Dead Suite

by Wendy Roberts

  “Sadie, for all I know the demon is the serial killer.”

  “Is that possible?” Sadie’s eyes were huge. “I mean, I’ve dealt with some evil spirits before . . . you know that . . . but nothing that wasn’t contained. If this thing is out there, luring young women to hotels, and then stabbing them to death . . .” Sadie threw up her hands.

  “You’re scaring her for nothing,” Maeva told Rosemary. “It’s highly doubtful some demon is rampant out there stabbing prostitutes at hotels. But there is obviously a connection between Halladay Street and this Marlene ghost. Since Marlene is warning you about the guy murdering working girls and she’s appeared at Halladay Street and also at the Pacifica, then somehow all of it is related.” She looked determined. “We’ve gotta stop that demon first.”

  Maeva walked toward her car, leaving Sadie and Rosemary at Sadie’s car.

  “Gayla didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat to bring us back to Halladay Street,” Sadie said. “We can’t waltz in there and perform another séance.”

  “We went about it all wrong. We had a séance to make connection to spirits needing our help. We thought it was going to be a typical dealing with the dearly-departed-haunted-house kind of thing,” Rosemary said.

  “Right,” Sadie agreed. “But it wasn’t.”

  Not that there was anything typical about helping spirits move on and contacting the great beyond.

  “The more I think about Della Prior opening a portal in that house because she didn’t know what the hell she was doing, the more I think that closet is definitely the focal point,” Rosemary said. “It was opened to the other side. It needs to be sealed again. I don’t want Maeva to come. Her powers are weak and her mind is in mommy mode. You and I should go with Rick and Louise and maybe we can ask a priest or something.”

  “Whoa, don’t go crazy about this,” Sadie said. “I have no desire to go back in that house.”

  Rosemary looked Sadie in the eye with an angry stare. “We have no choice. Don’t you get it? That thing isn’t going anywhere and it’s only going to get stronger if left alone. It’s our job. It’s your duty.”

  “Really?” Sadie couldn’t keep the whine out of her voice. “I do trauma clean. I just fell into the whole idea of sending spirits over to the next dimension. I sure as hell never signed on to deal with satanic demons.”

  “It chose you.”

  “You mean this calling of helping ghosts? I was chosen to do that?”

  “Well, sure, but I’m talking specifically about the dark presence at Halladay Street. It called you. By name. This is your war.”

  Chapter 13

  Rosemary told Sadie, “It’s your battle but the rest of us are here to support you in whatever you need.”

  “Um, thanks.” The entire topic made her sick. “Do you think if we seal that portal thingamajig this will all be over?”

  “Probably. We need to bring all forces of good together.”

  “If you’re in need of a priest, I know an ex-priest who I saw sprinkling holy water at the last murder scene. . . .” Sadie stopped herself. She didn’t want to be asking Herbert Sylvane.

  “He doesn’t have to be a current practicing representative of the church,” Rosemary said. She rubbed rain from the top of her bald head. “The fact that he believes that holy water has protective qualities means he’d be enough of a positive source to offer benefit to the situation.”

  Sadie felt herself giving in. She had a gnawing feeling that Rosemary was right and the haunting of Halladay Street had to be stopped and, like it or not, she was connected.

  “You’re welcome to stay at my place if you don’t want to deal with the paparazzi.”

  Sadie almost accepted her offer but not because she was afraid of photographers. Their discussion about being in a fight with a depraved entity made Sadie feel vulnerable and alone. But she had a sneaking feeling that Rosemary’s house would be filled with eye of newt and hair of bat so she politely declined.

  Just as she was starting up her car, Sadie’s phone beeped and she checked her text messages. Zack had texted, Saw that video. You okay?

  “Okay” was not exactly how she’d describe herself, but still she replied with Yes. I’m fine. How are you? Even though she felt like texting, I’m scared. I’m a mess. I need you.

  It meant something that he was checking on her. Maybe it meant he still cared enough to not totally walk away from their relationship.

  She waited a minute but received no further messages from Zack. She sent another: Please come home.

  His reply was succinct: I can’t do that.

  She pounded the dashboard of her car and screamed. Then she swallowed her anger and distracted her thoughts by calling Petrovich. She left him a voice mail saying she’d heard a rumor that Iris Prior from the house on Halladay Street had been a hooker and that maybe the prostitute murders were somehow connected to that house.

  She knew he’d hate her if this was just one more lead heading into an abyss, but she didn’t feel right keeping that information to herself.

  She started up her car and pointed it in the direction of home, and it wasn’t long before she was driving slowly down her street. She hoped any photographers would be expecting a company van and wouldn’t recognize her Corolla, but she sunk down low in her seat and pulled her Mariners cap over her eyes as she drove past. There was no longer a big news van on the street, but there was a car she didn’t recognize parked in the driveway with a guy watching the house expectantly.

  Sadie opted for the indirect route. First she drove to McDonald’s and grabbed a couple cheeseburgers. She ate one as she drove back to her neighborhood and found a place to park on the next street. She slid the second burger in her pocket, hiked her purse onto her shoulder, and locked up her car. Sadie shared a back fence with an elderly woman who was hard of hearing and most likely fast asleep. Unfortunately her pit bull, Rosie, was always on guard in the backyard.

  Rosie wasn’t vicious, but she could sound an alarm of barks that could alert everyone for five miles. Luckily she could be bribed. Sadie opened her neighbor’s gate and Rosie galloped over, making one loud woof before Sadie whipped the burger out of her pocket and held it up as an offering.

  Rosie sat and her tail beat the ground mercilessly.

  “Good girl,” Sadie whispered as she tore off a small chunk of the burger and offered it to the dog.

  With a big, slobbery slurp Rosie inhaled the chunk of burger. As she crossed the small yard, Sadie continuously offered the happy pup inch-sized pieces of the delicious prize. By the time she reached the back fence, there was only a little bite left. With a grunt of effort, Sadie got a foothold in the chain-link fence and hoisted herself over while simultaneously tossing the last of the cheeseburger to Rosie.

  Sadie landed in her own backyard with a soft thud. Breathing a sigh of relief, she dug in her pocket for her keys as crossed her yard. She stepped over the large branch that had broken her door jamb and then walked up the deck to the back door.

  “You’re like a ninja gymnast,” a male voice whispered.

  Sadie would’ve screamed except a hand came over her mouth from behind.

  “Shh. It’s just me,” Owen Sorkin whispered in her ear. “I’ve been waiting for you to come home but didn’t want to face the news any more than you do.”

  He uncovered her mouth and Sadie punched him hard in the shoulder.

  “You scared me!” she snarled.

  “Sorry.” He smirked as he rubbed his shoulder.

  “You don’t look sorry.”

  “I’m almost sorry,” he admitted.

  “I don’t know why you’re here but quite frankly, I’ve had my quota of property investors for the evening.”

  “You saw Gayla? Yeah, she can be a bit of a . . .” He
trailed off while he searched for the right word.

  “Snotty bitch,” Sadie offered. “As well as a shrew.”

  “I was going to go with perfectionist.”

  Sadie raised her eyebrows. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one.” She went to her back door and stabbed the key in the lock.

  “What’s your plan now? If you go inside and turn on all the lights, they’ll know somebody’s home.”

  “True, but I don’t have to open the door to them.”

  Sadie swung the door open, then looked at him.

  “You never said why you’re here.”

  “Can I come in?”

  Sadie wavered only slightly. She may have been swayed by the fact that he was looking ten grades of hot in those expensive blue jeans and T-shirt. She waved him inside.

  “You’ve had a break-in?” he asked, running his thumb over her repair job on the doorjamb.

  “Wind storm the other night,” Sadie explained.

  She flicked on the kitchen light. Within seconds there was a knock at the front door. Sadie ignored it. Hairy’s toenails clickety-clacked on the tile floor as he hopped into the kitchen to greet her. Sadie scooped up her rabbit and nuzzled close for some fur-baby loving.

  Grabbing a chair at the kitchen table, she waved for Owen to do the same. The doorbell rang and a more persistent knock followed.

  “So you’re just going to ignore it? They could ring your bell all night,” Owen said, slipping into a wooden chair across from Sadie.

  “I don’t think I’m a big enough fish.” Sadie stroked Hairy from between his ears and down the length of his back. “He’ll get tired and go home. If he doesn’t, I’ll—” She stopped short, about to say she’d call Zack, but she couldn’t call him for help.

  “You’ll what?” Owen prompted.

  “Call the cops.” Sadie put Hairy back down on the floor. “Sorry, but I’ve had a hard few days and was thinking of soaking in a bubble bath with a glass of wine and then crawling into bed.”

  His eyes darkened. “I could totally help you with that.”

  “What do you want, Owen?”

  The doorbell rang again and Sadie screamed “Go away!” at the top of her lungs.

  “I’ll take care of this.” He got up and went to the front door and Sadie could hear male voices. Soon he was back in her kitchen. “He’ll leave.”

  “How’d you do that?”

  Owen stuffed his wallet into his back pocket. “Journalists don’t make nearly enough money.”

  “You paid him off?” Sadie didn’t know whether to be annoyed or flattered. She decided on grateful. “Thank you. Now, answer my question. Why are you here?”

  He looked momentarily uncertain and rubbed the back of his neck while he looked down at the table. “Gayla sent me a link to that video. Guess I just wanted to hear it from you.”

  “Hear what? That your house is haunted, or that it was all an elaborate publicity stunt?”

  “The truth.”

  “You can’t handle the truth.”

  At that moment Sadie felt totally entitled to channel her inner Jack Nicholson. She got up and went to her fridge and found it lacking in beer. She opened a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of red wine, then unscrewed the top and poured herself a very full glass. She took a large gulp before asking Owen if he’d like some, but he politely declined.

  “So the house is haunted by some ghost who wanted to pull you in a closet?” He drilled his fingers through his sun-bleached hair. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”

  “There are more things in heaven and earth—”

  “Don’t quote Shakespeare to me. Just answer the question.”

  “I’m just a trauma-clean worker who sometimes and occasionally has a run-in with the supernatural.” She looked him in the eye. “Rosemary has an idea of what’s happening and will do her best, but truthfully, there’s no guarantee here. I wish I could tell you how to make it stop so you can sell your investment and make the truckload of cash you and Gayla seem so desperate for.”

  He held up his hand. “Gayla might be desperate, but I can afford to take a loss.” He sighed. “I feel bad for her. I think she’s in over her head here. So what would you do, if it was your house? Would you just leave it alone? Let sleeping dogs lie and sell it quickly? Or try and de-ghostify it?”

  “I’d try and stop it,” Sadie said honestly. She thought about what Rosemary had said—that it was all about her and she needed to be the one to stop it—and she shuddered. “Honestly, that place scares the pants off me.”

  “Guess that’s all I needed to know.” He got to his feet.

  Sadie stood up, thinking she’d follow him and lock up after he left. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly before he reached over and pulled Sadie against him.

  Sadie knew the minute his lips were on hers that she should tell him to hit the road. She was still dressed in business attire from leaving the Pacifica. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. But Owen’s hands were expertly unzipping the back of her skirt and unbuttoning her blouse while his hot lips never left hers. Sadie didn’t know if she wanted Owen, or if she just wanted to feel needed and attractive to someone. In that moment it didn’t matter. She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer. As her skirt fell to the floor around her ankles and her panties followed, she panicked and thought again of asking him to leave. Then suddenly he lifted her bare ass onto the kitchen counter. His mouth devoured her throat as his fingers deftly finished unbuttoning her blouse and unhooked the front snap of her bra. As she lay fully naked in her kitchen, the only thought that formed in her mind was too X-rated to say out loud.

  It was hours later and just after five in the morning when Owen slipped out of her bed. At first Sadie kept her eyes closed and her breath even. She didn’t want an awkward good-bye, but when he came around her side of the bed and kissed her forehead she couldn’t help but smile.

  “You don’t have to go.”

  “Yes, unfortunately I do.” He tugged jeans up over his hips. “I’ve got a meeting with my lawyer this morning about a property I’m selling in another state.”

  “So you own places all over? Just like Gayla?”

  “A few,” he said, slipping a T-shirt over his head. “I’ve taken advantage of the downturn in the market to try to get places cheaply and rent them out until they go up in value. This one’s in New Mexico.”

  Sadie sat up quickly. She was no longer sleepy. “You own property in New Mexico?”

  “A few places. This one should be gone after today.” He bent over and tapped the end of her nose playfully. “I’ve had this particular house a few years. Tenants are moving out, so it’s the perfect time to let it go.”

  “Whereabouts in New Mexico is it?”

  “Rio Rancho. Have you been there?”

  Sadie shook her head. She wanted to ask if that was near Albuquerque. A knot of tension formed in her stomach.

  “Go back to sleep,” he told her. “I can let myself out.”

  Then he bent over and kissed her thoroughly, and Sadie had to stop herself from dragging him back into her bed, but once he was gone, she started to think and those thoughts weren’t pleasant.

  She took a couple of deep breaths and told herself to calm down. But something in her gut told her the house on Halladay Street was connected to the prostitute killings, and Marlene’s showing up on that video had cinched it in her mind. The web search had led her to that blog that talked about hookers killed in Albuquerque missing fingers. Somehow it was connected and, so far, the thing that seemed to connect at least a small part of it was Owen Sorkin. He owned Halladay Street as well as a place in New Mexico.

  She ran to her den and Googled Rio Rancho.

 
“Shit!”

  It wasn’t just close to Albuquerque, it was practically in Albuquerque. She rubbed the crease forming between her eyebrows. She was getting ahead of herself. Just because Owen Sorkin did business in Albuquerque to buy a house a few years ago didn’t mean he killed prostitutes there or in Seattle. Owen bought Halladay Street to renovate it for profit. Iris Prior was poisoned by her lunatic mother there, but that had no connection to Owen.

  While at her computer, Sadie checked her e-mail to see if there was any response from Hugh Pacheo yet, but her inbox held nothing but a colorful array of spam. She dialed the client’s number again too but, again, it came back with a recording saying the number was disconnected. The garage suicide cleanup was turning into just another odd thing in her bizarre week. Her fingers played with the necklace around her throat. She’d never been one to wear a lot of jewelry, but she had to admit she’d grown attached to this particular piece. If she never heard from Hugh Pacheo again, she hoped she wouldn’t have to sell or pawn it to pay her bills.

  She was about to exit her e-mail account when a new message popped up. It was a reply from the woman who wrote the blog a couple years ago about fingers being taken by a prostitute killer in Albuquerque. The e-mail said simply, If you have questions about that blog posting, call me. The e-mail was signed, leaving a phone number with a 505 area code.

  Sadie picked up her phone and punched in the number, and the call was answered on the first ring.

  “Hello?”

  “My name is Sadie Novak. I e-mailed you about the blog you wrote a couple years ago.”

  “Yeah.” She paused and made a sound like she was dragging on a cigarette. “Has it happened again?”

  “Has what happened again?” Sadie asked.

  “My sister was one of three prostitutes killed in Albuquerque in 2010. The police never told anybody about the fingers of the girls being taken. They said it was key, but they didn’t want it released to the world. Guess they figured that tidbit would help them find the killer. So far they haven’t found diddly-squat. Where are you calling from?”