Crook of the Dead (The Adventures of Lydia Trinket Book 3)

by Jen Rasmussen

  “Not the place with the pink bedspreads again.”

  He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and gave me his credit card. “You pick.”

  But rather than start calling hotels, I called Norbert. On his cell phone, so Charlie wouldn’t know. “I don’t suppose you could write me some sort of spyware virus type thingie that would give me access to whatever is happening on somebody’s computer? Like their emails and stuff?”

  “I wouldn’t have to write it,” Norbert said. “I could put it on a flash drive for you in two minutes. But it would be highly illegal for you to use it. And we’d both get in big trouble if you were caught.”

  “I wouldn’t get caught,” I said. “And even if I did, I don’t think we’d have to worry about that. It’s the lady in Bristol I need to spy on. Max’s sister. I’ve broken into her apartment twice already, plus I shot her other brother—”

  “With my gun,” Norbert interjected. “A reminder that’s not making me more inclined to do this for you.”

  “But my point is, she’s never called the police before.”

  Norbert sighed. “I’d like to help you. But Charlie…”

  “I know,” I said. “And it’s shitty of me to ask, but you’ve got a pretty specialized skill set. It’s not like I’ve got a whole list of guys like you. And…” I closed my eyes for a second, and saw Bella Traven’s not-face. I’d been in some bad situations before. Life-threatening situations. Situations that were governed by malevolent forces I couldn’t understand. This was worse than any of them. “This whole thing has gotten so crazy, I honestly don’t know how we could sort it out without some very big hints,” I said.

  Norbert was quiet for a minute. Then he said, “When do you need it?”

  “I don’t think we’ll be able to leave until tomorrow.” Phineas scowled at me, but I waved him off. “I’m having some car trouble I need to take care of first.”

  “Okay. So I’ll leave it at Martha’s, and you can get it from her on your way out of town. How’s that?”

  “Perfect. Thank you, Norbert. Honestly. And if he stopped to think about it, Charlie would be glad you’re helping me not get killed.”

  “Yeah, well, you know I’m dying to ask you for details,” Norbert said. “But in the interest of keeping the peace, I think the less I know, the better.”

  While we waited at the mechanic’s, I filled Phineas in on my plan. “Norbert says if we can just plug the flash drive into Madeline’s computer, his thing will load automatically, and none of the common security programs will detect it.”

  “And how are we going to get access to her computer?” Phineas asked.

  “We convince her to meet with us, then once we’re in her office, we create some sort of distraction? I don’t know, we’ll have to work out the details. Wendy and Caleb will help us.”

  Phineas nodded, but he was chewing on his lip, which meant he was only half listening to me.

  “Are you still stewing over the extra time it’s taking to fix my car?” I asked.

  He shook his head and said, “Charlie was right about one thing.”

  “Okay. Random. But Charlie is right about a lot of things.”

  “You shouldn’t stay in that apartment. It’s too easily breached.”

  “Breached? Isn’t that something that happens to contracts?”

  “I’m serious.” He gave me a stern look, to punctuate the point. “Your apartment complex is crowded, and nobody knows each other. Nobody is paying attention to strangers coming or going.”

  “You’d think they’d be paying more attention now that a murder victim was found by the dumpster.”

  “And yet this Goode guy managed to get into your place twice.”

  I sighed and stood, fishing in my purse for a dollar bill. “I’m going to get something from the vending machine. You want anything?”

  His frown got deeper. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

  “I am. But I think better with snacks.”

  I came back chewing on a peanut butter cracker, then left again to get a bottle of water because it made me too thirsty to talk. When I finally reclaimed my cheap plastic chair I said, “I really don’t see how it’s feasible for me to move before my house is rebuilt. But I’m supposed to sign off on the plans next week, finally, and construction will start.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “They say six months, which means eight or nine.” I handed him a cracker and bit into another. “But honestly, I can’t think that far ahead right now. Let’s just get through this trip to Bristol.”

  Fucking Bristol. Of all the places I did not want to go.

  My car was up and running again by that afternoon, and we left as planned the following morning, after picking up Norbert’s little doodad at Martha’s. She offered to keep Wulf, but I wanted him with us. Which I guess was kind of silly, since we just left him in front of the TV at a hotel in Crowley’s Peak, while we drove up the mountain to Bristol and the Witch’s Brew.

  It had been a long time since I’d been there, and while Bristol as a whole didn’t hold good memories, I couldn’t help but smile as I inhaled the scents of cinnamon and yeast wafting around me.

  Both Wendy and Caleb were there. I explained what I wanted to do.

  “How about I go pull the fire alarm?” Caleb said.

  And a plan formed from there.

  When Phineas and I walked into the hotel, I did the talking. That was because he was chewing gum. Our plan involved a ridiculous, old-fashioned B-movie sort of trick, but old-fashioned was exactly what was called for. One thing I remembered about the Mount Phearson: the locks weren’t electronic. They were the old-fashioned kind, that worked with old-fashioned keys.

  It had been even longer since I’d set foot in the Mount Phearson Hotel, but it hadn’t changed. Walking into the lobby still felt like walking into a large, warm glass of wine, with everything decorated in shades of merlot and cabernet. It was too hot for a fire, but the huge fireplace had one crackling in it anyway. I had a vague, fleeting thought about the flames of hell that I quickly squashed. Things were ugly enough without me adding flowery descriptors.

  I told the guy at the desk I needed to talk to Mrs. Goode. The name almost made me giggle like a fifth grader. He said she was busy. I told him to call her and tell her who was asking.

  She came down five minutes later, dour and skeletal as always. Marriage didn’t seem to agree with her any more than anything else did.

  But when she got closer, I noticed one difference: shadows under her eyes. Despite her gloominess, she’d always looked alert and sharp. Now she looked like she wasn’t getting any sleep. Like maybe she had a new baby to go with that new husband.

  “Back, are you?” she said.

  “Well, that’s not your usual icy professional courtesy, now is it Madeline? Is your husband home?”

  “I don’t see how that’s your business.”

  “Come off it. You made it my business. I wanted to talk to him about this.” I pulled the FourSpy Mini out of my pocket and held it up. “And about the bullet hole in my wall.”

  She might as well have stood up on that gigantic desk and sung a song proclaiming her guilt, so obvious was the shifty look she darted around the lobby. “We can speak in my office.”

  She led us upstairs, to her private wing on the third floor. Phineas came last as we filed into her apartment-slash-office. I wouldn’t have caught his quick, furtive movement out of the corner of my eye if I hadn’t been watching for it. He’d stuffed the gum into the lock. See what I mean? Totally cheap trick. But sometimes the simple things are the most effective.

  I’d been in Madeline Underwood’s lair twice before, but she wasn’t supposed to know about either, so I pretended to look around. The same painting was in her entryway, three long-haired women dancing, one looking directly at me. It creeped me out, and I hurried past it to follow Madeline into the office side of the suite.

  There was a desk at one end of the cavernous ro
om, and a small conference table at the other. She gestured at the table, and we sat down.

  I noted that she didn’t offer us coffee or anything. It put me in mind of the first time I’d met her sister Matilda, who I’d known as Penny Dreadful, in another office. She’d offered us caramels.

  The memory made me sad, which in turn made me glare at Madeline as she sat across from me. It was her fault Penny was dead. She may even have killed her directly.

  “What is this nonsense?” Madeline held out her hand, as if I would just hand over the recording device.

  “The time for playing dumb has passed.” I wouldn’t have been friendly with Madeline Underwood—Goode—in any case, but the reminder of Penny made my tone even harsher than it might otherwise have been. “Just admit you were spying on us.”

  “Of course we were spying on you.” The voice was immediately followed by the appearance of a man rounding the corner. Blond hair, big teeth. The teeth were made more prominent by the fact that unlike the last time I’d seen him, he was smiling. It wasn’t a wolfish grin though. This smile looked genuinely friendly, his eyes mild and eager.

  This guy might be even more dangerous than his wife.

  “Jonas Goode.” He extended his hand to Phineas first. Phineas didn’t take it. After an awkward second Goode shrugged and sat down beside his wife. Taken side by side like that, her so dark and pinched, him so bright and affable, the contrast was jarring.

  “So you admit it, then,” Phineas said. “You planted that recording device. For Amias, I assume.”

  “Not at all,” Goode said. “For ourselves.” He looked from Phineas to me, smiling at our no-doubt matching dubious expressions. “We heard about Ms. Palmer, of course. Horrible crime. And we recognized the method as belonging to Amias.”

  “So you attacked me?” I asked. “Seems like an odd reaction.”

  “I didn’t attack you,” Goode said, as if correcting a child prone to exaggeration.

  “You shot at us!”

  “A warning shot. You’ll notice I didn’t hit you. You two were attacking me, and worse, your dog was attacking me. It was three on one, and dog attacks are serious business.” Goode shook his head, disappointed in us. “No, that was hardly a fair situation, was it?”

  I gaped at him. “Seriously? This is what you’re going with?”

  “Explain the recording device,” Phineas said, with none of the usual charm in his voice.

  “We knew what you’d do, once you realized Amias had killed someone in this world,” Goode said. “You’ve been harassing my wife for months, ever since you let Amias get away.”

  Goode smiled at his wife and squeezed her hand. Her lips unpinched just slightly, which I guess was her return smile.

  “We both knew your suspicions would immediately fall on her,” he went on. “We needed to know what you were up to. We were protecting ourselves.”

  I actually snorted at that one.

  Goode crossed his arms and gave me an irritated look. “You really have no right to come in here being righteous with me.”

  Something about how he said it gave me chills. I thought of Helen Turner. I thought of driving away from Penny. I thought of Gemma Pierce.

  But no, he wasn’t talking about my sins. “We have just as much reason to be wary of you as you have to be wary of us. You refuse to believe that Madeline has put Amias, and that part of her life, behind her. And that refusal is making it impossible for her to get the fresh start she deserves.”

  “Did your sister deserve a fresh start, too?” I snapped at Madeline.

  She looked back at me and, I shit you not, Madeline Underwood’s eyes filled with tears.

  “Yes,” she said simply. “She did.”

  “Well, you—” I was cut off by a loud, blaring noise. Caleb. The fire alarm. Madeline jumped up, her eyes immediately shuttered again.

  “Testing today?” Goode asked over the din.

  Madeline shook her head and gestured at Phineas and I to get up. She walked behind us, as we knew she would, and followed us out of her suite. Over the racket the alarm was making, I couldn’t hear whether the door closed with a soft thump or a more decisive click. We followed Mr. and Mrs. Goode down the stairs, mingling with a clump of nervous guests.

  Someone touched Madeline’s shoulder. She turned to talk to them. Mr. Goode was calling for everyone to get out, reassuring them with his big smile.

  Phineas squeezed my elbow. We moved into an alcove, then edged past a family of six, the kids getting tangled up with one another in their hurry to get down the stairs.

  “NO RUNNING!” their mother bellowed in a thick accent that sounded like Louisiana.

  It was sufficient confusion. We sidled back up the stairs, then hurried down the now deserted third floor corridor.

  As we’d hoped, Madeline had been too distracted, and the noise of the alarm too loud, to notice that her door hadn’t fully closed behind her. Phineas pulled out the gum on our way back in, then stood there with it on his thumb while I went to Madeline’s computer.

  I put the flash drive in. Norbert had told me to wait a full minute. I started counting as Phineas spotted a box of tissues and cleaned off his hand.

  …seventeen, eighteen, nineteen…

  We knew they would notice we were gone and come back for us. We knew they would almost certainly catch us. But that was fine, as long as I got to sixty first.

  …thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty…

  The alarm stopped. My ears rang in the abrupt silence.

  …forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight…

  Footsteps in the hall.

  …fifty-two, fifty-three…

  The door opening.

  Close enough. I hope. I yanked the flash drive out of Madeline’s USB port just as Jonas Goode came striding into the room. I was leaning over Madeline’s monitor. I straightened up with what I hoped was a guilty twitch, and bumped my hand against the mouse as I did. The pointer moved. Nothing was frozen. No windows were open. Whatever the flash drive had done, if it had done anything at all, seemed undetectable.

  “Now you’re the ones spying on us,” Goode said. “Did you arrange for the fire alarm, then?” He didn’t look surprised or angry or even disappointed. Just curious.

  “Yep. We paid one of those kids in that big family with New Orleans accents to pull it,” I said, hoping to throw suspicion off Caleb. Madeline might be a witch, but she was a businesswoman too. She’d never curse a guest. “They seemed more than happy to pull a prank, by the way. You should keep your eye on them.”

  Madeline, who was standing behind Goode now, pressed her thin lips into an even thinner line. “They’re checking out this afternoon.”

  “So much the better.”

  Goode crossed his arms. “And you’re not ashamed to be caught snooping on Madeline’s computer?”

  “Not in the least,” Phineas said.

  “Then it seems silly for you to expect me to be ashamed of the same behavior.” Goode gestured toward the door, as if he was a party host seeing us out. “Anyway, it’s a bit foolish of you. You didn’t think her files would be password protected?”

  “Guess we’re not expert spies like you,” Phineas said. “Not enough experience, I suppose.”

  As Madeline walked ahead of us to the door, I saw something come off her shoe and dropped my keys on top of it. I didn’t have time to look closely as I scooped both up, but I hoped it wasn’t what I thought it was. Unfortunately, it felt like what I thought it was.

  I caught Madeline’s eye as I walked out. I expected to see hatred there. Instead I saw something conflicted and sad. Something oddly like her sister’s expression. She didn’t blink or look away. Just gave me a quick nod, our meeting concluded.

  “So we’re agreed, then,” Goode said at the door. “We don’t trust one another. Noted. Will there be anything else?”

  “One other thing,” I said. “Next time I catch you trespassing, I’ll let my dog kill you. Dog attacks, as you know, are a serious
matter.”

  His eyes started to narrow, but then they crinkled with his smile instead. “Also noted. Perhaps it’s best if we just agree to leave one another alone.”

  When we got back out on Main Street I said, “Phineas, you know how you said those shadow eaters were like sparrows?”

  “Kind of like sparrows, yeah.”

  “In what way?”

  He stopped walking and looked back at me. “Why?”

  “Are they the same color?”

  I held up what I’d plucked off Madeline Underwood’s carpet: a small, caramel-colored feather.

  It wasn’t my intention for Norbert to do anything beyond give me that little hacking doodad, but he seemed to think teaching me how to work it would be just as much work as doing it himself. Perhaps because I kept referring to it as a doodad. I was technically proficient at the things I needed to know for my jobs, but the kind of stuff Norbert could do was way beyond my pay grade.

  Anyway, he’d taken an interest in what I did since the day he’d found out ghosts were real, and I was pretty sure he liked being involved. Which made me feel guilty. Not for Norbert’s sake. I’d filled him in on every detail of my experiences with Amias and Madeline, to make sure he knew the risks of helping me. He was an adult, and as long as he had all the information, he could make his own decisions.

  I wasn’t foolish enough to think of it as anything other than a betrayal of Charlie. But it was like I told Norbert when I first asked for his help: I didn’t know anybody else with his skill set. Besides, all he was doing was reading emails. How dangerous could sitting at his desk be?

  As for Madeline, unless she knew we were reading her mail, she really did love that used car salesman of a husband. She sent him affectionate notes that made me feel fascinated, repulsed, and sick for listening in, all at once. He responded in kind. The rest of her correspondence was mainly from her coven, also known as the Bristol Garden Club. They actually did discuss gardening a great deal. I learned a few things about why my basil plants were always dying.

  But that wasn’t all they talked about. Once in a while there was an oblique reference to A and his plans. What’s more, there were several mentions of training. A deadline was approaching for whatever this training was, and they were concerned about meeting it.