Ordinary Angels

by India Drummond

  “I got a little visit Tuesday,” Zoë said, watching Marco closely. “From a friend of yours. Someone interested in keys.”

  “Now, Zoë,” he said, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.

  “He came back Friday, when he hadn’t gotten what he wanted. He stole my entire key collection, although how he found it is beyond me. That I could live with. Just things, after all. But someone interrupted his escapade and that person is now dead.” Marco lost his smile instantly.

  “Zoë, I didn’t have anything to do with that,” Marco said, but his voice had gone up in pitch.

  “See, you know how I know that isn’t true? He asked about my ‘Uncle Henry’.”

  “So?”

  “Henry wasn’t my uncle. And you were the only one in the entire world to whom I’d ever called Henry that. You made some snide comment about me buying gifts for an older man, and I covered by saying he was family.” She fought not to blush at how stupid she’d been. “He was just some nice old guy at my work. When someone stole the keys, Marco, most of which I’d bought in your shop, did you really think I wouldn’t put it together?” Okay, so it had taken her longer than it should have. But she’d been distracted.

  “Look, someone needed to find this key. It had ended up in the display by accident.” All traces of the flamboyant accent had completely disappeared. “He was desperate to have it back. I gave him your name. That’s all.”

  “Desperate? Why, Marco? Why would someone be so distressed over something like that?”

  “I wish I knew,” Marco whined, “It doesn’t make any sense to me either. He said the key opened something valuable, but I know my antiques, and that key was nothing special.”

  “Obviously you don’t know as much as you thought you did.” Zoë snorted. “You sent this guy to my work?”

  “I had to tell him. Honestly, Zoë I didn’t have any choice. I might have told him where to find you, but that was all. He said he wanted to talk to you. Ask to buy it back.” Marco licked his lips.

  “Uh huh,” she said with disdain. “You didn’t have to do that, Marco. I would have helped you out.”

  “I never meant for anything to happen.” Marco’s voice was thin, and sweat had broken out on his forehead. He mopped it with a linen handkerchief. “When you didn’t respond, he assumed you planned to hold out.” After a brief pause he said, “Have you talked to the police?”

  “Not yet.” She knew the police wouldn’t do anything. They seemed to believe Kent had died of natural causes, and she didn’t think they’d thank her for bringing this new bit of information to light. The keys had been trifles, and none very expensive. Not knowing where Henry had gone bothered her, but scaring away a spirit was hardly a crime. Zoë shook her head. “I want the guy’s name.”

  “Zoë, I can’t have the police involved.”

  “Marco, honey.” she smiled without humor. “I might look like a ditzy secretary to you, but believe me, there are things about me that would surprise you. If I have to send someone here to get the name from you, it isn’t going to be the police, and I promise you, you will tell them what they want to know.” Okay, she was stretching the truth. Thomas and Alexander weren’t her personal thugs and she had no idea if they’d do what she asked, but Marco had already proven threats worked on him.

  Marco met her eyes for a long, hard moment. When Zoë didn’t back down, he flinched. “Peter Delancy.”

  Zoë sighed, not unsympathetic to Marco’s fear. “Henry is gone,” she said, more to herself than Marco.

  “Darling, you didn’t tell me your friend was the one that died!” Marco tutted and made large consoling gestures. “But all this was a horrible accident. You know me, darling. I’d never have told this…associate…where to find you if I thought he meant any harm.”

  Zoë started to set him straight about Henry not being the one who died, but decided not to bother since she didn’t believe Marco thought this Peter Delancy person harmless. She could tell he was scared, and Marco, even with his flamboyant personality, didn’t seem the type to spook easily. She didn’t like that she enjoyed seeing Marco upset, but she did. Besides, Henry was dead, so it was only half a lie.

  She pondered going to the police. She hoped she wouldn’t see this guy again, but if he got what he wanted, surely he wouldn’t return. But then, if he thought Zoë saw him, he wouldn’t want to leave witnesses. Explaining to the police why she kept a collection of keys in her company boiler room would take enough creativity as it was. She’d think of something, if it came to that.

  As she arrived at the shop’s entrance, Marco made a display of giving her a goodbye kiss. “I’m sorry about this, Zoë, about your friend. I thought he was just going to ask to buy the key back.” He lowered his voice.

  After a few air kisses from Marco and some more empty reassurances that he’d take care of everything, Zoë returned to her car, trying to decide what to do next. The part she hated most in mystery novels was where someone had a key piece of information but didn’t tell anyone. That was always the precise moment they got conked on the head and thrown into a ditch. Obviously she had to tell someone—and quickly.

  She gripped the steering wheel. It was her fault. If she hadn’t bought Henry those keys, none of this would have happened. And it was Simone’s fault. If she had left a message for Zoë about this fake delivery person, she would have sold the key back to the guy, or given it to him for that matter.

  She sighed. To know for sure what had happened to Kent, she’d have to ask Henry. That seemed the much smarter option than finding this “associate” of Marco’s on her own. This was another sure-fire way to end up in trouble deeper than she could get out of. She was a lot of things, but not stupid. After getting the non-emergency number for the police in San Mateo, she called and asked to talk to the person investigating the death of Kent McGee at Fiskers.

  “Homicide. Esteves.”

  “Uh, hi. You’re investigating Kent McGee’s death at Fiskers Technology Group?”

  “Who are you, please?”

  “Zoë Pendergraft. I found him.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Did you have any more information about the incident?”

  “Yeah. I saw someone coming up from the boiler room when I went down the stairs. I, uh, recognized him, and he didn’t belong at Fiskers. His name is Peter Delancy. I’ve seen him before at this antique store I go to all the time. Marco’s on Union Street. I wasn’t sure what his name was, but I just asked the owner.”

  “And you have reason to believe Mr. McGee’s death wasn’t natural?”

  “I don’t know anything of the kind. I just know Peter Delancy was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be, so I thought I should tell someone.” Zoë stared out the window, not sure if she was being really smart or really stupid. “It just seems to me if this person did do something to Kent, if I recognized him, he’d probably recognize me too, right?”

  “Can you come by the station so we can talk this over?”

  “Sure. Tomorrow on my lunch hour, if that’s okay.” He asked her a couple more questions she’d already answered twice, and in the end agreed to let her come in tomorrow to sign her statement. Zoë felt she’d done her thing by telling them Peter Delancy’s name, even though she’d only done it to avoid the classic mystery-movie deathtrap, figuring now that she’d told someone official, nothing bad would happen. It wasn’t logical, and if she was honest, she just wanted some time to think how she’d keep herself from sounding like a nut job. If they questioned her more closely about why she had gone to the boiler room in the first place, she’d have to do some quick thinking.

  She hung up the phone and pondered. The important question, other than the cause of Kent’s death, was if this information would get Henry off the hook with the Powers? She needed to call Thomas and see what she could do about that. Looking at her short list of recently called numbers, she found his and redialed.

  The usual warm female voice answered the phone. “Good afternoon. Thomas’ office.
”

  “This is Zoë Pendergraft calling for Thomas, please.”

  “I’m sorry,” the woman said in a sympathetic and soothing tone. “Thomas is at the High Court. Can someone else help you? One of his associates?”

  Thomas has associates? “No, I’m afraid not. Any idea how long he’ll be?” Zoë said, hoping she could also get some word on how Alexander’s hearing was going, in addition to asking for help with Henry.

  “No, I’m sorry. When he checks in, I’ll tell him you phoned.” The line was abruptly disconnected.

  Zoë noticed she hadn’t asked for a return number, but then nothing ever seemed to stop angels from finding her. She stared at the phone for a second, frustrated and annoyed by the dead ends, and uncomfortable about the whole situation. She thought through the possibilities and couldn’t come up with one single thing she could do to hurry things along, either with finding Henry or with Alexander’s hearing.

  She started to call Simone and see if she wanted to have a girl’s night in, but decided just as she was about to hit the button to connect that an evening alone wouldn’t be horrible. Once she got home though, cleaned everything she could stand to clean, washed her hair and painted her toenails, she couldn’t deal with the silence anymore. Even Gran wasn’t about, and darkness had completely fallen.

  Zoë caved and hoped Simone would pick up, secretly glad that the apparent new boyfriend had this “Chicago thing”. “Simone,” she said, “I need some company. Want to bring over some Chinese?”

  “Damn, I hear you. I’ll be there at seven. Go get us a movie, and not a chick-flick either. No crying. Let’s watch things blow up.”

  Zoë agreed, feeling happier knowing Simone would arrive soon. So she sucked at living alone sometimes. So what? Alone was overrated. Right now, she needed a friend.

  Chapter 14

  By the time Monday morning rolled around, Zoë felt prepared for her meeting with Detective Esteves at lunchtime. She had worried for nothing, though. When she went to make her statement, Esteves wrote down everything she’d said on the phone, asked for a description of the person she saw, and then repeated the same questions she’d been asked at the scene. As far as she could tell, they still thought Kent had died of natural causes, but they were tight-lipped about the whole thing. She tried to worm a bit more out of them, but all she got was their thanks for “coming forward”. What a waste of time.

  After lunch, Zoë realized she was worried about Alexander. The police business had distracted her, but with that taken care of, she now had time to notice that she hadn’t heard a word about his hearing in the past twenty-four hours. Monday slid into Tuesday, and by then she was close to frantic. How could the hearing take this long? And why the hell hadn’t Thomas returned her call? She thought about calling again, but believed without a doubt the message had gotten through, and he just wasn’t willing or able to speak to her. Angels, she reasoned, wouldn’t forget to give a message, and she doubted things slipped their minds.

  Finally, around four in the afternoon, her cellphone beeped once and then vibrated, indicating she had an unread text message. I’m coming to get you. Relieved it was from Thomas, Zoë grinned, even though beneath it all she did not feel particularly cheerful. She knew Thomas wouldn’t understand why the message sounded like a threat straight out of a B horror movie any more than Alexander would. For an angel who prided himself on his thorough understanding of humans, and despite Thomas’ admitted disapproval of her relationship with Alexander, he could be clueless sometimes. Even though it meant nothing, she enjoyed the fleeting sense of superiority.

  The feeling passed as soon as she saw him pop into the room right next to her desk. His skin and clothing were tinged with blue, telling her most people wouldn’t be able to see him. She smiled when she saw him, but her smile faded when she saw his expression. “Thomas, what’s wrong?” she whispered once she made certain no one else could overhear them.

  “The High Court is in recess right now,” he said, fading to normal visibility. He plopped himself down next to her desk.

  “It’s not going well?”

  “They want to hear your testimony first-hand,” he said.

  “Okay.” Zoë waited. She knew Thomas had hoped to avoid this, and she worried what this would mean. “What if I refuse to testify?”

  Thomas looked up, his eyes sharp and probing. “No,” he said.

  “What if I do? They can’t force me. It’s not like a human court where I’ll get held in contempt, is it? How can they arrest me? I didn’t even know they existed until a week ago. Look, if it’s going to hurt Alexander’s case, I’ll refuse.”

  “Zoë, when the celestial High Court summons someone, they go.”

  “Or what? I’m only asking, you know. I’m not saying I refuse. I just want to know what my options are.”

  Thomas stood, took her arm and pulled her close to him. “You have no options, Zoë. If you do not go, they will come get you. If you do not want to speak, they will compel you. This is not a formality. You have no choice.”

  Her stubborn streak flared. “I always have a choice.” She jerked her arm away from him even though she didn’t feel as confident as she hoped she’d sounded. “Don’t worry. If you tell me going is the best thing for Alexander, I’ll go. But if it’s not, I’ll refuse. I’ll get my own lawyer if I have to.”

  “Is everything okay here?” Marilyn’s voice came from her office doorway. Before either of them had a chance to answer, Marilyn looked at Thomas. “Who the hell are you?” Turning to Zoë she said, “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Zoë said, although she didn’t feel fine. Thomas had wound himself into a tizzy and the tension tainted her mood. She had to relax and smooth things over if she was going to help in court. “I have to leave, Marilyn,” she said. “I cleared it with Personnel. I’m testifying in court today.”

  Thomas relaxed at that pronouncement, but Marilyn’s eyes narrowed. “Today? Zoë, it’s after four.”

  Zoë shrugged and bent down to get her bag. “I know. Crazy, huh?” When she’d gathered her things under Marilyn’s watchful, but slightly confused supervision, she turned to Thomas. “Shall we?”

  He nodded to Zoë and then gave Marilyn a small bow, to which she responded with an incline of her head. The entire scene would have seemed comical to Zoë if she wasn’t growing more terrified by the minute. After they made their way to the Fiskers entrance, Zoë said, “Thomas, why are you upset? What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” he said, and without any warning, he again touched her on the arm, but more gently this time. “May I?” She looked up at him, not certain at first what he meant.

  “Sure, but…” she started, and suddenly they shifted together. It was much like when Alexander had whooshed her places, as she called it, but this journey jarred her senses. A hard chill went through Zoë’s body and made her bones ache, as though a thousand human spirits invaded her at once or like she’d been dunked in a river flowing straight from a frozen mountaintop. The process left her in agony. She couldn’t move or breathe. She would have struggled, but her body no longer responded to her brain’s commands. Her eyes saw nothing but black for horrifying moments, and then suddenly light surrounded her from every direction, and she collapsed into Thomas’ arms.

  Zoë gasped for breath and shook all over. “Dammit,” she whispered, just before losing consciousness.

  When Zoë opened her eyes again, her first thought was how annoying it was that she’d passed out twice in a week. Kick-ass independent women, a group she always wanted to belong to, did not faint, for goodness’ sake. If this kept up, she’d have to…as this thought flitted into her head, it faded away when she realized she was nowhere. Not just nowhere in particular, but literally nowhere.

  She sat with her head in Thomas’ lap, a far more intimate pose than she had ever wanted to adopt with him. Moving into an upright position, she looked around. The two of them sat on a gray stone b
ench placed on a flat gray surface. It went on forever. As far as Zoë could see in any direction—nothing. No walls, no horizon, no ceiling, not even a sky. Gray above, gray below, and it never stopped. She turned to Thomas. “I feel sick,” she said, and thrust her head down between her knees.

  “Sorry about that,” he said. “Your entrance was blocked. Well, not just yours, but all humans. Took a moment to sort out with the authorities.”

  Zoë wanted to ask why. It wasn’t not like humans could get here without an escort anyway, or could they? Her good sense told her to stick to the more pressing matters. “So, uh, what now?”

  Thomas had gotten even more tense than he had been at Fiskers. “When the court reconvenes, they’ll come get us.”

  “Can I see Alexander?” She looked around, hoping in vain that he’d pop up.

  “No, witnesses are held in isolation. Since you’re not one of us, I assumed this experience would be disconcerting for you. I asked to stay with you while you wait.”

  Zoë sighed and straightened up, even though her head still throbbed. “Thank you.” Disconcerted wouldn’t have begun to cover how she would have felt if she’d woken up here alone. “Thomas, why are you upset? Can you tell me how things are going so far?”

  “As to my discomfort, no Free Angel would find comfort here, especially me.”

  “But you’re a lawyer, Thomas. Don’t you come here all the time?”

  Thomas chuckled. “I’m Alexander’s advocate. I’m not a human lawyer. I don’t come to the celestial realm any more often than I have to. As to the hearing, there isn’t much to tell. They’ve questioned Alexander, Celion and few others.”

  “Celion. Alexander’s mentor, right?”