Sadie felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe she should’ve at least tried to help Iris’s spirit move on? She shook her head. Sadie didn’t like to deal with angry ghosts who threw things. In her experience, that only led to trouble and she had more than enough other problems right now. She clicked out of the newspaper sites and played a couple games on the computer before heading back to bed.
It felt as though she’d just fallen back asleep when she was woken again, this time by sound of her office phone ringing persistently in the den down the hall. When she reached the phone, she quickly answered while glancing at the clock on her computer; it was after nine. Time to sound business. She cleared her throat.
“Scene-2-Clean. How may I help you?”
“Is this Sadie Novak?” asked a woman’s voice.
“Yes.”
“My name is Gayla Woods. You met my partner, Owen Sorkin, last night at the house we own on West Halladay Street.” Her words were simple but her tone was formal, causing Sadie to sit up a little straighter.
“Yes, I remember.” Sadie couldn’t think of anything else to add so she waited for Gayla to speak, which resulted in a somewhat uncomfortable silence for a few seconds.
“Anyway, as you may have deduced from meeting Owen, he’s not much of a believer in the paranormal. As a matter of fact, he thinks the very idea that I hired Madam Maeva’s company to deal with the goings-on at the house is a ridiculous expense.”
She chuckled but the laughter was forced. Gayla Woods sounded like a woman wound a little too tight.
“If it’s a spiritual problem, you can’t go wrong hiring Madam Maeva.”
“Oh, I agree. I heard her speak at a convention a few months ago and the stories she described were positively hair-raising. That’s why I was convinced she’d help with our situation. Of course, I’d like to do it in a cost-effective manner. This house was a bargain but it’ll only be a great deal if we can flip it for substantially more in the near future. Owen doesn’t mind the cost of Madam Maeva’s, provided we both get what we want, which is to have the renovations completed as soon as possible. The main thing we want is for the workers to be safe in the house, and something is obviously keeping that from happening.”
“I’m not exactly sure how I can help. I explained to Mr. Sorkin last night that I do trauma cleaning. I’m merely friends with the people who run Madam Maeva’s.”
“Yes, but Rosemary Thingvold seemed insistent that whatever is going on in the house may be connected to you and . . .”
Sadie was furious. Gayla continued to speak but all Sadie heard was the voice inside her head that said she wanted to kill Rosemary, or at least have a serious discussion with her that involved the threat of bodily harm and possibly pummeling her bald little head.
She became aware that Gayla had paused expectantly.
“Sorry, I was momentarily distracted,” Sadie stated without adding, by my need to get off this phone and kill someone.
“I was just asking if you’d reconsider helping out at the house if I offered to pay you your usual rate.”
“I don’t have a usual rate for cleansing a house of ghosts,” Sadie replied, trying desperately to keep her voice even. “My usual cleaning involves mopping up after a murder, suicide, or an unattended death.”
“Oh. And what do you charge for that?”
“A lot.” Sadie rubbed the back of her neck. “You can’t seriously be thinking of hiring a trauma-clean company to work with psychics?”
“Let me explain how this was supposed to work,” Gayla began. “I make my living buying homes in various cities, fixing them up and selling them for quick profit. Sometimes I secure a partner to lower my cash up front. In this case, Owen and I were both bidding on the house. We decided to partner up to lower our expenses and split the profit. This is what I do as a main source of income. I’m sure you can appreciate how tough my business must have it during this housing crash and these difficult economic times.”
“Sure. Times are hard for everyone,” Sadie agreed. She picked up a stack of unopened bills and shuffled the envelopes in her hands.
“Right. Well, we bought the house on Halladay because it was undervalued. We got it for a song and stand to make an easy profit. That’s provided that we can get the renovations done in a timely fashion. The market is falling rather quickly in Seattle and time is of the essence. So, as you can see, I’m desperate. We’re four months behind on the renovations. My fiancé and I actually delayed our wedding until this job is completed. That’s how serious I’m taking this.”
“I understand this is rough on you, but I truly think that you’re barking up the wrong tree here,” Sadie replied. She toyed with the necklace around her neck as she talked.
“When we bought the house we got it for a deal because it stood empty for years after the murder. If word gets around it’s haunted, then we’ll be stuck with it, or end up selling at a loss. Your name was written by ghosts on the bedroom wall, and—”
“We don’t know that,” Sadie cut in. “A name was painted on the wall but we don’t know that I’m the Sadie it refers to, and we sure as hell don’t know that it was written by ghosts.”
Sadie’s fingers released the pendant and allowed it to rest warmly against her chest.
“Well, if you believe that, then it’s my loss if things don’t work out, right? How about we meet for dinner tonight to discuss an arrangement? You choose the place. My treat.”
“I don’t know. . . .”
“You have nothing to lose. At the end of the meal, if you still feel like you can’t help, we’ll part company with no hard feelings.”
Sadie had a sudden hankering for some fish stew that she’d not been able to afford on her beer budget.
“Fine. Etta’s on Western Avenue, seven o’clock,” she blurted before she could stop herself.
“Good choice. See you then,” Gayla stated and quickly ended the call before Sadie could change her mind.
After she hung up Sadie grumbled angrily to herself. She was ticked off that she’d gotten mixed up in the whole Halladay mess. Then again, she had to reluctantly admit that she needed the money, and helping the ghost of poor Iris Prior wouldn’t be entirely a bad thing. Deciding she needed to get out and clear her head, Sadie slipped on shorts and a T-shirt and headed out for a two-mile jog. She tried to run at least three times a week. It was cheaper than joining a gym.
***
When she returned home she went around the back of the house and examined last night’s damage. A heavy branch had split the doorjamb. There was a very large tree in her neighbor’s yard overlooking her house. It must’ve been some gust of wind that forced it through her back door.
She wasn’t exactly a carpenter, but she managed to use a drill and long screws to hold the jamb together enough that the door would lock again. After that workout, she headed for the shower, pausing only to text Zack good morning.
After she dressed she fed Hairy and took a toasted bagel with cream cheese to her den to eat while she checked e-mails. There’d been no reply to the message sent to Hugh Pacheo telling him that she’d completed the job. She tried the phone number she had for him but, once again, the call went to an automated message saying the number was not in service. Sadie wasn’t worried. People dealt with grief differently. Mr. Pacheo could’ve suddenly taken off on a trip to visit family, or he could just be hunkering down in a depressive state and not returning messages.
After lunch Sadie glared at her cell phone, willing it to chime with a text from Zack, but the device remained sullen and unresponsive. Sometimes technology sucked. Twice she started to dial his phone number and both times she put the phone back down.
Instead she decided to busy herself with work. She put a call in to the Hotel Pacifica, the site of the second prostitute murder, to see if she co
uld offer her cleanup services. She had Googled the number for the hotel and discovered the name of the manager, then punched in the main number and asked for Ms. Bev Hummel.
Although she answered the phone and politely listened to Sadie discuss the nature of her call, the woman was understandably reluctant to talk about the recent murder at her hotel.
“The comfort and security of the patrons here at Hotel Pacifica is my first and foremost concern,” Bev Hummel said calmly. “At this time we are, of course, allowing investigators free rein in the hotel to do whatever is necessary to solve this crime.”
“I appreciate that,” Sadie replied with an equally calm voice, intentionally leaving out the desperation for work that penny-pinching can create. “This is merely a courtesy call to let you know that my company is available to assist you in cleanup once the police have done their job. Scene-2-Clean will work with your insurance company and, also, you have my word that there will be no disruption or inconvenience to the patrons of the Pacifica.”
“Did your company also assist at the recent unfortunate incident at the Bay Eminence?”
Sadie smiled because she had been hoping that Bev Hummel would ask precisely that exact question.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to reveal my clientele,” Sadie stated smoothly.
“I think you just did, but I appreciate your discretion.”
Bingo.
“You’re welcome to ask Seattle Police Detective Dean Petrovich for a reference. I’ve worked closely with Seattle PD many times.”
“I’ll be sure to do that. Let me get your contact information.”
Sadie gave the manager the Scene-2-Clean office phone number, her personal cell phone number, and the company e-mail address. She would’ve offered her blood type and bra size if it would help her get the job.
After ending the call Sadie caught up on paperwork. She checked and double-checked to see if there were any outstanding accounts that had yet to pay for her services. Unfortunately she would’ve had more luck searching her sofa cushions for loose change. She did that later and found almost enough to cover the cost for parking for her dinner meeting later.
By the time she’d watched an old movie on TV and checked her phone a dozen times to see if Zack had texted back, it was time to get ready for her dinner date with Gayla Woods.
Maeva called just after Sadie finished applying some mascara. She was surprised to hear Sadie was meeting the co-owner of the Halladay Street house for dinner.
“After last night I was sure you wanted nothing to do with the place.”
“And don’t think that I’m not still pissed at you for not telling me up front about it,” Sadie snipped. “But it’s no big deal. Gayla Woods convinced me to hear her out on the subject of working with the Thingvolds, and she’s buying me dinner at Etta’s with no strings attached, so I agreed.”
“You said yes because money’s tight and this way you get dinner out at one of your favorite restaurants,” Maeva chided.
“That’s a definite bonus.” Sadie had the phone under her chin while she tugged on her black jeans and a deep purple sweater to ward off the evening chill. “Do you think I’ll luck out with parking midweek on Western Avenue?”
“Probably not on Western,” Maeva said. “There’s a parking garage up on Lenore, and that’s not too far.”
“It’s too far if I decide to wear my knee-high black suede boots with the three-inch heels.”
“Wow you’re getting gussied up to go out for dinner with a woman you’ve never met?” Maeva smiled. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been out.”
“I’ve had to make a lot of hard choices since business dropped off. I’m buying single-ply toilet paper and no-name kibble for Hairy. Dining out isn’t a priority, but yes, it’s nice to have an excuse to wear heels.” Sadie went into the bathroom to touch up her lipstick and brush her hair.
“At least Zack is trying to be responsible here. Going all the way to Portland just to work as a crappy security guard and part-time private investigator. I’m sure all the counselors at Whispering Groves told him he needed to keep busy so he didn’t relapse. At least he’s doing what he’s told.”
“Did they tell him not to text me regularly? And do you think the counselors also told him to avoid performing his boyfriendly duties around the house?”
“Sex? I doubt they’d advise against it, but it’s a definite possibility they told him to take a hard look at all his relationships.”
“Well, he’s not looking very hard at ours.” Sadie walked to the living room and sank heavily onto the sofa. “Or maybe he is and he’s just not liking what he sees.”
“You need to talk to him. Ask him flat out where his head’s at.”
“You’re right.” Sadie worried her bottom lip. “Next time we talk I’m going to demand to know what’s up.”
“No, you’re not going to demand anything. You’re going to share how you feel and ask how he feels.” Maeva laughed. “Look at it this way. You guys were strong once, right? Sure, an accident caused by a crazy ghost hurt him and he fell back into the Vicodin addiction that caused him to lose his job as a cop. That doesn’t mean he stopped loving you.”
Why does it feel like it?
Osbert’s shrill cry in the background saved her from having to tell her best friend that she was afraid Zack would choose to say adios instead of I love you.
Sadie shouted good-bye to Maeva over her godson’s cries, then snagged her new large purse and headed to her car.
As she feared, there was no parking on Western and the garage on Lenore was also full. She found space in a U-Park lot on First, but then she had to hoof it downhill, taking Virginia to Western. Her feet were holding up in the high-heeled boots but only because she was bolstered by the idea of the meal to come.
She walked into Etta’s and gave Gayla Woods’s name to the hostess, who showed her to a booth in front of the large picture window. A thirtysomething brunette in a business suit was chatting on her cell phone.
“You must be Sadie?” she asked, covering the phone with her hand. When Sadie nodded Gayla pointed across from her. “Have a seat. I’ll just be a minute.”
Sadie ordered a glass of wine and it arrived before Gayla Woods ended her call.
“Sorry about that,” she said. “Business. You know how it is.”
“Sure.” Sadie offered her a tight smile.
“Well, no reason why we shouldn’t order first and discuss work later,” Gayla said brightly.
Sadie lifted up the menu and studied it intently even though she already knew what she wanted. “I haven’t been here in ages and I’ve been craving the fishmonger’s stew all day.”
“Then you should have it,” proclaimed a male voice.
Sadie lowered her menu to find Owen Sorkin looking down at her with a huge grin.
“Oh. Hello.” Sadie felt a flutter of annoyance that she hadn’t been warned it wouldn’t be just the two of them.
“When I told Owen I was meeting you, he insisted on coming along,” Gayla explained, rolling her eyes.
“We are partners on the house,” Owen piped up in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Of course,” Gayla said. “So have a seat.”
Owen sat down in the booth next to Sadie. She slid over toward the window but he only slid closer until they were sitting thigh-to-thigh.
When the waiter appeared to take their orders Owen and Gayla both ordered appetizers in addition to a main course, so it looked like there’d be little hope of getting out of the restaurant fast. Plus, she was barricaded into the booth by Owen, so it would be awkward to try to leave gracefully.
They made polite conversation, with Gayla doing most of the talking, and man oh man could that woman talk. She spouted at a nervously
quick pace about renovations involving refinishing oak flooring and replacing countertops with granite. Owen put in the odd word of agreement but mostly sat next to Sadie, stealing longing glances at her cleavage and making Sadie regret her choice of a V-neck sweater.
By the time the main course had arrived and all the small talk seemed to have exhausted itself, Sadie plunged into her fish stew along with the topic everyone else had been avoiding.
“I appreciate you’re in a hurry to do your renovations and now there’s this issue at the house,” Sadie began, blowing on a spoonful of stew to cool it off before placing it in her mouth. “But I’m sure whatever this minor setback is, the Thingvolds can take care of it. Rosemary and Rick are really very knowledgeable about . . . this kind of thing. You really don’t need me.”
“Ahhh, but we do need you. The ghost said so, remember?” Owen said, leaning in to whisper the comment softly in her ear.
“More accurately,” his partner corrected, “someone painted that message—nobody said it—and although we’re not entirely sure what the hell it’s all about, we’re determined not to leave any stone unturned.” She put down her fork and asked Sadie, “You’re aware of the previous history of the house?”
“Very sad.” Owen shook his head.
“Yes, a crazy mom poisoned her fourteen-year-old in a botched exorcism and then killed herself in jail.”
“Obviously you’ve done your research. That’s good.” Gayla picked up her fork and resumed eating while she talked. “So you can see why the house took a long time to sell. Then we come along. All we want is to fix the place up inside and out and make sure that everybody forgets about that little mishap.”
Sadie didn’t agree with calling the murder of a child a mishap, but she didn’t say so—mostly because her mouth was full of stew. She swallowed and then asked, “Why don’t you try hiring other workers?”
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