Parrish

by Shannen Crane Camp

The small waiting room I found myself in was the exact same one I’d dreamed of the night before. I may have been a paranormal investigator, but I wasn’t very well-versed in psychics and visions and things. In fact, I wasn’t quite sure I believed in them at all.

  But I knew that I had somehow dreamed about a room I’d never seen in my life, only to be standing in that place the very next day. Maybe I should have been a believer.

  A small smile beginning to form on my face, I turned to my left and began walking toward the back offices, knowing exactly what I needed and where I’d find it. Whatever was in that large envelope in the safe was important. I’d said so myself in my dream. Now I’d just have to remember the combination to the safe.

  “Um, excuse me, ma’am—can I help you with something?” the woman behind the front desk asked.

  I put my hand down at my side, not realizing I had extended it to open the door I probably wasn’t supposed to open. For some reason I panicked and couldn’t think of a thing to say—instead I just froze there, staring at the door in front of me in shock.

  “Sadie?” Jefferson said in concern. “Sadie, say something to her.”

  “Right,” I said, shaking my head to gather my thoughts. Putting on a bright smile and turning to the receptionist, I let out a little laugh. “Sorry! I was totally on autopilot.”

  She was smiling, but gave me an odd look.

  “This office is set up just like mine. Do you ever have those days where it’s just go to work, go home, and go to bed? It’s like you don’t even have to think, you just sort of move. Good thing I didn’t ask you for my memos, huh?”

  The woman let out a breathy little laugh and the tension was instantly broken, which was great because my next plan if she didn’t go for the “autopilot” thing was to make a break for it and try to run away in the impossibly high heels.

  “I think we all have days like that,” she replied with a conspiratorial wink.

  “I almost forgot why I was here,” I said, keeping my smile much too big and bright. “I was considering using this law firm for a consultation on some legal issues my company is facing.”

  “Well, Mr. Meyer is in a meeting right now, but I think he’ll be available around one today. I can pencil you in if you’d like.”

  “That would be fantastic, Jenny,” I said, reading the little plaque on her desk and wrinkling my nose at her. I was being way too cheesy for my own good. It was awful.

  Jenny filled out an appointment card for me and updated the schedule in the computer.

  “Ask her about the ghosts!” Deacon shouted in my ear.

  “Are you crazy? I said no ghost talk. Just ask about the history . . . but in a natural way,” Brighton said.

  Their instructions were distracting.

  “So, in doing some research on this firm, I noticed it underwent a name change after it was first established,” I prodded.

  “Did it?” Jenny asked.

  “Yeah, it used to be Livingston and Meyer and now it’s just Meyer Law Offices. The title was so nice before—why did they change it?”

  “Oh goodness,” Jefferson said in my earpiece.

  I guess he didn’t think I was acting natural enough.

  “She’s got this,” Brighton said.

  “No, she’s going off the rails. This lady is going to kick her out.”

  “Jefferson, get back here!”

  “I didn’t know they’d changed the name,” the woman continued, distracted by whatever she was finishing up on the computer.

  “I only ask because I’m a bit of a history buff and I thought it might be an interesting story,” I said, just as Jefferson walked into the waiting room with something in his hand.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment, sir,” she said to him without looking up.

  Jefferson, however, wasn’t looking at either of us. Instead he sat on the bench behind me and began messing around with the potted plant there. I widened my eyes at him as I realized what he was doing.

  Somehow, planting a camera in a law office with a live feed to our computer didn’t seem like the safest thing to do. He was going to get us all arrested. Which, of course, meant it was my task to keep the receptionist distracted.

  “I read that the law firm was founded by Mr. Meyer and a Thatcher Livingston,” I said, repeating anything I could think of from our research to keep the woman’s focus on me. “What ever happened to Mr. Livingston?”

  “Sadie, stop!” Brighton said in my ear. “You sound totally suspicious right now.”

  The receptionist kept her smile in place as she looked up at me, although her eyes were slightly narrowed.

  “What did you say your name was?” she asked.

  “Don’t tell her,” Brighton and Deacon said together.

  “For the appointment,” the woman added, smiling a bit too sweetly.

  I kept my eyes locked on her, feeling my heart begin to beat faster and scrambling for a fake name. Any fake name. Why could I suddenly not think of a single name?

  A bell chimed as the door to the law office closed, making me jump in surprise.

  “Well, I guess he was in a hurry and couldn’t be bothered to wait,” the woman joked, trying to lighten the mood.

  She probably knew she was coming on a bit strong. Of course, that made me sound like Jefferson, thinking there was some big conspiracy and even the receptionist was in on it.

  “Eva,” I finally said.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  I could hear Brighton groan audibly in my earpiece.

  “Sadie’s not allowed to do undercover work anymore,” Deacon said.

  “Amen to that,” Jefferson agreed.

  I guess he’d made it back to the car.

  “My name is Eva,” I repeated, taking the card from the woman. “I’ll see you in a few hours for the appointment.”

  The receptionist didn’t say anything to my retreating form, but she did get up from her desk and hightail it to the back offices with impressive speed. I guess I’d hit a nerve with the names I’d been dropping.

  “Sadie, why on earth would you say your name was Eva?” Deacon asked, his voice echoing as I could hear him both in the car that was now within view and in my earpiece.

  “I panicked.”

  “Clearly,” he said with an exasperated sigh.

  “Both of you be quiet. I want to hear what that receptionist is saying,” Jefferson said, his eyes closed as I got into the Jeep.

  “We should probably park somewhere a bit less conspicuous,” Brighton said.

  “Fine, but do it quietly,” Jefferson said.

  Deacon started up the Jeep and pulled around the corner into a little parking lot behind the building. We weren’t able to drive too far away or we’d lose the signal to our camera.

  “I can only catch bits and pieces of what she’s saying, but I heard her mention Thatcher. I think it’s safe to say she does know something.” Jefferson absently placed a hand on my bare knee as he kept his eyes closed, listening to the conversation

  I wasn’t sure why he was touching me, but I tried to ignore it as I stared at the laptop screen between Deacon and Brighton in the front seat. The camera was partially covered by leaves from the plant, but we had a clear view of the receptionist’s desk and the door to the office spaces in the back.

  The conversation going on behind closed doors was audible, but I had no idea how Jefferson was able to make out anything they were saying. His eyes were still closed and his brow was furrowed as he listened. Every once in a while he’d run his thumb over my knee and give me goose bumps, which I kind of hated him for, but I didn’t dare push his hand away when he was in the zone. I didn’t want to be the reason he lost track of the conversation.

  “Sounds like Mr. Meyer isn’t too happy about your visit, Sade,” Jefferson whispered, so quietly I could barely hear him.

  As soon as Jefferson finished speaking, the door to the office flew open and out stor
med a tall, good-looking man in a suit. His secretary hurried over to her desk and typed something quickly into her computer as the man, who I was assuming was Mr. Meyer, stopped and looked over at her.

  “When she comes in for the appointment, make up an excuse as to why I can’t meet with her, and if you see her in here again, call the police and say she was harassing you,” he told her. “I’ll be back.”

  With that, he pulled a large envelope out from under his arm, placed it in his briefcase, and walked out the front door.

  “That’s it!” I said.

  My exclamation caused even Jefferson to jump in shock as his hand grasped my knee in surprise.

  “That’s the envelope we need!” I explained.

  Mr. Meyer walked around the corner and into the parking lot where we were currently hiding out.

  “Shoot, get down,” I whispered to our group.

  Brighton and Deacon slouched down in their chairs and Jefferson pushed me over a little too forcefully onto the bench seat in the back, crushing me underneath him. I held my breath, listening for footsteps that I couldn’t hear and praying a car engine would start up soon so I could relax a little.

  A soft click let me know that Deacon or Brighton had closed the laptop, which was good, since the screen held an image of Mr. Meyer’s office waiting room. That might look just a bit suspicious if he caught us.

  “If I wasn’t so worried about being arrested by that man, I’d quite be enjoying myself right now,” Jefferson whispered, letting one long finger trace my collarbone.

  “You’re ridiculous,” I whispered back.

  “Have I told you how much I love that dress on you?” he asked, arching one eyebrow up rakishly.

  “He just started his car,” I said loudly enough for Brighton and Deacon to hear, pushing Jefferson off of me and ignoring the butterflies that always picked the most inopportune times to show up in my stomach. “Deacon, we have to follow him wherever he’s going. We have to get what’s inside that envelope.”

  “Why are you so jacked up about the envelope?” Deacon asked. He still followed my instructions, though, making sure to keep a good distance from Anthony Meyer’s car.

  “I dreamed about it last night,” I informed him.

  I was trying to sound natural about the whole thing, but there was just no good way to put that.

  “You what?” Jefferson asked, no longer flirting and suddenly all business. “Why wouldn’t you tell me about that?”

  “I didn’t tell you guys,” I said, so that Brighton wouldn’t be suspicious of our non-relationship, “because I thought it was kind of a ridiculous thing to bring up. I’m not psychic.”

  “Well, you dreamed about the envelope.”

  “And the office building,” I admitted.

  “Seriously, Sadie?” Jefferson asked. “Unbelievable.”

  “I didn’t think it was a big deal,” I said.

  “At least we know it’s important,” Brighton said. “Deacon, just make sure you stay far enough back that he doesn’t notice us. It looks like he’s paranoid enough right now as it is. He’s probably looking for tails.”

  “Roger that,” Deacon replied, enjoying this pursuit far too much.

  “I just can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me something like that,” Jefferson said, sounding very put out. “Did you also dream about who our beneficiary is? Or maybe what the link between these four places is, and you just forgot to tell us?”

  “Stop pouting—we need to concentrate on getting whatever is inside of that envelope,” I said, trying not to look at Jefferson as he huffed at me.

  “You probably already know,” he complained.

  He really was like a child sometimes.

  “In my dream, I walked into the office building and then another version of myself followed me in, led me to Anthony Meyer’s office, got the envelope out of a safe and handed it to me. Then she said, ‘This is important,’ and I woke up. That was my entire dream. I promise from now on I’ll keep a detailed dream journal every morning for you.”

  “See, you say that, but I know you won’t,” Jefferson said, sounding less upset now. “And I would pay big money to know what goes on in that head of yours.”

  “Big money you’d have to get from your mom,” I said with a grin.

  His smile instantly faded as he turned to look out the window, facing away from me.

  I’d unintentionally hit a nerve.

  Jefferson’s mood swings were always bad, but today he flew through them with impressive speed.

  “I love this neighborhood,” Brighton said to Deacon. “Look at all of these old houses.”

  “If you like old houses, you should come with me to England and see where I grew up,” Deacon answered, before realizing what he’d just said and quickly backtracking. “I mean, with us. All of us. We should all go there and do some investigating or spend time with family or . . . something.”

  “Oh yeah. I’m sure you guys would love to meet my family,” Jefferson said sarcastically, still mad at me for the comment about his mom.

  “They’re not that bad,” Deacon said.

  “The psychotic Temple twins?” Jefferson challenged.

  “Okay, maybe Dresden and Alistair are a bit . . . abrasive.”

  “You’re terrified of Dresden.”

  “She’s scary!” Deacon said. “And Alistair is . . . well he’s . . . sneaky.”

  “And then there’s Golden Boy Temple,” Jefferson went on in disgust.

  “Hayden isn’t bad at all. You just don’t like him because he’s a doctor.”

  “I don’t like him because he insists on calling me Jeff and he’s all buddy-buddy with my sociopathic mother.”

  “You know he’s in the states now, right?” Deacon said. “Maybe we should pay him a visit.”

  “I’ll pay his stupid fancy car a visit with a cricket bat,” Jefferson muttered.

  It made me laugh, although I quickly covered it up. I couldn’t help but smile at his obvious dislike for his family. His upbringing was no picnic, from what he’d told me, but it was still amusing to hear the way he talked about them like they were so terrible.

  “Would you please just concentrate on following this guy?” Jefferson finally said, sighing deeply and shaking his head at his cousin.

  He stole a quick glance in my direction but quickly looked away when he saw me smiling at him. I guess we weren’t ready to be friends again.

  “I think he’s stopping at that house,” Brighton whispered, even though there was no possible way Anthony Meyer could hear us. “Pass the house so we don’t look suspicious and then loop back around.”

  “Someone’s been reading her murder mysteries,” I said.

  “They help me build my investigative skills,” she answered with a shrug.

  Deacon did as he was told, driving slowly past the house and then turning around and parking a safe distance across the street. We all slouched down in our seats involuntarily as we watched Anthony get out of his car with his briefcase and go into his house at a quick clip.

  Brighton stared at the huge red Craftsman with white trim like it was a bottle of hand sanitizer in a public restroom. “I want that house.”

  “There he is,” I said, pointing at a figure through the front window.

  It looked like he was in a study or library of some sort. He leaned closer to one of the bookshelves there and opened the door to a safe I hadn’t even seen hiding amidst the dusty old volumes. Placing the envelope gingerly inside, he looked over his shoulder and shut the safe door once more.

  “At least we know where it is,” Brighton said.

  “For now,” I added. “I don’t think he’s going to keep it there long if he knows someone is asking questions that he doesn’t want asked.”

  “I knew he was a bad guy,” Jefferson said.

  I ignored him. If he was going to be moody and distant, I wasn’t going to enable him by making him think it was
okay.

  “Who is he talking to?” I asked Brighton. I leaned between the two front seats so that I was positioned between Brighton and Deacon, my hip nudging Jefferson into his corner of the back seat where he seemed content to brood.

  A moment later, a boy who looked to be in his late teens or early twenties left the house with a scowl, Anthony following closely behind him.

  “A son?” Deacon asked no one in particular.

  “Looks like it,” I agreed.

  The boy looked astonishingly like his father with his tan skin, dirty blonde hair, and handsome face.

  “Roll the window down,” I whispered to Deacon, who instantly obliged.

  “Logan, you’d better go to the mixer tonight,” Anthony said from the steps. “It’s important to mingle in your first semester and meet new people.”

  “I already told you I’d go, Dad,” the boy shot back, sounding very unhappy about whatever activity his father was forcing him to attend.

  Without another word, he got into a red sports car parked outside of the house, started it up, and drove away far too quickly for the quiet residential area filled with mansions.

  Anthony shook his head and got back into his own car before driving away, leaving the envelope safely inside of his home.

  “So, what do we do now?” I asked. “Try to break into the mansion that probably has a million security systems?”

  “No, silly,” Brighton said. “We go to the mixer at his school tonight and talk to Logan, who hates his father and might just help us out.”

  “How do you even know all of this?” Deacon asked. “I highly doubt public records keep track of familial relationships.”

  “I don’t need public records.” She held up her phone to display a picture of the boy we’d just seen. “I have Facebook.”

  Chapter 26

  “You did not just find that all out in the few seconds we’ve been here,” I said as we pulled away from the house.

  “He said his son’s name was Logan, and we already knew his last name was Meyer,” Brighton said. “It wasn’t hard to find a Logan Meyer in this area who looks like that.”

  “What do you mean, ‘looks like that’?” Deacon asked.

  “Handsome,” we both said, and then grinned at each other.