The Truth of Yesterday (7 page)

     * * *

     “I think you should go,” Adam was saying as he washed the dishes from dinner. I was drying and putting them away as he rinsed them off. Adam was in his forties, trim and handsome with graying-reddish hair and blue eyes as calm and cool as a mountain lake.

     “I won't even know anyone there,” I whined. I was still not completely over my adolescent shyness. We were discussing the gay/straight alliance on campus.

     “You'll know that guy Noah,” he said as he handed me a plate.

     “No, I met him once in the bookstore; that does not equate knowing someone.”

     “You said he seemed nice.”

     “He was nice,” I conceded.

     “Cute?”

     “What does that have to do with anything? I'm dating Micah.”

     
“Doesn't mean you're blind.
It was just a question, Kill. From your response I take it he was cute though, huh?”

     I sighed. “Yes, he was cute. Why do you think I should go? I mean, what's the point?”

     “Well, first off, it never hurts to have more friends. Secondly, you probably have something to offer. He said it's a support group; probably some of them are dealing with issues you've already dealt with, like figuring out whether or not you're gay, and coming out. Plus, you know how I like to support these types of things. If they are involved with education on campus and in the community, it's a great cause.”

     I had to admit he was right. It had been interested when Noah was telling me about it. I just needed a little nudging. I knew I'd probably call Noah later tonight or tomorrow.

     We were just finishing up with the dishes when someone rang the doorbell. Kane came clattering down the stairs, making enough noise that he could have been a herd of stampeding buffalo. Adam chuckled.

     A few minutes later, Judy appeared in the kitchen door.

     “Judy, hello,” Adam said warmly.

     “Hello Adam, Killian,” she said. “I think Kane was a little disappointed to find me on the doorstep. Was he expecting one of his girlfriends, perhaps?”

     “Kane's always expecting a girlfriend,” I said dryly.

     “You want something to drink?” Adam offered. “We just finished dinner, but if you're hungry we can whip out the leftovers. Not much, but…”

     “No, no. I'm fine. I had an early dinner with Shane. Actually, I came by to talk to you about
Amalie
.”

     
“The house or the woman?”
Adam asked.

     “Both, as they seem to be intertwined quite completely.”

     “True.”

     “I'll be upstairs,” I interrupted, anxious to leave before I got sucked into the conversation.

     “Actually, I'd like for you to stay,” Judy said. Damn, I wasn't quick enough.

     “Why?” I bleated before I could stop myself.

     Judy gave me an appraising look. “Because,” she said slowly, “I think you have something to offer, or you would if you'd just quit fighting it.”

     “Maybe I don't want to,” I said. I knew I sounded like a petulant pre-
schooler
, but I couldn't help myself.

     “That much is obvious. Like it or not, you're involved; you are one of the threads of this tapestry.
Amalie
has shown in the past that for reasons of her own she is drawn to you. I think if we're going to get to the bottom of this, it will take all of us working together.”

     
“The bottom of what?
She's dead. And either she hasn't figured it out yet or she just doesn't give a damn. She seems quite content to just haunt the place forever.”

     “I think you're wrong. I think she's very aware of the fact that she's dead and I think she is very much discontented. Originally, we thought that her discontent had to do with the baby, but now I think that was only a marginal issue, or at least only part of a much larger whole.”

     “Killian,” Adam broke in, “What can it hurt to just sit down and talk with us? As exciting as Steve found all this at first, the thrill has worn off and reality has set in. He's very stressed right now with the possibility that this could all go south quickly and leave him pretty much penniless. He has an awful lot invested in this house.
Amalie
is not helping things.”

     “I thought a friendly ghost was a draw,” I said.

     “Most avid ghost hunters have never seen a ghost and wouldn't know what to do with one if it bit them on the nose. Besides, even people who are interested in ghosts don't necessarily want to spend the night with one. So far,
Amalie
hasn't chased off any guests, but there haven't been all that many to chase off, and we've made sure to keep them all on the second floor since she seems to favor the third floor. Please, Killian. What could it hurt to just sit down and talk with us about this?”

     “Why can't you all just accept that I don't want to do this? I don't care if I have Gifts or not. If they're a gift then I get to decide what to do with them, right? If you give me a butt-ugly sweater, I can choose not to wear it. Well, I choose not to use these so-called Gifts. I'll be up in my room. Don't call if you need me.”

     I spun around and stormed off.

     Kane was in the bedroom when I sailed through the door. He looked up from the computer screen long enough to gauge my mood.

     “I take it Judy asked you to help out with
Amalie
again,” he said.

     “You knew about that?”

     “Yeah, she and Dad have been plotting about the best way to ask you.”

     “You mean they planned that? I can't believe this.”

     “Well, you have to admit, you've not exactly been open to the idea.”

     “I don't see you jumping at the chance to go over there.”

     “I'm not the one with the Gifts.”

     I let out a wordless roar that made Kane wince. “I'm so sick and tired of hearing about these damn Gifts,” I snarled. “I didn't ask for them and I don't want them. That's my choice and I wish everyone would just leave me the hell alone about them.”

     “Jeez, Kill,” he said, “You don't have to bite my head off. I didn't mean anything by it. If you're going to be all bitchy, I'm going to go downstairs and watch TV.” He signed off of the internet and pushed away from the desk.

     “I'm sorry, Kane,” I said with a sigh.

     “Whatever.”

     I watched him leave, a hurt expression on his face. I hadn't taken the time to look at Judy and Adam when I'd left in my little huff, but I imagine they hadn't been all that happy either. Damn it, why couldn't anyone just leave me alone about this? And why was I so scared of it all? I wasn't in the mood for deep self-examination, so I grabbed my backpack and pulled out my books.
Time to get lost in studying.

     I called Mrs. Knox the next day in between classes and learned that she knew all about the business trip and she wanted me to follow him. An all-expense paid trip to DC sounded great to me, and it was only a three-hour drive. I wondered why Mr. Knox was taking the commuter plane, but I guess if your company is willing to spring for the tickets, it's better than driving. After classes were over for the day, I went to the office after my last class to talk to Novak.

     I found him in his office typing away on a report. He stopped when I stuck my head in the door.

     “What's up, kiddo?” he asked. Shane Novak, or just Novak as I called him, was a retired police detective. His wife had died soon after he retired and it hadn't taken him long to realize he wasn't cut out for sitting around the house. And that was the beginning of Novak Investigations. You know right away, just by a glance, that he's retired law enforcement or military. He wears his gray hair in a buzz cut and keeps his body fit and lean. His age was hard to guess, but I knew he had to at least be in his late fifties, and it wasn't impossible that he was even older.

     “There's a new development in the Knox case,” I told him, still in the doorway.

     “Sit down and fill me in,” he said, swiveling his leather desk chair around to face me. Novak's office was a comfortably eclectic space. The first things you notice when you walk in are the bookcases; they take up one whole wall, all different heights and woods and all overflowing. There are law books, phone books, atlases, maps, and a set of encyclopedias that were easily older than I was. One case was reserved for his collection of hardcover detective novels, many of which were signed and/or first editions.

     In the center of the room sits his desk, a huge expanse of scarred golden oak. I always figured the office must have been built around it since there was no way that mother could have fit through the door. Its top was usually completely clear, unless he was working on a case as he was now, and then the top was apt to be quite cluttered with files, papers, photos and more. Behind the oak behemoth was a daunting procession of battleship-gray filing cabinets, each one meticulously labeled and locked. Two large leather armchairs faced his desk.

     For the most part, I liked Novak's office. There was one exception, however, and that was the odd, ugly, humpbacked sofa he kept on the wall opposite the bookcases and under the room's lone window. Now I know that furniture is incapable of harboring ill will, but I would swear that the sofa is evil. It seems to crouch malevolently off to one side waiting for some poor unsuspecting individual to make the fatal mistake of sitting on it. In my imagination, which I admit to being somewhat fanciful at times, I see it then moving with a swiftness that belies its ungainly size to devour the hapless soul whole, and then perhaps spitting out a shoe.

     I moved quickly to the armchairs while carefully avoiding looking at the sofa. Somehow, I feel that if I can steer clear of eye contact then it will stay peaceably in its place and leave me alone. As usual, it worked and I arrived at the chair unmolested.

     I quickly filled Novak in on what little progress I had made on the Knox case thus far and ended by telling him about the proposed DC trip.

     “Will it interfere with your school work?” Novak asked when I was finished.

     “No, he isn't checking in until late afternoon and his flight time leaves him just enough time to get there. I can finish my classes that day and still have plenty of time to drive up there before he arrives.”

     “Have you been to DC much?”

     “Not really.”

     “Damn. I would go with you but my case is close to busting wide open and I can't afford to leave. Do you know anyone who is familiar with the city?”

     “Micah used to live there,” I told him.

     “Do you think he'd be willing to go along with you? We can hire him as a consultant if we need to.”

     I smiled. “I think he'd be willing to go without the monetary incentive.”

     Novak chuckled. “I would imagine you're right there. Ask him and let me know what he says. If he can't go, I don't want you going. You don't know the city well enough to be running around on your own.”

     As much as I liked the idea of having Micah along, I felt I had to defend myself. “I don't need a babysitter.”

     “I didn't say you did, I just think you need a guide along who is familiar with the city. That is, if you think you can work with your boyfriend along and not get too, ahem, shall we say, distracted?”

     I blushed. Novak didn't have any problems with the fact that I was gay, in fact, his grandson was gay too, but it still seemed odd to hear him making comments like that. “I think I'm professional enough to not get distracted,” I said rather stiffly.