Medium Rare: (Intermix)

by Meg Benjamin

  “You’re a reference librarian?” he asked.

  Ms. Ramos nodded. “I was. For three years. I have a degree in library science from UT Austin.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  She shrugged. “Bad times for libraries. Staffing reductions.”

  Which was a nicely vague nonanswer. Evan decided to let it go for now. “Are you familiar with what I do, Ms. Ramos?”

  She nodded. “I’ve read a couple of your books. The one on the Fox sisters and the one on ghost hoaxes.”

  He tried to think of a way to ask the next question without sounding like a complete asshole. Oh well, just go for it. “What did you think of them?”

  “They’re very well written. And I like your attitude.”

  “My attitude?”

  “A lot of skeptics’ books are sort of . . . nasty about people who believe in the paranormal. Dismissive. You seem to be, well, kinder.”

  Evan raised an eyebrow. “Kinder? That’s not a word that’s been used much about me in the past.”

  “I don’t mean you’re saying they’re right. But you don’t look down on them for believing what they believe.”

  “No, I don’t,” he agreed. “But I also don’t have much sympathy for the people who take advantage of them.”

  Ms. Ramos seemed to stiffen slightly. “Yes. I’m aware of that.”

  “Would that be a problem for you?”

  “A problem?” She shook her head. “I’m not in favor of taking advantage of people. Particularly if they’re vulnerable people.”

  “Good.” He watched her face. “Have you heard of William Bradford?”

  “The medium? Sure. It’s hard to miss him these days.”

  “What do you think of him?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know much about him other than the TV shows. He seems successful.”

  “He makes money. In that sense he’s successful.”

  “You’re investigating him?”

  “I’m investigating several things, but he’s definitely one of them. He seems to be based in San Antonio right now.”

  She nodded. “He’s got a house out in one of the ritzy developments beyond Loop 1604. It was big news when he moved here. What are you looking for?”

  “Several things,” he repeated. He wondered how much more to tell her. Suppose she’s working for Bradford. He pushed the thought away almost as soon as it had occurred to him. Bradford would have no reason to know what he was investigating. He hadn’t told anybody except his editor and Harry Dominguez. Still, there had been that call about Alana DuBois.

  “At the moment, I’m still doing basic background research.”

  “Bradford doesn’t come from around here, as far as I know. I’m not sure where he does come from.”

  Millersville, Ohio. Evan had already gone over Bradford’s background. Nothing that marked him as special, no matter what his official biography might say. Early jobs in radio, community theatre, church work. Lots of experience in performing, but nothing about spirits. “He’s a Midwestern transplant. Are you from San Antonio, Ms. Ramos?”

  She nodded. “Second generation. Third, actually, on my mother’s side.”

  “Interesting,” he said politely. “Now about the research job—I’d need you two or three days a week, possibly more if we come up with something we need to pursue.”

  “Would I work here?”

  She raised an eyebrow as she surveyed his rented office. Admittedly, it was a bit Spartan. But he hadn’t needed anything more than a basic desk and chair, along with the computer dock. And the white walls and window blinds had suited him. He didn’t usually personalize his work space. Still, something about that raised eyebrow annoyed him. “Would that be a problem?”

  She shook her head. “I can work anywhere I have a computer hookup.”

  “Good. I can see about getting another desk.” Which was actually not at all what he’d planned to do originally. He figured his assistant would work somewhere else. Rose Ramos had become a somewhat annoying woman. “The salary is fifteen an hour. You keep track of the hours you work, including anything out of the office, and give me an invoice at the end of each week.”

  She gave a small sigh. That vague sense of annoyance accelerated. All right, so it’s not the highest paying job around. So what? “Are you still interested?”

  She licked her lips, her pink tongue moving across a lush mouth the color of ripe strawberries. He stared at her again. Focus, damn it!

  “Of course. What will I be working on?”

  “Initially, I need you to see if you can locate Ms. Alana DuBois.” He handed her a slip of paper with an address and phone number.

  “Who’s she?”

  He shrugged. “Haven’t a clue. I had an anonymous call that said she might have some information about Bradford. I got the address and number from the Web.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “Background. Apparently, they worked together several years ago. Or so the caller said.”

  “Male or female?” Ramos picked up a piece of paper and a pencil from his desk.

  Evan’s eyebrow went up again. “Excuse me?”

  “The caller. Was it a man or a woman?”

  “A woman. She left a message on my voice mail. It might have been Alana DuBois herself.”

  “And what do you want to know when I find her?” Ramos looked up expectantly.

  “If you find her, ask her about Bradford. Find out when she knew him and what she can tell us. If she seems to have any interesting information, let me know and I’ll do a formal interview.”

  “Right.” Ramos pushed herself to her feet and he had a brief glimpse of more-than-respectable legs beneath her loose black skirt. “I guess I’ll be out of the office for the next day or so, then.”

  “That should give me time to get you a desk.”

  “Wonderful.”

  He detected a note of sarcasm there. Tough shit, Rosie. “Give me a call if you find anything. Otherwise, I’ll expect to see you in a couple of days.”

  “Count on it, Mr. Delwin,” she said dryly.

  Okay, more than a note of sarcasm this time. “Call me Evan,” he said automatically.

  As she opened the door, he caught another glimpse of well-toned calf. He was beginning to think Rose Ramos was more interesting than she’d appeared initially.

  Which led to another intriguing question: Why exactly had a good-looking woman wanted to look less than good-looking when she’d come to interview for a job with him?

  ***

  Rose massaged her feet as she leaned back in her kitchen chair. Tomorrow she’d have to remember to wear sturdier shoes. She couldn’t get by with sandals if she was going to be hiking all over town.

  She hadn’t exactly gotten the goods on Alana DuBois, but she was definitely on the right track. She took a long sip of wine. Apparently, spending all her time running Locators, Ltd., which mostly involved her computer and consultations with Skag, had made her a softie. She hadn’t felt this tired in months.

  “Well?” Skag’s voice echoed from the hall behind her. “Did you get the job?”

  Rose sighed. Technically, Skag was allowed in the kitchen since it was on the first floor, but she didn’t exactly encourage him to join her there. Having another room to herself was a definite plus.

  “I got the job. I’m already working for him. If you’ll give me time to finish my wine, I’ll come to the living room and tell you all about it.”

  “You can bring the wine with you. Come on. I want to hear what’s happened.” His voice resonated down the hall.

  Rose sighed again, gathering up her glass of Sangiovese and heading after him.

  “What’s Delwin working on? What does he have you doing? How long is he going to be here?” Skag’s questions hit her like machine-gun
fire as soon as she walked into the living room. His white tuxedo shirt glowed in the shadows near the fireplace.

  Grimacing, she headed for the front windows, pulling the curtains aside to let in the setting sun. “He’s investigating William Bradford, as you’ve already guessed. However, he’s got me looking for a woman named Alana DuBois, who may or may not be an old acquaintance of Bradford. And I have no idea how long he’s staying, but I really hope it’s a quick visit.”

  Skag moved further back into the dimmer part of the room. “You weren’t impressed?”

  “Not particularly. He’s only paying me fifteen dollars an hour for part-time work. I was making more than that at the library.”

  Skag gave her a dry look, running a hand over his brilliantined hair. “I wasn’t aware you were in need of money.”

  “I’m not. It’s the principle of the thing.”

  “Other than his parsimonious nature, how did he strike you?”

  Rose set her glass back on the coffee table, picturing Evan Delwin in his barren office. Tall, dark, unsettling. Sort of like one of those Renaissance princes who took what they wanted and asked no questions at all. But she didn’t particularly want to discuss Delwin’s sexual allure with Skag. “He’s after something, but I’m not sure what. He may just be trying to expose Bradford as a fake, although that’s already been tried several times. People don’t seem too interested in the facts. Still, Delwin might have a better shot than most.”

  “Who’s this Alana DuBois you’re supposedly investigating for him?”

  “There’s no ‘supposedly’ about it. I am investigating her. She or someone representing her called Delwin and told him she had information about Bradford. Delwin wanted me to track her down and find out what she had to say.”

  “And did you?”

  “Yes and no. I found her apartment, but not her. Which was somewhat troubling.”

  “Explain.”

  Rose sighed, taking another swallow of Sangiovese. “She wasn’t at her place. And she hadn’t been there for several days.”

  “Perhaps she thought better of her message to Delwin and decided to decamp before he found her.”

  She shrugged. “I suppose that’s possible, but she didn’t take anything with her as far as I could tell. Her landlady said all her things were still in her apartment.”

  “You spoke to her landlady? Why?”

  Rose shrugged again. “I needed to find out when she’d been home last.”

  “And when was that?”

  “The landlady didn’t know exactly. She hadn’t paid her rent for a couple of weeks.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “A duplex outside Ft. Sam Houston, toward the national cemetery. The street name is something like Brentwood.”

  Skag sniffed. “Not exactly an exclusive area. Are her possessions still there?”

  “Yes. I paid her rent.”

  He stared at her in consternation. “You paid her rent?”

  Rose opened her eyes wide, doing her best Little Miss Sunshine imitation. “Well, of course. The landlady said if Alana DuBois didn’t come back, I could take what was there. And since I paid the rent, I have a key to the apartment. I decided it might be helpful in the investigation. Having a key, that is.”

  “The landlady allowed this?” He sounded faintly scandalized.

  “The landlady would have allowed just about anything as long as she got the rent paid.”

  Skag pulled his cigarette holder from his pocket, lit cigarette already in place. “Of course, when Delwin finds out you paid her rent, he may be as stunned as I am. And he may well wonder how you could afford it.”

  “Oh, I’m going to bill him for it on my invoice. I figure it’s a business expense.” Rose gave him a cheery smile, that faded slightly after a moment. “I found out something else, Skag. About Alana DuBois. The landlady said she was a medium.”

  “A medium? What kind of medium?”

  “What kind?”

  He sighed. “Did she claim to be psychic, clairvoyant, tell fortunes, predict the future?”

  “Oh.” Rose blew out a breath. “Apparently the old-school kind. The landlady said she conducted séances.”

  Skag grimaced. “Of course she did. You realize that no reputable medium indulges in séances these days? She may have said she was a medium, but that hardly constitutes proof.”

  “It gets worse. She was apparently one of the mediums who worked with Augie Garcia at the Nightmare.”

  Skag blew an angry cloud of smoke. “All the more evidence that she was a fraud. Garcia is the worst kind of charlatan.”

  “All true. But still.” Rose leaned back staring out the window at the setting sun.

  “But still?” Skag prompted.

  “She was a medium.” She held up a hand to forestall his protest. “A self-proclaimed medium. She had some connection to Bradford. And she’s disappeared. It’s enough to make me . . . uneasy.”

  He sighed, grinding out his cigarette in his omnipresent ashtray. “Would you like me to check into her mediumistic career?”

  “You can do that?”

  “Of course. If she was truly a medium, she may have been working with some kind of spirit guide, however inadvertently. I’ll ask around. Perhaps someone will remember her.”

  Rose picked up her now-empty wineglass, pushing up from her chair. “And now I’ve reported everything I’ve done so far. I’m going back to the kitchen to have dinner, then to the study to work on whatever we’ve got pending at Locators, and then to bed to sleep until I have to drag myself up at some ungodly hour to meet Delwin tomorrow. I’m already hating this whole project.”

  “Nonsense,” Skag intoned, beginning his slow fade. “You’re intrigued by the mystery. Which should only get more interesting as it goes along.”

  She started toward the hall, then turned back to where Skag had almost disappeared. “If you can check on Alana DuBois’s contacts, couldn’t you also check on William Bradford’s?”

  For a moment, Skag’s face seemed to flicker, like a TV screen on the blink, and then he faded completely. Rose frowned. She could swear that before he had, she’d seen something she’d never seen before.

  Skag looked distinctly worried.

  Chapter 5

  “You paid her rent?”

  Annoyingly enough, it looked like Skag was right. Delwin wasn’t going to accept the whole rent stratagem as easily as she’d hoped. He was staring at Rose incredulously.

  “I thought you’d like to see Alana DuBois’s things before her landlady threw them out.”

  “Why? She may have nothing to do with Bradford. She could be a complete fraud. Did you find out anything about her?”

  “Not yet. But you won’t know anything at all if you don’t find her.”

  “Right. But going through her possessions isn’t the same as finding her, is it?” He raised an eyebrow, giving him a mildly satanic look. His eyes seemed to change color slightly when he was pissed—from good bourbon to something more like sherry. Unfortunately, the Medici nose stayed the same.

  “It may be the best you can do. She seems to have disappeared.”

  Delwin blew out a breath. “Which doesn’t necessarily mean anything sinister has happened to her. She may just have run out on her rent. Or she may have taken off to Nuevo Laredo with her boyfriend.”

  “True.” Rose dropped her purse next to Delwin’s only remaining chair. Looked like he hadn’t gotten that second desk yet. “But there’s more.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “There’d better be.”

  Prick. “Alana DuBois was working as a medium. She conducted séances for one of the local clubs.”

  “Clubs? They have some kind of spiritualist group around here?”

  “Not that kind of club. A bar.”

  “A bar that does séances?” At
least he was looking more curious than annoyed now.

  “They do ghost tours. You know, famous San Antonio haunted sites—the Menger Hotel, the Alamo, the Governor’s Palace.”

  “And the séance is on the tour?”

  “It’s the climax of the tour. The club is called Nightmare on Novalis. It’s on . . .”

  “Novalis, yeah, I figured that one out.”

  “Good for you,” Rose snapped, then took a quick breath. Best not to antagonize the boss this early in their relationship. “As I say, they set up séances. From what I hear, they use an old storefront near El Mercado. More atmospheric than the club, I guess. Anyway, since it’s supposed to be such a hoot, nobody takes it all that seriously.”

  Delwin frowned. “No medium could do a cold reading without some information. Do the people at the séance fill out questionnaires?”

  “I suppose so. I don’t know, but I can probably find out. The point is, this wasn’t really a serious séance. Ms. DuBois wouldn’t have had to do any real work.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Trust me, Ms. DuBois wouldn’t have done any real work no matter what kind of séance it was supposed to be.”

  “Whatever.” Rose gritted her teeth. “Anyway, the séance took place, and sometime afterward Ms. DuBois disappeared, leaving all her worldly possessions behind, according to her landlady.”

  “Did DuBois tell her landlady she was heading for the séance?”

  “Not directly. Apparently, she wore a full-length red velvet cape when she was doing her medium thing. Her landlady said she was wearing it when she took off that night.”

  He grimaced. “Terrific. A medium who thinks she’s Little Red Riding Hood. I’m less and less anxious to talk to this dingbat.”

  “Normally, I might agree with you, but she disappeared.” She blew out a breath. “Doesn’t that make her a little more interesting?”

  “Maybe. The club where she worked might have a line on her.”

  “I can go there and ask. They know me.”

  “You’ve been to this club?” He gave her an incredulous look.