Medium Rare: (Intermix) (20 page)

Rose started to say no—the word actually formed in her mouth. She was so used to saying it. To Skag. To her family. To herself.

And then suddenly she couldn’t. If there was one person in the world she wanted to tell the truth, it was Evan. She was very tired of lying to him. She didn’t want to think about why she felt like telling him. She was just going to do it.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I do.”

***

Evan stared down at her, those emerald eyes swimming with picturesque tears, those lush lying lips. The slight trembling was a nice touch. He wondered if she’d learned that on her own.

Rage burned in his gut as if he’d taken a swig of sulfur. God, he hated being played for a sucker! Especially by someone he’d begun to . . . well . . . like.

He wanted to grab her shoulders and shake her, to make her admit it was all a lie. She didn’t talk to spirits. Nobody did. There were no spirits to talk to. What kind of fool did she take him for?

The kind of fool she could sleep with a couple of times and then lie to, obviously.

“I’ve never spoken about this before to anyone,” she whispered. “Never. I haven’t even told my family. I think my mom knows, though. She must know. She lived here for the first eighteen years of her life. And she’s a Riordan, like me. She must have known him.”

“Him.” Evan’s gut clenched. “Him who?”

She cleared her throat. “His name is Skag.”

“Who?” he snarled. “Your . . . manager?”
Your pimp?

She shook her head. “He’s a ghost, I think. A spirit, anyway. My ghost.
Our
ghost. He was a Riordan once a long time ago. He says my great-grandmother brought him with her from Ireland, which may well be true. I don’t know how she could do that, but she was apparently a very determined woman. Anyway, he’s been here since she built the house.”

Evan stood up straight again, his fingers digging into his hips. She was lying to him, staring right at him and lying. And she was very good at it. Bile burned in his throat.

“I didn’t know about him before I moved in. My mother never talked about Grandma Caroline. I guess she never discussed what went on here because she didn’t want any part of it herself. But I wish she’d warned me. Instead of just telling me to sell the house and move on after Grandma left it to me. Because she must have known—she must have seen him, too. She could have told me about him, although I might not have believed her.” Tears spilled down her cheeks, like the rain on the windows.

Pretty tears. She was even beautiful when she cried. He willed himself not to touch her. “Told you about him?”

She nodded. “About all of this. The family business.”

“You hold séances here?” He managed to keep his voice level.

She shook her head, honey-colored waves tumbling around her shoulders. “I’ve never held a séance in my life. I don’t do that. I told Skag from the beginning I wouldn’t. I do what I told you about—find lost information. And I do use the Internet. And library records. But I also have help.”

“Help from your spirit guide?” His mouth twisted.

“Sometimes. The rule is no customer pays unless they’re satisfied, unless I find the information for them. That’s absolute. Satisfaction guaranteed. And sometimes I need to ask somebody who’s dead to find out what I need to know.”

She glanced beyond him to the fireplace against the wall, her expression suddenly hardening. “I really am a medium, in the true sense of the word. I’m the go-between for the living and the not-living, thanks to Skag. But I’m not a crook. You can say what you want about us, about the Riordans. But we never cheated anybody. Nobody paid us unless we found what they were looking for.”

His hands balled into fists as he watched her. She was very, very good, he’d give her that. She almost made him believe her. At least believe that she herself believed what she was saying.

Which meant she was a loon. Which he couldn’t accept, not after what he’d seen and felt over the past few days. But if she wasn’t a loon, what the hell was she? Besides a liar.

“So how did they do it?” he asked slowly. “Did they have a network all around town, people who fed them information for a price? That’s how Marie Laveau did it in New Orleans. Or did they work undercover, maybe pose as servants to get entrée into the houses where they needed to find out stuff? Other mediums have done that. Today I’d suspect some kind of electronic eavesdropping, but the Riordans’ business started before that was possible.”

Her expression froze, her lips trembling. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, Rose, your grannies were very good. Everybody acknowledges that. The best. The fact that they could keep it up all these years, keep the scam going, shows how good they were.” He narrowed his eyes. “Did they leave you instructions? Write it all down for you? Of course, you’d already have your own professional skills as a librarian. Whatever they gave you would probably be icing on the cake.”

She raised her gaze to his, eyes burning. “I never knew my grandmother. I only saw her a couple of times. And she didn’t leave me anything. Except for this house and the stuff inside it. And Skag.”

“Skag.” He felt like spitting. He settled for grinding his teeth. “Your ‘ghost.’”

“Not mine. The family’s. He’s a family member.”

He grimaced. “Come on, Rose—enough. I’m not some rube just down from the hills.”

He watched her jaw harden. “I never thought you were, Evan. You’re a professional cynic. I thought you were my . . . friend, though.”

He took a deep breath and blew it out, trying to loosen the sudden tightness in his chest. “Friends don’t lie to each other, Rosie. They don’t make up stories and then ask their friends to believe the unbelievable.”

“I’m not making anything up!” Her eyes flashed. “The night I moved in here, I woke up to find Skag floating up on my ceiling. After I got over being scared to death, he told me the family history. We have a deal—when somebody takes a contract with Locators, he checks the spirits and I check the normal sources. He doesn’t always find the answers. Neither do I. But between the two of us, we come up with the necessary information more often than not.”

Evan took another breath, telling himself to calm down. “So what does this Skag look like? All white and shimmery? Sort of transparent around the edges?”

“Most of the time, he looks perfectly normal.” She paused. “Well, ‘normal’ by his definition, I guess. He can look like anybody he wants to. The first time I saw him, he looked like Hannibal Lecter, which was a mistake since it almost gave me a heart attack.”

Evan groaned. “Oh, come on, Rose!”

“All right, believe me or not. I don’t freakin’ care anymore,” she snapped. “I told you the truth, and look what it got me. You’d rather I tell you I’m a crook who swindled people out of their life savings, wouldn’t you?”

“At least that would be an honest answer,” he snarled.

She caught her breath, her eyes huge.

He watched her shoulders rise and fall as she fought not to cry. Deep in his chest he felt an ache. He ignored it.

“I guess there’s nothing else to talk about, then, is there? I told you the truth. You don’t believe me. That’s all I can say.”

Evan closed his eyes, fighting down the growing pain in his chest, then opened them again. It hurt to look at her. Why couldn’t she be what he’d thought she was? What he wanted her to be? “It doesn’t have to be this way, Rose.”

“Sure it does.” Her mouth was a thin line. “You think I’m a liar. Maybe even pathological. Or possibly nuts. The only way I can satisfy you is to pretend I didn’t tell you the truth. But I won’t do that. This is who I am, and this is what I do.”

“Maybe you believe what you’re telling me,” he said slowly. “But I can’t. I’ve been investigating mediums for years, ever since I was thirteen years old, and I’ve never met one yet who wasn’t a con artist. I’m sorry Rose, but I can’t believe this situation with your grandmother is any different. Maybe she was really good at what she did, but she didn’t talk to spirits. And neither do you.”

She stared down at her feet, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. “Maybe you should just go, Evan. I don’t know what else we have to say to each other.”

He sighed, wishing she weren’t right.
Damn.
She was so beautiful, even now. He could feel his body react as he looked at her.

Helen raised her head from her paws where she lay on the floor next to Rose’s feet, orange eyes glowing. He could swear she was giving him an accusing look.

Screw it.
He walked toward the door, then turned back a moment, resting his hand on the knob. “So what does he look like now?”

Rose raised her gaze to his. “Excuse me?”

“Your ghost. You said he looked like Hannibal Lecter when you first met him. What does he look like now?” And why was he asking? Maybe because he still wasn’t ready to leave. Was still hoping she’d say something to make it right.

“Oh.” She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the couch. “He’s a movie fan. He takes most of his avatars from films he likes. Right now he really likes this movie from the fifties,
All About Eve.
He’s doing the gossip columnist, the one played by George Sanders.”

“George Sanders?”

“The actor. The character in the movie is named Addison DeWitt.”

A sliver of ice slid down the back of his neck. All of a sudden it was hard to breathe. “Addison . . .”

“DeWitt. It’s a great part. Sanders got an Oscar for it. And Skag does it very well.”

Evan stood bolted to the floor. There had to be a rational explanation. Anything else would just be too weird. All he had to do was think about it a little.

Think about it away from Rose.

“I’ll call you,” he muttered, wrenching open the door.

“Yeah,” he heard her murmur as he pulled the door closed behind him. “Sure you will.”

He ran to his car as the rain drummed on his shoulders, and then sat in the front seat, watching the rivulets dribble down his windshield. He tried to remember the first dream. There had been others since then, but the first one was still the most vivid.

You may call me Addison.
Pronounced British accent. Side-parted hair. Evan sat very still, trying to make sense out of the most nonsensical situation he’d been in since spook camp.

If he drove back to his office, he could check the Internet Movie Database on his computer. There’d probably be a picture of this George Sanders, particularly if he’d won an Oscar. But what would he do if his dream Addison turned out to be the same guy?

Maybe he’d seen that movie,
All About Eve
, sometime. Maybe he just didn’t remember it at first. Maybe it had lodged in his subconscious and then come out at night with the bats and the wolves and the . . . other stuff that lived in the dungeon. Maybe Addison was just another monster.

Maybe Evan was as nutty as Rose.

Rational explanation. Come on, Delwin, think. Rationality is your specialty, remember? Along with exposing supernatural fraud.

How could she know about his dreams? Maybe he talked in his sleep. Maybe those nights they’d spent together—like last night . . .

But he hadn’t dreamed last night. He hadn’t slept a whole lot, either, but what sleep he’d managed to get had been deep and blank. Some of the best sleep he’d had in several weeks, as a matter of fact.

Last night had been the best on several levels.

But maybe he’d said something about the dreams during the time he’d been with her. They’d been together every day for a while. He couldn’t remember every word he’d said. Maybe he’d mentioned the dreams in passing and, since she was a con artist, she’d filed the information away for future reference when she needed it.

Like when she needed to convince him she wasn’t a nutcase.

Evan winced. His stomach had begun to burn again. He liked Rose Ramos. Hell, if he was being honest, he more than liked her. If he was being honest . . . He wasn’t sure he wanted to go there right now.

Suddenly his mind was flooded with images. Rose running her fingertips along his eyebrow, her eyes glazed with desire. Rose wrapping herself around him on the dining room table, the most delectable dish of all. Rose nestled in his arms in his own bed, the soft puff of her breath against his collarbone. Rose beneath him . . .

Evan slammed his hands against the steering wheel.
Damn it. Goddamn it.
She was supposed to be the one, the right one. Why couldn’t she be what he needed her to be?

How the hell had this whole relationship gone south so fast?

Chapter 22

“Rationalists can be terribly annoying, don’t you think?” Skag bobbed up and down in front of the fireplace, where he’d been silently watching for the last ten minutes.

Rose closed her eyes. “Please go away. I’m not in the mood for a conversation right now.”

“Come now, Rose,” he said briskly. “I shan’t allow you to become maudlin over this. It’s not becoming for someone of your talents.”

“I don’t care if it’s becoming or not, Skag,” she snapped. “I’m not in the mood to discuss Evan. Not now, not ever.”

“You made a fundamental error, you know,” he continued implacably. “You should never have told him the truth. He’s simply not a man who can believe in anything beyond the realm of his senses. Pity, really.”

Rose rubbed her tired eyes. “A pity? That’s putting it mildly, don’t you think? Why is it a pity? I mean other than the broken heart part of it, of course.”

“It’s a pity because of his own powers, which he’ll never be able to embrace at this rate.”

She dropped her hand to her lap. “What powers?”

“He sees your spirit animals. They follow him as if they were his familiars. That ought to tell you something.”

“Tell me what? Are you saying he’s a medium, too?”

He shook his head. “He doesn’t have that type of power. I haven’t been able to contact him by normal means, as I would with a true medium. But he does have power of his own, that much is obvious.”

“
Normal means
?” Rose raised an eyebrow. “Have you been talking to Evan?”

Skag flicked his ash into the fireplace. “Now and then when I can spare the time. It’s quite exhausting, but I can reach him occasionally.”

“Why? What do you have to say to him?”

He bobbed slightly, grinding out his cigarette. If he’d been corporeal, she would have said he was avoiding looking at her. “Oh, this and that. You might say I was trying to get to know him a bit better.”

Rose knew she should ask him something else about Evan, but for the life of her she couldn’t think what. Concentrating on Skag in her current state was a losing battle.

It’s over. But I’m not ready for it to be over.

Helen whined, lumbering to her feet, and rested her muzzle on Rose’s knees. Rose patted her absently. She could hear the flutter of Lenore’s wings in the background as she settled on the mantle behind Skag. The animals seemed to be gathering.

“You need to snap out of this, Rose.” Skag’s voice was sharp. “We have important matters to deal with.”

She longed to tell him that nothing was more important than this.
This is my life, damn it! And I just want to suffer in silence for a while.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Unfortunately, he was right. She did need to snap out of it, if only because sitting there suffering wouldn’t get her anywhere. She took another deep breath and stared up at him. “What do you want me to do now, Skag? We haven’t had anything new come in since Autumn Patrick.”

“Then you need to finish the Autumn Patrick case. Never underestimate the possibility of a referral.” He flicked an invisible bit of lint off his lapel.

“I have finished it. Or anyway, I’ve written her a report.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How did you explain the safe deposit box?”

“I haven’t yet. I just raised the possibility that that’s where he put it. I figured I could use some bits of Clint Patrick’s background and build on that.”

“Perhaps you could simply create some document and then plant it in Patrick’s records, something that would indicate the name of the bank.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Skag, I’ve been sitting here for the last half hour claiming not to be dishonest.”

“Well, then, come up with your own devices. But get up and get moving. It’s not healthy for you to be stagnant.”

She sighed, then pushed herself to the front of her chair. “Oh, all right. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

“True.” He floated up to Lenore’s level. The bird regarded him balefully then began preening her feathers.

“Maybe I could just tell her the truth. I mean, that worked so well just now.”

“No. That would not, I repeat
not
, be a good idea.”

“What’s the name of the bank where Clint had the safe deposit box again?”

“First Fidelity. The Universal City branch.”

She made a note. “And the key is definitely hidden in the picture frame.”

He shrugged. “It was when Clint Patrick died. It might have been lost since then, but even so, the name of the bank should help.”

“Okay.” Rose gathered up her purse, along with her umbrella. “I’ll head over to Autumn’s place. Maybe I’ll think of something on the way.”

Skag’s eyes widened. “You’re going
now
?”

She shrugged. “Why not? As you so kindly pointed out, it’s not like I had anything better to do.”

“But it’s late—it will be dark soon. You can do this tomorrow morning just as easily.” He dropped from his perch beside Lenore down almost to floor level.

“Nope. Autumn works regular hours. So does her sister Marcella. If I want to catch them at home, it pretty much has to be after five.” She dug her car keys out of her purse and headed toward the door.

“Rose, no!” His voice sounded almost desperate.

She turned, cocking an eyebrow. “Why not? Is there something else you’re not telling me about this one?”

“Going out at night alone is dangerous. You know that. There are forces at work . . .”

“. . . that are hostile to the Riordans. So noted. I’ll take Helen.” Rose picked up the heavy-duty leash from the hall table, fastening it to the loop on Helen’s collar. The hellhound gazed up at her, orange eyes glowing with anticipation.

Skag sighed. “Well, that’s better than nothing, I suppose. But keep your wits about you at all times. Be careful.”

Rose sighed. “I’ll keep my eyes open, but I’ve already had one of the shittiest days on record. What else can happen?”

“Let’s hope you don’t find out,” he murmured as she closed the door behind her.

As she pulled into Autumn Patrick’s street, Rose glanced at Helen in the rearview mirror. “I can’t take you inside the house with me. I’m going to have enough trouble discussing all of this with Autumn and Marcella without having to explain the invisible hellhound who’s chewing on their furniture.”

Helen gave her a reproachful look, settling her head on the armrest in the backseat. She took up far too much space to sit up front.

Rose dug into her purse. “Here. I brought you a new chew toy.” It was the largest piece of rawhide they’d had at the pet store and it probably would have lasted a month with a German shepherd. She figured it would hold Helen for an hour or so.

The hellhound pulled it out of her hands, settling herself across the seat and chewing absentmindedly.

She climbed out of the car and up the steps to Autumn’s front porch. The door opened before she could knock, revealing a very suspicious-looking Marcella Draper.

“I remember you. You were that writer’s assistant.”

“Right. Rose Ramos.” Rose cleared her throat. “Actually, I run a company called Locators, Ltd. that your sister hired. Is Mrs. Patrick home?”

Marcella’s eyes narrowed, but she moved back from the door. “Autumn?” she called. “Somebody to see you.”

Autumn came in from what was probably the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. Her blond hair frizzed around her flushed face in the humid air. She frowned slightly when she saw Rose.

“It’s Miss Ramos, isn’t it? Don’t you work for Mr. Delwin? Does he need something else?”

Rose shook her head. “Actually, I work for Locators, Ltd., Mrs. Patrick. I mean, it’s my company.”

Autumn’s forehead furrowed more deeply. “But . . . weren’t you the one who was here with Mr. Delwin last time?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Rose concentrated on keeping her voice steady. “We were working together that time, but not anymore.”

“And he recommended you?”

Rose nodded.

“Well, come in.” Autumn gestured vaguely toward the living room. “Sit down. I’ve been on my feet all day.”

Rose perched on a lavishly flowered brown and blue sofa, while Autumn sank into a matching recliner opposite her and Marcella hovered in the background. Autumn fanned her face with a magazine. “Did you find out something? Is that why you’re here?”

“Well, yes.” Rose swallowed. “Sort of.” She picked up the report from her lap and handed it to Autumn. “I’ve got some educated guesses. Do you think your husband could have had a safety deposit box?”

Marcella snorted. “That’s the first thing we thought of. You think we didn’t check that already?”

Autumn waved a hand at her. “Hush now, let her talk. We did check the bank, but they said Clint never took out a box there.”

Rose nodded. “I thought that might be the case. Mr. Patrick worked in Universal City, didn’t he?”

“He worked all over the damn place,” Marcella grumbled. “Took deliveries all over town.”

Autumn ignored her sister. “The company had a branch office in Universal City. Clint had a desk there.”

Rose took a breath. This was the tricky part. “Yes, I looked up the address for the branch office. There’s a bank a half block from there, First Fidelity. They rent deposit boxes.”

Marcella raised her eyebrows. “Why would he get a box there, so far out of the way?”

Autumn sighed. “So I wouldn’t find out about it. It makes a certain amount of sense. Would they tell me if he had a safety deposit box there? Could I get into it?”

“It would help if you had the key,” Rose said slowly.

Marcella gave another disgusted snort, but Autumn looked thoughtful. “You have some ideas about where the key might be?”

Rose nodded. “Maybe. I assume you checked all the likely places—filing cabinets, junk drawers, places like that?”

“Right. We went through all the places where Clint usually left things, but we didn’t find a key. Or anything else that could tell us where he left the thing.”

“That leaves the unlikely places. Where did he spend most of his time when he was home?”

“The family room,” Autumn said promptly. “That’s where the TV is.”

Rose made herself look bright-eyed. “Could I see it?”

The family room looked like it was designed for a family suffering from major depression. Set lower than the front of the house so it got little light, paneled in dark wood so that the little light that managed to seep through the windows was quickly absorbed, dark blue shag carpet on the floor, and an older big-screen TV taking up a major part of a wall.

“As soon as we find that damned baseball, this room goes in the dumpster,” Marcella muttered.

Rose agreed with her for once. She looked around the walls, checking for wedding pictures, but didn’t see anything obvious.

“Did you go through this room already, Mrs. Patrick?”

“Call me Autumn. No, this room is pretty much the way Clint left it.” She looked around slowly, her lips pressing to a thin line while her eyes moistened.

She missed him. Who would have believed it? Rose thought of Clint’s gloating ghost and gritted her teeth. “Well, let’s take a look now.”

Twenty minutes later, Rose was ready to admit defeat. The room was almost empty except for the threadbare recliner and the big screen. If Clint spent a lot of his time here, he must have been comatose for much of it.

She wondered how she could ask Autumn where they kept the wedding pictures.

Marcella grumbled as she sorted through a bookcase full of VHS tapes near the stairs. Autumn stood next to the television set, her hand resting on its sloping back. “I gave this to Clint for Christmas after we got a bonus at work. He was just like a kid. He loved this thing.” She gave the TV a small pat, as if it were a last remnant of her husband.

Rose stared at the television set, then down to the built-in shelf in the table below, stacked with magazines and miscellaneous junk. She knelt in front and began sorting through them.

The framed wedding picture was buried halfway through the pile.

She managed not to whoop in triumph as she picked it up, running her fingers along the back edge of the frame. She brushed across something rough. “Autumn? I might have something here.”

Autumn knelt beside her. Marcella trotted across the room, surprisingly quick for an older, presumably out-of-shape South Texan.

Rose worked the key loose gently, sliding her fingers underneath as the small paper envelope dropped into her hand.
FIRST FIDELITY
was printed across the front.

“I think this may be it.”

Autumn threw her arms around her neck. “You’re wonderful! You must be magic.”

Rose grinned.
Oh well, close enough.

Autumn insisted on brewing tea after Rose had turned down Marcella’s offer of a margarita.

“The wedding picture.” Autumn shook her head. “I never would have guessed.”

“Me neither.” Marcella sipped her margarita. “Why wasn’t it hanging on the wall?”

“It kept falling off the hook. I took it down. Clint must have put the key there because he expected me to find it when I put it back up again.” Autumn dabbed at her eyes with a paper napkin.

Rose stifled a sigh. Maybe somewhere Clint’s ghost felt a slight pinch of remorse. Or not.

Marcella took another swig from her margarita, turning to Rose. “So what’s up with you and this Delwin?”

“Well . . .” Rose stared down at her teacup, trying to think of something diplomatic to say.

“Oh, dear.” Autumn gave her a faint smile. “He’s really good-looking, in a rough kind of way. Unusual. He seems sort of blunt, though. I’d guess that could get old after a while.”

Rose studied her tea leaves. “Yes, ma’am, it could.”

“So you’re not together anymore?” Marcella raised an eyebrow.

“Marcella, put a sock in it.” Autumn placed her cup onto her saucer with a clink. “It’s none of our business.”

“We’re not together, no.” Rose ignored the sudden tight feeling in her chest.

“Men.” Marcella took another swig. “They should come with labels. Like those you get when you buy a plant. You know, ‘Should be kept in the dark and fed lots of nachos.’”

“‘Water only with Bud. Do not use Miller,’” Autumn chimed in, her eyes taking on a reminiscent glow.