“Okay look,” Veronica said. “Don’t believe me. It’s fine. I don’t want anything from you either way. Just don’t forget what I said, okay? And when the call comes to respond to a domestic disturbance at apartment 112 somewhere, be extra careful. That’s all I ask.”
Felsen narrowed her eyes. “Very generous of you, giving out this advice for free, Miss Barry. But there’s the little matter of giving a false report to the police.”
“What false report?”
“You’re reporting a shooting that never happened.”
Veronica shook her head. “I’m not reporting it. I’m predicting it. Like the weather. I predict it’s going to be sunny and hot tomorrow. You want to book me for that?”
Felsen’s eyes glittered. “You’re glib for someone who’s looking at six months in jail.”
Veronica gazed at her. Felsen would love to see Veronica in jail for a false report. She’d make it happen if she could. But as nervous as that made Veronica, she knew she hadn’t said enough to get herself into trouble. She hadn’t named names or specific places. “It would never hold up in front of a judge,” she said, hoping her voice sounded stronger than she felt.
“Maybe not,” Felsen said, leaning towards her. “But my friend at the Sac Bee would be happy to print an article about the high school teacher accused of trying to con the police.”
“That threat got old five months ago,” Veronica said. Felsen had tried to scare Veronica off from the investigation surrounding the murder Evander Collins had supposedly committed back then with similar threats. “Tell me, Detective, how’s your partner going to feel about you harassing me again?” Veronica asked. She glanced at the officers, who watched the two women like a Wimbledon match. “He might not like you going after his girlfriend like this.”
“Girlfriend,” Posey echoed.
“That’s right,” Veronica said, her eyes wide as she looked at each of them in turn. “Detective Seong is dating me, the supposed con artist. Do you think all these accusations are complimentary to him? Do you suppose he’s too stupid to know the difference between a con artist and a real psychic?”
The two officers looked at each other, but no one answered.
Veronica pushed out her chair and stood, gazing at the officers. “I’m done here. Just remember what I said. Domestic disturbance, apartment 112. There’s a guy with a gun, and he will use it. Don’t be unprepared.” She turned to Felsen. “You want to try and take me down, Detective, be my guest. But be careful. You keep this up I’ll file a harassment complaint. And I know some things I could say to people that might make your life as uncomfortable as you think you can make mine. You hear what I’m saying?”
Felsen stared unblinking into Veronica’s eyes. Veronica turned away first, but held up her chin as she strode to the door and let herself out.
~~~
“Hey, Gorgeous, you’re just in time for my lunch break,” Daniel said. Veronica came to a halt in the middle of the main office of the substation. She hadn’t been thinking about Daniel then and his voice surprised her.
Daniel stood beside his desk, wearing a short-sleeved blue striped Oxford shirt and tan slacks. His near-black hair was growing over the collar, and it curled more than Veronica would have guessed a Korean’s might. He smiled are her, his cat-like eyes crinkling at the corners. She admired the angles of his face—his face had always brought to mind a diamond, even when she first met him.
“Lunch?” she managed. “It’s three o’clock.”
“I started at eleven,” he said. His smile widened. Over the last two months they had seen a lot of each other. He was in the hospital for a while after a criminal stabbed him in the gut. The blade sliced his gallbladder so badly it had to be removed, and it had also damaged part of his liver. He’d suffered an infection that delayed his recovery significantly. When he was back home, at last, Veronica tried to visit every day to help him with everything. She had spent many nights, even though for a while all they could do was sleep side by side without much touching. He was doing a lot better in that regard now.
“Great,” Veronica said, returning his smile. “You want to go somewhere?”
“Just the diner on K. They’re fast. I have to be back in a half an hour or the piles of paperwork might escape.”
Veronica kissed his cheek and made no comment. Daniel on desk duty was fine by her, even if he didn’t like it. She didn’t want to see him in a hospital again, ever. “A greasy spoon sounds like just the thing,” she said.
~~~
Later that afternoon Veronica stopped by her friend Melanie’s house to see how her current project was going: Melanie was repainting the living room.
“Come in!” Melanie shouted when Veronica knocked on the front door.
She turned the knob and entered, discovering her friend sitting in the middle of the living room floor on the drop cloth. Melanie had her blonde curls tied up in a bandana splattered with creamy yellow paint. Smears of paint also adorned her T-shirt and jeans.
Melanie gazed at Veronica forlornly, her large blue eyes glistening.
“Mellie,” Veronica murmured. “Is something wrong?”
Melanie’s face crumpled and she let out a sob. “Oh, V, it’s nothing. Really. I’m just—just so tired.”
Veronica moved carefully around the plastic trays and rollers of paint and crouched by her friend’s side. “Oh, hon. Time for a break, don’t you think? Come on, I’ll make you some iced tea.”
Veronica helped Melanie up and led her into the kitchen, sitting her down at the counter. Veronica had known Melanie for over twelve years and she knew her way around Melanie’s kitchen as if it were her own. She nuked a mug of water and dropped a bag of green tea in it when it was done, then poured it over ice in a large glass, placing it on the counter in front of Melanie.
“Who can blame you for being tired,” Veronica said as she did, “with everything you have on your plate. How are the night classes going?”
Melanie used the edge of her T-shirt to dry her eyes. “It’s so much work. So much more than I expected. Who knew paralegal studies would be so hard? I thought, ‘It’ll be just like doing what I do at work, but I’ll get a degree.’”
“Well, it isn’t all that much different, right? I mean, it’s not that it’s too hard, it’s that it demands so much time,” Veronica said.
Melanie’s shoulders relaxed a bit and she picked up the glass of tea, holding it in her hands without yet taking a sip. “That’s true. It’s not too hard. But it is time-consuming.”
“And Angie?” Veronica asked gently. She knew Melanie’s teenage daughter was a sore subject these days.
“Still sneaking around. Oh, Veronica. I think it’s a boy.” Melanie’s voice broke on the last word.
Veronica frowned with sympathy and put her hand on Melanie’s wrist. She felt a twinge, something like nausea, but then it passed. Just Melanie’s exhaustion, no doubt. There was a time when Melanie hadn’t been so worried about Angie dating, but that was before the teen went out with a young man who eventually tried to kill her. Now Melanie probably wasn’t sleeping at night, worrying about Angie. Veronica couldn’t blame her, but there wasn’t much either of them could do besides lock Angie in her room and nail down the window. “It’s the summer, Mellie. You can’t keep Angie inside all summer.”
“Why can’t she go out and play soccer or go swimming? Why won’t she hang out with those nice girls from the animal club she joined?”
Veronica shook her head and shrugged one shoulder.
“You haven’t—you haven’t seen anything? Dreamt anything?” Melanie asked.
Veronica shook her head more firmly this time. “Not a thing,” she said.
“Well, I guess that’s good.”
Veronica leaned on the counter, gazing at Melanie. “Is that all, hon? There isn’t anything else?”
Melanie shook her head. “I mean, work is the usual crazy. Denise still can’t seem to use spellcheck to save her life. And half the ti
me she doesn’t save her drafts. I don’t understand people who don’t save their drafts. I end up rewriting half the stuff she was supposed to do, and editing the other half. And Darnell has five cases above his contracted load, but what else is new? That’s actually an improvement over five weeks ago. He was six cases over then.”
“What about what we talked about, you quitting and focusing on school and Angie?”
“I can’t quit, V. If I quit I may never get hired on again. I’m no spring chicken anymore.”
“Oh come on, Mellie. You’re not exactly decrepit.”
“Tell that to the bouncy young thing ADA Vasquez just hired.”
“I wasn’t aware that ‘bounciness’ was a desirable trait in a law clerk.”
“It doesn’t hurt.”
Veronica watched Melanie drink some tea. Melanie’s worry about quitting was nothing new, and Veronica couldn’t confidently say that it was truly unfounded.
“What about Chris?” she asked, changing tactics. “Are you guys going out some time soon?”
Melanie sighed and nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Yeah. Tomorrow night, actually.” Then she frowned. “But I worry that Ange will take advantage. If I’m out, it’s that much easier for her to just leave and not have to deal with me sitting up waiting for her. Maybe Chris won’t mind if we stay in here…”
“Oh, right. Stay in, so you can keep an eye on your sixteen year old. That sounds really romantic.”
“We had a nice romantic picnic last Saturday, you know. I’m not a complete bore.”
Veronica smiled and patted her hand. “I know, Mellie. But what you need is some fun. Some relaxation. Angie will be fine. I’m sure I’d have seen something if she was in any real trouble.”
Melanie’s shoulders relaxed a bit more. “Yeah. You would, right?”
“I’m sure of it,” Veronica said.
~~~
While it was true she’d had visions before that warned of trouble for Angie, Veronica could take no chances that they would just come to her unsolicited now. Waiting until Melanie excused herself to the restroom, Veronica took a slow walk through Angie’s bedroom, picking up a book, a pen, touching Angie’s pillow, her hair brush. Still, nothing came to her.
“You all would tell me if there was something to worry about, right?” Veronica murmured, uncertain if the spirits that followed her would even be listening. She hoped they would. She hoped they wouldn’t somehow overlook the importance of keeping her up to date on Angie’s welfare.
She ran the tips of her fingers over the keyboard of Angie’s computer. She kicked at a pair of shoes. This was going nowhere. The spirits had nothing to say about Angie, no doubt because whatever the sixteen year old was up to, it was beneath their notice. Veronica sighed and scooped up a small pile of laundry with the intention of dumping it in the hamper by the foot of the bed.
That’s when the vision hit.
~~~
She was aware, first, that she was wearing a red top with long sleeves—a cardigan. It was unbuttoned. Necessarily so: her belly protruded from it like she was hiding a pumpkin under her shirt.
Veronica clutched her stomach from shock but her gesture coincided with a sharp pain that doubled her over. She went to her knees. She pressed her hand to her groin—the curve of her belly hid that part of her anatomy—and when she brought her hand before her face it was as red as the cardigan. Blood.
Her vision blurred and warped and she squeezed her eyes against a fresh stab of pain. When she opened them again she was herself and the pain was gone.
Veronica stood in the middle of Angie’s room, holding the clothes. She looked at what she held. Sure enough, in the pile was the red cardigan.
“Crap,” she said.
~~~
Veronica left the house without telling Melanie about the vision right away. She would talk to Angie first. If Angie was pregnant, it would be far better for her to tell her mother herself. Veronica could offer to be there when she did. She’d known Angie since the girl was three years old, and Veronica hoped such an offer would be a comfort to her—but it was hard to predict how Angie might react these days.
Veronica texted Angie on the way home to her small duplex near McKinley Park, asking her if they could meet, but Angie did not respond.
As she entered her duplex Veronica nearly lost her footing when her Australian tricolor shepherd, Harry, barreled into her legs in his enthusiasm to welcome her home. Veronica found his harness and leash and took him out for a walk around the block, pondering how she would word her discussion with Angie as she did. When they returned home, however, there was still no answering text.
Veronica’s next line of attack was Facebook. Settling herself with her laptop on the couch, she logged on, and noticed that she had a message. Thinking maybe Angie had decided to answer her there, she opened it first.
If she hadn’t been sitting on the couch she might have fallen over with shock. She blinked at the screen, taking in the name, checking that she had read it correctly.
Eric Huette.
The only time she’d seen Eric’s name since she was twenty years old was when Eric sent her a friend request two years before. It had been a surprise to see his name then, but since she never interacted with him beyond accepting the friend request, she’d soon forgotten about it.
Eric Huette. One of the worst crushes she’d ever had—really the worst, since he’d been dating her best friend at the time, Fiona. What a complicated mess that all became. It was the year she spent abroad in Paris. Oh, how she’d tried to resist her feelings for him—and Eric made it so much harder since he didn’t seem to have the word “fidelity” in either his French or his English vocabulary. In the end everything went awry anyway when the three of them shared an unpleasant experience on New Year’s Eve—but at least she hadn’t betrayed Fiona.
She’d only seen Eric once a few months after that. And he’d kissed her.
Veronica stared at the name on the screen. She hadn’t even read his message yet. She didn’t know if she wanted to.
Don’t be a melodramatic sap, she scolded herself. Honestly. It’s been thirteen years.
She let her eyes scan the message.
He was coming to Sacramento.
Holy crap. Holy, holy crap. Veronica took a deep breath. Stop it, you silly goose. It’s been thirteen years! Do you really think you’ll see him and all those old feelings will even be there? Do you really think he’s still going to flirt with you like he did? Grow up, Veronica.
She was with Daniel now. She loved being with Daniel. She wasn’t a silly twenty-year-old with a crush on a handsome French guy—half that crush was probably just an extension of her Francophilia anyway! She was an adult, in an adult relationship. She had changed so much since that year in Paris, and of course, Eric must have changed, too. For all she knew he was bald and fifty pounds heavier. She clicked on his name and went to his photos.
No such luck. The face that stared out at her looked more weathered—some laugh lines around the eyes—but he hadn’t really changed more than that. His hair was still thick and light brown. His eyes were still greenish hazel and full of mirth. And based on the photos from some beach vacation, his body was still trim and muscular. He was still gorgeous.
Crap.
She reread the message.
He was coming to Sacramento. His company was starting an office. He wondered if he could connect with her once he arrived so she might show him around a bit, help him pick the right place to rent an apartment.
So he was staying. At least long enough to justify renting an apartment.
Veronica tried to ignore the way her heart beat faster at this.
I’m such a silly romantic, she said to herself. I’m just getting all worked up over nothing. I’ll show him around one day and tell him to find a place in Midtown and that will be that.
Midtown was just a few blocks from her duplex, of course.
But that didn’t mean she’d see a l
ot of him.
And even if they did strike up a friendship—she was capable of getting coffee with a male friend from time to time without it becoming a thing.
Come on, Veronica. Get a grip.
She took a deep breath, left the couch and the computer, and went to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of apple juice. She gazed at the amber liquid, wishing that for once she had a nice bottle of wine in the house. She liked wine. Would it be so hard to pick up a bottle every so often, stretch her strict budget a bit? The sensation of a cat rubbing itself against her ankles distracted her. She looked down.
“Hey there, Binky-boy. It’s nice to see you, too,” she said, reaching down to stroke the back of her three-year-old seal-point Birman. Knowing Binky, he was hungry. “Where’s Blossom?” she asked him, but Binky had no interest in the whereabouts of his adopted sister. Blossom was an eight-year-old, white long-hair and she usually spent her days sleeping on Veronica’s bed or gazing out of the window in Veronica’s room, so Veronica was fairly certain she knew where the cat was anyway. Binky gave one of his I’m-so-weak-with-hunger-I’m-about-to-faint mews and rubbed himself against her leg again. Veronica caved and poured out some kibble.
“You’ll ruin your dinner,” she told him.
What would Eric think of her now, she wondered. Living in a tiny duplex right under the train tracks with two cats and a dog, teaching French part-time. Too broke to afford the occasional bottle of wine. Was any Frenchman too broke to buy wine? Not Eric, anyway. It sounded like he was some hotshot businessman. Not that they ever even discussed their ambitions when they’d known each other. Mostly they’d joked around and sipped espressos in cafés. Once, they went to a flea market, the three of them… and she and Eric got separated from Fiona… and he’d touched the skin of her stomach as she leaned over to look at something—
Enough. Just quit it, she ordered herself.
It was just unfinished business. That’s all it was. Just silly romantic nostalgia and unfinished business. Eric was a cad back then, and he probably still was. It had been ridiculous to like him so much then, just as it was ridiculous to freak about his visit to Sacramento now.
The Plane and the Parade (Veronica Barry Book 3) Page 2