the mood to be dealing with someone like him.” His head cocked slightly to one side. “You look tired, Jackie.”
“I’m . . .” What was the point? He would know she was lying. “Yeah, I’m tired. I just want to go curl up on the couch and check out what Belgerman gave me.”
He looked at her in silence for a moment. “Let me make you some tea then.”
You are not coming in, Sheriff. No way in hell. “Think I’m out of tea, actually.”
“You have a mini-mart right underneath you.” His eyes narrowed. “If you’d rather I didn’t come in, just say so, Jackie. I’m pretty sure I can handle it.”
Jackie sighed. Why did this have to be so goddamn difficult? “Look, tea would be fine, but my apartment is a disaster zone right now. I don’t want anyone to see it.”
He studied her and Jackie wondered just what it was he could see. His gaze was as unnerving as ever.
“Haven’t done dishes or picked up a thing since you got back from the hospital?”
She tried to look offended. “I’m not that... OK, yes. The place is trashed, Nick. Your PI skills win again.”
“I’ll help you straighten up a bit,” he said. “I know how this works, Jackie. I’ve been there myself, and all it does is help you stay in the rut.”
“I don’t think you understand,” she replied. “It’s beyond trashed. I don’t want to let you, much less anyone else see me living like that.”
“Do you know I once lived in a cave for two years?”
“What? Why do I need to know that?”
“It was back in 1889. There were some people tracking me down. They knew or strongly suspected what I was, so I had to disappear for while. I found a cave and lived alone for almost two years. I used the same pair of clothes for most of it, washing them out occasionally in a nearby stream. Didn’t comb my hair once. Had no soap. It wasn’t pretty.”
Eww. “So you understand.”
“I do,” he said. “So let’s go in and I’ll help you out while you check out your file.”
“No!” She backed up protectively in front of her door. “That’s not what I meant. I can’t ask you to do that, Nick.”
“You don’t have to,” he said and motioned at the door. “Come on. Let a friend give you a hand. Trust me. You’ll feel a hundred times better when it’s cleaned.”
Friend. Were they friends? It was both more and less than that. Tillie’s words came back to mind. She needed friends, but Nick . . . there was just too much in the mix to easily define him as such. “I’d rather we didn’t. Not today.”
“Jackie.” He looked exasperated. “You can’t offend me. There is nothing in there that I haven’t seen or done myself and far worse I may add.”
She gave in. Jackie knew she wouldn’t be able to out-stubborn him. She didn’t have the energy for it. “Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She undid the lock but then stopped with her hand on the knob.
“One comment and you’re gone.”
Nick smiled at her. “Of course.”
Once the door closed, Jackie wrinkled her nose. She had run off in such a hurry earlier that the litter box had remained unchanged. Nick stood silently at her side, waiting for her to move forward.
“On second thought,” Jackie said, “maybe you should leave. This is really bad.”
“Nonsense.” He pushed the door closed and walked in. “So it’s a little cluttered.” He stepped over a sweatshirt on the floor and moved toward the kitchen. “You have garbage bags? Cleaner? Paper towels?”
“Um . . .” She tried to picture what lay beneath her sink but could not recall. “I’m not really sure what I have.” She followed, picking the sweatshirt up off the floor and clutched it protectively to her chest. “Nick? Really, you don’t have to do a damn thing. This is my mess. I need to deal with it.”
Nick turned away from the sink and gave her a curious stare. “What would Laurel do?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He turned and knelt down, opening the cupboards beneath the sink. “It means Laurel is your friend. If she came home with you to this, what would she do?”
“Besides slapping me upside the head?”
His laughter echoed from under the sink as he rummaged around. “After that?”
“Yeah, but that’s different. She’s . . .” Jackie was going to say my friend but then realized it was a backhanded slap at Nick. What the hell were they anyway? Friends was a stretch by any definition. What did you call someone whom you’d nearly arrested and then had save your life? She gave up and shrugged. “It’s just different.”
“OK,” he replied. “You have nothing useful under here.” Nick stood back up and walked over to her. “Jackie. I know this is odd. You don’t want anyone to see you living like this. I get that. I’ve been there, believe me, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that you aren’t repulsed by my presence.”
She took a step back. “No! I didn’t mean to imply that at all.”
“But . . .” He reached for her, eyeing the sweatshirt, and after a moment Jackie reluctantly handed it over. “Everything that’s happened freaks you out a little. I freak you out a little.”
Jackie shook her head. “Nick it’s not that, it’s . . .” She sighed, shoulders slumping. “Yes, I’m sorry. It all freaks me out, more than a little.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said and wagged a finger at her before returning to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and began to look through the depleted shelves. “I’m 176 years old and have to drink blood to stay alive. I’d say that puts me solidly into the freak category.”
“You aren’t a freak.”
“It’s OK,” he said. “Any normal person should be worried upon encountering someone like me.”
“Not sure I’d call me a normal person either.” Silence engulfed them. Jackie glanced around at her shambles of an apartment. Yes, she was perfect date material all right. “So, where does that leave us?”
Nick shrugged. “Beats me. This isn’t a game I’ve ever played well, Jackie. What about friends?”
“What about them?”
He motioned his hand between them. “You and I. I like you. I’d like you as my friend. I could use one.”
Jackie rolled her eyes at him. “You have to have friends.”
“Who can understand my rather unique situation? And not run screaming in the other direction when they do?”
And he hadn’t run screaming from her when the shit hit the fan. “I see your point.”
“So, how about we start there?” His voice was earnest. “Can we be friends? I’m known to be useful in a pinch.”
Nervous laughter rushed out of her. No dates. Just friends. Maybe she could handle that. And truth be told, she wanted his friendship. “Yes, that’s fine. I’m good with that.”
“Good.” He stepped around her and walked toward the door. “As my first act of friendship, I’m going to go out to the store and get some stuff to clean this place up, and maybe bring back coffee.”
Jackie found herself smiling, muscles that hadn’t worked in quite some time. “I’d like that. Maybe I’ll even help out.”
His chuckling faded with the closing door. Bickerstaff gave a disgruntled meow and sauntered out of the bedroom, purring as he rubbed up against her ankles.
She picked him up and then sat down on the couch, nuzzling his face against her cheek. “Just friends, Bickers. Don’t you worry.”
Chapter 5
Bickerstaff’s gentle purr on top of her chest lulled Jackie into a blissful doze, sending her into another disturbing dream. A knock on the door jerked her awake again; Bickerstaff’s claws dug into her chest as he jumped to the floor. The disturbing dream of being tethered to Drake by tubes full of blood faded quickly into the recesses of her mind.
She rubbed at her chest. “Fuck. Who is it?”
“It’s Nick.”
“Oh. Come in,” she said. “It should be unlocked.”
He entered, coming around the corner with his arms full, numerous plastic bags hooked in each hand. Perched on top of one hand, held by his thumb, was a drink carrier with two Starbucks cups. “Hope I didn’t forget anything.”
“Jesus Christ, Nick. What did you buy?”
He shuffled into the small kitchen and set the bags down on the floor. There was no room on the counter thanks to the detritus of two weeks of doing absolutely nothing. “Things you were out of, things I thought you could use.” He set the drink carrier down and pulled out the coffees, bringing one of them over to her. “Here.”
Jackie swung her legs off of the couch and took the cup. “Thanks. What do I owe you for all this?”
“The promise that for the next couple of hours, you’ll just sit there and relax and take your mind off of . . . everything.”
“Nick . . .”
“I mean it,” he said and walked back to the kitchen. “Mindless relaxation. Find something on the TV or play the piano or take a bath. You pick up a single cup and you’ll be sorry.”
Jackie stared at him in silence and sipped her coffee, hiding the smile that turned up a corner of her mouth. She had never seen this social version of Nick before. He seemed almost . . . normal. She had no energy to argue either. “I’ll see what’s on TV I guess.”
She surfed the channels, found nothing that piqued her interest, and watched Nick move around her apartment and clean. Their conversation was sporadic, superficial even. He asked nothing personal and Jackie felt compelled to do the same. Bickerstaff watched with dignified indifference from his perch atop the piano. She finally stopped apologizing for the mess after he threatened to stop cleaning.
“Would you rather be doing this?” He held out the dishcloth in her direction.
Jackie laughed. “No. I don’t like cleaning under any circumstances.”
“Works out well then,” he said. “I don’t mind it at all.”
“You want to come over every week and tidy things up for me?”
He closed up the dishwasher and turned it on. “Sure. I’d love to.”
Jackie’s stomach jumped. “I wasn’t serious.”
“Good a reason as any for friends to get together, I’d say.”
Friends. Yes. Laurel had done the same on many occasions. She had usually sprung for dinner then. If she sprang for dinner with Nick, it would mean they’d be having dinner together, in her place, in private. Maybe not just friends then. “I’m sure you have better things to do than clean my apartment on a regular basis.”
He had sprayed down the counter tops and was wiping them clean. “Jackie, my time is pretty much my own these days. I do things more because I want to, not because I have to. What would you do if your time was your own?”
The news on the TV caught her attention while he spoke. She recognized the man being interviewed on the screen. It was Detective Morgan from the Joint Violent Crimes Task Force. His imposing, black body filled the screen. The sc
rolling caption at the bottom indicated that a woman had been murdered. The volume, however, was too low for her to hear.
“I think I’d still be working at the FBI,” she replied. She pointed at the screen. “That is what I do, right there. Catch bad guys. Nothing much compares to that.”
“You’d have made a good sheriff, back in the day,” he said. Nick caught the picture on the television and stepped closer to turn up the volume on the evening news. “One sec. I want to hear this.”
“—bastards will be caught. The people of Chicago will see justice served.” The detective waved off the reporter. “Now, get out of my f—ing way.”
“Man, Morgan,” Jackie said. “He’s really ticked about something.”
“Shelby and I were at that scene this morning. We think a ghost may have possessed someone.”
“No shit?” Great. More supernatural crap. Then again, what was she worried about? She couldn’t work cases now anyway. “Is the FBI in on this?”
Nick gave her a hesitant smile. “Maybe. I called Belgerman this morning. I’m hoping he makes it happen, but Shelby is out looking for the ghost now. If we can get to her before anyone else gets in her way, we might be able to send her on.”
Jackie’s brow furrowed. “Gets in her way? Could this be dangerous?”
Nick walked up to her, drying his hands on a dishcloth. “Possibly. Possessions are never good. For one, it takes a very powerful spirit to possess someone, and the only reason it does happen is to dissipate very strong emotions, like rage or grief.”
“Would it try to kill someone?”
“I’ve seen it once before,” he said, “and yes, it did kill someone.”
Jackie stared at the newscast, trying to imagine someone walking away from the crime scene with a rage-filled ghost inside them, off to kill their killer and no one the wiser. If she had been taken over by her mother’s ghost and gone after her stepfather, Carl, her entire life might be different now.
“Jackie? You OK?”
His hand on her arm startled Jackie’s attention back and she pulled away. “Yeah, sorry. Just trying to understand how that would all work out.”
“Not well, generally,” he replied. “Possessed people don’t tend to recover. They’re ostracized, institutionalized, or killed. From what I’ve learned at least.”