Crazy in Chicago

by Norah-Jean Perkin

  Cody studied her. Yes, she was pale. And she kept playing with the baby’s blanket. The Allie he knew didn’t have any nervous habits. “I didn’t actually see him. I don’t know who he was. I just knew he was there. I don’t know how.”

  He continued to press her. “Did you investigate Erik after Madame Carabini’s warning? Investigate his background?”

  Allie shut her eyes and sighed. For the first time Cody noticed the blue shadows under her eyes.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I did look into his background.” She looked down at the baby and rocked her close to her body.

  “And what?” Cody leaned forward. “What did you find?”

  She looked away. “Nothing. I asked . . .”

  A sudden coughing and choking from the baby cut off her comment. In alarm she turned the infant on its stomach across her lap and patted its back.

  The choking noise subsided, replaced by a piercing wail. Allie stood up and held Star to her shoulder. Murmuring soothing sounds and patting the baby’s back, Allie swayed around the room, her attention focused on the child, who continued to scream.

  To Cody’s inexperienced ear, Star sounded distraught. “Why is she crying like that?”

  Allie shook her head. She held the baby close and jiggled up and down. “I don’t know. She’s been crying a lot lately. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s colic.”

  Cody nodded. He didn’t know anything about babies. He continued to sit while Allie danced around the room with the screaming child.

  Finally he stood up. “I guess I should go.”

  Allie nodded but continued moving. “You’re probably right. She might go on like this for quite a while.”

  Cody nodded. “Well, thanks. Thanks for seeing me.”

  He walked to the door and opened it. He felt a light touch on his arm.

  Still holding the crying child, Allie looked at him, her green eyes troubled. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

  He smiled. “It’s all right. I know you’d help me if you could.”

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later Allie laid the sleeping child in her crib. Finally, after refusing milk or comfort, Star seemed to have stopped crying out of sheer exhaustion.

  Allie gazed down at her tiny daughter. Tears streaked the child’s red face, and her cotton sleeper was wet right through. She clenched her little fists above her head.

  Allie felt her own shoulder, damp and tense from the sobbing child pressed close for so long. What had caused that crying fit? Was it something within the child, some need or urge or feeling invisible and incommunicable to her, but there all the same? Or had the child sensed her mother’s tension, the nervousness and fear growing in her with each new question Cody asked?

  Allie bit her lip. She didn’t know. That was the trouble. She didn’t know. Too many things had happened in the last few days that she didn’t understand. Things that made no sense, at least not to her. And she didn’t like the uncomfortable feeling that plagued her, day—

  The doorbell chimed, startling her.

  Hand to her heart and after a last look at her daughter, Allie headed to the door. She hated it when someone arrived unannounced from the lobby below. Who is it now?

  She reached the door and the peephole, which she’d recently had moved to eye level from its previous ridiculous placement about three feet from the floor.

  She looked through the peephole and gasped. Madame Carabini, the same Madame Carabini she and Cody had discussed only a half hour earlier, stood waiting outside her door.

  Chapter 9

  Inside the apartment, Allie shuddered. A hundred possible reasons for Madame Carabini’s visit flitted through her head, none of them good. For a brief moment, Allie considered not opening the door.

  She grimaced. No, whatever the reason, she’d better face it. Numerous worries, things she didn’t understand and couldn’t cope with, already beset her. Surely she could deal with one mild-mannered, middle-aged psychic?

  Pasting a cardboard smile on her face, she opened the door. “Why, Madame Carabini, what brings you here?”

  The woman, every inch the suburban matron, from her permed light brown hair to her tidy but nondescript clothes, shifted uneasily from foot to foot, hardly the picture of serenity Allie recalled.

  “I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you, but it can’t be helped,” Madame Carabini said. She bit her lip, then rushed on, “It’s urgent that I talk to you.”

  The words sent a chill down Allie’s spine. The smile froze on her face. “Come in,” she said. Go away, please go away.

  Reluctantly she guided the psychic to a seat in the living room. She sat down across from her, and folded her hands in her lap, the deliberate motions aimed at projecting an aura of calm she did not feel.

  Like a bird teetering on the edge of its nest, uncertain whether to remain or take flight, Madame Carabini perched on the edge of the couch. She wasted no time coming to the point. “Did you know Mr. Walker—Cody Walker—came to see me last week?”

  “Yes, he told me. Actually, he just left here a few minutes ago.”

  “Oh.” Madame Carabini sounded surprised. She paused, then returned to her course. “He told me that you had married that photographer who accompanied you to our session. Erik Berenger, I believe?”

  Allie nodded.

  “I, er, well, you remember that I warned you against Mr. Berenger?”

  “Yes.” Allie went on the attack, an approach whose effectiveness she’d learned as a reporter and columnist. “And I appreciated your concern for me. But as you can see, everything’s fine. Erik is a good man, a good husband. I wouldn’t have married him otherwise. We’re very happy. We have a wonderful daughter.”

  “May I see her?”

  The woman’s request bothered Allie. She didn’t know why. She hedged. “Perhaps another time. She’s sleeping now and I don’t want her disturbed. The littlest thing wakes her up.”

  She continued. “Speaking of sleeping, I was just heading off for a nap myself. So unless you’ve got some more questions . . .”

  “Just one more thing.” Madame Carabini squeezed her hands together. She made a face and shifted on the couch. She sighed. “There’s no way to say this without sounding ridiculous or melodramatic. But I sense what I sense and I can’t ignore it any longer.”

  “Ignore what?” Foreboding uncoiled in Allie’s stomach.

  Madame Carabini took a deep breath. Her aquamarine eyes focused squarely on Allie. “The feeling I get that whatever person or thing that was involved in Mr. Walker’s disappearance last year is at work again. Now. Here.”

  “What? Are you saying that Cody’s going to be abducted again?”

  “I didn’t say that. We don’t know that he was abducted in the first place, though it appears that way. I’m just saying that whatever—whoever—is involved, is at work again. No matter how hard I try, I can’t shake this feeling. Or the feeling that somehow, in some strange way, it’s linked to Erik.”

  Allie shut her eyes. I don’t want to hear this. I can’t hear this.

  She opened her eyes and regarded Madame Carabini with false steadiness. “I don’t know what it is you’re trying to suggest about Erik. Erik is a good man. If I don’t know anything else, I know that. He wouldn’t hurt anyone, now or any other time.”

  Sorrow filled Madame Carabini’s eyes. She shook her head. “I’m sorry to insult you, or your husband, my dear. I didn’t really want to come here. But don’t you understand? I felt compelled.”

  She stopped and bit her lip. She stood up. “I’ll leave now.”

  Allie rose, too. Her head pounded; her jaw hurt from gritting her teeth. She followed Madame Carabini to the door.

  Halfway there the woman halted. Allie almost tripped over her.

  When she straightened, she followed the woman’s gaze. With a shock, she realized Madame Carabini was studying one of Erik’s oil paintings. The barren, purple and silver-tinted landscape,
the one whose sterile features always made Allie shudder. The only sign of life in it was a faint, silvery light emanating from a small opening in the side of what appeared to be a barracks, buried in the lifeless ground.

  Allie looked from the painting to Madame Carabini. The psychic continued to stare.

  “Madame Carabini?”

  She didn’t respond.

  Allie grasped her arm. “Madame Carabini? Are you all right?”

  She jerked, then looked at Allie in surprise. “What? Oh?”

  She blinked. Her brow furrowed. “Where did you get that painting?”

  “Erik did it.”

  “From memory?”

  Allie frowned. “No. From his imagination. I guess that’s how he imagines another world somewhere.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure.” Allie shuddered. “If there was such a place, who would want to go there? I wouldn’t.”

  “No. You wouldn’t,” Madame Carabini said slowly. She turned her aquamarine gaze on Allie.

  Allie felt as if she were shriveling under the woman’s gaze, her defenses ripped away, the truths she didn’t want to acknowledge exposed for all to see.

  She swallowed. “I think you’d better leave.”

  Madame Carabini’s eyes met hers for one painfully long moment. Finally, she nodded.

  “Yes. It’s time I went.”

  The door had barely shut behind her when Allie collapsed on the couch, head in her hands. What was going on? What was happening? And why now, when everything had been fine for so long?

  Shaking, she reached for the portable phone. She had to dial the number three times before she got it right.

  Every second seeming like a minute, she waited. Waited through one, two, three, four rings, until the call transferred to another phone.

  “Good afternoon. You have reached the voice mail of Erik Berenger . . .”

  Her nerves screaming, her head pounding, she waited to the end of the short message. What choice did she have? Finally the tone indicated she could leave her message.

  “Erik, come home right away. Please.”

  * * *

  Roberta paused at the entrance to the dimly lit bar. After her eyes adjusted to the light, she scanned the closest tables in the long, noisy and crowded room. She didn’t see Cody anywhere.

  She took a couple of steps into the room. Where was Cody? He should be here by now. It was already quarter past eight.

  She had just started a slow sweep of the room when she saw him. Amidst a crush of laughing, talking bodies, he leaned against the bar, a drink cradled in his hands, a look of concentration on his handsome but still weary-looking face. A striking brunette, only inches away, gestured gracefully as she spoke to him.

  Roberta halted in surprise. She’d expected Cody to be alone. She hesitated, uncertain whether to interrupt what appeared to be a serious conversation.

  Cody glanced towards the door. Roberta knew the second he saw her. The weariness fell away from his face as he broke into a delighted grin and his dark eyes lit up. He straightened and tossed his head, urging her to come and join him.

  Roberta tingled with pleasure, a pleasure all the sharper for the earlier moment of uncertainty. As she slipped through the crowded room, swerving around waiters and tables packed with patrons, she chided herself for her doubts. Perhaps tonight wouldn’t be the romantic tete-a-tete she’d visualized. Cody might not be able to tell her right now about his visit to Allie. What did it matter?

  She reached Cody’s side. “What are you drinking?” he yelled through the din of the noisy bar. She glanced down at the glass in his hand. It looked like straight Scotch. “I’ll have a rum and cola, thanks.”

  Cody signaled the bartender and ordered not only her drink, but a refill for his Scotch and two white wine spritzers. Two, thought Roberta. She glanced at the brunette still standing beside Cody. She held an almost-empty wine glass in her slim hand.

  Roberta studied the woman. Up close, her features were even more striking than at a distance. Thick, chestnut hair hung to her shoulders in a casual style, while liquid brown eyes glowed from under full black lashes, set off by flawless skin, cheekbones to die for, and the full, pouty lips any model might want. She wore a white suit that set off her tall, willowy frame to perfection.

  “Tiffany, I’d like you to meet my next door neighbor, Bobbi Van—” Cody paused, then winked at Roberta. “I mean Roberta Vandenburg. She’s the tenant in the apartment next to my new home. Tiffany works in the advertising department at The Streeter.”

  Roberta nodded. Tiffany? Was this the Tiffany Cody had been visiting on the night he disappeared? Before Roberta had time to consider what this might mean, Cody had turned to his other side. “And this is Janet Wright. She’s a new reporter at The Streeter.”

  Roberta nodded again, her smile frozen in place. Not just a former lover, but another gorgeous woman! And she was tall, too. Janet’s sleek blonde head towered around the same level as Tiffany’s, both of them a good six inches taller than Roberta. Janet sported an unlined linen jacket over a low-necked tee and leggings in a slinky, stretch material. Her looks couldn’t compete with Tiffany’s, but she had a punk style and a waifish smile with a charm all its own.

  Roberta swallowed. Why did the world have to be inhabited by gorgeous women all taller than her? And why, at this moment, did they all have to be hanging around Cody? One look at his devastating smile had convinced her right from the start that he attracted women the way honey attracts flies. But it was one thing to know he was a ladykiller. It was another thing to see him in action.

  Roberta smiled brightly at both women, while silently reminding herself of the many advantages of being of small stature.

  Cody, the introductions complete, leaned back against the bar. Tiffany, already pressed close to him by the crush of bodies, placed a manicured hand on his shoulder. Her lips, nary a lipstick smear in sight, hovered a fraction of an inch from his ear. She whispered something that made Cody shake his head and chuckle.

  He nodded to the woman on his other side. “Janet here was telling us about her cousin, Clyde. Clyde insists he’s been abducted by aliens on five or six occasions since childhood. He says the aliens inserted some kind of monitoring chip up his nose, and that the scars on his leg are the result of physical exams conducted by the aliens.”

  Cody smiled at Roberta. “He’s pretty sure the aliens extracted a sperm sample from him as well. For what, he doesn’t know, though he suggests they’re using him as breeding stock.”

  Startled by the unexpected mention of aliens, Roberta missed the teasing light in Cody’s eyes. She looked at Janet with genuine interest. “Whereabouts did this take place?”

  Janet snickered. “If you knew Clyde, you wouldn’t be asking where. You’d be asking why—why any alien in his right mind would be interested in him. For anything!”

  She giggled and Cody and Tiffany’s laughter joined hers. Roberta bit her lip. She’d done it again. She should have realized that no one in the media—not even Cody who was supposed to be approaching his UFO series with an open mind—took any of this seriously. Normally she could take the laughter and teasing in stride. But she couldn’t tonight, not when Cody was laughing too.

  Tiffany leaned across Cody. “Maybe,” she said, grinning and looking from Roberta to Janet, “maybe Cody should look into his disappearance last year with aliens in mind. After all, no one knows what happened to him. It could just as easily be aliens as anything else.”

  Janet and Tiffany exploded in laughter. Cody smiled faintly. Did he think this was uproariously funny, too? Roberta wondered. She already knew he didn’t believe it. His hypnosis yesterday had convinced even her that it was unlikely.

  Her embarrassment started to turn to irritation, then anger. Did Cody think she was a fool, interested in foolish things? If so, why had he made love to her? And what about his supposed lack of interest in women for the last year? Was it only a subterfuge, designed to waylay her
fears?

  The arrival of the drinks interrupted Roberta’s turbulent thoughts. Cody handed the drinks around to each of the women. He cleared his throat and raised his drink to Roberta. “Actually, that’s Roberta’s department. She works for SUFOW, the Society of UFO Watchers. Part of her job is helping her boss investigate UFO sightings and claims of alien abduction.”

  Janet regarded her with big eyes. “Wow, that’s great. Must be fun, too. I take it you believe in aliens, then?”

  “Well, I . . .”

  Cody interrupted. “Oh, she believes, all right.” He winked; for one horrifying second Roberta feared he would launch into the story of the night he’d discovered her begging any listening aliens to abduct her.

  “Did you know that Roberta carries an abduction kit in her car—just in case she happens to be abducted by aliens one night.”

  Janet swallowed half her glass of wine in one gulp, then hiccuped. She grinned. “So what’s an abduction kit?”

  Roberta gritted her teeth and forced a smile. “An abduction kit is simply a small bag of items you’d like to have with you should you be abducted. You know, a change of underwear, a toothbrush, a loaded camera, a tape recorder, paper and pens and pencils. Mostly stuff to allow you to document what’s happened.”

  Tiffany leaned against Cody. “Wow, you must really get into all that X-files stuff. The Outer Limits.” She shuddered and slipped her arm through Cody’s. “I watch those shows, but that stuff gives me the creeps. I’d hate if any of it was actually true.”

  Cody reached across and rubbed her arm. “That, my dear, is because you have such a vivid imagination.”

  Tiffany directed a sultry look at Cody. “Yes, I guess you’re right,” she purred. She appeared to be recalling some event—some intimate event—that she and Cody had shared, and attempting to re-awaken his awareness and interest, too.

  If Cody remembered, he didn’t show it. Not that it mattered. Roberta gripped her glass so tightly her knuckles turned white. She wanted to dive between Cody and Tiffany, to shove Tiffany aside and cozy up to Cody herself.

  Yeah. Sure. That would really work. Roberta took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm the conflicting emotions buffeting her. Jealousy. Anger. Embarrassment. Hurt. She didn’t know what upset her more—the joking about her work, or the two women hanging all over Cody.