by SUE FINEMAN
Roland sat quietly on the bed, wondering what to do. He should take her back to River Valley. Maybe a doctor could help restore her memory. But she’d hate him if she remembered and realized he didn’t tell her everything the night he found her.
The show had come back on when Jane came out of the bathroom. “I’m sorry, Roland. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“And I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She stood hugging her arms, watching the television.
The television showed Phoebe’s father’s funeral, and Roland saw the confusion on Jane’s face, the struggle to remember what her mind had blocked out. After the car accident, her mother was still in the hospital, teetering between life and death, so Phoebe handled the funeral arrangements by herself. She’d gone from an overprotected, over-indulged girl to a grieving woman burying her father and supporting her badly injured mother. Money wasn’t an issue for her, since her father had made a bundle on Wall Street before his retirement, but the emotional impact must have been devastating.
“Do you remember?”
“I want to, but…” She shook her head.
The next pictures showed her and a nurse loading her mother onto a wheelchair lift on the side of a van. All the light he’d seen in her eyes in her college pictures had disappeared.
“That’s me, isn’t it?” she said as she sank onto the bed beside him.
“Yes, I think it is. What do you want to do?”
“I don’t want to go back, Roland. Please don’t take me back there.” He heard the tears in her voice.
“I won’t take you back if you don’t want to go, but we should let your mother know you’re alive and well, so she doesn’t worry.”
Jane hung her head. “I can’t call her, Roland. I don’t know that woman.”
“What if I called her?”
“She might think you kidnapped me.”
She was right. He didn’t want to get arrested. Still, someone had to tell the woman in the wheelchair her daughter was alive.
A phone number came on the screen, a number to call if anyone had seen Phoebe Goldberg. Roland wrote it on the pad beside the phone. They offered a reward, but Roland didn’t care about the money. With Mother’s estate and the money he’d saved over the years, he didn’t need money.
He needed Jane.
<>
Ginny sat with Jill and tried to give her some comfort. “Steffen Marchand saw her with a small man, but he said the man called her Jane.”
“Why would he call her Jane?”
“Jill, Phoebe doesn’t remember who she is.”
“Why? What happened to her?”
“I don’t know. Steffen said she feels safe with this man, that he wouldn’t harm her.”
“Do you know who he is?”
“We think he’s Roland Bickley, a CPA who disappeared around the same time as Phoebe. He’s a single man who lived with his mother until her death last year. According to his boss, he’s a meek little man who’s normally shy around women. If she’s with him, I don’t think she’s in any danger.”
“Will he bring her home?”
“I don’t know,” Ginny said on a sigh. “I plan to speak with Steffen again in a day or two, then we’ll decide whether to put Roland Bickley’s name on the news. Steffen thinks they’re in a motel, but we don’t know where. I’ll contact the national motel chains to ask for help in locating them, but wherever she is, we don’t want a show of force by the local police. It could frighten her, and she’s probably already scared enough. I’d be scared if I couldn’t remember who I was.”
“Yes, I would be, too.”
“If necessary, we’ll take it to CNN or one of the other national news stations, but I don’t want to do that unless we absolutely have to. The last thing Phoebe needs right now is a bunch of microphones shoved in her face and men with cameras following her around.”
Jill stared out the window at the snow flurries. “I’m so worried about her.”
Ginny squeezed her hand. “I know. We’ll find her, Jill. It may take some time, but we’ll find her and bring her home.”
“The doctor said… Ginny, what if I don’t have that much time?”
Ginny’s heart went out to her best friend’s mother. She’d already lost her husband. Jill needed her daughter by her side, holding her hand, giving her the assurance that someone on this earth loved her.
Chapter Three
“It’s about time you decided to come back to work,” Mark told Ginny.
“I’ve been working. We have two missing persons who disappeared around the same time. First, Phoebe Goldberg, then Roland Bickley. He wasn’t noticed missing until the following Monday, when he didn’t show up for work. My source tells me they’re both alive, and they’re together.”
Mark’s head snapped around. “What source?”
“Steffen Marchand.”
Mark looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. Maybe she had. Steffen was an arrogant jerk who thought he was God’s gift to women, but she’d had enough experience with psychics to believe in his visions.
Ginny sat at her desk and dug through the drawers until she found the list of national motel chains. “Phoebe lost her memory, and Roland is taking care of her. They’re in a motel somewhere.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to call the motel chains and try to trace them. I don’t want to scare her, and I don’t want him to think he has to run from the police. I want this done quietly. No reporters. No publicity. And no arrests.”
“Too late,” said Mark. “CNN had a piece on the Goldberg family last night. If those two are together and saw it, Roland Bickley knows who she is, and so does she. If he doesn’t call or bring her back to River Valley, if I get my hands on him, his ass is going into a cell.”
“I think he’s doing his best to take care of her. According to Steffen, she feels safe with him. If you arrest him, it could send her over the edge.”
“Yeah, maybe. And maybe Steffen Marchand doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.”
She muttered a few choice words mostly to herself, then asked, “Are you going to help me with these calls, or what?”
Two hours later, one of Ginny’s phone calls paid off. The woman who called identified herself as Margaret Olson, with Travel Bug Inns. “I spoke with you earlier.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Roland Bickley and his companion, Jane Smith, stayed at one of our inns last night.”
“Where?”
“Moses Lake, Washington. Because of the snow storm, Snoqualmie Pass is closed, so we expect him and his companion to stay there for another night.”
“Hold on a minute.” Ginny grabbed her atlas and opened it to Washington. She found Moses Lake in the center of the state and Snoqualmie Pass between Moses Lake and Seattle. So they were traveling west, toward Seattle. Then what? What did they plan to do when they reached Seattle?
Maybe if Phoebe saw her best friend it would trigger her memory. Ginny had to try. She immediately booked a seat on a flight to Spokane, the nearest airport of any size to Moses Lake. With any luck, she could get there before Phoebe and Roland left the motel.
Mark asked, “Where in the hell are you going?”
“To find Phoebe Goldberg and Roland Bickley. I’ll be back in three or four days. Maybe,” she added quietly.
“Better clear it with the captain first.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “I want to hear you explain how you figured out they were together and how you knew Phoebe Goldberg had lost her memory.”
“Smartass, know-it-all, opinionated—”
“You forgot intelligent, handsome, and a damn good detective with a whole lot more experience than you. Just because you’re Donovan Kane’s daughter, that doesn’t make you better than—”
“Stuff it! I’m going to Washington. You can explain my absence to the captain.”
She turned to leave and bumped into the captain’s pot belly.
“Kane, what’s your hurry?”
“I have a lead on Phoebe Goldberg and another missing person, Roland Bickley. They’re in a motel in Moses Lake, Washington. I’m on my way there now.”
“Call in the local police to take care of it. We have another murder case, and that takes precedence over a missing person or two.”
“But—”
“Murder first, Detective Kane. If they’re still in Washington when you wrap this murder case, you can go then, but you’ll go on your own time and at your own expense.”
“Montgomery can handle the murder.”
“Yes, he can. With your help.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d run into opposition from Captain Pierson. He didn’t like Ginny’s father, and he’d made it clear he’d promoted her to detective even though he didn’t think she had enough experience. Every day she felt like she was swimming upstream, but the current was so fast she wasn’t making any headway.
“Do I have time to make a quick phone call first?”
“Two minutes.”
“Yes, sir!” she snapped.
She punched in a series of numbers on her phone. “Dad, I need you to do me a huge favor.” She quickly explained the situation. “So will you go to Washington and talk with Roland Bickley and this Jane Smith he’s with? I’m sure it’s Phoebe, but I don’t want to force her to come back. If she’s had some kind of mental or emotional breakdown that caused her memory loss—”
“Sure, I’ll go. What time does the flight leave?”
<>
While the crime scene team collected evidence, Ginny knocked on doors, trying to find someone who’d seen what happened. But in this neighborhood, nobody ever saw anything. Without witnesses, without enough evidence, the murder of this young man wearing the red scarf around his head would go unsolved, like so many others.
Frustrated when another woman tried to close the door in her face, Ginny said, “Don’t you care that your neighbor was murdered today?”
“Yes, ma’am, I care. I care enough to want the killers to leave me and my kids alone.”
“But—”
“Lady, you don’t have to live in this neighborhood. We do. I don’t make enough working two jobs to move to a better place. And I don’t want no gang bangers coming after me and mine, so go away.” She pushed the door closed.
Hours later, they’d identified the murder victim and gathered enough evidence to get an idea which rival gang was responsible. Ginny was tired and frustrated when she walked into the station and heard the catcalls.
“Hey, Princess, who’s Mr. Sensational?” one detective asked.
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” sang another detective.
In the middle of her desk sat the most beautiful arrangement of red roses she’d ever seen. Who would send her flowers? She opened the card and read: Happy Valentine’s Day to my favorite police detective. Mr. Sensational.
She didn’t want to give these guys something else to rag her about, but she couldn’t help herself. She smiled. Steffen had sent her flowers.
Mark read over her shoulder. “Who’s Mr. Sensational?”
“None of your damn business,” she muttered. She and Mark had dated for a few months after his last divorce, but she grew tired of his macho me-man-you-obey attitude. She’d had enough of that growing up with three big brothers who liked to boss her around.
The captain walked out of his private office, propped his hands on his hips, and asked, “Where did the flowers come from?”
Ginny wanted to tell him it was none of his business, but Mark answered for her. “The princess has an admirer.”
“Well it’s not you,” said Karen Milburn, another detective. “You’re too cheap to buy a woman flowers.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Al Conway. “Depends on how bad he wants some.”
Everyone laughed but the captain. “Get rid of them. This is a police station, not some damn funeral home.”
Ginny wasn’t about to throw away her flowers, so she stood there, glaring at the captain, her arms crossed defiantly, until the captain retreated to his office. Score one for the princess!
“Valentine’s Day,” said Karen. “I’ve been married too long. Who knew men still gave women flowers on Valentine’s Day?”
“You’ve got to light a fire under your husband.” She pulled a rose from the vase and handed it to her friend. “Take this home and tell him it’s from a secret admirer.”
“He’ll say, ‘That’s nice,’ and then ask me what’s for dinner.”
Karen had complained a lot about her husband, but Ginny knew she loved the guy. Jim was laid-back and pleasant, they had sex at least twice a week, and he never complained about her work schedule. He was the perfect husband for a woman in this line of work.
Ginny looked at the beautiful flowers and smiled. She couldn’t remember the last time a guy had sent her flowers. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had sex.
What would it be like to make love with Steffen Marchand? Just thinking about him made her body tingle. And this time he wasn’t in the room to plant those thoughts in her head.
<>
Steffen glanced around the shabby dressing room. It smelled like stale smoke and cheap perfume. He sneezed and looked for a window to open, but the stuffy room didn’t have a window. It hadn’t been cleaned lately either. He opened the tiny window in the bathroom, which helped some.
Carson tapped on the open door. “Get dressed. You’re on in twenty minutes, and the room is filling up.”
“Is this the only dressing room in this dump?”
“The only one they gave us. Now get dressed. We want to do well here, so they’ll book us again next season.”
“There won’t be a next season. I told you before, I’m finished after this tour. Find yourself another freak to manage.”
Carson leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. “It’s that cop, isn’t it?”
Steffen sat at the dressing table. “Don’t you want to find a woman and settle down?”
“I had a woman once. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
Staring at his uncle, Steffen asked, “When did you ever have a woman?”
“Years ago, when I lived in Detroit. She left me. Satisfied?”
Carson left the room, and Steffen changed into his black stage clothes. He slipped the medallion over his head and under his collar, then kissed it, as he did every night. It had once belonged to his grandmother, his mother’s mother, who was also psychic. She died when he was a kid, but not before giving him the silver medallion and encouraging him to embrace his psychic gift. He never went on stage without the medallion.
Someone tapped on the door. “Five minutes.”
He brushed his hair, straightened his medallion, and walked out to the stage, wondering if Ginny had gotten his flowers.
He walked on stage smiling. The audience applauded, but something didn’t feel right tonight. There was a darkness, a danger in the room. He scanned the room and spotted the person responsible. A middle age man wearing a trench coat sat on the end of the back row.
The man had a gun.
Steffen held up a finger. “Ladies and gentlemen, would you excuse me for just a moment? Carson, I need to speak with you.” He put the microphone on the stool in the middle of the stage, and amid whispers, walked off stage to speak with his uncle. “Call the police. There’s a man in the audience wearing a gun, and if he’s not one of theirs, I want him removed before someone gets hurt.”
“Which man?”
“He’s in the back row, on the aisle, the one wearing a trench coat.”
Carson ran toward the manager’s office.
Back on stage, Steffen clipped the microphone on his shirt. “It’s Valentine’s Day, and I forgot to send flowers to a very special woman.” Most of the women in the audience smiled. “She’d never forgive me.”
“I hear ya,” a man called out, and the woman by his side smacked his arm.
Everyone laughed, which got the show off to a good start.
Two police officers took the man in the trench coat outside. He struggled and yelled, “That man is the devil. See his black clothes? That thing around his neck is evil. I’ll bet he has horns under his hair. Look and see.”
People turned to stare at the commotion. Steffen ran his hands through his hair. “Nope, no horns,” he said with a smile, but people weren’t smiling. They looked scared.
Seconds later, a shot rang out, and Steffen’s heart raced. He sensed the man was dangerous, but he thought the police could handle it. Apparently he was wrong.
Several people cowered on the floor, and someone was crying. Two couples jumped up on the stage and escaped backstage. Steffen stood watching the turmoil around him, but no one was looking at him.
The manager walked on the stage and announced, “The police have the situation under control. Nobody was hurt, thanks to Steffen Marchand. He asked us to call the police.”
“How did you know?” a man in the middle of the room asked.
Steffen said, “I sensed a darkness around him, and I saw a gun in my mind.”
Murmurs and loud whispers filled the room as people took their seats.
“I know this situation frightened you. If you want to leave, I’ll understand.”
Nobody moved, but a little old lady in the front asked, “Are you the devil?”
“No, I’m not the devil. I was born with the gift of being able to see what others can’t see. I see a young man standing by your left shoulder. He’s holding a motorcycle helmet and rubbing his chest. Is he your son?”
“My grandson,” the woman replied. “He was in a motorcycle accident and the handlebar went through his…” She put her hand on her chest. “Is he all right?”
“He wants you to know he’s fine. The pain is gone and he’s surrounded by light and love. He’s with an older man, short, with a pot belly and thinning hair.”
She gasped. “My husband died ten years ago.”
“Your loved ones are together now. Your husband said to tell you he loves you and he’s sorry he couldn’t hang around to say goodbye.”
A single tear streaked down the woman’s face and she wiped it away. “Thank you.”
