by SUE FINEMAN
“No, Detective Kane. You’re not on suspension. I don’t know how you got information from the kids in that neighborhood, but I commend you for doing it.”
“My brother volunteers at the gym at Porcini Park, and some of the kids from that neighborhood go there after school. The kids all like Charlie, and they’re not afraid to talk to him.”
The chief nodded. “I understand. Your sources will remain confidential.”
Ginny was in her car on the way to the post office to pick up her mail when she realized what the chief had said. “Captain Pierson will fill in for you.”
She was still laughing when Karen called her. “How did it go?”
“Great.” She told Karen what the chief said.
“I love it. The captain is on his way to see the chief right now. Mark and Al are getting antsy, but—”
“What happened with the case? Did he send someone in undercover?”
“No, and he didn’t bring anyone in for questioning. The captain thinks you got the information from a hokey source.”
“Like a psychic?”
“Exactly.”
“Damn him.”
“My feelings exactly. I told the chief if something didn’t change soon, people would start leaving, including me. Bob Pierson has turned a job I love into one I hate. Al has applied in Dayton and Columbus, and Mark thinks if he hangs around until the captain becomes chief, he’ll get the captain’s job.”
“You’ve been a detective longer than Mark.”
“I’m the wrong gender.”
Yes, she was the wrong gender, but Karen would make a great captain. She had a clear head for decision making, patience with pesky personnel issues, and dedication to enforcing the law. Mark was a hothead who thought women were only good for sex. Working for him would be almost as bad as working for Captain Pierson.
Ginny picked up her mail from the post office and headed for her parents’ home on Livingston Avenue. She found Dad in the kitchen, nose in the refrigerator. As if Mom didn’t feed him enough at mealtime.
“Hey, get out of there,” she said, using Mom’s words.
He closed the door. “Ginny, what happened this morning?”
“I have three weeks off, comp time. No suspension.”
“What about your sources?”
She shook her head. “I told the chief where I got the information, but only because I trust him. I don’t trust Captain Pierson. I never have. He’s there for one reason, because the job is a stepping stone to chief. He thinks he’ll get the job when Chief Britton retires, but I don’t think he has a prayer of getting it.”
“No, I don’t either. The chief called me after you left his office. He said I should be proud of you, and I am. Very proud.”
“Thanks, Dad.” Law enforcement was the family business, although her brothers had all gone into other careers. Her father and both grandfathers were cops. Her mother’s father was shot and killed in the line of duty when Mom was a little girl, but that didn’t stop Ginny from getting a degree in criminal justice and following in their footsteps.
“He said you’ll make a fine chief of police someday.”
She smiled, warmed by the chief’s praise. “Too bad Captain Pierson isn’t more like him. I don’t know how he got the job in the first place.”
“I don’t either. They should have promoted someone from within instead of bringing him in from Summerton. He won’t be there much longer.”
“I hope you’re right.” In three weeks, she had to go back to work, and she didn’t especially want to report to Captain Pierson.
After a pleasant visit with her parents, Ginny drove home to find Steffen in the laundry room, sorting laundry. “What are you doing?”
“Sniffing your underwear.”
She grabbed a pair of panties from his hand. He was kidding, wasn’t he?
“I’m out of clean clothes, and from the looks of this pile of dirty clothes I found in your hamper, so are you. I’m not good for much else these days, but I do know how to do the laundry.”
She dropped her panties on the pile and let him have at it. Minutes later, the washer started filling, and Steffen came into the kitchen, where she was rummaging in the refrigerator for something to eat for lunch.
“Ginny, how was your meeting?”
“It was great. I have three weeks off – comp time, not suspension – and the captain is supposed to fill in for me while I’m gone.”
His lips curled in a half smile. “Well, that should be interesting.”
“Yeah, I’m almost sorry I won’t get to see it. What are you hungry for?”
“You’re asking a horny man with an appetite for—”
She held up both hands. “Forget I asked.” She cocked her head and looked him over. The pain was gone from his eyes, replaced with an unmistakable twinkle. Aside from the messy whiskers on his face, the confident, teasing Steffen was back. She wondered if his visions had returned or if he’d learned to deal with his limitations.
What would it be like to live with a man who knew what she was thinking, who could see into the future? She’d welcome a fling, but she couldn’t live with an arrogant man who could manipulate her mind. Better to send him on his way as soon as he was able to travel. Before his psychic powers returned. Before she let her heart lead her into a relationship she might regret.
Besides, she liked living alone. Didn’t she?
<>
They’d gotten another late start this morning, but Roland had driven until nearly midnight last night, putting the miles behind them. Phoebe slept off and on in the car, but Roland had to stay awake and alert. He hated driving at night, especially this time of year.
“We’ll be home tonight, won’t we, Roland?”
“If the weather holds. I hope we can beat the storm coming in from the north.”
“Another storm.” She sighed. “I hate winter.”
“This has been a bad one.”
They’d slept in the same bed again last night, but once his head hit the pillow, he was out. He’d driven fourteen hours yesterday, and his body needed rest.
“Did you call your mother this morning?”
“I wanted to, but…” She shook her head. “I can’t call her, Roland. We’ll be there soon enough.”
He hoped they’d arrive soon enough.
<>
Ginny finished hanging up her clean clothes. “Steffen, do you feel like going out? I want to show you the inn.”
“The family project you talked about?”
“Yes. It’s not far, and I’m anxious to see what the rooms look like.”
“Sure. Did your architect brother design it?”
“In a former life.” She smiled. “Andy found the plans in the attic of the old house on the farm he bought. They were drawn up by the man who built my parents’ home back in 1918, right before he was murdered by one of my ancestors. He wasn’t an architect, but Andrew Jefferson was a genius.”
“Are you saying Andy was Andrew Jefferson in a former life?”
She nodded. “You don’t think I’m crazy for saying that?”
“Not at all. I was once a minstrel, which is probably where I got the talent for entertaining people.”
“A minstrel in…”
“1150 or thereabouts.”
She’d often wondered what she’d been in her past lives, but she couldn’t ask Steffen about that now. Not until his radar worked again.
“So you have a murderer in the family?”
“My great-great-grandfather. He thought the builder was having an affair with my great-great-grandmother, so he killed him and buried him in the basement. Mom and Dad found his body after they moved into the house.”
“And people call my family weird,” he muttered.
She grinned. “You want more? My grandmother was a prostitute and con artist.”
“And you’re a cop?”
She laughed.
Steffen cocked his head. “You want my family history? My great-gran
dparents were from France. My great-grandmother and my grandmother were both psychic. My mother wasn’t, and she resented having a psychic mother who knew everything. Then when she realized I was psychic, too, she pushed me off on my grandmother. Granny died when I was ten.”
“What about your father?”
“Cameron Edwards married my mother when I was two. He wasn’t my natural father, but he was the only father I ever knew. Then his mental illness took over our lives. My mother left and he stopped taking his meds. He turned into someone I didn’t know, but I couldn’t put him in the state hospital. It’s a scary place. So I asked the doctor to put him somewhere he’d be safe. The doctor found a private sanitarium, and I paid the bill.”
“Carson didn’t help?”
“No. Carson didn’t help with anything. He and my father didn’t get along.”
“Yet Carson took custody of you.”
“He saw a way to make money. Because of him, I made enough to pay my father’s bills. And as my manager, Carson took a piece of everything I made.”
Ginny grabbed her coat and purse and they walked out to her car. “Steffen, what do you plan to do when you leave here? Will you go on the road again?”
“No. I don’t mind the shows, but I’m sick of the constant travel.”
She drove to the inn and watched Steffen’s face when he saw the inn for the first time.
“This is incredible. I love the stone tower on the left, and the front porch looks inviting. The view is outstanding. It’s right on the river.”
“This was part of Andy’s farm, what used to be Andrew Jefferson’s farm. Andrew designed the inn to go on this spot. Andy took the plans and modernized them, but the outside is essentially the same. Would you like to go inside?”
“Absolutely.”
Ginny was immensely proud of Andy’s work. The inn was the size of a small hotel. The lounge area had a huge stone fireplace that went up two stories, and the wide, curving staircase wound up to a bridge across the entry and then on up to the third floor.
The kitchen on the left side would be used only for breakfast. Andy was already working on a design for a restaurant, which would go on the right side of the inn. But the restaurant wouldn’t be open for another year, at least.
A truck pulled up in front and men started carrying in mattresses. “Where you want these?” one of the men asked.
Ginny pointed up. “All but two of the bedrooms are upstairs.” Although they had an elevator, Andy had put two bedrooms on the main floor for handicapped guests.
Andy leaned over the rail above. “Show them the elevator, Sis.”
While Ginny took the men to the elevator, Steffen poked around the main floor.
Ginny’s brother walked down the staircase and asked Steffen, “You looking for a job?”
“Not right away, but…” Why not? He had to work somewhere. “Sure.”
Andy handed him an application. “You’ll have to do something with that beard before you can work here.”
“I’ll clean it up as soon as I can use my right arm.”
Ginny walked up. “Andy, I see you’ve met Steffen Marchand.”
Andy grinned. “Sorry. I didn’t recognize you.”
“No problem.” Steffen slipped his right arm out of the sling and held out his hand.
Andy took his hand. “Welcome to the Jefferson Inn. You know anything about the hotel business?”
“I’ve stayed in a bunch of motels, hotels, and inns over the years, but I’ve never run one, if that’s what you mean.”
“What’s the one thing you wish every room had?”
“A comfortable chair. If you want people to stay more than one day, you need at least one comfortable chair in the room. I remember staying at a hotel in Denver once that had a soft recliner in the room. It was so comfortable I wanted to stay forever.”
Andy nodded. “Good point. We have desks and Internet hookups, but—”
“That’s fine for work, but not for relaxing and watching TV or reading.”
“We might try that in a few rooms. There’s not enough space in every room.”
“When do you plan to open?”
“After Charlie gets the landscaping in. He worked up a design, but we have to wait until the weather improves before we can plant anything.”
Someone called, “Andy, we need you up here,” and Andy took the stairs two at a time.
“Nice guy,” said Steffen. “Must be the good twin.”
“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” Ginny said. “My brothers are all good guys.”
Steffen still had the job application in his hand when Ginny drove toward home. Maybe her brother would hire him to work at the inn. He’d spent a lot of years staying in places like the inn, and he was fairly intelligent. He could learn.
What else was he qualified to do? He’d spent his entire adult life putting on shows for people who wanted him to prove he had psychic abilities. Now those psychic abilities were gone, vanished as if they’d never existed. As if he wasn’t known in Chicago as the freak who knew everything.
In the car, Ginny saw the look of frustration on Steffen’s face, the same look she’d seen when she brought him home from the hospital. “Don’t wallow in self-pity, Steffen. It doesn’t do any good to feel sorry for yourself.”
“I can’t even fill out a damn job application.”
“Why not?”
“What do I put under experience? The only thing I’ve done relates to a skill I no longer possess. I have no education to speak of, but I can describe the dressing rooms of hundreds of clubs across the country. And I can read a map. A lot of good that’ll do me in the job market.”
“You’re charming and handsome and good with people.”
“You mean gullible women? That skill must not be working either. I haven’t been invited into your bed.”
She pulled up in front of her house. “You’ll never be invited into my bed as long as you’re wallowing in self-pity.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Don’t understand what? That you’re feeling a little lost? That you’re worried about being shot again? That you’re stranded in a strange city with someone you don’t want to be with?”
He slowly shook his head. “Honey, I want to be here, but I don’t want to take advantage of your hospitality. And I don’t want to put your life in danger if the shooter finds me here.”
“I’m a cop. I can handle myself.”
“I know you can, Ginny. Maybe I should leave now, tonight, before—”
She unsnapped her seatbelt and twisted to face him. “Steffen, if you went back to Chicago now and something happened to you, I’d never forgive myself. Stay a few more days. Maybe by the time your shoulder heals, your radar will return and we’ll figure out who shot you.”
She opened her door and stepped out. The wind had picked up and clouds were rolling in. Snow clouds. “Looks like we’re in for more snow tonight.” Did she have enough gas for the generator? Enough wood chopped for the fireplace? Enough food to last a few days? Living in the country had its advantages. Losing power so often was one definite disadvantage.
Ginny made a pizza and they sat on the sofa in the living room, watching the evening news, and eating their dinner.
A reporter gave an update on the murder of Marcus Wilson, the boy murdered when buying drugs for his mother. “In a statement released late this afternoon, Captain Pierson of the River Valley Police Department said they have identified persons of interest in the case.”
“Imagine that,” Ginny said mostly to herself.
Pictures of a couple found murdered came on the screen, and Steffen’s pizza stopped on the way to his mouth. “I saw those two people.”
Ginny’s head snapped around. “Where?”
“In a vision. The woman’s husband came to see me at the motel the first night we were in River Valley. He wanted me to help him locate his missing wife.”
Ginny put her pizza on the coffee table. “What did you tel
l him?”
“That she’d gone off with a blond man with light eyes and a snake tattoo on his forearm. The woman’s husband was noticeably upset. I documented it in my journal, as I do every private reading I do.”
Her eyes widened. “You track every reading?”
He nodded. “Every private reading and the highlights from the shows. Carson said I should write a book, but I’m not sure the people I’ve read for would appreciate having private information about themselves in a book.”
The bit about the book was interesting, but not as interesting as that reading he’d done. “What else can you tell me about the man who was looking for his wife? Did you get a name? What did you see?”
“I didn’t ask his name, and I wasn’t looking for hers. I was looking for her image. I saw her with this other man and described them both to the woman’s husband. After the reading, he showed me her picture. There was no mistake. She was the one I saw.”
“What was his reaction?”
“He was upset and angry, but not with me.”
Ginny picked up the phone and called Karen. “I need to know when the Morrison woman was murdered.”
“Why?”
“Because Steffen Marchand gave a private reading to her husband the night before Valentine’s Day.”
Ginny heard papers rustle. “Hold on,” said Karen. “Here it is. The coroner hasn’t done an autopsy yet, but he estimated she’d been dead at least two days.”
On a hunch, Ginny said, “Karen, would you check and see if the same gun that killed these victims was used in the shooting at the Cartoon Club?” The woman’s husband may have killed his wife and her lover. If so, he may have wanted to take out Steffen, too, since he could testify as to the state of mind of the suspect when he learned his wife was with another man.
It couldn’t be this easy, could it?
For a brief instant, Steffen wondered if he was responsible for two people getting killed. But no matter where the woman had gone or who she was with, her husband would have been upset. His manhood, his ability to satisfy his wife so she’d want to stay with him, was in question. As upset as the husband was the night of the reading, Steffen knew he didn’t kill anyone.
Without thinking, Steffen said, “The husband is not a killer, and he didn’t shoot me.”
