P.S. I Spook You

by S. E. Harmon

  “It bothers me that you sound like you’re using air quotes for that,” Danny said. “It really does. But yeah. Once we can prove it, we can go in and do what we do.”

  “I’m assuming ‘do what we do’ is slang for getting a search warrant and ripping her place apart.”

  “It is,” Danny admitted. “Although I don’t know what we expect to find after five years.”

  I sighed. “You really know how to kill a buzz.”

  A soft chuckle filled my ear. “Sorry to bother your high with the law and all.”

  “S’okay.” I figured I could repay the favor. “Your grandfather rides with you in your car sometimes. He’s grouchy too, which must be a family trait.”

  There was a moment of appalled silence, until Danny demanded, “Why would you tell me that?”

  “I’m pissed,” I admitted. “But it’s still true.”

  “I don’t believe in ghosts,” he said darkly.

  “Then you shouldn’t have a problem.”

  More silence. “Rain, I loved that car.”

  “Well, it’s not like he’s attached to the car. He also goes with you in—”

  “Do you ever want to get fucked again?”

  As far as threats go, it was effective. I scowled, but hung up the phone.

  I stood there a moment and wondered what my next move would be. What it should be. Something that wouldn’t ruffle anyone’s feathers. I could probably start with speaking to Margaret Macmillan again. Just a friendly talk. What harm could some small talk do?

  MARGARET CAME back from the kitchen with a fully loaded tray. In her world apparently “don’t trouble yourself” equated to a silver tray with piping hot tea and fancy little tea cakes with scalloped edges. “Here we are.” She set the tray on the table and sat in one of the Queen Anne chairs. “Help yourself.”

  I took a few of the cakes while she poured me some tea. Because I’d skipped breakfast and was running on two Cokes and a latte, I was hungry. She set a delicate cup of steaming-hot tea in front of me. “Thank you.”

  We ate in relative silence—well, I ate while she sipped tea—and after seven tea cakes, I realized I should probably stop inhaling food and get to the point. “I thought we might have a discussion. Just to clear the air.”

  “Clear the air?” She blinked. “I wasn’t aware BBPD had any other questions for me.”

  “Well, several things have come up during the investigation that contradict some of our previous knowledge.”

  “Speak plainly?”

  I huffed out a breath. I did get a tad loquacious when I hedged. Mostly because I didn’t know a polite way to say, “You lied to us, and I’m trying to figure out whether you or your equally evasive daughter walloped Amy on the head and left her to die.” That kind of talk had a way of interrupting tea time.

  “Were you aware that Jenna and Amy were in a relationship?”

  “Of course. They were the best of friends.”

  “I mean more than that. A romantic relationship.”

  She blinked at me momentarily and then laughed. “No. You must be mistaken. My daughter was not… like that. Not that there’s anything wrong with it,” she added hurriedly when she saw my expression. “But Jenna was not a… a… like that.”

  “We have evidence to the contrary.”

  “Evidence that I’m sure has been misinterpreted.”

  “Evidence Jenna has confirmed.”

  “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

  We stared at one another in charged silence, and undercurrents pinged the air like a thrumming tuning fork. She was just so hard to get a read on. Was I really thinking that this woman, with those soft, delicate hands that could pour tea so daintily, had actually hit a girl in the head with a tire iron? Her thumb twitched, and I realized I’d been staring at her hands as though they contained the answers of the universe.

  She folded them and gave me a cold look. “I think it’s time you got to the point, Agent Christiansen. Why are you really here?”

  I drummed my fingers on the table. She was sick of my softballs, I guess. Well, batter up, lady. “Let me be frank. You knew that Amy and Jenna were having a relationship, and you were afraid she was going to take Jenna away.”

  “No.”

  “They were both going to Pemberton in Arizona.”

  “Jenna went to a school in state,” she said sharply. “You can check the records.”

  “I already did. I spoke with the Dean of Admissions today. Five years ago, they had an application to Pemberton from Jennifer Ann Macmillan. They were putting together a financial aid package when she withdrew her application—one month after Amy disappeared.”

  “I don’t see how one thing has anything to do with the other.”

  “Well, the way I see it, Pemberton is a long way from Florida. And once Jenna got so far away from you, she might never come back.”

  “Jenna loves me,” she said, her face flushed. “She would never leave me like that. And even if she did, she’d always come back.”

  “Of course she loves you. But does she love the guilt? The blame you heap on her head daily for her brother’s death?”

  She gave me a look so fiery I was glad I wasn’t wearing cheap fabric. “I think we’re done here. I was meeting with you as a courtesy. Not to be accused of such… such vile things.”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything. We’re having a discussion, nothing more. I should think you’d want to help us solve the murder of your daughter’s girlfriend.”

  “Girlfriend?” Her throat worked. “My daughter… this is ridiculous. Amy and Jenna were so young. They didn’t know what they wanted.”

  “So you did know they were together.”

  “Of course I did. Jenna used my computer sometimes. She left her email open one day and I….” I waited for her to continue, but it became clear that was all she had to say on the subject. “It was just a phase. High school infatuation. I wasn’t threatened by it. Once she went off to college, I was sure she’d find a nice boy and this whole high school puppy love would be a thing of the past.”

  “Off to Pemberton.”

  “I told you I knew nothing about that.”

  Fuck. If she was acting, Meryl Streep should hand over her Oscar. I wasn’t sure what I expected. A confession? A little slip of the tongue to let me know I was on the right track?

  I tapped my fingers on the table as I thought. Just because she didn’t like the fact that her child was a lesbian—or at least bisexual—didn’t mean she’d been angry enough to off Jenna’s girlfriend. A lot of parents had trouble with their children’s sexuality. Danny’s foster mom included. Even if Danny seemed to think she was a saint.

  The silence stretched. Her mouth pursed as though she’d decided something. She stood and gathered the tea tray. “Is there some reason your partner decided not to come with you today?”

  Because he doesn’t think this is worth pursuing. And in his heart of hearts, he doesn’t trust my instincts. “It isn’t unusual for us to interview witnesses separately.”

  “That really doesn’t answer my question.” She raised an eyebrow. “Does it?”

  No, it didn’t. I guess it was folly to hope that rumors of my particular set of investigative skills hadn’t gotten around. “I’m not sure what you’re asking me,” I said carefully.

  “Tell me, Agent Christiansen, are the rumors true?” She smiled, but there was nothing pleasant about it. “Do you really speak to the dead? Does Amy’s vengeful hand guide your quest?”

  “You’re the one who said she was vengeful,” I said without thinking. “Not me.”

  She gave a startled laugh and then said, a bit disbelievingly, “That’s not exactly a denial.”

  My jaw tightened. “I don’t need to deny what’s patently untrue.”

  She smiled. As if she could see all my secrets. Then she headed for the kitchen. I grimly watched her disappear through the double doors. “Would you like more tea?” Her voice floated in the dining room.<
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  “I should probably get going. I’ll just let myself out.”

  I headed for my car and tried not to let the irritation get under my skin. I’d better get used to such skepticism, especially with all the rumors that were apparently circulating. But life as the resident fruitcake was getting old. Fast.

  Chapter 27

  MY DECISION to go rogue took longer than anticipated to bite me in the ass.

  Two days, actually. As I sat in a chair in Lieutenant Tate’s office, I tugged at my tie and did my level best not to squirm. My weeks working on Danny’s laid-back squad had affected my wardrobe, and I’d been wearing some variation of jeans and shirts lately. But as always I figured a good ass chewing deserved a suit and tie, so that’s what I did—a pale pink shirt and a pink silk paisley tie. I yanked at the tie again.

  I also tried not to look at a grim-faced Danny in the chair next to me. Yes, I’d gotten us in a bit of trouble, but would it kill him not to look so stone-faced? They could just stick him on Mount Rushmore at that point, right behind Lincoln and Roosevelt.

  Apparently it was taboo to tell an upstanding member of the community—and active volunteer of the Policeman’s League—that she was a suspect in a murder. And that you weren’t going to rest until you proved it. Now I knew. Jeez. Wouldn’t kill someone to post some rules.

  Lieutenant Tate had her phone tucked in the crook of her neck and nodded periodically, her face more than a little grim. “Yes sir,” she said, and she sent us both a look that should’ve turned us into two identical piles of smoking ash. “I will, sir. No, I understand completely.”

  I winced. I had a feeling that the degree of her ass chewing was going to determine the length of ours. To occupy myself I inventoried the photographs on the shelves behind her. A tall, dark-skinned man played with a young boy in one of them, both clad in matching red polos. That young man’s life through the years was charted in the photos and appeared to involve a lot of karate, Boy Scouts, and football.

  “No, that is not the kind of operation I like to run,” Tate said, teeth gritted.

  Burning bridges used to be more difficult. Apparently interrogating the influential Macmillans of the world was tantamount to sticking a block of C4 under that proverbial bridge. Especially when that influential Macmillan was talking lawsuits and all kinds of nasty business.

  Tate finally hung up the phone so hard I’m surprised the cradle didn’t crack. She seared us both with a look. “I’m sure you know why you’re here.”

  “I have an idea.” Danny’s tone was mild.

  “Do you? Because apparently some crazed agent assured Margaret Macmillan that she would be prosecuted for the murder of Amy Greene. Would you believe that?”

  “The things people say,” I murmured.

  “Don’t get smart with….” Tate took a deep breath. “I spoke with your direct supervisor this morning, Agent Christiansen. He told me that your mental health was… fragile at the moment. He’s requesting your presence. Immediately.”

  Fucking Graycie. “We’re not through with this case.”

  “You certainly are. We arrested Brock Johnson earlier this morning. We won’t be needing your assistance any longer. You’re free to return to DC.”

  “Brock Johnson didn’t do this,” I said stubbornly. “All of our findings point toward—”

  “He has evaded authorities on several occasions. He’s been proven to be abusive toward the victim. Her belongings were found in his possession—the ones he didn’t bother to pawn, that is. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

  “Circumstantial at best—”

  “You are finished, Christiansen,” she said, her tone a little sharp, and it was clear she meant more than the case.

  It was like a sledgehammer to the gut, and I was briefly speechless. Someone tell Journey I stopped believin’.

  “That’s not exactly fair,” Danny said, his brow furrowed. “He’s a good agent.”

  She turned her gaze on him. “Would you like to hear exactly what he told Ms. Macmillan? What he implied?”

  Danny scowled. “You’re taking the word of a suspect in a murder case over that of an agent?”

  “You’re right, Detective.” She made an exaggerated moue of courtesy. “Why don’t we ask the source right now? Agent Christiansen, did you imply that you spoke to ghosts? Vengeful ghosts?”

  “She said they were vengeful,” I said with a scowl. “Not me.”

  Danny’s sigh spoke volumes. So did his muttered, “Fuck.”

  At my words something shifted in her expression and she waved a hand at Danny. “I need to speak with Agent Christiansen. Alone.”

  I looked down at my hands. Like that ever boded well. I could feel Danny’s gaze on my profile. And then the steel in his tone. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  I could hear the shock in Tate’s voice. “I wasn’t asking. And if I’m not mistaken, you’re still on the clock. My clock.”

  “I’m not going to let you just browbeat—”

  “No one is trying to browbeat—”

  “Well, it sure looks that way.”

  “Detective, do I need to remind you—”

  “McKenna.” I appreciated the sentiment, appreciated the fact that Danny was willing to go to bat for me, but it wasn’t necessary. I made the mess. He was the one who had to stay and work there, not me. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

  He looked doubtful. “Are you sure?”

  “Just… go. I’ll be fine.”

  Danny swore. Got up. Left. The door slammed behind him. Hard enough to shake the quintessential family photos on her shelf.

  She spoke first. “Look, I’m not pretending to know what’s going on with you or what you think you saw. But I think we both know you can’t be part of this investigation any longer.” Her voice softened a smidge. “Not if you want someone to pay for what she or he did to that girl.”

  I want the right person to pay for what they did to that girl. I swallowed. “I’m not crazy.”

  “Never said you were.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that I think you believe what you’re saying. I’m saying that it’s damned strange that you were able to find her vehicle when a team of searchers, dogs, and police officers couldn’t.” She knuckled her eyes as though the subject alone were making her tired. “I’m saying there are a lot of things out there that we can’t understand.”

  I guessed by her pause that it was my turn to talk, but I had nothing else to say. I waited.

  She sighed. “I’m saying it’s a long flight back to DC. I think you should use that time to think about what you’re going to say to the head of the BAU. He didn’t sound… pleased.”

  That was probably a mild word for it. “I don’t know if I have anything to go back to,” I muttered.

  “That’s not really my business.” Someone had certainly earned her merit badge for emulating a fucking robot. She pulled a paper from a file on her desk and handed it to me. “Here’s your flight itinerary. He’s already taken care of the booking.”

  I raised an eyebrow and looked over the information. “Business class? Looks like I’m coming up in the world.”

  “Looks like.”

  I sighed. From the look on her face, she had nothing else to say either.

  Chapter 28

  THERE WAS no point in prolonging the inevitable. When I got home, I changed out of my suit and tossed on some gray jeans and an older, soft shirt and padded into Danny’s office. I plopped in his leather desk chair and spent an inordinate amount of time abusing his printer before it finally spat out my e-ticket. Then I headed to the guest room for a bit of cleaning. I was a relatively neat guest, but I wanted to make sure I left it just like I found it. An hour later, the room and bathroom were neat as a pin, and I had almost finished the last of my packing.

  “Going already?”

  I looked up to find Danny in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, both hands stuffed deep
in his pockets. There was a strange note in his voice that I couldn’t quite decipher. His expression was equally unreadable. I turned back to the bed, where my suitcase was splayed open, and continued to fold my boxers into tiny little bundles. “No, I just thought it might be nice to take my luggage to the Dairy Queen.”

  “Cute.” He shook his head wryly. “I don’t even know why I’m surprised. You only have a few gears, and none of them go under sixty miles per hour.”

  “In case you haven’t heard, my boss wants to see me. Most likely to fire me in person.” I jammed my boxer bundles into the nooks and crannies of my luggage. “Your lieutenant also kicked me off the case, and the wrong man is in jail. Not bad for a couple weeks’ work.”

  I tested the zipping capability of my suitcase. Getting tight, but I still had room. I unzipped it and began to stuff more things in the corners.

  “When’s your flight?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow morning. Six.”

  “I’ll take you.”

  “I can catch a cab.”

  “I said I’ll take you,” he said grimly.

  I wasn’t going to fight over a fortune in cab fare. “Thanks. And thanks for putting up with me for so long.” I tried to sound casual. “I left your keys on the side table in the living room.”

  “It wasn’t a problem.” Danny shifted awkwardly. “You feel like getting dinner?”

  “I could eat.”

  I stuffed more socks into my suitcase. We sounded like strangers at a fucking Airbnb. It reminded me of the last time I left—we hadn’t fought for each other then either. But things were different then. I was different then. And now I knew, no matter what that bastard Dante said about Limbo, that living without Danny was the first circle of hell.

  I stared at him as he blathered on about takeout options. He’d made it to gyros before I cut in. “So this is just it? This is how we’re going to leave things?”

  He blinked. “Excuse me?”