by Meg Benjamin
She took a deep breath. “The medium was killed. Murdered. Evan and I saw it.”
If Skag had been capable of landing with a thud, he would have. She’d never seen him descend so quickly. “How?” he croaked.
“I don’t know. She was walking ahead of us, and then all of a sudden she lit up, like a candle or something, glowing from inside. The next minute she sort of exploded.”
“‘Sort of exploded.’” His voice regained some of its edge. “How does someone sort of explode?”
“It wasn’t like any explosion I’ve ever seen before. No sound, no smoke, no heat. Just . . . poof! She was gone.”
He seemed to flicker for a moment, like a malfunctioning movie. “I assume Delwin called the police.”
“Of course. I would have called them myself, but I was more or less in shock.”
“And their conclusions?”
She shrugged. “They didn’t really believe us. Except for Evan’s friend Harry. And I don’t think he’s a homicide detective. Evan’s down there now trying to find out what’s going on—if they’ve accepted that it was murder yet.”
Skag sighed. “Anything else? Did anything happen at the séance itself?”
She shook her head. “Not exactly. We talked to the medium, Brenda Cerrone, afterward for a few minutes. Before she . . . left. She knew Alana, but not well.”
He waved an impatient hand. “I’m sure most of the mediums in town know each other. But nothing happened at the séance?”
“Well . . .” She paused. “She did have one sort of weird moment. She said she had a message from Caroline.”
He flickered again, his forehead knotted in a frown. “Caroline?”
She nodded. “I thought of Grandma Caroline, but the message wasn’t exactly to me, so maybe not.”
“What was the message?” He was certainly dimming now.
“She said, ‘Don’t look back.’” Rose narrowed her eyes. “Does that mean anything to you?”
Barely a shadow now, Skag nodded slowly. “Oh yes. Considering what ultimately happened to your medium, that’s very good advice. And Rose, my dear, it was most definitely meant for you.” With that, he melted imperceptibly into the darkness.
Chapter 21
Evan couldn’t stop grinning. Road construction added fifteen minutes to his travel time. The parking lot he usually used was full, and he had to walk an extra five blocks. As he headed up the walk to the station, the gray sky began spitting rain.
None of it mattered. Every time he thought about Rose, he started grinning again.
The way her hair looked in the morning, still mussed from sleep, or the way her nose wrinkled when she was annoyed. The sounds she made when he kissed her. The sounds she made when he did more than that.
Everything about Rose Ramos made him a happy man. Which wasn’t particularly appropriate when he’d come to Harry’s office to check on a murder victim.
Harry narrowed his eyes as he stepped through the door. “What’s up with you?”
Regretfully, Evan wiped the smile off his face. “Nothing. Anything turn up in the Cerrone case?”
Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Nada. All the lab techs could say was the stuff in the street looked like ash. We’ll have to wait for the analysis to know what kind of ash it was.”
Evan shivered slightly. He knew exactly what kind of ash it was. “Anybody check her house to see if she was there?”
“I went by on my way home. No lights. Tried calling this morning, but nobody answered. Doesn’t mean much anyway—the phone’s her business line. She may have a cell she uses for personal stuff.”
Evan settled into the chair opposite Harry’s desk, ignoring his grimace. “How long before you’re willing to admit we might have told you the truth?”
Harry sighed. “Look, Evan, I’m willing to admit you saw something out there, and given the way your lady friend was acting, it was probably something bad.”
Now it was Evan’s turn for narrowed eyes. “Probably?”
“Probably. But silent explosions? Glowing bodies? Fire that didn’t leave a trace or burn anything else?” He leaned back in his chair again. “Jesus, you’re beginning to sound like the people I investigate. Or like you’ve been indulging in some illegal substances.”
“Come on, Harry. You once called me the most unimaginative person you knew. And now you think I’m seeing things?”
“I don’t know what to think. Normally, I’d trust your judgment, but this time . . .” He drummed the end of a pencil on his desk blotter. “So how long have you known Rose Riordan?”
“Ramos,” Evan corrected. “Rose Ramos. How do you know anything about her, anyway?”
Harry shrugged. “Her address. She lives in the Riordan house, and far as I know, it’s never gone out of the family. I figured she must be the latest Riordan woman to live there. She’s a great-looking lady, I’ll give you that. Fantastic eyes.”
“I think she said her mother’s maiden name was Riordan, but her last name’s definitely Ramos.”
Harry grimaced again. “Once a Riordan, always a Riordan. Or anyway, that’s the way it was for a couple of generations.”
Evan felt a faint prickling at the back of his neck. He ignored it. “So maybe her mother’s name was Riordan. What’s it to you anyway? She’s an Irish Mexican-American. It’s not all that unusual around here.”
“Come on, Evan. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard about the Riordans. I thought you knew everything about the supernaturals. How long have you been down here anyway?”
“Around three months, Harry. Come on, just tell me.”
“Oh, no, vato, we don’t rush on this one. You have to hear the whole story. This is San Antonio history we’re talking about. King William history at that.” Harry leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. “We start off with Siobhan. Siobhan Riordan. The matriarch. The one who first brought the Riordan name to Texas. Got here in the early twentieth century. Fresh off the boat from the ‘ould sod.’”
“Yeah, Rose said she built the house in King William. So what?”
“So did your friend Rose also tell you what Granny—no, probably Great-granny given the dates—did to earn the money for that house?” Harry fixed his gaze on the ceiling, as if he were studying the cracks.
The prickle of unease at the back of Evan’s neck slowly became a dull ache in his chest. “Okay, Harry, where are you heading here? Great-granny ran a cathouse?”
“No, no.” Harry waved a hand. “Nothing so low-class for the Riordans. And they always kept it discreet. My guess is most of their neighbors in King William never knew.”
“Never knew what, Goddamnit?” Evan leaned both arms on Harry’s desk, giving him the Death Stare.
“That Siobhan was the most successful medium in town. Results guaranteed. And it didn’t stop there. She passed it down to her daughter Caroline.” He shrugged. “All the cops in the fraud division knew about it, but nobody could do anything. No customer ever lodged a complaint, and the old ladies were too smart to ever let a cop in on a séance. By invitation only, and they vetted their customers within an inch of their lives.”
Evan sank back in his chair again, staring at Harry’s grinning face. He forced himself to shrug. “So what? Rose isn’t a medium, she’s a former librarian. She does freelance research.” Of course, she hadn’t so much as mentioned her relatives’ occupation during all the time they’d been chasing after Alana DuBois. But he’d think about that later.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Researching what?”
“Helping people find lost documents, check provenance on paintings. Historical stuff.” Evan fought back a frown. Was that really all he knew about Locators, Ltd.?
“Chip off the old block. That’s just what Siobhan and Caroline did, too. Consulted the spirits to find lost items. And they were damned goo
d at it. Like I said, no complaints ever. Wonder if they passed on their actual research methods to their descendants?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Evan’s face felt numb. Had he been grinning like a loon a few minutes ago? All of a sudden he felt like he’d forgotten how. “She hasn’t said much about her relatives.”
“Yeah, I can see why. But, hey, we all have a few skeletons in our closets. It’s just hers rattle a little more than most.” Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Delwin dating a medium. Nobody will believe that one.”
“I told you, she’s not a medium.” Evan pushed himself out of the chair, controlling his sudden desire to punch Harry in the face. “If you don’t have anything else about Cerrone, I’ll get going.”
Harry shrugged. “Like I say, we won’t know much until the lab results come back and that could take a while.”
“I’ll get back to you then.” Evan headed for the door, without looking back.
“Do that,” Harry called. “Give my best to your friend the spook chaser.”
Evan took great pleasure in slamming the door behind him.
Fifteen minutes later, he sat in his car, watching the rain drip down the windshield. She hadn’t told him. Why should she? It doesn’t mean anything. But it did mean something. He just didn’t know what.
She hadn’t lied exactly. But she hadn’t told him the entire truth, either. In spite of all the things she’d said about the family, the family occupation had never been mentioned. What else could she be holding back?
A family of mediums, passing down their secrets from one generation to the next. Siobhan to Caroline to . . . Rose?
Evan felt a knot of pain begin to throb near the base of his skull, moving in a line along his jaw.
Rose. Who might or might not be a medium, but was definitely deceptive. Who had deliberately concealed information from him. Who had, for all he knew, shifted from looking ordinary to looking sensational just to keep him so off-balance he’d pay no attention to any indications she and her family weren’t exactly what they seemed.
All of a sudden, Evan wanted to know a lot more about Locators, Ltd. and its star researcher. He turned the car back toward King William.
***
Four hours after Evan had left, Rose stopped trying to find chores that needed doing around the house and sat at the kitchen table, staring off through the drizzle that trickled down the window.
He hadn’t called. He hadn’t exactly promised that he would, but she’d sort of expected him to. She told herself he might have gotten caught up in something at the police station, something that had nothing to do with her. He was an investigative writer, after all. He must have other projects he was working on or other leads about William Bradford. She should probably feel guilty about keeping him from his work.
She didn’t feel guilty. She felt worried.
Around two, her cell phone rang, jerking her out of her reverie. “Ms. Riordan?” a man’s voice asked.
It took her a moment to remember she’d used Riordan on the card at the Bradford show. “This is Rose Riordan.”
“I’m speaking for William Bradford. You requested a private consultation.”
Rose licked her lips. “Yes, I did.”
“Mr. Bradford can see you on Friday evening, at seven thirty. The cost will be five hundred dollars for the beginning session.”
Rose’s pulse thumped more quickly. “I understand. Where does the consultation take place?”
“At Mr. Bradford’s residence in the Presidio. Do you have a pen? I’ll give you the address.”
Rose jotted down the address quickly, although she already knew where Bradford lived. Everyone did. The Presidio was one of the new luxury developments in the Hill Country north of town. She’d undoubtedly have to pass through a variety of security gates to get there. Oh well, maybe five hundred bucks was enough to buy her entry. “Thank you. I’ll be there.”
She considered calling Evan but didn’t. Surely he’d be here soon and she could tell him then. Helen moved around the kitchen restlessly, poking her nose against Rose’s hand and whimpering.
“I guess I could feed you. It’s been almost an hour since you last ate, poor baby.”
Helen nudged her head against her hand again, and she reached down to tickle her ears. “What do you think, Helen, did I do something wrong? Have I blown this already? Usually, it takes me at least a month to wreck a relationship.”
Helen flopped at her feet, resting her chin on her paws.
Rose leaned back in her chair, watching the rain run down her window. The weather was probably making her feel depressed. Geez, it wasn’t like he’d promised to call her back at a set time, after all. Or even to come over.
Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.
Perched on the chair back opposite her, Lenore muttered something that sounded snide. “Oh, just zip it,” she snapped. “I’m paranoid enough without your help.”
Lenore clucked, then fluttered up to the top of the cabinets, a good twelve feet overhead. Helen slunk off to the living room. Rose had the distinct feeling they were avoiding her. She sighed. Just as well. She didn’t have much positive to say to them or anybody else at the moment.
After another extended period of moping, her mental fog was penetrated by the distant chime of the doorbell. She swallowed hard, her heart thumping. Evan. It has to be.
It was.
He stood on the front porch, his collar turned up against the rain, glowering. Rain dripped down his forehead in rivulets. His blue-black hair was sodden. Even his eyelashes were soaked. He looked like a man who’d just taken a long, unhappy walk in the rain, even though his car was currently parked in her driveway.
“Come in, for heaven’s sake. I’ll get you a towel. You can take your shoes off so they’ll dry.”
She hurried to the bathroom, reminding herself that there was nothing to be worried about. Everything was fine.
“Here.” She handed him a bath towel, then restrained herself from helping him dry his hair. He was still glowering. “Bradford called—I mean somebody from his office called. The consultation is Friday night at seven.”
He rubbed the towel through his hair. “Groovy.”
She took a deep breath. “Is anything wrong?”
His gaze seemed to bore straight through her. His eyes were bright amber again. “Your grandmother was Caroline Riordan.” It sounded like an accusation. Probably because it was.
“Yes,” Rose agreed. “She was. And?”
Evan exhaled sharply. “And she was a medium. A famous one. So was your great-grandmother, the one who built this house.”
Her throat tightened. “Who told you that?”
“Harry Dominguez, my contact in the SAPD. Apparently the family rep is still strong in the fraud division. So it’s true?”
“Yes. So?” She kept her expression as blank as she could.
Evan leaned forward, his eyes burning. “So why didn’t you mention that before, Rosie?”
She shrugged, her shoulders suddenly stiff. “Why should I? It didn’t have anything to do with you. Or me.” It was only half a lie. Maybe it didn’t count.
He stepped toward her, and she found herself backing into the living room. He followed her. “Didn’t have anything to do with us? I hired you to investigate the most successful medium in the country. The two of us were chasing dead mediums around San Antonio. And now it turns out mediums are your family business. I’d call that relevant as hell. Now tell me about Locators, Ltd.”
Rose sank onto the couch, folding her arms across her chest. “I already told you. I do freelance research. I track down information for people.”
“How do you do it?” He loomed over her, hands on his hips.
“The Internet, mostly. There’s a lot of good information available there if you know where to look.” She stared up, careful not
to blink.
“Really?” His eyes seemed even darker now, molten amber. “Suppose I had a missing will from my Great-uncle Ralphie. How the hell are you going to find that on the Internet?”
Rose shook her head. “I wouldn’t necessarily, although you can order some wills on the Internet if they’ve been filed. I’d look through your records, try to find what I could from what you had, then make a few educated guesses.”
“Educated how?” He leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of her. “Book learning? Or methods passed down from mother to daughter to granddaughter.”
She stared at his amber eyes, his dark hair, his Renaissance nose, his square jaw, currently set like granite. He looked like a judge from the Inquisition. Her pulse pounded at her temples. “What is it you really want to know, Evan? Why not just ask me straight-out?”
“Are you a medium? Do you get your information from the ‘spirit world’?” His lips twisted on the words, as if they tasted faintly sour.
Rose started to say no—the word actually formed in her mouth. She was so used to saying it. To Skag. To her family. To herself.
And then suddenly she couldn’t. If there was one person in the world she wanted to tell the truth, it was Evan. She was very tired of lying to him. She didn’t want to think about why she felt like telling him. She was just going to do it.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I do.”
***
Evan stared down at her, those emerald eyes swimming with picturesque tears, those lush lying lips. The slight trembling was a nice touch. He wondered if she’d learned that on her own.
Rage burned in his gut as if he’d taken a swig of sulfur. God, he hated being played for a sucker! Especially by someone he’d begun to . . . well . . . like.
He wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her, to make her admit it was all a lie. She didn’t talk to spirits. Nobody did. There were no spirits to talk to. What kind of fool did she take him for?