Delia's Shadow

by Moyer, Jaime Lee

  Gabe

  Gabe shifted position, hoping to ease the cramp in his arm without waking Delia. She’d fought a valiant battle against sleep, but the drone of tires on pavement and the monotonous countryside conspired with exhaustion until her eyes closed. He’d wrapped an arm around her and pulled her head onto his shoulder.

  The next two hours were spent ignoring Isadora’s amused smirks each time he glanced her way. He supposed that was to be expected. She’d try to bait him until she grew tired of the game or realized she couldn’t embarrass him. A game was all it was, born of the need to maintain the pretense of being a free spirit. He’d spent enough time with Dora by now not to take her teasing seriously.

  He went back to staring out the window. Apple and plum orchards lined both sides of the two lane road, fully leafed out and only a straggling pink or white blossom in evidence. Tiny green apples and plums, no bigger than the end of his thumb, hid among the leaves. He’d bring Delia back in August to see the trees heavy with plums, their skins a deep, dull purple.

  Apples would wait until the early fall harvest, filling farmer’s roadside stands with reds and golden yellows. If they waited until October, they’d find pumpkins heaped in teetering, orange pyramids as well. He knew his landlady, Mrs. Allen, would appreciate him bringing back newly picked fruit for pies, jellies, and applesauce. Annie would, too.

  Whether he’d have time or not to make another trip with Delia for pleasure, not work, hinged on solving this case. He glanced down at her sleeping face, imagining having breakfast with her each morning and coming home to her at night, raising children and becoming as comfortable in each other’s company as his parents were after a lifetime together. Although he’d only known Delia for a short time, each day he became more certain that was what he wanted.

  Too many things hinged on solving this case. Having a life with Delia, one without an undercurrent of fear, was at the top of Gabe’s list.

  “How much further?” Dora lounged against the seat, legs crossed and hands resting easily in her lap. The rapid bobbing of her foot spoiled the picture of ease. She didn’t fool him. The relaxed pose was as much of an act as her teasing interest in him.

  Moving the book and the badge into the front seat with Henderson didn’t keep Dora from sensing them or grimacing in pain. The killer had touched them too recently. That he’d no choice but to bring the book and badge into the car didn’t ease Gabe’s guilt. Isadora’s discomfort was obvious. “Another fifteen or twenty minutes. No more than that.”

  She nodded curtly. Not for the first time, Dora’s gaze drifted to the picnic basket at her feet. The dangling foot bobbed faster.

  “Dora, it’s my fault you’re uncomfortable. Open the brandy if you need a drink.”

  “And greet your father with liquor on my breath?” She arched an eyebrow. “It’s only just past noon. I’ll save my debauchery for the trip home. My task will be easier with your father’s cooperation and that’s unlikely if I begin drinking before we arrive.”

  Delia stirred in her sleep, but settled again right away. Gabe tightened his arm around her and lowered his voice. “I’m sorry, Dora. I need to show Dad what we found in Delia’s trunk. I never thought … I should have warned you first.”

  She waved away his apology. “No lasting harm done. I’ve survived worse, Gabe. Your duty doesn’t coincide with my comfort and catching this killer is more important. He’s becoming bolder, taking more chances. That’s not a good sign.”

  The quiet authority in her voice spoke of experience and knowing that what she’d said was true. He’d put a great deal of trust in Dora, he needed to stop worrying about giving offense and get some answers. How she’d gained that knowledge was important.

  “I’ve wanted to ask this question for a long time. Forgive me if I say this badly, I don’t mean to make you think I don’t trust you.” Gabe looked Isadora in the eye and plunged ahead. “How does a society medium know so much about murderers? You didn’t learn that on Nob Hill.”

  “Very good, Gabe.” Dora beamed as if he’d won a school prize for being the brightest pupil in class. “I wondered when you’d ask.”

  Cops honed their instincts over time and learned when a person wanted to evade a question. Dora was doing her charming best to evade his. “I’d appreciate an answer.”

  She smirked again, still playing it for a joke, but the telltale bob of her foot told a different story. “I may as well. You’ll continue to be tiresome otherwise. Before coming to San Francisco I lived in Atlanta. Homicide Detective John Lawrence and I worked together on murder cases for nearly seven years. We trusted each other. A new chief of police took command and decided I was a fraud, or worse, covering up my involvement in the crimes. The chief threatened to fire John if he consulted me again.”

  “And you left town after that.”

  The bright, teasing edge left her smile. Dora plucked at the front of her jacket and avoided looking at him. “Not right away. Six months later three officers pulled me out of bed in the middle of the night. John was dead, killed by a murderer we’d been hunting for the past year. The chief tried to implicate me in John’s death and planned to press charges. Luckily, I wasn’t sleeping alone that night.”

  She looked him in the eye, daring him to comment. Gabe didn’t flinch or turn away, and did his best to hide the horrified sympathy welling up inside. She wouldn’t want that. “I can’t begin to imagine how difficult that was for you. That never should have happened, not to you or anyone. I wish I could say that rank guarantees personal integrity in a senior officer, but I can’t. There are examples I could point to in my own department.”

  “I’ve heard of the infamous Captain Parker from Jack.” Dora’s teasing half-smile returned. “You should wake Dee soon. Give her a chance to collect herself before we arrive and she meets your parents. She’ll be mortified otherwise.”

  “I will. Let her have another minute.” Gabe brushed an errant strand of hair off Delia’s face. “Thank you for all you’ve done for her. This can’t be easy for you.”

  “It’s not. I swore I’d never get involved in a murder case again. But gossip to the contrary, I’m not selfish enough to leave Delia to cope with spirits on her own.” Dora stared out the window. “Now that I’m in up to my ears, I’ll do what I can to help end this. Just promise me you won’t do anything rash like getting yourself killed. I don’t think I could live with watching Delia grieve. Sadie, either, for that matter.”

  That was an easy promise to make. “You won’t have to. I have no intention of dying. Neither does Jack.”

  Dora tipped her head to peer at him, the brim of her hat casting a shadow so that he couldn’t see her eyes. He grew uncomfortable at the way she stared before she turned away again. “Belief is half the battle won and often makes things true. Hold tight to that conviction, Lieutenant Ryan, and this will end well.”

  Delia

  My embarrassment over spending the entire trip asleep on Gabe’s shoulder was minor compared to how much better I felt. I was calmer, more relaxed. The thought of yawning in his mother’s face while saying hello was much worse.

  We pulled off the narrow dirt road into his parent’s front yard and Henderson parked the car. I was wide awake by that time. Despite Gabe’s assurances, my welcome was not guaranteed and I worried they’d see me as an intruder. Victoria’s ghost had moved on, but her memory would still loom large in his parent’s minds.

  Gabe was nervous, too, perched on the edge of the seat like a sprinter in the starting block. His father went strictly by the book in terms of police work. Dora’s abilities were far outside the bounds of what Matt Ryan was used to and even further away from anything he’d consider believable. How his father would react to Gabe calling in a spiritualist to consult on the case was a real concern.

  Dora would weather the former Captain Ryan’s scorn if and when it arrived, and likely give as good as she received. She’d dealt with such things before. I worried how well Gabe would come through the
same storm. He was his own man and good at his job, but his father’s opinion and respect still mattered.

  A large chicken coop stood near the house, one of four in a line leading to the barn. Tiny yellow balls of fluff followed the hens around the fenced-in chicken yard and scratched in the dirt. Roosters crowed from atop the chicken house nearest the barn. Others answered, the calls muffled and distant.

  The farmhouse was two stories, painted white and with a wood-shake roof, weathered to a soft gray. Pink roses climbed a trellis on one end of the deep porch, their sweet, peppery scent competing with the smell of ham and candied yams coming from the house. A large calico cat lounged on the top porch step, flipping her tail and eyeing the visitors invading her yard.

  Henderson helped Isadora from the car and handed her the canvas shopping bag of white candles and sage. She swept her gaze across the house and the yard, turning to stare at the old carriage house attached to the barn. Gabe’s father had fixed the carriage house as an office and stored papers, case files, and boxes of evidence there, out of his mother’s sight.

  I’d learned that from Gabe on the drive to Dora’s house. That she somehow knew without being told didn’t strike me as overly strange, not in light of other things I’d seen her do. My world had changed.

  Gabe buttoned the book and the old badge into his pocket and took my hand. “Ready?”

  “No and neither are you.” I gave him a sidelong look and smiled. “But we should get on with it. I’ll be brave if you will.”

  The screen door slammed and the cat scrambled away, disappearing under the porch. Mrs. Ryan bounded down the steps, swiping her hands on her apron as she came. “Gabe!”

  He released my hand and met his mother halfway. The top of Mrs. Ryan’s head barely reached Gabe’s shoulder. Doubtless used to farmwork and slim as a result, her flowered cotton dress looked overlarge. Locks of gray hair escaped hairpins, and curls as unruly as Gabe’s coiled around her sun-browned face.

  Gabe swept her up and swung her around, hugging her tight and both of them laughing. He set his mother down and kissed her cheek. “You get prettier every day, Mom.”

  Blue eyes peered up at him in mock sternness. “Nonsense. I get grayer and more wrinkled and both of us know it. Now introduce me to your friends.”

  Henderson, Dora, and I had remained clustered next to the car, out of the way while Gabe greeted his mother. Dora threaded her arm with mine and moved forward with a smile, leaving me no choice but to follow. Henderson trailed behind.

  “Mom, this is Officer Marshall Henderson and Miss Isadora Bobet. Miss Bobet is helping me with my investigation.”

  Henderson doffed his hat and nodded. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Ryan.”

  Dora smiled and extended her hand. That she didn’t hesitate to touch Gabe’s mother said much. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Ryan. Gabe speaks very highly of you. Thank you for having us here on such short notice.”

  “Call me Moira.” His mother shook Dora’s hand and smiled. “Living this far out from the city I don’t get to meet many of Gabe’s friends or the people he works with. This is a pleasure.”

  Gabe stepped closer and took my hand, so that I stood with him, not apart. He looked into his mother’s eyes and smiled. “And this is Delia Martin. I plan to bring Delia back, so be nice to her.”

  Mrs. Ryan’s smile faltered and she looked from Gabe’s face to mine, and back into his eyes. Wanting to be sure, as I’d wanted to be sure.

  She must have found the reassurance she needed. Her smile brightened, became warm and welcoming, and she grasped my hand. “I’m very happy to meet you, Delia. Don’t pay any attention to Gabriel, he’s a terrible tease. I have every intention of being nice.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. Gabe’s told me wonderful things about you.” I couldn’t resist some teasing of my own. “And never fear, Mrs. Ryan. I seldom pay attention to Gabe.”

  Gabe blushed, bright red blotches showing above his collar and burning his cheeks. Not laughing at him was difficult.

  His mother did laugh. “Come inside now, all of you. Dinner’s almost ready and Matt will be along any minute.”

  Gabe took the steps two at a time and held the door open. “Where is Dad?”

  “Delivering eggs to some of his customers.” Mrs. Ryan touched his arm in passing. “He left early so he could get back and have most of the day free for you.”

  The inside of the farmhouse was larger than I’d pictured, but still homey and comfortable. Chintz pillows in pale green and yellow graced a dark-green roll-backed sofa. A rag rug in the same colors sat just inside the door, and a large carpet woven in black and gold covered the center of the front-room floor.

  Photographs sat in small, oval frames on the mantel over the fireplace. Some were pictures of Gabe as a boy and I longed to go closer and investigate. Manners kept me in the overstuffed chair Mrs. Ryan offered. She took coats and hats back to the bedroom, and insisted on treating Gabe like a guest despite his protests. “Sit with your friends and keep them company. Dinner will be on the table in a few minutes.”

  Gabe perched on the arm of my chair and leaned in to whisper. “I told you my mother would like you.”

  “So you did.” I ignored Dora’s imploring glance heavenward. If we were being adorable again she’d just have to endure. “With luck I won’t run out of charm before your father arrives.”

  A dog began to bark, the sound faint at first, but growing louder. The creak and squeak of springs bouncing over ruts in the dirt road drew closer as well, cumulating in the backfire of a motorcar engine. I leaned to look past Gabe and through the front screen. A mud-splattered, Model-T truck was parked next to the police car and a large, flop-eared dog stood in the back, barking loudly.

  “Lucky! Be quiet.” The driver’s door slammed shut, rocking the truck. Matt Ryan leaned into the bed and worked at untying the rope holding the dog. The hound whimpered and licked Mr. Ryan’s fingers, making it difficult to work the knots loose. “Hold still, Lucky. Hold still!”

  I sat back and folded my hands in my lap. Meeting one parent I’d handled well, the prospect of conversation with two and finally meeting his father loosed a flock of hummingbirds in my stomach.

  “I’m going to go help Dad. Sit tight, I’ll be right back.” Gabe started to get up, but he saw the alarm in my eyes and stopped. “Don’t be nervous. He’s gruff and makes a lot of noise, but he doesn’t mean any harm. I promise he’ll take to you right off.”

  Dora had claimed one end of the sofa and settled in to pose as if she sat on a throne of gold, not chintz cushions. She leaned forward to see Gabe’s face, obviously amused. “Are you speaking about the dog or your father? You’d do a better job of putting Dee at ease if you made that clear.”

  It was absurd and irreverent, and exactly the right thing to say. The hummingbirds fled, letting me breathe. “Don’t be silly. He’s talking about the dog of course.” I stood and waved Gabe to his feet, and out the door. “I’ll go with you. I want to meet your father.”

  I stepped off the porch and shaded my eyes. Gabe’s father was broader through the chest and a few inches shorter, but the two of them were cast from the same mold. If I could brush aside the years ahead and peer into the future, I was certain Gabe would look just the same: sun-browned, strong, and wearing his age lightly.

  His father’s eyes lit up at seeing Gabe and he rushed to greet him, leaving the dog to bark. “Gabe! You made it. I was afraid work might keep you away.”

  “We made it.” Gabe grinned and held out his hand. “How are you, Dad?”

  The last of my nervousness vanished watching Matt Ryan take the offered hand and pull Gabe into a bear hug. His eyes squeezed shut, the relief he felt at seeing his son hale and whole sitting raw on his face. More than anyone, he knew the dangers of Gabe’s job. That his son was now the one facing those dangers changed things between them, but I suspected Matthew Ryan’s need to protect Gabe hadn’t changed.

  Gabe and his fat
her stepped apart, both still grinning. “Dad, there’s someone I want you to meet. This is Delia Martin.”

  I took that as my cue, moving forward to offer my hand. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, Captain Ryan. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  He wiped his hand on the front of his coveralls and glanced at Gabe before shaking mine. “Nice to meet you, Miss Martin. I’d like to return the compliment, but I’m afraid my son is rather tightlipped when it comes to his friendships. Gabe hasn’t spoken of you to me.”

  “Please, call me Delia.” I wasn’t at all sure how to approach Mr. Ryan, other than head-on. “I have high hopes that you and I can be friends as well. If there’s anything you’d like to know about me, ask. I’m rather fond of your son and he claims to be fond of me as well, so I’m sure you’ll be seeing me again. If we’re to be stuck with each other, we might as well make the best of it.”

  His father grinned and clapped Gabe on the back. “Then it’s about time he brought you to meet us. Call me Matt, Delia. Let me finish up here and we can talk more. I don’t want to make Moira hold dinner.”

  I put my hand out for the dog to sniff, the only member of the family whose friendship was still in question. Lucky licked my fingers and wagged his whole body, hoping to convince me to rescue him. His silky fur slid through my fingers. “Can I help with anything?”

  “If you like.” Matt held out a stack of empty wicker baskets, similar to what children carried for egg hunts at Easter. “If you thread the handles over your arm it’s easier to carry the whole lot at once.”

  Gabe finished untying the dog. Lucky leapt to the ground, excited at finally being free and the chance to race in circles around all of us. Matt lifted out a nested stack of wooden trays, leaving the last of the baskets for Gabe. The dog knew the routine. Lucky led the way across the yard to the barn, stopping every few feet to make sure we were following and racing ahead again. He pranced in front of the door until we caught up.

  “I dug out the files you asked about last night.” Matt took the baskets off my arm, piling them in a large wooden bin just inside the barn door. “You and I have been over them a hundred times, son. Do you have a new angle to try?”