Knock, knock...

by Dale Mayer

  Shay shifted mentally. Stefan had left, and she needed to focus on today. "Good. Anything interesting?"

  "A few. Then again, I always think they are all worthy, whereas you go through and see the stuff I don't." Jordan smiled, back into her normal mood now that the filing was taken care of.

  "That's because you don't have to make the decisions as to who benefits the most from these grants. There's only so much money and making it stretch is a feat – and not an easy one."

  "But you do it so well." Jordan laughed lightly. "So did Bernice, didn't she?"

  "Yes." Shay sat back and looked over at the young, bright girl who'd quickly become a friend. Rose had too, but not with the same connection as Jordan and Shay had created. "Bernice had a talent for both sides of the business. Men handed money over without a whimper and she found worthy causes for all of it."

  "Yes. That’s her. I'd like to have her money to hand over."

  Thinking of the grande dame, Shay nodded. "She had men eating out of her hand all her life. I don't know that she was ever caught by the same love bug as the men were, though."

  Jordan raised an eyebrow. "Really? She never married?"

  "She liked playing the field too much. And no, she never had any children either."

  Jordan's second eyebrow shot up, to disappear under the bright strands of her hair. "Wow. Who's going to get all her money?"

  Shay frowned, staring out the window. What a good question. "You know, I'm not sure. I guess that will be taken care of this week. It doesn't involve me, thank heavens."

  "You have enough of your own already." Jordan walked back out. "But if they are looking for people to give it to, there is always me."

  "Chances are good that all her money will go into her foundation and the board will have more to hand out. They'll need to hire someone to take over her position. That might already be in place. I've been out of the loop the last few days."

  "I'm sure you have enough on your plate to deal with."

  Familiar noises in the other room made Shay smile.

  "I made coffee. Will you have one?" Jordan called.

  "Always."

  Happy to have the office back to normal and a good brew coming, Shay pulled the file toward her for her appointment that morning.

  Right.

  This was a soup kitchen that requested funds for two delivery vehicles and a salaried driver to deliver food to seniors and other people who couldn't make the trip on their own. Shay remembered this project, but could not remember the details. She glanced at her clock. She had an hour to get caught up.

  Jordan walked in with a cup of espresso in her hand. "Are you approving this request?"

  "Yes. We'll need to keep on top of their accounting to see if it's worth continuing after a year, but this isn't exactly a service many people provide. If it helps the community, I'm all for it.

  "Let's hope the organizer of this charity doesn't have a heart attack like the others." Jordan returned to her desk in the outer office.

  Shay swallowed. Hard. Now that wasn't a thought she wanted to dwell on. But it's not like she had a way to stop it.

  Or did she?

  ***

  Stefan opened his eyes. The skylight stared back at him. Out of habit, he reached, and pinched himself. And winced. His experiences when he shifted realities were sometimes so strong and clear that occasionally he'd get lost inside them. Sometimes he couldn’t tell if he was caught in a vision or had returned to reality – a sad state of affairs. Some said he was psychic; others called him a charlatan. And many labeled him just plain crazy.

  He was probably a bit of each.

  Stefan closed his eyes, his mind suffused with difficult memories. He always helped those that ended up on his doorstep. More often than not, they were brought there by an officer of the law. He'd worked enough with law enforcement agencies over the years to build a large network of people who called on him.

  So far Shay had kept herself apart from the others and from formally working with law enforcement. She didn't think her abilities offered anything to the other psychics. She couldn't be more wrong. She could do stuff with energy he'd never dreamed possible. But she also talked about his cases as if they were only his – showing a distinct separation in her mind. Yet, if she chose, she could be an immense help to his work and the work of others.

  The phone rang on cue. He rolled over and looked at it. Did he want to talk to Detective Chandler? He wracked his mind for the connection. The phone rang again. Right. Ronin.

  "Hello, Detective Chandler… Ronin."

  "You do realize that more people would view you in a kinder light if you didn't do that."

  Stefan smiled. "Do what? And what's going on with Shay's projects?"

  "See, things like that. How do you know anything is wrong?"

  "Because you wouldn't have called me otherwise."

  The detective laughed. "True enough. Have you spoken with her about the Foundation deaths?"

  Stefan frowned. Right. Death. Heart attacks. Charities. Tabitha. "Yes. Almost every day."

  "Good, it helps to know we're all on the same page." The detective chuckled then let his laughter die out. He cleared his throat. "I know that there isn't likely to be a connection between these deaths and what happened with Darren a year ago, but as that was my first entry into the psychic forces and the damage they can do, and now there is another weird scenario happening with Shay again - almost a year later, to the exact day…well it would be nice to know for sure there was no connection. Can see anything linking Darren and the current cases?"

  Stefan had already considered that. "Darren is dead," he said simply.

  "Right." Relief washed through Ronin's voice. "I guess I just wanted to make sure. I was hearing some weird stuff with the police gossip recently. Something about dead not really being dead?"

  Stefan sighed as he realized that Ronin must have heard about some of his weirder cases if he’d heard talk about dealing with the undead.

  "Darren was motivated by money. People that try for the un-dead state are looking to extend their human existence," Stefan said, thoughtfully. "Usually it has nothing to do with money."

  "Good. Then I can forget about Darren being involved?" Ronin asked cautiously.

  "Yes. I believe so." And Stefan did believe that. He'd gotten Shay’s slightly garbled message about recognizing the same energy as Darren’s in her apartment, but he didn't believe she’d read it right. That asshole had been dead a long time. "Except..."

  Dread filled Ronin's voice. "Except what?"

  "Shay believed Darren was an orphan. I don't know if that's true."

  "And if he wasn't, how does that change anything?"

  "Genetically, he could have family with similar abilities."

  "Right."

  Stefan could hear the click of keys as Ronin worked at his keyboard. "I'm going to work that angle in my spare time. Let's not leave anything out. I've spent hours going through the files Shay gave me." He gave a short laugh. "And the nasty emails Bernice had recently received."

  "Find anything?"

  "Not enough. Someone was trying to blackmail Bernice, but apparently she died before she made any payments." Frustration marred his voice. "So far, there's no visible connection between the victims, outside of them being involved with projects from Shay's foundation."

  "Shay's foundation. So not from Shay herself?"

  There was a slight pause. "There is a difference, isn't there? I was looking at the Foundation being the connection, but it could just as easily be Shay."

  "There is a lot of money involved in both scenarios."

  "I wonder if someone is looking to take out the competition for the Foundation money." He gave a short laugh. "Listen to me. We don't even know for sure if these deaths are suspicious."

  "Not true," Stefan corrected quietly. "They are definitively suspicious. What we don't know for sure is if foul play is involved…but at this point we have reason to believe it is." He caught Ronin up on
Tabitha's message about a force coming from the delivery person but not appearing to be that person's energy, and he also shared what Dr. Maddy had seen and Shay's insights.

  Just as he was finishing, his focus changed, wavered.

  He hung up quickly. His sunroom disappeared into a dark clouded sky. From sunlight to darkness in an instant.

  As if a storm was building.

  He could only hope he'd get some warning before it broke.

  ***

  Roman walking into the gallery for the first time since the opening night of the show. As he stared at his paintings, Shay's face as Stefan had escorted her out of the gallery flashed in his mind. Inside, his stomach had clenched in fear. Had she figured it out? Stefan had absolutely recognized the model in his paintings. How he'd known for sure it was Shay, was something that Roman didn't want to think about. What really bothered him was fear that Stefan might have told her.

  That look in Shay's eyes... As if she'd almost recognized herself. That wasn't something he was prepared to deal with right now.

  He couldn't. He didn't have the right answers for himself.

  But should he tell her – before someone else did?

  Why had he thought it would never come out? He might fool most of the public, but the model herself? And Stefan…

  His phone rang. He glanced down and frowned. He didn't recognize the number.

  "Hello?"

  "She didn't recognize herself. But I did. I sure hope you have an explanation for her when she finds out."

  Oh shit. Stefan.

  "Not a good one, I'm afraid," Roman admitted, quietly. "I saw her confused expression as she walked out last night. As if she were on the verge of seeing the truth. I had to admit I didn't sleep well afterward."

  "She hasn't put two and two together, but she will," Stefan said. "She's very astute. Right now she has something very troubling on her mind or I'm sure she would have made the connection herself."

  "For some reason, I never anticipated the day she'd find out."

  "It's already here. More than that, her astuteness let her see something I'm not sure that you see yet."

  Still holding the phone to his ear, Roman looked around, glad to see he was still alone in the gallery. He walked over to the one painting that showed the line of Shay's neck and chin. "What's that?"

  "The relationship between the painter and his model."

  Roman frowned. "Sorry? Shay's the model. That's all."

  Stefan's warm, knowing laughter filled the line. "No. It's not all. She's a lot more than a model. And I believe Shay was correct in her interpretation. Interesting times ahead."

  "Whoa. I don't know what you mean." Roman walked around the room, studied the paintings, keeping a lid on his emotions. Cautiously, he protested, "True, she's been my inspiration for the last couple of years..."

  "Exactly," said Stefan, "and you need to reflect on what that means." He paused as a weird sound filled the air. "Ah, I see what you aren't ready to admit." He laughed. "Shay may not see herself in those paintings yet, but she sees you very clearly as you relate to the model."

  Roman stared. "What do you see? I don't understand."

  "I know. But you will. I suspect Shay will have fun telling you, if you ask her." And he rang off.

  "As if." There's no way he could bring the subject up with Shay. And Stefan knew that.

  Damn. What had Shay seen that he hadn't?

  Chapter 13

  Late Monday morning…

  Shay studied the nervous man in front of her. It was that personality issue that caused her concern. She was used to people sitting in her office and being nervous because they wanted her support. But this guy seemed really nervous. As if something else bothered him.

  But what?

  She sighed. She opened the file in front of her. "Wilson, tell me about your project." And she looked him directly.

  Wilson froze like a deer caught in the headlights. He opened his mouth to talk, but no words came out. He ran his fingers through his hair and then tugged at his tie. He stopped fidgeting, and his whole structure slumped. "I'm sorry. I'm just so nervous."

  Using her inner eye, she studied his chakras looking for deception. Lies. Deceit.

  She watched the energy circulate in his first chakra. Fear. Nervousness. Not quite panic, but a definite wish to rush away. A need to get out. The longer she watched him, the more the energy swirled, becoming a frantic vortex. So not healthy. She gave the rest of his chakras a glance. He was definitely centered in the heart and came from a sense of needing to be of service. A need to redeem himself.

  She dropped her gaze. That part bothered her.

  Redeem himself, from what? What had he done so wrong that he needed to help others in this way?

  She decided to ask him. "Wilson. How did you choose this to be your calling? Or did it choose you?"

  He got that deer in the headlights look again. "I...I don't know."

  "You run a soup kitchen. Were you ever homeless? Were you raised in hardship?" She smiled gently at him. "I'm trying to understand why you are doing what you are doing. To see if you are going to be there in a week or a year or whether this is a fly-by-night type of thing and you'll be gone the day after I give you money."

  He blinked. "You're thinking of giving me money?"

  She laughed. "I think that's why you came here, isn't it?"

  "Yes." He straightened, brightened. "Yes. I need money for a delivery service. There are so many people who can't come to us. We need a way to take meals to them." He leaned forward and there was the animation, the passion she'd been looking for.

  Good. "Then tell me what you are looking for? A mobile kitchen or a delivery van. One with customized interiors. What?"

  After that he opened up and poured the information out. She had to redirect him a couple times to make sure he answered the specific questions she needed. At the same time, she managed to satisfy her own mind that he was indeed passionate about his calling. There'd been no explanation for the issues she could see in his first chakra but she suspected it had something to do with his family life growing up.

  "What about your family?" she asked gently. "Are they supportive of what you do?"

  He stopped, a sadness leaching the animation from his face. "My mother passed away a couple of years ago. A system like this would have made her life much easier." He stared out the window. His first chakra oozed energy in the direction of his past. His memories. "She was bedridden for the last year. I did everything I could, but it seemed like she had deteriorated more every time I stopped by."

  This was the source of the passion. Guilt and redemption – two of the biggest driving forces behind do-gooders.

  But it made her feel better to know he had that type of motivation.

  He'd be her next project.

  She spoke with him for another hour while she finished filling out her forms. After they were done and he'd left, she sat back and smiled when Jordan asked how it went.

  "It's great. He's a perfect candidate. We should be able to help him out. I'll do up the paperwork, send it out to the board, and we should be able to put this through within a week or two."

  Jordan's eyebrows – was that a new ring in her eyebrow – flew up to her hairline. "Wow, that fast? You normally take weeks to months."

  "But this one needs to happen sooner with the fall weather coming. He's got to get the vehicles outfitted, drivers hired and trained, and find the necessary customers ¬– the word needs to go out soon. Once the cold weather hits, and people can’t get out and about easily, they might need to double the vehicles or at least run on rotation."

  "Still, this one must mean a lot to you for you to give it this kind of attention." Jordan stared at her speculatively. "Unless there's something going on here I don't know about."

  Shay laughed. "Not at all. He's got good timing, that's all."

  Jordan sent her a doubtful look. "Okay, if you say so." She returned to her desk, and Shay returned to hers, just as her cel
l phone rang.

  Pappy.

  "Shay, did you not get the letter?"

  She frowned. "What letter?"

  "About Bernice's will. They are reading it in about ten minutes, and you're supposed to be here."

  "What?" She glanced at her watch. "Where's the meeting? I can leave now, but I can't get very far in ten minutes."

  "We're in your building. Lawyers McIntosh, McWilliams and Malory…on the seventh floor." He sounded anxious as he added, "Can you come?"