by Morgana Best
I had been sitting on a faded red chair that was surrounded by blue tape on the old gray linoleum floor. I had no idea if I was supposed to sit inside the lines, but no one had said anything about it before they had left. The smell of stale coffee hung faintly on the air, but otherwise, I felt as if I were in a sensory deprivation chamber. It was so quiet in the room that I occasionally moved the chair just to hear the sound of it scraping on the floor.
Kelly stared at me for a moment without speaking, but his partner smiled. He had introduced himself as Detective Jones, and I certainly liked him better than Kelly. He had kind eyes and a ready smile. He seemed like the kind of guy who had become a cop so that he could help people, where Stanfield Kelly seemed like the sort of guy who had become a cop so he could have power over others. Of course, I might have only thought that because I knew he had killed Alum. Call me biased.
“Thanks for coming down,” Jones said. He smelled strongly of cigarette smoke. “You have already agreed that this interview may be recorded, and you have been made aware of, and understand, the implications?”
“Yes. What’s all of this about?” I asked.
Jones smiled again. “We have some questions for you.”
I was rather annoyed about being questioned by the police after the day I’d had. I had done a good job so far at not letting anyone know that I was looking into Brady Wayland’s murder. I had nothing to do with the man, so it was strange that anyone would want to speak with me.
“You have just spoken with Sarah Curtis,” Stanfield Kyle said, not wasting any time in getting to the point.
I was shocked. “How did you know that?”
Kelly ignored me. “Why did you go to her house?”
I stared at the man for a moment. “As you know, I gave her my business card at the party. She called me and asked me to come over.”
Jones held up his hand. “You’re a psychic?” His facial expression was one I often saw when people heard what I did for a living: surprise mixed with an ample dose of doubt.
I shook my head. “No, I’m a clairvoyant medium.”
Jones went on. “You gave her your card? Your work card?”
“Yes.”
“And how could you help her, being a psychic?”
“A clairvoyant medium,” I said, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. “She just called earlier today and wanted to speak with me.”
“Do you know her husband?” Jones asked me.
“No,” I said.
“And you didn’t know her until you spoke with her at the party?”
I nodded.
“Speak please,” Jones said, “for the recording.”
“That’s correct,” I said.
“What did she want to meet you about?” Kelly asked me.
I simply told them the truth. “She wanted me to contact her dead father.”
“So what, you speak to dead people? Like that little boy in that movie?” Jones asked me. He smiled, but I had been compared to that little boy from that movie ever since it had come out. The worst part was everyone who ever made the comparison seemed as though they were sure they were the first one ever to do it, despite the fact that the movie had been out for years.
“Something like that,” I said with a sigh. I didn’t feel like getting into it all, so Jones could just think whatever he wanted.
Kelly looked as if he wanted to say something. I imagined he didn’t believe me, and that was fine. What was bad for him was that I really could communicate with the dead, and I had been communicating with the partner he had murdered. Thinking of that made me feel sorry for Jones.
Finally Kelly did speak, but I was pretty sure he didn’t say what he had been wanting to. Instead he asked a question. “That was all Mrs. Curtis wanted?”
I nodded. “She was having a hard time with her father’s death. I tried to help her.”
“You didn’t speak about her husband at all?” Kelly asked.
“No,” I said. “She did mention him in passing, but only briefly. We spent almost all of our time speaking about her father.”
Kelly rolled his eyes and didn’t make an effort to hide the fact. “You have also been in contact with Amanda Wayland.”
I tried to keep my mouth from falling open. How did they know that? I tried to sound calm and collected. “Why is that a problem?”
“You know what I think?” Kelly’s tone was belligerent, and he leaned forward. “I think you were speaking about Glenn with his wife. I don’t think you were speaking about her dead father. You seem in pretty deep with some of these people.”
“What people?” I said sharply. My anger momentarily overcame my fear.
“The Curtises, and Brady Wayland’s sister. It would be quite the coincidence.”
I decided to play dumb. “What is a coincidence? Do they know each other?”
“Amanda Wayland’s brother, Brady, was killed, and he had come to know Glenn Curtis.”
I nodded slowly. “I knew that.”
“You did?” Kelly asked, his eyes narrowing as he watched me carefully.
“It was on the news.”
“How do you know Amanda Wayland?” Jones asked me.
“She also reached out to me,” I said. “I knew about her brother’s death, obviously.”
“She needed your help, too?” Kelly asked.
“When did you first meet Amanda?” Jones asked.
“Only the other day,” I said. I found it strange how much more urgent the conversation had just become. When we were talking about Sarah, it was almost normal, as if I could forget that I was in a police station in a small room with a table, some chairs, and one of those two way mirrors I had only seen in movies up until that point. But now, speaking about Amanda, the questions had become intense.
“What did she say about her brother?” Jones asked.
“She just talked about how much she missed him.”
“Did she say how he died?”
I shifted in my seat. “She seemed to think he had been murdered.”
“She said that to you? In those words?” Jones asked me. It was strange how his demeanor had changed.
It slowly began to dawn on me why. These police officers actually suspected that Amanda had killed her brother. That was absurd. It was clearly Jason Taylor’s gang. Why would she kill her own brother?
“Yes, in those words,” I said. “She said something like, ‘Everyone thinks my brother killed himself, but I think he was murdered.’”
Jones nodded for a moment, and then shared a look with Kelly.
“You met with her more than once. You spoke with her at a café today,” Kelly said. “So are you saying that you met with her multiple times, because she’s sad about her brother’s death?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“And what did the two of you talk about today?” Jones asked me. “And who arranged the meeting?”
I shrugged. “Amanda called me this morning and said she had something to tell me.”
Jones leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “And what did she tell you?”
“She told me that the police had been to see her, and told her that her brother had been murdered, after all.” I paused.
Kelly waved a hand at me. “Go on.”
I tried to remember. “She said that it was a cocaine overdose. She said someone had tied up her brother, Brady, and injected him with cocaine.”
Both men leaned forward in unison. “Her exact words, please,” Jones said urgently.
“I don’t exactly remember,” I said. “She did use the words ‘defensive bruising’, and she also said that her brother had been tied up before the cocaine was injected into him.”
There was a shift in the atmosphere at that point. While I am not psychic, I am sensitive to energy, and the air was crackling.
“Are you certain?” Kelly asked.
I nodded. “Yes, I remember the words ‘defensive bruising.’”
Kelly shook his head. “No, I
mean about the other part.”
“Oh, that he was tied up and then injected with cocaine? Yes, I am certain.”
“How certain?” Kelly snapped at me, his eyes narrowed.
“One hundred percent certain,” I said firmly.
Kelly nodded, and the two men once more exchanged glances. “Will you sign a statement to that effect?” Kelly asked me.
“Yes.”
“Wait here.”
Once more I was left in the spartan room, but this time I had plenty on my mind. It was clear to me that the cops thought that Amanda was the killer. I had not suspected her until now. What motive could she possibly have?
Still, I thought about what her brother had said to me at his cabin. “Cyclops.” I had zero clue what that meant. Then I remembered what he had said when I had been speaking to his sister earlier that day: “Things are not as they seem.” Could he have been referring to his sister? He was also projecting feelings of anger and betrayal. At the time, I assumed he meant betrayal by Jason Taylor and his associates, but what if he meant by his sister?
The detectives had been interested when I told them Amanda’s words about defensive bruising and being tied up. I could only assume they had not told her either or both of those facts, and only the killer would know them.
I made up my mind. As soon as I signed the statement, I would drive to Brady’s cabin and try to contact him. He had come through more strongly there than anywhere else.
Chapter 24
I had left my cell phone in my car, and as soon as I picked it up, I saw there was a text message from Rainbow. I read it and then groaned. We’ve all gone out to McDonalds for dinner. We’ll bring you back a salad.
I pulled a face. I didn’t want a salad for dinner. After the day I’d had, I wanted a nice, substantial meal, and a lot of chocolate. At least there was ice cream and wine at home. Hold that thought. Christina would have polished off all the wine. And where was Alum? I wanted to tell him about the day’s events. I had certainly had an action-packed day.
At any rate, the text gave me an out—I wouldn’t have to make dinner that night, and they weren’t expecting me home quite yet. And so without an ounce of guilt, I headed for Brady’s cabin. My only reservation was that Amanda might be there, as she had told me that she was going to tidy it up for sale, but she had not mentioned that this morning. I decided to park on the gravel area just up the road from the cabin, and walk down the trail to the cabin. If I didn’t see her car, then it would be safe to go further.
There was not a car in sight when I pulled over at the gravel area. I walked quietly down the dirt trail to the cabin. I jumped and clutched at my throat when a large frilled-neck lizard hissed at me, right by my leg. I let out a sigh of relief that it was only a lizard, and kept walking.
When I got close to the cabin, I crouched down behind the bottlebrush bushes and peered through them. There was no car parked in the only area outside the cabin.
I left my hiding place and hurried forward. I kicked over the pot that used to hold the daisy, now just a shriveled stem, but there were no redback spiders under it this time. I looked at the key and hesitated. I did not have permission to enter the cabin, so I wouldn’t go in. No matter—I could try to contact Brady just as easily outside. I replaced the pot.
I eyed the hideous pink chairs, and then decided to sit on the top step. “Brady,” I said aloud. “Are you there?”
There was nothing. I tried to relax and focus, but I was worried about being at the cabin, with Amanda the likely killer.
“What does Cyclops mean?”
An impression came then, but it surprised me. “Alum? That has to do with Alum? You know about Alum?” I was confused. I had told Alum the word but it had meant nothing to him. And how did Brady know this? He did not respond to my question—there was not a single impression, not even a fleeting one.
I watched three huge white sulfur-crested cockatoos land down by the creek and peck at the ground. “Did your sister kill you?” I asked, and then he was there.
The impressions came one after another, flooding my mind.
I saw a much younger Amanda, dancing on a stage. She was wearing very little clothing, and men in expensive suits sat around her, holding out money for her. Then there was another impression, another time and place. Amanda was taking money from businessmen and then kissing them.
The scene changed and it was a different man with Amanda, and they were on a yacht. The man was older, with thinning white hair and black-framed glasses. They sat on the yacht drinking champagne.
The scene changed again. Amanda and Brady were in Amanda’s home. I held my head as the impressions overwhelmed me.
“I’ll tell him your secret,” Brady said. “I will. Don’t think I won’t.”
Another change, and now Amanda was filling a syringe with something. A shift in the vision again, and she had her brother tied up. She pushed the plunger into his arm.
With a shock to my system, as if I had just been dunked into freezing water, I was back to the present. “She killed you!” I said. “Brady, your sister killed you! Why?”
The impressions came again. Brady and Amanda were arguing. Brady threatened to tell Amanda’s fiancé that she had been an exotic dancer and a call girl in her younger days. He had said the words in a fit of anger.
I rubbed my forehead. “So Amanda killed you because you threatened to tell her fiancé?”
Brady was gone.
I opened my eyes, horror-stricken. My heart stopped.
Amanda was standing in front of me.
“I was a dancer first,” she said calmly, “but I wasn’t going to do those clubs, those dingy places. That was beneath me. And really, one thing led to another, and I started dating for money. I had a guy who booked me. It was a company, you know, not like out on the corner or anything. Most people couldn’t afford me.”
I just sat there, on the top step. She was blocking my way. I wondered whether I could run past her, but I had no idea if she was armed. She was clutching a purse.
“I got a taste of a certain way of life,” she continued. “But just for one night at a time. Always hotels. I got a taste for the cars and the money. If my fiancé found out about my past, the marriage would be off. Did you know that my fiancé is Peter Nettle, the politician?”
I shook my head. That was a revelation to me.
“The press would have a field day,” she continued. “Brady was the only one who knew the name I went by, back in those days.”
“You know, I think Brady only threatened to tell him in a fit of anger. I doubt he really would have.” I was surprised I could sound so calm, given the situation. Nevertheless, my palms were sweaty, and my heart was racing ninety to the dozen.
Amanda snorted. “You don’t know what he was like. We never got on as kids. He was malicious, always trying to make trouble for me.”
One thing still puzzled me. “Why did you tell everyone that he was murdered? The police originally thought it was a suicide.”
Amanda smiled, a smug expression on her face. “I knew the autopsy would show that he was murdered. If I was insisting from the beginning that it was murder, surely no one would think I was the killer.”
That did make sense, in an evil kind of way. “How did you get the cocaine?”
Amanda smiled and looked down at me. “The cocaine,” she repeated. I could tell she was rather proud of herself. “I use it, of course. I had some on hand.”
“You’re an addict?”
She shook her head. “Of course not!” Her tone was offended. “I only use it from time to time. But when Brady threatened me, I knew exactly what to do to him! It was perfect. Those men he was hanging around with, the son of that infamous cocaine dealer, Martin Taylor—it was too easy.” She cackled. “I hit him over the head, tied him up, and then shot him up with a big overdose of cocaine.” Her eyes glittered. “And I’m not sorry! Don’t think I am! I’d do the same again. He was threatening to ruin everything, my whole lif
e!”
“But why did you invite me in, when I first met you?” I asked.
Amanda laughed. “Oh, I didn’t believe in mediums. I’ve seen you on TV. I thought you’d be a good media connection—you know, networking and all that. When I did start to believe you, I was worried that you were onto me, so I wanted to keep in touch just to be sure that you weren’t. It was only when I came here to clean up and saw your car parked down the road that I got worried. I parked next to you and walked down here to see what you were up to.” She opened her purse. “I overheard you talking to my brother. I’m a believer now.” She laughed again. “Well, he can’t help you now.”
She pulled a syringe from her bag. “I knew this would come in handy. Ever since I killed Brady, I’ve kept it in my purse. I had a feeling I’d need it again some day. You’re not the only one who’s psychic.”
“I’m not psychic!” I said. “Amanda, listen to me. I came straight from the police. They’re on to you.”
A flash of annoyance spread across Amanda’s features. “Well, all the more reason to cover my tracks.”
“But if you kill me, and kill me the same way you killed your brother, that will be tied to you, too.”
“I know what you’re doing,” Amanda said with a sickly sweet smile. “You’re trying to confuse me, so I don’t go through with it. I’m smarter than that. People always think that I’m not smart, just because of the choices I made, the things I did to make a life for myself. I am smart, you know. Brady didn’t think I was smart, either, and look where that got him.”
I shook my head. “I’m just telling you,” I said. “They’re onto you. They’re coming for you.”
“Enough!” she said. “It’s the end of the road for you. I’ll figure out my problems—yours are done.” She lunged at me with the needle.
I jumped up and grabbed her wrist with both hands. The motion caused both of us to fall back down the stairs. I landed hard at the bottom of the stairs, still holding Amanda’s arm away from me.
She laughed. “I hope I’m as strong as you when I’m your age.” She tried to punch me with her free hand.