Adelaide Confused (32 page)

In a flash I had it out of
his hands, mumbling something vague about historical books that
belonged to someone else. “Would you mind getting the broom?” I
gestured to the broken bottle. “I need to clean up the glass.” The
second he was out of sight I kicked all the books under my bed,
pausing only long enough to glare at the swooning full-figured
floozies depicted on each cover. After that I rushed to hide all my
underwear, finishing just before he returned.

While sweeping he said, “I
heard you calling me, so I let her go, but I should have stopped
her.”

The loft was nearly back to
normal by then. I paused to answer, saying truthfully, “I wouldn’t
have known what to do with her if you had. It’s better this way.”
And really it was. Raina Thompson was now confident that I was
nothing more than a useless seer who was not in possession of the
book. She wouldn’t be bothering me anytime soon.

Downstairs was a mess, but
thankfully nothing was broken. The cabinets in my kitchen hung
open, their contents disrupted, but nothing had been dropped or
destroyed. Cushions were pulled up, the couch itself sat askew, but
it hadn’t been ripped open like in the movies.

It occurred to me that
Raina had searched my room last, waiting until I was awake. And
then she’d been rougher with my things than her form of searching
required. It was a ploy meant to distress me into disclosing the
location of the book—the clever harpy.

Too soon tidying the
downstairs was done. Lucas had just returned the broom to its
closet and we stood awkwardly in the kitchen. Just to fill the
silence I said, “Thanks for helping, and not just with the cleaning
either. If it wasn’t for you I’d probably still be tied up in my
bedroom.”

Uninterested in praise, he
asked, “Are you going to be alright here alone?”

I shrugged. “I doubt she’ll
come back.”

“
You can always stay at my
place.”

It was a tempting offer,
and unlike the last time he asked, I was pretty sure he wasn’t a
psychotic murderer. But between the suggestive comment I’d
thoughtlessly made on our last parting (you know, the one about
seeing a lot more of each other) and the charade he’d witnessed
with Reed, not to mention the raunchy novels, I was hard-pressed to
convince him I wasn’t a complete trollop.

I figured spending the
night might send the wrong message, maybe he’d take it to mean I
was easy. So I said, “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

That signaled the end of
our conversation, and with a nod, he left. I always felt bereft
after he’d gone, especially just then when I’d been hoping for
another kiss. Had I done something wrong? Had I put him
off?

I found my answer in the
bathroom mirror. Obviously it was the pajamas.

I was hunched over the
desk, busy putting together Sterling’s next order of cleaning
supplies, when I got the unmistakable impression that someone was
behind me. I knew I was alone in the office but I turned anyway,
glancing suspiciously over my shoulder. Above me the clock ticked
steadily and behind me all was as it should be. Or so it appeared.
But there was a strange tickle and itch at the back of my neck, a
feeling that put me in mind of the rising hackles on a
dog.

Shuddering, I turned back
to my work, the half-finished list in front of me. I’d just taken
up my pen when a swiftly moving shadow pressed closer. I could feel
it at my back. The temperature abruptly changed, going from
comfortable to chilly in an instant. The air escaped my lungs on a
frightened exhale as I watched the sheet of paper press itself flat
against the desk, a palm print visible.

“
You shithead!” I lashed
out with my arm, swinging through the space around me where I
thought he loomed. Smith was not there, but for a moment I had seen
something. It was gone so quickly that all the details escaped my
mind. So quickly in fact, that I might have convinced myself it was
all imagined. Only I knew better than that.

Was this what it felt like
to be haunted? Your body sensing something your mind can’t
comprehend. I had no one to blame but myself. It was just as Nancy
Bristow said—I was making the ghosts soulier. How long had I been
oblivious to Smith’s skulking around Sterling’s before the ring
came to me? How could I have missed this feeling? This out of
sorts, edgy distraction.

I wasn’t sure what I was
wishing for more—the ring back, or that I’d never worn it at
all.

This morning I’d hardly
noticed its absence. The dog was always going away to wherever for
periods of time. And after waking up I’d been too busy obsessing
over Lucas to wonder if it was there. But Smith was here, I knew
it, and the bastard was haunting me.

“Adelaide, are you alright?”

I jerked at the sound of
Stephen’s voice, surprised to see him standing in the open doorway.
Usually I could feel him coming, but I’d been too preoccupied for
that.

I shuffled the papers in
front of me with practiced nonchalance. But there was just the one
sheet, and I found myself squishing it between two nervous hands.
“I’m fine.”

He didn’t believe me.
Standing in the office door, wringing his hands like a fidgety old
woman, he reminded me of his mother. Mostly he was worried, though
I also felt he was embarrassed and nervous for his
concern.

“What is it?”

Closing the door behind
him, he walked slowly toward the counter. “I’ve been meaning to
talk to you... it’s just, I’m somewhat wo—”

“
Worried,” I interrupted
impatiently, “yes I know. Worried about what?”

“
I don’t think you should
see Reed Wallace,” Stephen blurted, not making eye contact. “I
don’t think he’s good for you.”

“
You seemed to think well
of him not long ago.”

Stephen’s spotty cheeks
turned red, his glasses sliding down as he looked toward his toes.
“He’s...”

“Charming,” I supplied.

“
Yes,” Stephen agreed,
still not looking at me. “He sort of... pulls you in. I guess
that’s why I’m worried.”

“
You think I’ve been
seduced by his charm?” I was unable to suppress my smile. I was
perhaps the only person who was not. Surely, that was
irony.

Stephen shook his head. “Do
you remember those guys from my grade you asked about? Tony, Ted,
and Greg. Well they’ve been spreading stories around school.
They’re swearing they saw the girl who held them at gunpoint just a
few days later in an alley. Apparently a big guy covered in blood
had a knife to her neck. Now, usually I wouldn’t believe the
rumors,” his eyes lowered to my throat, “but the next day you wore
a turtleneck to work.”

My hair was loose and lucky
for me, hanging forward to cover the faint scratch marks that
remained. “And what do these stories have to do with Reed?” I
asked, uneasy because I knew from experience how observant he could
be.

“
It’s just that none of
this stuff started happening until you met him. And now you’re
working for him even though you don’t want to.” He studied me with
a fixed gaze. “You look tired... stressed, you never used to come
to work like that. And you and Francesca never fought
until—”

“
If this is about
Francesca...” I said with a warning in my voice.

“It’s not.”

He was telling the truth.
His worry was for me and not his chances with Francesca. I sighed,
leaning back in my chair. “Stephen, your concern, it’s unnecessary.
I’m an adult, capable of making my own decisions.”

After snatching up the
clipboard, I slid it across the counter, a gesture that meant he
ought to get cleaning. And he did, walking out of the office
without another word. I knew what he was thinking though, I could
feel it, and it felt like crap. I felt like crap.

The moment Stephen had
departed a sharp pinch was delivered to the delicate skin on my
inner wrist. I yelped, simultaneously trying to slap the air around
me and rub my sore forearm.

Smith’s feelings were as
intangible as his being had become, but like him they weren’t
completely gone. Broken wisps of disapproval radiated from all
around.

So Smith deplored the way
I’d handled Stephen. Well I didn’t much like it either. At this
rate I would soon be out of friends. But it was not as if I could
explain the situation to anyone.

Trying to forget my
troubles, I focused on work, but Smith’s presence was stamped in my
mind. “Go away,” I hissed into the seemingly empty room. But he
didn’t go, in fact he settled in like a tick. I could feel his eyes
on me, watching, though I couldn’t say from where.

This was about the time I
started to worry. What would I do if the ring wasn’t charmed to
bring itself back? I’d wondered before if it was a compulsion that
made me put it on, not magic. Perhaps even now Raina was wondering
why she couldn’t keep the damned thing off her finger. Thinking of
it made me mad. I found myself feeling oddly possessive of
something I hadn’t even wanted or asked for.

Things didn’t get any
better. Stephen avoided me until his shift was over. Unfortunately
Smith kept me company. He was like a fly buzzing in my ear. And
when Missy finally arrived, I ran for my car, unable to get away
fast enough.

I was so absorbed with my
own thoughts I’m surprised I noticed him at all, but I
did.

As I pulled my slightly
resisting Chevy onto the road I saw a man whose orange baseball cap
caught the streetlamp’s glow as he passed beneath. Hunched with his
neck tucked between his shoulders, he turned down a side street.
After checking to make sure there was no oncoming traffic, I let my
car drift to a stop while watching him in my rearview
mirror.

Lars had sent someone to
sense the book, and shortly after Reed’s warning I found myself
being followed. Obviously I’d put two and two together... but I
hadn’t come up with four. Raina Thompson was the aura reader, so
who was this guy? To be honest, I’d forgotten all about him. Being
stalked was definitely something to remember, but he just didn’t
frighten me the way Lars’ people did. That being said, I found it
easy to flick off my headlights and put the car in reverse. I was
somewhat familiar with the side street he’d taken. Ben walked it
each day. There was no outlet, but you could cut through the
cemetery on foot to reach the next road over. And that was what he
must have done, because I saw no sign of him as I drove.

It was full dark by then,
as it always was by the time my shift was done. But the streetlamps
cast a soft blanket of yellow which receded slowly as I coasted
near the cemetery. Most of the houses I passed were dark and
unoccupied, their owners remaining at a primary residence off the
island. And just ahead was Goodfellows Cemetery.

It sat higher than
everything else, an inky smudge against the starlit sky. A wrought
iron fence circled the property, the pointed arch gateway always
open. The name Goodfellows was scrolled across the top in twisted
black metal.

I parked just in front,
filling one of the few crooked spaces available. Sharp blades of
tough grass had taken over much of the cul-de-sac, growing through
the crumbling bits of asphalt. I cut the engine but made no move to
get out.

The shifty stalker didn’t
scare me, but I found the cemetery imposing and just a touch
creepy, especially after dark. None of the town’s ambient light
reached the hill’s top, where cracked and split headstones
disappeared into darkness. And with a straining eye I could just
make out the silhouette of oaks, their gnarled trunks and branches
standing like skeletons against the night sky. Their leaves rustled
in intermittent waves, the only sound I could hear from inside my
car was their papery tinkling.

No
, I thought,
I won’t get out
.
But then I caught sight of his bent figure vanishing up the
incline. Probably parked across the hillock on the road that ran
parallel with Sterling’s, a nice discreet distance for stalking.
Logically I knew that there was no point in following him. This
wasn’t a movie where all it took was a license plate number to
solve the mystery. What the hell would I do with his plate number?
But I wanted to go charging after him the moment he stepped out of
sight. To hell with logic, I was becoming sleuthy and it rankled to
do nothing.

I couldn’t say it was my
instincts I obeyed, impulse more like. I got out of the car
quietly, slinking up the hill at a steady pace. It was thrilling,
truly, and I reveled in the hunter’s high. I was destined to be
sneaky; perhaps I’d been a pickpocket in another life. Of course a
moment later I tripped, and things went south from there. I never
caught up to my enigmatic follower, too busy trying not to break my
head open as I crashed to the ground.

I was suddenly aware of the
spooky cemetery, shrouded in darkness, which surrounded me. I had
seen Goodfellows during daylight and could attest to its age. I
didn’t mean that most of the grave markers had collapsed (though
they had) or that the shrubbery was neglected (though it was). I
mean that its inhabitants were of an age past, long since gone, and
no mourners came, no one to leave flowers. There was no sign, no
reminder of the current time within these iron bars, nor even a
splash of color. Having seen it all in daylight it was easy to
picture. But it seemed especially spooky from the prone position in
which I had landed on the damp crabgrass.