Delia's Shadow

by Moyer, Jaime Lee

  Shadow’s stare jerked away from me, her attention captured by something outside. Voices and music from The Zone, muffled and hushed by the thick tent walls, became a cacophony of deafening sound. The air in the small lounge grew icy, heavy and thick with the ghost’s anger. Breathing became difficult, each gulp of air a struggle. The room began to blur and I sank onto the settee, sick to my stomach from how my head spun. Sick as well from the fear overwhelming me, terror I couldn’t claim as just my own.

  Wind keened through the tent, ripping silk scarves off the lights and setting the electrified lanterns swinging violently. The tables rocked side to side and Sadie’s hat blew off, crashing into the far wall. She clung to Jack, wide-eyed and pale. Dora’s skirts whipped around her legs and the streamers on her turban snapped and fluttered, a mirror of the flags atop the tent. Gabe stayed beside me, one hand on my shoulder as if keeping me from blowing away.

  Shadow turned back to me, a hand stretched toward me. Her eyes plead with me, stark with a need and desperation I’d not seen before. She drifted closer and the noise from outside quieted.

  “Help them. Please…”

  Sadie’s gasp and the way Dora’s eyes narrowed let me know they’d heard, too. I dug my fingers into the settee cushion, fighting to keep myself separate and not drown in Shadow’s eyes. “I still don’t know what you want. Tell me what to do. Tell me who to help.”

  The ghost’s appearance changed. Blood trickled from a split lower lip and dripped onto her filthy white blouse. One eye was nearly swollen shut. She was barefoot, wrists and ankles scraped raw and bloody, her shawl and cross gone. She reached toward me again, her hand oddly curled.

  Her fingers were broken. I choked back nausea and tears. “Tell me!”

  “Please…” Shadow looked over her shoulder, face frantic with fear. The wind rose again, howling through the lounge and flinging stacks of heavy cushions in every direction. Both tables fell over, scattering smoldering sticks of incense across the carpet. Shadow vanished, taking the wind with her.

  I found myself staring into Jack’s eyes. His mouth was set in grim lines and he cradled Sadie against his chest, petting her hair. She was pale and frightened, but unhurt. I imagined I looked much worse.

  Gabe patted my shoulder. “Sit still and rest. We’ll have a fire if I don’t get that incense off the carpet.”

  Jack sat Sadie down next to me and went to help Gabe. She rested her head on my shoulder, tiny shivers and the unnatural lack of chatter all the signs she gave of how frightened she really was. Sadie was tougher than most gave her credit for, myself included.

  Dora shoved tattered silk streamers out of her face and stepped into the center of the room. She surveyed the damage, hands on hips and turning in a slow circle. I ignored the muttered profanity, deeply grateful she’d aimed well and I didn’t have to duck when she kicked a cushion across the room. Dora pulled her foot back to kick another when something caught her eye.

  “Damn, I need a drink. Where did this come from?” Isadora bent to pluck something off the carpet. She held out her hand, a small gold cross on a broken chain dangling from her fingers.

  Then Madame Isadora Bobet fainted dead away. I didn’t blame her in the slightest.

  CHAPTER 6

  Gabe

  Gabe drummed his fingers on the arm of the overstuffed leather chair, his need to move growing stronger the longer he sat still. Good manners glued him to his seat or he’d be pacing Sadie’s sitting room. He’d no valid reasons to be this restless, but he couldn’t shrug it off, or get past the feeling he’d left something important undone. For the life of him, he couldn’t think what that might be.

  Sorting the chaos in the spiritualist’s tent after Isadora fainted had taken time. Once a doctor was summoned and Sadie was sure Dora was in good hands, they’d all decided that going home was for the best. Neither Delia nor Sadie had said as much or complained, but it was obvious both of them were shaken and exhausted. They had good reason.

  Gabe had a patrolman summon a car to take them home. It was a silent drive for the most part, attempts at conversation brief. Sadie remained subdued and rested on Jack’s shoulder, and Delia had huddled in the corner, staring out the window.

  Truth was that he and Jack weren’t in much better shape. Gabe had no idea what had really happened in that tent or why. That was a big part of his unease, not knowing. The need to understand why Shadow reacted as she did itched as badly as a case of poison oak.

  And if he allowed himself to think about it for too long, the sudden appearance of the cross would terrify him, for buried in one of the evidence boxes stored on his father’s farm was a similar necklace. The cross and chain had been slipped into one of the letters sent to Gabe’s father, a letter meant to taunt Matt Ryan with details of how the woman suffered before she died and that the police would never find the body.

  Gabe had taken the broken chain and gold cross from the tent floor, wrapped them in a silk scarf and buttoned the tiny bundle into his coat pocket. Then he’d worked hard at reining in his imagination and convincing himself that it couldn’t be the same necklace. There had to be a logical explanation.

  Dammed if he could think of what that was.

  His father had never discovered which of the killer’s victims the cross belonged to. Now Gabe was afraid he knew. What touching the necklace did to Dora made that fear stronger.

  Sending Dora home with Daniel and two patrolmen to watch outside her house until morning was all he could do for her tonight, but a trace of guilt lingered nonetheless. Unwittingly, she’d been drawn into the circle of those who might draw the killer’s attention. Tomorrow he’d convince Isadora to accept full-time protection and work out duty assignments with the desk sergeant.

  Jack was in the parlor with Sadie now, explaining about all the extra duty the last few weeks and the secrets he’d kept. Convincing Sadie that the threat was real and her life needed to change until the killer was caught might be difficult. All she had was Jack’s worry and no real proof she was in danger. As independent and stubborn as Sadie was, that might not be enough. He wouldn’t wager any money on who would win that argument.

  Once Delia came downstairs, Gabe would have his turn talking to her. He had a hunch she’d agree to protection without a fuss. She’d only told him a little before leaving the fairgrounds, but Shadow’s appearance, the blood and the injuries, and the cross on the carpet had shaken her deeply. Delia had proof that the threat was real.

  At this rate half his squad would be watching people he thought might be in danger. He’d pull men from other squads if necessary. All Gabe cared about was that everyone, Jack and himself included, got through this investigation unhurt.

  He rubbed his forehead, trying to wipe away the headache throbbing over his right eye. A few hours ago he wouldn’t have believed the wind whipping through Dora’s tent and the overturned tables were caused by anything as outlandish as a ghost. He’d have thought it all a trick of some kind, a hoax staged for the benefit of a gullible audience. But he’d been right in the middle of what happened, witnessed the manifestation from beginning to end, and all the lingering skepticism he’d harbored about Shadow was stripped away. That made him slightly ill.

  The housekeeper, Annie, bustled back into the sitting room, balancing a wooden tray loaded down with cups, a big coffee pot, a sugar bowl and cream pitcher, and a china platter filled with more of the cookies she’d given him earlier. She fit the tray back on the top of a rosewood butler’s table close to his chair, putting everything in easy reach.

  Gabe guessed Annie must be older than fifty, but by how much he couldn’t say. Her deep-brown skin was smooth and young looking, the only wrinkles he saw fine lines around her mouth and large, dark eyes. Thin and wiry, with a long, sharp nose, she was taller than either Sadie or Delia by a good four inches. Her iron-gray hair was streaked with white and pulled up in a tight bun on the top of her head, making her look taller still. A starched white apron covered an older style chicory-bl
ue cotton dress.

  She’d asked before going back to the kitchen how he took his coffee. Annie stirred in two sugars and handed him a cup to go with the half-empty plate of cookies balanced on his knee.

  Gabe smiled. “Thank you. The cookies are very good. What did you say they were called?”

  “Spice jumbles.” Annie’s warm smile crinkled the corners of her black eyes. “My mama taught me how to make those cookies when I was nine years old. If you like them I can write the recipe out for your wife. There’s nothing special to making them. Takes almost no time to mix up the dough and she can throw in what sweet spices she has on hand to taste.”

  “If it’s not too much trouble, I’ll take the recipe for my landlady. She enjoys cooking for her boarders.” He cleared his throat and struggled with not letting his smile become a grimace. “I lost my wife in the quake, Mrs. Fletcher.”

  “I’m grieved to hear that. Sometimes God tests folk awful young.” Annie sat in the chair across from him, her shoulders slumped as if she carried the burden of his loss. “You’re not much older than Sadie. Your wife couldn’t have been much more than a child at the time.”

  “Victoria was nineteen.” Looking back from thirty, nineteen sounded very far away. Gabe couldn’t face counting the years ahead he’d spend without her.

  He just couldn’t. “Losing her was hard.”

  “Lots of us lost folk then, Gabriel. My husband was already gone, God rest his soul, but my oldest, my William, he died running from the fire. One of the Army men saw this Negro boy running down the street carrying something and thought he was a looter.” Annie fussed with her crisp white apron, no longer looking at him. “I guess they’d never seen a lunch bucket before. Shot Willie and left him lying in the street for the fire to take. All he was trying to do was get home to me. I’d never have known but a neighbor saw and told me.”

  She sounded numb, not angry. Gabe decided he’d be angry for her. He’d had lots of practice in the last nine years. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fletcher. That never should have happened.”

  “You can call me Annie if you like. No reason for Sadie and Dee’s friends to be formal.” Annie stood and settled her ankle-length skirts. She refilled his plate from the big platter of cookies and smiled. “God tells us to forgive and I’ve done my best. I’ve got to get back to the kitchen and start the bread for morning, but I’ll bring the recipe in before you go.” She patted his shoulder on the way past. “Give it to your landlady with my blessing. Jack and Sadie are still talking, but I checked on Delia and she’ll be down shortly. You won’t be sitting by your lonesome long.”

  Gabe had finished off a second plate of cookies and most of his coffee before he heard Delia’s heels clicking on terra-cotta tile floors in the large entryway. He was already on his feet as she came into the room.

  She waved him back into his seat and sat in Annie’s chair. “Sit down, Gabe. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting for so long, but Esther was awake and I needed to get her settled.” Delia gestured at the cookie platter and his empty, crumb-covered plate. “I see Annie treated you to her best cookies. She must like you.”

  “I’ll have to make sure to stay on her good side.” He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees and hands clasped. Putting this off would only make it harder. “I know it’s been a long night already, but we need to talk, Delia.”

  “Officially, you mean.” Delia sat up straight, hands folded in her lap. “Given the shouting coming from the parlor, I’m going to guess Jack is having a similar conversation with Sadie.”

  He’d heard muffled voices a few times and one loud crash, but no more than that. Not enough to tell him if Jack was holding his own. “Who’s winning?”

  She smiled, just a little. “I didn’t linger long enough to eavesdrop. But just based on volume, I think Jack might be ahead. I’m not willing to count Sadie out just yet.” Delia looked him in the eye, all traces of humor gone. “Go ahead and tell me, Gabe. I’m not as excitable as Sadie. You have my promise not to yell.”

  “I won’t hold you to that promise.” Gabe cast about for a place to start, all his careful rehearsal forgotten. Telling her about the murders and asking his questions was so much easier when it all happened in his head. “Jack and I have been working on a series of murders for the last three months. We don’t have much in the way of leads and catching the killer will take time. I—Jack and I—feel that having men from our squad watch this house until we find this man is a wise precaution. I’m also going to urge you to accept a police escort anytime you leave the house.”

  She tipped her head to one side, her expression carefully neutral. “You really think this is necessary because of the case you’re working on?”

  Gabe nodded. “I do. Jack agrees. He’s telling Sadie the same thing right now.”

  Delia took a deep breath before she spoke. “The two of you have been detectives for years. You must work on murder cases all the time. I’m willing to believe that you honestly think we need protection, but I need to know why. What frightens the two of you so much?”

  He’d told Jack to tell Sadie everything. Gabe couldn’t do any less, especially not with the memory of a stranger watching Delia at the café so fresh. “There is a chance—there is a strong possibility that people close to the detectives working the case are in danger. We’re afraid that you and Sadie might draw this killer’s attention.”

  Her chin came up, a challenge in her eyes. “That’s all well and good, and I’m sure you have your reasons. But you still haven’t told me why, Detective Ryan. I’d like to know what kind of danger Sadie and I are in.”

  “This is an ongoing investigation, so I can’t give you all the details, but I’ll tell you what I can. It’s not pleasant. A lot of it will be hard to hear.” Gabe closed his eyes briefly and rubbed his forehead again. The headache was worse. “I know you’re tired, but I need to ask some questions when I’m finished.”

  She stared over his shoulder for an instant, her eyes losing focus, watching the ghost. Delia shivered and turned back to him, a flush blossoming in her cheeks. “Go ahead, Gabe. I’m listening.”

  Gabe gave Delia all the information he could about the murders, stressing how the killer moved through the city and took his victims seemingly at will. And even though he questioned the wisdom of doing so, he told her about the letters, explaining that the latest one was addressed to him, making the killer’s taunts personal. He didn’t gloss over how horrible the victims’ deaths were.

  And he didn’t attempt to conceal the murderer’s claims that there were more victims still undiscovered by the police, or hide that he believed those claims. She flinched at some of what he said and swallowed hard, but didn’t turn away.

  Not until Gabe finished. He waited for her to speak first, giving her time to come to terms with the idea that the killer could come after her or Sadie. His questions could wait another few minutes.

  Delia brushed at her eyes and squared her shoulders. “If Sadie insists on being difficult, I’ll do what I can to convince her. She’s an innocent in many ways. Recognizing the ugliness of the world is difficult for her. Now ask your questions. I’ll do my best to answer.”

  He poured more coffee, offering Delia a cup that she declined. Stirring in sugar turned into a delaying tactic, so he took one sip and abandoned the cup on a side table between their chairs. “I have some questions about Shadow and the nightmare you had. A big part of my job is piecing the fragments of a case together until they form a picture that makes sense. Any of the details you remember from your dream or what you saw of Shadow tonight could be important. I wouldn’t put you through this if it could be avoided, but you’re the only one who can tell me what I need to know.”

  Delia watched a spot just behind his left shoulder, her eyes tracking the ghost as Shadow moved around to stand next to him. A chill tendril of air brushed his cheek. Gabe shivered and clamped down on his imagination.

  She pulled her gaze away from Shadow; the weary set of her mouth
made clear the effort required to separate herself. “Be honest with me. Do you think what happened to Shadow is related to the case you’re working on?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged and tried to smile, remembering the fine line between witness and friend. Right now he wasn’t sure which side of the line to stand on. “I think if a connection exists, it’s from sometime in the past. But I won’t know until I hear what you have to say.”

  “That’s fair.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with a shaking hand, a sign of nerves let slip. The trembling lip when she smiled was a bigger tell; her bravery was a thin facade. “Do your worst.”

  Gabe perched on the edge of his seat and looked into Delia’s brown eyes, baffled about where the sudden impulse to hold her hand came from. They’d only known each other for one evening, but he already knew she wouldn’t welcome that kind of attention or thank him for coddling her. He sternly reminded himself of professional distance, and that the needs of the investigation came before sparing her feelings, or that he was attracted to her.

  Honesty demanded Gabe admit to himself that he wanted to make an attempt to know Delia better. A pang of disloyalty, to Victoria and her memory, hit him simultaneously. Rejoining the world of the living carried a lot of guilt.

  He rubbed his sweaty palms on his knees and held professionalism between them like a shield. “I’m going to ask you about the nightmare you had. Any thing you can remember could be important. You said the man who took Shadow was wearing a mask. What was it made of?”

  She shrank back deeper into the chair, hands bunching her skirts tightly. Delia chewed her lip, remembering. “Cloth of some kind, rough and light-colored.” Her eyes opened wider. “Thick canvas, like a scrap of sail from one of the fishing boats. Shadow grabbed the mask while trying to get away.”

  “That’s good. Those are the kinds of details that help.” Canvas could mean a fisherman or a merchant seaman, even a sailmaker, but Gabe mistrusted the obvious. He pushed a little harder. “Now tell me what the mask looked like. Could Shadow see any part of his face around it? The color of his eyes?”