He shook his head. “Nothing solid. Just rumors and talk.”
“What kind of talk?”
He paused. “The kind you don’t want to hear.”
I leaned forward. “Nate Garrick, you’ve known me since I was a little girl. You know you can’t tease me like that. Spill.”
He spoke softly, almost embarrassed to say the words. “I’ve heard a couple people suggesting the mayor.”
“Mr. Spellman?” I yelled. Justin’s dad? I thought. No way.
“Shhh. Keep your voice down.”
I leaned back and crossed my arms. “What motive would he have to kill some random tourist?”
“So the town would see him as a hero. Kill one disposable tourist, someone who’s single, with no kids. Then arrest someone for the murder, saving the town and its people, who will be so grateful they’ll re-elect him in record numbers on election day.”
“Munchausen mayor? That’s ridiculous.”
“Crazier things have happened. Plus, isn’t it quite a coincidence that he brought in this new hotshot detective a week before the murder? ”
The idea was so ludicrous I hardly knew what to say. “That’s … that’s … crazy talk! ”
Nate shrugged. “Maybe Detective Toscano’s involved, then. He has a shady past.”
“What do you mean?” I took a bite of my sandwich.
“My boss assigned me a fluff piece. Introducing the new detective to the small town. You know, light stuff. But I’ve been doing background on him and it’s not so fluffy. He didn’t leave New York City on his own terms.”
I took one last sip of my soda, draining the glass. “He was pushed out?”
“That’s what I’m hearing.”
“Again, Nate, it’s just talk, no solid evidence. This summer job better not turn you into a gossipmonger.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m going to be Eastport’s Perez Hilton. This is how the business works, Clare. Believe me. We have one reporter following up on a possible Mayor Spellman mistress and another reporter investigating a possible Dallas Clayworth mistress. Sometimes rumors are just rumors, but sometimes they lead to the truth.”
I made a face. “It all seems so seedy to me.”
He fiddled with a rip in the paper placemat. “Just be on the safe side, Clare. Don’t trust the Toscanos. They’re hiding something. I know it. Don’t get too close. At least not until I get some answers.”
I knew Nate was ambitious, but it seemed to me that he was taking this story personally. Before I could ask him more, my cell rang. I looked at the caller ID. Gabriel.
“What’s up?” I said, answering.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“At Yummy’s, getting lunch.”
“I’ll pick you up outside in five minutes.”
“Okay, where are we going?”
“Twenty-six Berkshire Drive. Billy Rawlinson’s parents’ home.”
“Okay, see you in five.”
Refusing to meet Nate’s eyes, I said, “That was Gabriel. I’ve got to go meet him.”
Nate nodded and reached for his wallet. I pulled some bills out of my pocket and slid them onto the table. “This one’s on me. You get it next time.”
Nate had a look on his face that I couldn’t figure out.
“I don’t mean to tell you what to do,” he said. “You know I’m only looking out for you, right? ”
“I know. I’ve always felt I had two brothers instead of one.” I kissed his cheek and headed out.
Betty and Herbert Rawlinson lived in a split-level home on a road with other split-level homes that varied only by color and lawn ornament selection. Berkshire Drive was probably pretty sweet when all the homes were new and hip in 1970, but now it seemed as dated as an episode of The Brady Bunch. The Rawlinsons’ house was painted an interesting shade of baby blue, which may have looked nice on the paint can, but translated into a garishly bright color on the wood shingles.
Gabriel told me he’d asked his father to accompany us to make it official, but the detective had refused. So this wasn’t police business. Two friends from school were going to show up at the house, looking for Billy.
That would be us.
We’d formulated a plan on the way over. Thankfully, the Rawlinsons had never come to my house for a reading. I’d never met them and they wouldn’t know I was the girl their son had bullied for years. The plan hinged on this, since I was pretending to be Billy’s friend.
Gabriel knocked on the door and Betty Rawlinson quickly answered.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Rawlinson. Billy wouldn’t happen to be here, would he?” Gabriel asked.
Betty smiled. Probably thinking what a polite and handsome young man Gabriel was, when he was really lying through his perfectly straight teeth.
“Are you friends of his?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “But we can’t seem to find him anywhere. He’s not at the motel.”
“He’s not here, either,” she said, “but please come on in.”
She led us up the stairs to the dining room. The table was piled high with laundry.
Betty swept all the clothing into a basket. “Sorry, I was doing some folding when you arrived.”
“No need to clean up for us, ma’am,” Gabriel said. “We’re sorry to barge in on you like this, but to be honest we’re a little bit worried.”
“We were with Billy last week,” I said. “He borrowed a bunch of my DVDs and we were supposed to meet him Saturday night to get them back. He wasn’t around. And we haven’t been able to find him. I wondered if maybe he was sick and decided to come home for a few days.”
“I wish that were the case.” Betty sat down at the table and motioned for us to do the same. “His father and I have been looking for him, too.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” Gabriel asked.
“He came home Saturday night,” Betty said and cleared her throat. “It was kind of strange because it was the middle of the night. I don’t know exactly what time. I heard noises. Herbert got his baseball bat and followed the sound to Billy’s room. He was in there sitting at his desk. He looked shaken up.”
“Did he say why?” I asked.
“He said the neighbors were being too noisy at the motel so he was going to spend the night here. When I got up Sunday morning, he was gone, and I haven’t seen him since. We’ve been calling his cell phone but it goes to voice mail. He usually stops by or calls us every day so it’s unusual.”
Gabriel and I shared a look before he continued. “Is anything missing from the house? A lot of his clothing or anything to suggest he went on a trip?”
She shrugged. “He took his truck.”
“The gray pickup?” I said, and she nodded.
“We’ll keep looking around, at the hangouts and stuff, see if we can find him,” Gabriel offered.
Betty reached out and patted his hand. “Tell him to call me right away, okay?”
“We will,” I said and rose.
“Do you want to take a quick look in his room to see if your DVDs are in there?” she asked. “I feel bad that he didn’t get them back to you when he said he would.”
“If it’s not too much trouble,” I said, holding back my excitement.
“Not at all.” Betty rose and led us down the hallway to Billy’s room. It was sparsely furnished, with a twin-size bed and a desk. A poster featuring a wet, bikini-clad model hung on the wall beside his bed, probably in the same spot for years.
“Have a look,” Betty said, backing out of the room.
After she took a few steps down the hallway, Gabriel whispered, “Let’s do this. I’ll watch for her while you … do whatever it is you do. Just do it quick.”
Despite Gabriel’s order, I moved slowly about the room. Billy Rawlinson’s bedroom was the last place I ever thought I’d be. He’d hunted me through the halls of school like a lion to prey. I didn’t know if he truly did hate me because of my weird abilities or if he bullied me merely because
he thought I was easy to pick on. But now I was in his bedroom, hunting him.
I opened the closet and let my fingers graze over the few items of clothing hanging within. I tried doorknobs, his pillow, the bedspread. Then I moved to the desk and let my hands wander. Nothing. A ratty old T-shirt was strewn over the desk chair. I rested my weight on the chair, my hands gripping the back in frustration. I closed my eyes and kept my mind still and open.
Sometimes it comes slow. Sometimes all at once. And sometimes not at all. This time the vision I least wanted to see rushed to the surface first. I saw bodies writhing, heard moans of pleasure. The vision was small, as if from a distance, with a black halo surrounding it. Then it hit me. I was watching as Billy had watched. Through the hole in his motel room floor.
I was watching my brother and Victoria go at it.
I let go of the shirt and the chair, pushing myself backward. My eyes snapped open.
“What is it?” Gabriel asked. “What did you get?”
I shook my head, wanting to clear any remnants of the scene out of my mind. “Nothing.”
His eyebrows rose. “Nothing? You got nothing from that?”
“Sorry,” I snapped. “This isn’t a drive-through. You can’t just place a psychic order, supersized.”
Gabriel held his hands up. “No, I wasn’t criticizing you. It really seemed like you got something.”
“Not yet,” I lied, and quickly went back to work searching for anything else to give Gabriel so I wouldn’t have to give him the only truth I had.
“His mother said he’d been sitting at his desk that night,” Gabriel said. “Maybe feel the items on the desktop.”
Finally, he had a good suggestion. I felt the stack of magazines, a couple bills, and got nothing until I picked up an ordinary pen. Immediately, I saw Billy writing something. I felt his heart racing. This was something important.
“He wrote something,” I said. I looked around and saw a small white message pad. “On that. He wrote something on that.”
“Let’s hope he bore down hard,” Gabriel said, fishing a pencil out of a drawer. He held the pencil at a slight angle and gently shaded the top sheet of paper on the pad until, faintly, words could be read. The words Billy wrote on the top sheet that had been torn off. Three words.
I saw you.
FOURTEEN
“ ‘I SAW YOU,’ ” I READ OUT LOUD. “WHAT IS THAT? A threat?”
“Sounds like it.”
The question I most wanted answered was, “Who?” Who did Billy see? Did he merely see Perry and Victoria messing around or did he see the killer? If Perry had gotten a note like that, he would have told me, right?
“The note must have gone to the killer,” I said.
“Why play around? Why not come to the police?” Gabriel rubbed his chin. “He must have been angling for something. A little blackmail to keep quiet.”
“So where is he now? Did he get enough money to leave town? Or did he chicken out and run?”
“We’re done here, let’s go,” Gabriel said, interrupting my stream of thought.
We exchanged polite good-byes with Betty, then headed toward Gabriel’s red Jeep in the driveway.
“What now?” I asked.
“I might have a way to find him,” Gabriel said, leaning against the hood. “The pings.”
I put up a hand to shield my eyes from the sun reflecting off the windshield. “The what?”
“Billy’s mother mentioned his cell phone. How cell phones work is they emit signals called pings every few minutes to the closest cell tower, and the tower relays the info to the network.”
“Do the phone companies keep the data?”
“Some just keep the last ping, some keep twenty-four hours’ worth. And of course the phone has to be turned on to be pinging in the first place.”
“Then call the company and let’s see what they’ve got,” I said.
“Not so fast. You need a warrant for that.” He unlocked the car. “Maybe my father can get one. We’ll see.”
By the time I got back home, it was nearly five o’clock. I had to admit, I liked being able to come and go as I pleased. The house was usually attached to me like a ball and chain. Mom always wanted Perry and me there as much as possible in case walk-ins stopped by. Especially during the summer season, the time I most wanted to be outside. This helping the cops gig was giving me a taste of freedom, and I liked it.
Gabriel dropped me off and sped away. I wandered up the sidewalk as a customer left the house. As he got closer, I realized it wasn’t a customer after all. It was Phil Tisdell, plodding down the walkway with his shoulders hunched over and his eyes locked on the concrete in fierce concentration.
“Mr. Town Clerk!” I greeted him with a smile. “How’s it going?”
He gave me a halfhearted wave. “Hi, Clare. See you tomorrow night.”
I’d never seen Phil so downtrodden. Normally, he’d give Santa a run for his money in a contest of joviality. Rather than his usual rumpled attire, he wore a neatly pressed blue shirt and dress pants. And was he wearing cologne?
“What do you mean, tomorrow night?” I asked, his words suddenly sinking in.
“The banquet?”
I shrugged. “You got me.”
This answer seemed to depress him further. He sighed. “The Eastport Chamber of Commerce Annual Banquet. It’s tomorrow night. Starla said you were accompanying her.”
Then, I got it. He’d asked Mom out. And she’d refused him, using me in her lie. I was going to strangle her. But not before I continued her tall tale.
“Oh, that! I didn’t realize it was a fancy banquet. I thought it was just a little meeting. Do I have to wear a dress? Mom didn’t tell me I’d have to dress up.”
The lie came easily, and I didn’t even have to fake my angry face. I didn’t know if Phil bought it or not, but he mumbled something about seeing me there before he shuffled off. I stormed up the front steps and into the house.
“Mom!”
“No need to yell, dear.” Mom came out of the kitchen wearing a dress that looked like it’d been created when a sewing machine threw up. “What’s the emergency?”
“Did you make that yourself?” I asked, motioning to the abominable creation.
Mom twirled. “Yes, I did. It’s called a tapestry sundress. I’m thinking about making more and selling them online. What’s all this yelling about?”
“I just saw Phil Tisdell outside.”
“Oh.” She scooted past me and back into the kitchen. I followed. She wasn’t getting out of this one that easily.
Our kitchen was relatively modern for such an old house. We’d remodeled it a few years back and put in an island and new stainless steel appliances. Mom insisted on painting the cabinets bright yellow because the kitchen was “her happy place.”
She stood on her tiptoes and pulled a large bowl from one of the happy cabinets now. “I’m making couscous. You want some?”
“No,” I said. I didn’t even know what that was. “You lied to him, Mom.”
She rifled through a drawer looking for something. “Would you rather I hurt his feelings?”
“And you involved me in your lie. So now I have to go to the banquet with you to avoid hurting him further.”
She continued to rummage through drawers to avoid eye contact. “Is it that horrible to spend a night with your own mother? “
“That’s not the point, Mom.” I steeled myself for the next comment. One I’d been holding in for a while. “You can’t spend your life avoiding interested men.”
She looked up sharply. “What does that mean?”
“What’s wrong with Phil?”
“Nothing’s wrong with Phil.”
“Exactly. He’s friendly. He’s kind. He’s head-over-heels crazy about you. He’s cute for an old dude. Bald is sexy these days.”
“Clarity, Phil is all those things, and if I were interested in dating anyone, I would definitely date Phil. He’s a wonderful man. But you kn
ow how things are.”
“No, I don’t. Explain them to me.”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” She bent over her cookbook, pretending to read.
“You’re still waiting for Dad to come home.”
“Can you get me the bag of flour from the top shelf of the cabinet? You’re a tad taller than me.”
Inside, I was trembling, knowing I was coming close to a line I’d never crossed before. I stepped up to her and gently lifted her chin with my hand, forcing her to look into my eyes. “It’s been fifteen years, Mom,” I said, in a soft but insistent tone. “He’s not coming home. Dad’s never coming home. We don’t even know if he’s alive.”
I thought I’d frozen her with my touch, for she didn’t move, didn’t breathe, even when I let go of her face. Then a single tear escaped from her eye, and she ran past me and out of the room.
Nice going. Now I’d have to buy her flowers for our big date tomorrow night.
The next morning I woke, stretched, and padded across my bedroom rug to the window. I lifted the sash and took a deep breath. You didn’t have to be psychic to know a storm was on the way. The air was humid, the sky dark.
I checked my cell. The only word from Gabriel was a text message saying his father got the warrant. There was nothing I could do in the meantime while we were waiting for the phone company, so I figured I’d shower and see if we had any appointments.
Thirty minutes later, I went downstairs and found Mom polishing the long mahogany table in the reading room. We hadn’t spoken since our argument, and I knew we weren’t going to pick up where we left off. Mom preferred to handle difficult conversations by moving forward and pretending they’d never happened.
“Prepping for an appointment?” I asked, leaning against the doorway.
She shook her head. “Wishful thinking. Our first appointment for the day is at eleven. Maybe we’ll have an early morning walk-in if someone’s disappointed with the wait time at Madame Maslov’s.”
I gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Business will pick up again. Remember what you always say? Word of mouth is the number one form of advertising in our line of work. As soon as word gets around that none of her so-called predictions come true, people will come back to us.”
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