“You know I can’t say whether or not it was May’s finger,” he said in a clipped cop tone.
Sadie and Petrovich had done this dance of information before. He was a great detective who wouldn’t share information about a case. On the other hand, when he wanted Sadie to know something, he had a way of telling her.
“Hold on a second.” Sadie paused in front of her closet. “You mean the finger doesn’t belong to May Lathrop?”
Sadie opened her closet to look for something she could wear to both dinner with her mom and the séance afterward. Something virginal enough to appease Mom, dark enough to wear for a séance, and, perhaps, slutty enough to attract Owen’s wanton gaze.
When the detective didn’t respond right away, Sadie turned away from her closet.
“There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“I can’t discuss—”
“This involves me, Dean!” Sadie shouted. “Some crazy-ass killer chopped off a finger and left it for me!”
“You need to be careful, Sadie,” Petrovich said seriously. “And if you were to Google chopped-off prostitute fingers you might find out more than you should. . . . Not that you heard it from me.” He paused before saying seriously, “You know that house alarm you hardly ever use? Start using it.”
He disconnected the call, leaving Sadie with chills that were not about to be made all better by a night of sparring with her mom and séancing with mediums.
Chapter 6
Sadie ran to her computer and entered murdered prostitutes and amputated fingers into a search. She was rewarded by a lot of results about strange goings-on that she wished she could unsee and unread. However, she finally located a blog written a couple years ago. The blogger had written a long dissertation claiming a number of prostitutes were murdered in Albuquerque and that the killer had chopped off their fingers. Sadie thought about that and wondered if this was what Petrovich had referred to. Further Googling resulted in her discovering a number of articles in Albuquerque newspapers about a rash of prostitute slayings. No mention was made about pilfered pointers.
Out of curiosity, Sadie e-mailed the Albuquerque blogger, asking her about the article. She wondered if Zack would be able to get information on the cases not released to the press in Albuquerque. Her hand went instinctively to her phone and Sadie began to dial Zack’s number. She caught herself and ended the call before it went through.
“I don’t need him and I don’t want him,��� Sadie stated emphatically in her empty house, but even her rabbit didn’t buy it.
She shut down her computer and then set the house alarm before heading out the door to get to her mom’s for dinner.
Sadie proudly pulled up to her mom’s house half an hour early at four thirty, but then she realized she’d forgotten the salad and had to run to Safeway. By the time she walked into her mom’s house it was five fifteen. She could hear Osbert’s shrill cry from outside the front door.
“You’re late.” Her mom took the bag containing bagged salad.
“Sorry.”
Sadie’s mom had never been the warm-and-huggy kind of mom. Since Sadie’s dad died last year, Mom had taken up snark as a full-time hobby. Sadie truly hoped it was a phase. Sort of like the time when her mom took up crocheting and made cozies for every item in Sadie’s house, including Hairy’s litter box.
Sadie nodded hello to her brother-in-law, John, who had Dylan on his lap contentedly watching Elmo on the TV. She followed the sounds of Osbert’s cries into the kitchen and found Maeva maniacally pacing the floor with the baby as if the bouncing motion would shake the baby’s vocal cords loose.
“Sadie! Oh thank God!”
She walked over and attempted to thrust the child into Sadie’s arms.
“Could I put down my purse and take off my jacket first?”
Maeva waited impatiently until Sadie was ready to take him, then practically tossed Osbert into her arms.
“Now, what’s all the fussing about Ozlicious?” Sadie cooed.
Osbert was as quiet as a lamb except for a hiccup.
“I don’t get it.” Maeva shook her head. “Why does he always stop crying when he’s with you?”
Sadie shrugged.
Dawn was stirring a pot on the stove and smiled at Sadie.
“It’s because she’s got no emotion invested in it. Osbert picks up on your stress, Maeva; that’s why he doesn’t calm down.”
“Terry said if this keeps up, you need to come live with us,” Maeva told Sadie.
Sadie laughed.
“I’m serious.” Maeva leaned in and whispered in Sadie’s ear. “I think I’m going insane.”
“He’s a baby.” Sadie rolled her eyes. “Babies cry.”
“Not like this.” Maeva wagged a finger in Osbert’s chubby face. “He’s possessed or something.”
“Well, at the rate business is going, being your live-in nanny might not be such a bad idea,” Sadie murmured.
Dinner was a large quantity of pasta, salad, and garlic bread topped off with the best berry cheesecake Sadie had ever consumed. It was a very good thing that nothing they ate required a knife since Sadie had Osbert balanced in the crook of her left arm through the entire meal.
“You’re a natural,” John commented, pointing at her from across the table with his fork. “You and Zack should totally consider settling down and having kids.”
Dawn elbowed her husband hard in the ribs. “For a doctor, you’re not very smart.”
“What?” John asked, confused.
“Yes. What?” Sadie’s mom put down her fork and narrowed her eyes at Sadie. “Why isn’t Zack here? How long is he going to work out of town? It’s not right that he works so far away. There’s got to be jobs doing security in Seattle.”
“Zack and I are on a break.” Sadie shoveled the last forkful of cheesecake into her mouth and got up from the table.
“A break!” Her mom got up and followed Sadie into the kitchen, carrying in an armload of dishes. “I thought he was just working in Portland. What the heck is a break? You should be getting married and having babies. You’re not twenty anymore!”
“I know how old I am and I’m far too old to be listening to dating advice from my mommy!” Sadie countered.
She walked over to Maeva and handed over Osbert, who immediately launched into a piercing wail of epic decibels.
“I’ll see you at Halladay Street,” Sadie shouted over Osbert’s cries.
Her mom’s comments had unsettled Sadie at the deepest level. One part of her didn’t feel ready for marriage and a family, but lately there’d been a gnawing need in her core that was the ticking time bomb of her biological clock.
Sadie drove her Scene-2-Clean van directly over to Halladay Street, but when she saw Owen’s BMW parked out front she just kept going. She knew she’d have to face him later on for the séance, but she didn’t feel strong enough to deal with him on her own. There was a good chance that she might accidentally-on-purpose end up naked with him.
Sadie drove around until she found the closest Starbucks. She went easy on the caffeine in her latte and then meandered back in the direction of West Halladay. It was still a little early to expect Maeva and her band of misfits—Louise and the Thingvolds—but if she didn’t see their vehicles, she’d just keep going until closer to their meeting time of eight thirty. As luck would have it, when she rounded the corner onto the Halladay Street Owen Sorkin was at his vehicle getting something from his trunk. Because she was driving a large white van advertising Scene-2-Clean, it was a little hard to discretely coast on by. He spotted her immediately and waved.
With a sigh, Sadie parked a few houses down and met Owen on the sidewalk in front of the house.
“Am I the first one here?” she asked.
“Rosemary and Rick came and set up some folding chairs and a table in the upstairs bedroom for our little . . .” He stumbled a little, unsure of what to call it, and finally settled on, “The little function.” He winked at her and hoisted a large metal toolbox. “They’ll be right back, but we might as well get settled.”
Sadie followed him up the walkway.
“What are you repairing?”
“The master bedroom closet is off the hinges.” He opened the door and waited for Sadie to step inside. “I thought the repairmen had already dealt with it before being scared off by spooky sounds.” He kicked the front door closed behind them and headed toward the stairs.
“I still find it a little odd that Gayla jumped to the conclusion that it was ghosts that scared off the workers,” Owen said. “Part of me thinks maybe they just wanted an excuse to screw us out of a little more money.”
“If you really believed that, you’d just call them up and ask them,” Sadie said.
“Who said I didn’t?”
She followed behind Owen as he climbed the stairs. He wore a pair of Diesel boot-cut jeans that easily cost a couple hundred bucks. Sadie couldn’t help but think every dime of that was worth it for the way his ass looked in that denim.
“Actually, the workers sounded pretty convincing. They want to get back to work too. If it was just me, I would’ve handled this differently. I guess I’m just not used to having a partner on a place. Maybe I’m more controlling than I thought.” Owen smiled over his shoulder at her as he said it. “But, whatever it takes, I’m all for anything and everything that will get this place fixed up and then sold. If it makes our workers feel better that we’ve gotten rid of evil spirits and we can provide an invoice from Maeva to prove that point, then I’m fine with it.”
Sadie followed him into the master bedroom and her eyes immediately went to the wall that was now free of red graffiti sporting her name.
“You painted over?” she asked with surprise.
He shrugged. “I didn’t want you to faint again.”
Sadie fisted the pendant that hung around her neck and pouted petulantly. “That was a onetime thing. I’ve never been a fainter.”
He set down his toolbox beside a stepladder in front of the closet, then turned to laugh at her. “Fine. Whatever you say.”
“At least I don’t scream and run like a little girl at the sight of blood,” she teased.
“I’m sorry if amputated fingers freak me out,” he said. “Obviously I haven’t been exposed to that stuff nearly as often as you.”
In the center of the room was a round folding table and around it were metal chairs. The Thingvolds had placed a large pillar candle in the center. Sadie felt that one of Terry’s cheesecakes would’ve made her feel more welcome.
“Could I get you to lift the door straight while I screw in the hinges?” Owen asked as he stepped up the ladder with a cordless drill in hand.
Sadie walked over and did as he asked. The door was not one that was made cheaply from particle board like a lot of modern ones; it was solid wood from some kind of tree and damn heavy.
“This must be the original door,” Sadie remarked.
She crouched down and attempted to lift it straight. Grunting under the weight, Sadie turned her head aside and her eyes gazed into the small dark closet space while she waited for Owen to make the repair. The whir of the drill sounded. Suddenly she felt hot and a bit woozy and wished she had some water.
Owen pressed the trigger of the electric drill in his hand another couple of times, securing the hinges in place with long screws. Within a couple minutes the door was holding its own weight again and hanging straight.
Owen stepped down from the small ladder and Sadie straightened. She leaned casually against the wall to nonchalantly steady her spinning head.
“So many times when I’ve gone in to renovate an older home I’ll find that some fool has replaced solid wood doors in the house with cheaper ones.” He shook his head. “It’s crazy to think you should ever replace something real with something fake.”
“It’s a pretty small closet for a master bedroom. No walk-ins with shelving units in the late 1800s, huh?” Sadie stepped forward unsteadily and sat down on one of the folding chairs.
“Are you okay?” He tilted his head at her. “You look a little pale.”
“Fit as a fiddle,” she replied with a lot more gusto than she felt. “I’m pale because it’s fall in Seattle. By June I get more color.” She got to her feet and cleared her throat. “It’s hot in here. I could use some water.”
They headed downstairs to the kitchen. By the time she was on the main floor Sadie felt a lot better, but the heat of her body was causing her to sweat beneath the disc pendant under her snug blouse. She pulled the chain out from under her shirt so it wasn’t plastered against her damp skin.
Owen got them each a bottled water from the fridge. Sadie hopped up on the counter and sat there, taking a long drink.
They heard the front door bang open and a zany trio arrived, calling out.
“We’re in the kitchen,” Owen called, returning their shouts. To Sadie he said quietly, “Let the games begin.”
Louise bustled in with her poufed-up magenta-colored hair, which drew Sadie’s eyes upward and away from the woman’s neon patchwork peasant dress. Louise belonged to a local Seattle coven of Wiccans. She believed in spells, smudging, and a woman’s right to dress like a court jester.
“Sadie!” she cried in obvious delight. “Now it’s just like old times.”
Sadie offered her a halfhearted wave.
“This is Owen Sorkin,” Rosemary said. “He and his partner own the house.”
“And a beautiful one it is too,” Louise exclaimed, rubbing her hands with delight as she gazed longingly at the kitchen cabinetry. “So tell me, Owen, what can you tell me about the history of this house?”
“You don’t know?” His eyebrows rose in amusement.
“Oh, I know a teenage girl was killed here by her mother.” Her hands fluttered in the air as if that were neither here nor there. “What was the history of this beautiful domicile before that?”
Owen smiled. “Don’t have a clue.”
“That’s okay; I have a feeling Louise is going to tell us,” Sadie said.
“I don’t know anything for certain, you understand, but I was talking to a fellow witch at our coven meeting last night and she said the house actually has a rich history of murder and mayhem.” She grinned and rubbed her hands when she said it as if she’d announced there’d be cookies instead of there’d been murder.
“You’re a . . . witch?” Owen tilted his head and smirked.
“It’s a perfectly acceptable faith and lifestyle,” Sadie remarked coolly with a look of warning. “You invited us here. I suggest you keep your mind open.”
“Not trying to offend anyone here.” He put up his hands in a stopping motion. “I’m just not into this kind of stuff.” He looked apologetically at Louise. “For the record, my partner Gayla was the one who called Madam Maeva’s. And I don’t think she really knew that meant witches and”—he glanced over at the Thingvolds—“whatever they are.”
Rosemary was frantically typing on her phone. Rick was humming with his eyes closed.
“If this is more than your white-bread mind can handle, maybe you should just let us do this on our own,” Sadie said. She felt suddenly defensive of the crew of oddballs. They may not fit with what society thought was the norm, but neither did she with her ability to help spirits move on.
“You know what? You’re right. I think it would be better if I just left you to do whatever it is that you do.” He reached into his pocket and tossed Sadie a house key. “Lock up when you’re done.”
Owen strode out of the kitch
en, down the hall, and out the front door before anyone could think of a thing to stop him.
“For some people, the paranormal world is just too much for the boundaries of their minds to absorb,” Rosemary said, not looking up from her cell phone.
“I don’t think it was the thought of the paranormal that scared Owen off,” Sadie stated evenly. “It was probably the fact that you three look and act like a band of freaks from the planet Zolon. Have you ever considered toning things down a bit?”
Rosemary looked up and the three eyed one another critically for only a few seconds. Between the numerous piercings, tattoos, bald heads, and fluorescent hair, it was like a clown convention threw up in the room.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Rick said evenly. “But it would’ve been nice to stick with six people. Now when Maeva comes we’ll be short a person.”
“Better to be one person short,” Rosemary said, tap-tapping on her phone with her long black fingernails, “than to have negative energy in the room.”
“True.” Louise nodded her fluorescent-colored head wisely. She held up a cloth shopping sack. “I have a few items to set up. Shall we get the table ready?”
Just as they were rounding the front corridor to go upstairs, the front door opened and Maeva walked in with a wailing Osbert squirming in her arms.
“Sorry, everybody!” Maeva exclaimed. “Terry’s been kept late at his catering gig.”
“You couldn’t get a sitter?” Louise asked, shouting over the infant’s screams. “You know you shouldn’t bring a baby to a séance!”
“I know,” Maeva said, scowling at Louise. “Do you think I would’ve brought him if there was a sitter on the planet who was deaf enough to put up with the screeching?”
“Make it stop!” Rick shouted, placing his hands over his ears.
Dead Suite Page 9
