Medium Rare: (Intermix)

by Meg Benjamin

  As she pulled into Autumn Patrick’s street, Rose glanced at Helen in the rearview mirror. “I can’t take you inside the house with me. I’m going to have enough trouble discussing all of this with Autumn and Marcella without having to explain the invisible hellhound who’s chewing on their furniture.”

  Helen gave her a reproachful look, settling her head on the armrest in the backseat. She took up far too much space to sit up front.

  Rose dug into her purse. “Here. I brought you a new chew toy.” It was the largest piece of rawhide they’d had at the pet store and it probably would have lasted a month with a German shepherd. She figured it would hold Helen for an hour or so.

  The hellhound pulled it out of her hands, settling herself across the seat and chewing absentmindedly.

  She climbed out of the car and up the steps to Autumn’s front porch. The door opened before she could knock, revealing a very suspicious-looking Marcella Draper.

  “I remember you. You were that writer’s assistant.”

  “Right. Rose Ramos.” Rose cleared her throat. “Actually, I run a company called Locators, Ltd. that your sister hired. Is Mrs. Patrick home?”

  Marcella’s eyes narrowed, but she moved back from the door. “Autumn?” she called. “Somebody to see you.”

  Autumn came in from what was probably the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. Her blond hair frizzed around her flushed face in the humid air. She frowned slightly when she saw Rose.

  “It’s Miss Ramos, isn’t it? Don’t you work for Mr. Delwin? Does he need something else?”

  Rose shook her head. “Actually, I work for Locators, Ltd., Mrs. Patrick. I mean, it’s my company.”

  Autumn’s forehead furrowed more deeply. “But . . . weren’t you the one who was here with Mr. Delwin last time?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Rose concentrated on keeping her voice steady. “We were working together that time, but not anymore.”

  “And he recommended you?”

  Rose nodded.

  “Well, come in.” Autumn gestured vaguely toward the living room. “Sit down. I’ve been on my feet all day.”

  Rose perched on a lavishly flowered brown and blue sofa, while Autumn sank into a matching recliner opposite her and Marcella hovered in the background. Autumn fanned her face with a magazine. “Did you find out something? Is that why you’re here?”

  “Well, yes.” Rose swallowed. “Sort of.” She picked up the report from her lap and handed it to Autumn. “I’ve got some educated guesses. Do you think your husband could have had a safety deposit box?”

  Marcella snorted. “That’s the first thing we thought of. You think we didn’t check that already?”

  Autumn waved a hand at her. “Hush now, let her talk. We did check the bank, but they said Clint never took out a box there.”

  Rose nodded. “I thought that might be the case. Mr. Patrick worked in Universal City, didn’t he?”

  “He worked all over the damn place,” Marcella grumbled. “Took deliveries all over town.”

  Autumn ignored her sister. “The company had a branch office in Universal City. Clint had a desk there.”

  Rose took a breath. This was the tricky part. “Yes, I looked up the address for the branch office. There’s a bank a half block from there, First Fidelity. They rent deposit boxes.”

  Marcella raised her eyebrows. “Why would he get a box there, so far out of the way?”

  Autumn sighed. “So I wouldn’t find out about it. It makes a certain amount of sense. Would they tell me if he had a safety deposit box there? Could I get into it?”

  “It would help if you had the key,” Rose said slowly.

  Marcella gave another disgusted snort, but Autumn looked thoughtful. “You have some ideas about where the key might be?”

  Rose nodded. “Maybe. I assume you checked all the likely places—filing cabinets, junk drawers, places like that?”

  “Right. We went through all the places where Clint usually left things, but we didn’t find a key. Or anything else that could tell us where he left the thing.”

  “That leaves the unlikely places. Where did he spend most of his time when he was home?”

  “The family room,” Autumn said promptly. “That’s where the TV is.”

  Rose made herself look bright-eyed. “Could I see it?”

  The family room looked like it was designed for a family suffering from major depression. Set lower than the front of the house so it got little light, paneled in dark wood so that the little light that managed to seep through the windows was quickly absorbed, dark blue shag carpet on the floor, and an older big-screen TV taking up a major part of a wall.

  “As soon as we find that damned baseball, this room goes in the dumpster,” Marcella muttered.

  Rose agreed with her for once. She looked around the walls, checking for wedding pictures, but didn’t see anything obvious.

  “Did you go through this room already, Mrs. Patrick?”

  “Call me Autumn. No, this room is pretty much the way Clint left it.” She looked around slowly, her lips pressing to a thin line while her eyes moistened.

  She missed him. Who would have believed it? Rose thought of Clint’s gloating ghost and gritted her teeth. “Well, let’s take a look now.”

  Twenty minutes later, Rose was ready to admit defeat. The room was almost empty except for the threadbare recliner and the big screen. If Clint spent a lot of his time here, he must have been comatose for much of it.

  She wondered how she could ask Autumn where they kept the wedding pictures.

  Marcella grumbled as she sorted through a bookcase full of VHS tapes near the stairs. Autumn stood next to the television set, her hand resting on its sloping back. “I gave this to Clint for Christmas after we got a bonus at work. He was just like a kid. He loved this thing.” She gave the TV a small pat, as if it were a last remnant of her husband.

  Rose stared at the television set, then down to the built-in shelf in the table below, stacked with magazines and miscellaneous junk. She knelt in front and began sorting through them.

  The framed wedding picture was buried halfway through the pile.

  She managed not to whoop in triumph as she picked it up, running her fingers along the back edge of the frame. She brushed across something rough. “Autumn? I might have something here.”

  Autumn knelt beside her. Marcella trotted across the room, surprisingly quick for an older, presumably out-of-shape South Texan.

  Rose worked the key loose gently, sliding her fingers underneath as the small paper envelope dropped into her hand. FIRST FIDELITY was printed across the front.

  “I think this may be it.”

  Autumn threw her arms around her neck. “You’re wonderful! You must be magic.”

  Rose grinned. Oh well, close enough.

  Autumn insisted on brewing tea after Rose had turned down Marcella’s offer of a margarita.

  “The wedding picture.” Autumn shook her head. “I never would have guessed.”

  “Me neither.” Marcella sipped her margarita. “Why wasn’t it hanging on the wall?”

  “It kept falling off the hook. I took it down. Clint must have put the key there because he expected me to find it when I put it back up again.” Autumn dabbed at her eyes with a paper napkin.

  Rose stifled a sigh. Maybe somewhere Clint’s ghost felt a slight pinch of remorse. Or not.

  Marcella took another swig from her margarita, turning to Rose. “So what’s up with you and this Delwin?”

  “Well . . .” Rose stared down at her teacup, trying to think of something diplomatic to say.

  “Oh, dear.” Autumn gave her a faint smile. “He’s really good-looking, in a rough kind of way. Unusual. He seems sort of blunt, though. I’d guess that could get old after a while.”

  Rose studied her tea leaves. “Yes,
ma’am, it could.”

  “So you’re not together anymore?” Marcella raised an eyebrow.

  “Marcella, put a sock in it.” Autumn placed her cup onto her saucer with a clink. “It’s none of our business.”

  “We’re not together, no.” Rose ignored the sudden tight feeling in her chest.

  “Men.” Marcella took another swig. “They should come with labels. Like those you get when you buy a plant. You know, ‘Should be kept in the dark and fed lots of nachos.’”

  “‘Water only with Bud. Do not use Miller,’” Autumn chimed in, her eyes taking on a reminiscent glow.

  “‘Do not expect sensitivity to personal information,’” Rose blurted. “‘Do not tell any vital secrets.’”

  Autumn and Marcella stared.

  Rose felt like putting her hand over her mouth. For someone who’d spent the last couple of years keeping quiet about virtually every detail of her life, she’d suddenly turned into Chatty Cathy.

  Marcella sighed. “Oh, honey. Are you sure you don’t want a margarita?”

  “What she needs,” Autumn said, flatly, “is enchiladas. Which, fortunately, should be just about done by now.”

  For the first time, Rose realized the house smelled terrific—cumin, melted cheese, that slight tang of chilies. Yes, enchiladas sounded exactly right.

  “Lead the way,” she murmured.

  An hour later, when she got back to the car, she found Helen chewing contentedly on the backseat upholstery, having finished the rawhide long before. Tufts of polyester fill showed through where her incisors had punctured the vinyl.

  “Geez, for a mythical beast, you sure have a solid set of teeth on you.” Rose turned the car back toward King William, feeling better. Autumn was a sweetheart. Even Marcella had her good points. She was happily full of enchiladas and salad and so much tea that she hoped they didn’t hit too many stoplights on the way back home. Helen dozed happily in the backseat, her snores reverberating through the car.

  The heavy humidity in the air had condensed into light mist that would probably become real rain within the hour. She headed up her driveway, wondering if her hair had assumed the usual Brillo pad texture that came with humidity.

  In the backseat, Helen woke up suddenly, sitting bolt upright. “It’s okay, girl, we’re back home now,” she soothed.

  Helen growled, deep in her throat.

  Rose stopped in the process of opening her door. The front yard looked empty. The porch light glowed next to the door—she couldn’t see anyone standing there. She squinted at the shadows lurking around the side of the house, but nothing was obvious. “Okay, Helen, let’s go,” she murmured, feeling a lot less confident than she had a few minutes before.

  Helen growled again. Rose reached quickly into the backseat to fasten on the dog’s leash before opening the door. She had a feeling the hellhound was planning to take off the moment she got a chance.

  Helen’s eyes were fixed on the front door. Rose checked again. She still couldn’t see anyone, but for the first time she noticed, with a chill down the back of her neck, that the door was open.

  She gave the leash a quick tug. Helen slid out of the car, keeping low to the ground and growling. Her immense ears were plastered back against the sides of her head. Rose didn’t bother telling her everything was okay.

  Because clearly, it wasn’t.

  Call the cops. She paused for a moment, considering. What if there was nothing there? What if Evan’s friend Harry showed up, ready and willing to do a search of the Riordan house, looking for tidbits that might be used against her. Not yet.

  She fumbled for her cell phone, just in case, and then let Helen tow her to the front steps. As she reached the stairs leading to the porch, Helen jerked back, pulling the leash taut against her wrist, then erupted in a frenzy of barking.

  Rose stared at the open front door. A woman lay crumpled facedown on the floor of the entry hall. A very familiar woman, her honey-colored hair tangled around her head.

  “Oh Christ, no,” Rose whispered. “No. Ma, please!”

  She dropped to her knees beside her mother, her fingers fumbling for her wrist. Behind her she heard the click of Helen’s claws on the wooden floor as she came to stand alongside.

  Her mother’s skin was cool to his touch, but she felt a faint fluttering of pulse beneath her fingertips. Rose took another breath, then stabbed 911 into her cell.

  “Hang on, Ma,” she muttered. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

  Twenty minutes later, the ambulance with her mother pulled out of the driveway, heading for the hospital. Rose sped up so that she was right behind. She was half aware of another car coming down the street, but she didn’t pay any attention. Following her mother suddenly took all her strength and concentration.

  There are forces that are hostile to the Riordans. And it looked like one of them had just taken a shot at her.

  Chapter 23

  Evan was sort of asleep on his couch. Since it was only nine and since his current condition was partially the result of a liberal application of bourbon, technically he could be described as sort of passed out.

  Whatever the source, he’d finally managed to more or less escape consciousness, which meant he could finally stop thinking about Rose Ramos or Riordan or whatever the hell she wanted to call herself. Unfortunately, being passed out only meant that he’d switched from conscious thoughts of Rose to unconscious thoughts of Rose. It was definitely not the most restful sleep he’d ever had.

  His head slipped down on the sofa cushions and he drifted deeper, pushing Rose further and further into the back of his mind where he hoped she’d have the decency to stay.

  “Get up, you miserable excuse for a human being!”

  The voice was so loud it almost woke him on its own. He stared around his dreamscape, hoping he hadn’t wandered into the dungeon by mistake, but the setting didn’t look familiar. He appeared to be drifting in the middle of featureless darkness. In his half sleep, his shoulders relaxed slightly. No dungeon. No Rose.

  “Did you hear me, you pathetic piece of slime?”

  Evan jerked around in the darkness, trying to see through the gloom. “Addison?”

  “Skag. Call me by the right name. It’s Skag. You know that, you slug! She told you who I am!” Addison/Skag stood at the edge of Evan’s vision. His normally impeccable suit looked disheveled. His hair was mussed, as if he’d been running his fingers through it. Evan half-expected steam to issue from his ears.

  “What do you want?” Evan approached him gingerly, moving across what felt like boggy ground.

  “What do I want? I want you to take responsibility for your actions, you moral gerbil! You did this to her and her family. It’s up to you to save her now.” He ran both hands through his hair again until it stood on end.

  “Save her?” Evan felt a jolt deep in his gut. Surely, he wasn’t supposed to feel stuff like that while he was asleep. “Save Rose?”

  “Of course, save Rose.” Skag/Addison’s eyes glowed like coals in the darkness. “Have you broken any other hearts lately? If it hadn’t been for you, she’d never have gone out tonight. She would have been home where she should have been. If it hadn’t been for you, none of this would have happened.”

  “She’s hurt? Rose is hurt?” Evan grabbed for Addison’s arm and caught only air.

  “Keep your hands to yourself,” he snarled, “I’m noncorporeal. And besides, this is a dream.”

  “What happened to her?” Evan fought to keep from screaming at the ghost in front of him. “Where is she? Is she all right?”

  “Of course she’s not all right. Would I be here if she were?” Addison seemed to shimmer in the darkness like an interrupted transmission, then snap back into focus again. “You have to get up, you great lummox, and go over there now. You have to help her!”

  “Help her do wha
t?” Evan’s heart was pounding, which seemed weird given that this conversation wasn’t really happening. “What’s happened? Tell me!”

  “Get up!” Addison bellowed, his body beginning to swell. “Get over to her house. Do it now, imbecile!”

  Evan’s eyes snapped open, as he rolled off the couch. Fortunately, he had presence of mind enough to break his fall by landing on his shoulder. Which hurt.

  Get over to her house! He grabbed his jeans from the back of the chair where he’d tossed them and pulled his shirt over his head. It took another couple of minutes to locate his shoes under a kitchen chair, but he stepped into them and zipped his pants as he ran out the door.

  The drive didn’t take long, but he cursed every red light, every cautious driver, every construction lane. As he turned into Rose’s street he saw an ambulance heading his way, lights flashing. He pulled to the side, heart pounding. Had it come from Rose’s house?

  The ambulance sped by. Her car was right behind it, with Rose at the wheel. Evan felt a mighty surge of relief that quickly slipped into confusion. If Rose was all right, who was in the ambulance? And why was she following it? And why had Addison told him to come here?

  He pulled into her driveway and began to turn around so that he could follow her, only to hear a long, drawn-out howl.

  He stared at the front porch. Helen crouched in front of the door, her head thrown back. The porch light threw shadows around her, and the eerie sound she made raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

  He stepped out of the car and climbed the porch steps, watching the dog. When he reached the top, she turned to look at him, her eyes wary. He extended his hand toward her. “What happened, Helen? Did they leave you outside?”

  She stared at him for a moment, then let loose another spine-chilling howl.

  He tried the knob. “Sorry, it’s locked. I can’t get you into the house.”

  The dog ignored him, howling. Her leash still hung loose from her collar. After a moment, Evan picked up the unattached end.

  “Come on, dog, I’ve got to find Rose. With any luck they went to the nearest hospital. You can sit in my car.” He winced inwardly at the thought of the damage Helen would probably do to the upholstery if he had to be gone more than a few minutes. Screw it.