The River and the Roses (Veronica Barry Book 1)

by Sophia Martin

  Seong crossed the living room and sat down at the table with her. He tugged on his tea bag and swished it around a few times. Veronica waited. Felsen’s hazel eyes bored into the back of his head, occasionally flicking to meet Veronica’s. She seemed intent on remaining silent, however.

  He played with the tea bag some more. Finally he sighed. “Miss Barry, in my line of work I see a lot of liars.”

  Veronica nodded, and started chewing on her lower lip. Oh, perfection. Another go round with the whole, “You’re a con artist” thing.

  “I’ve gotten so I pretty much assume most people I talk to, especially when I’m on the job, but just anyway—I assume they’re lying to me. And some people aren’t lying exactly, but they’re mistaken, or deluded. It’s a constant.”

  Veronica raised her tea to her mouth and blew on it, not looking at him. How annoying. She wasn’t planning on bothering him again. She figured the scene at the police station would pretty much have to be her last hurrah on the subject, or she was going to get into trouble. Why wait two days and come and tell her off now?

  “I think that’s why at first I didn’t think much of what you said. I mean I really didn’t give any thought at all to what you said in the car that night. And then the things you said when I came here the other day… and at the station on Monday—well, I was ready to forget all about them. Except I couldn’t.”

  Veronica’s eyes flicked up to his face. Did he just say what she thought she heard him say?

  “You said ‘he crushed her throat and then he stabbed her to death.’ See, we didn’t know that the attacker crushed Sylvia Gomez’s windpipe until the ME got done with her. There was way too much blood to have seen it. How did you know about it?”

  Veronica lifted her chin. “She told me.” Let him say what he would. He asked, and she wasn’t going to lie. Felsen shifted her weight, but still made no comment.

  “She who?” Seong asked.

  Veronica rolled her eyes. “Who do you think? Sylvia did.”

  “Before she died? She was alive when you found her?”

  Veronica gave him a look. “Detective,” she said, mustering her patience. “You know very well that she wasn’t. I said so in my statement, and I told at least a half a dozen other people at the scene and at the station: Sylvia was dead when I got there.”

  Detective Seong nodded. “So you are, in fact, claiming to have spoken with… with her ghost.”

  Veronica held up a hand. “Look, believe whatever you want, okay? I have done what I can. It makes me sick to think that her husband is going to get away with this—”

  “That’s the thing, Miss Barry, he can’t have done it. Did Sylvia tell you he did? Because we have about twelve witnesses that put him in a restaurant four blocks from the park when the murder took place.”

  At this Felsen cleared her throat. Seong turned and looked over his shoulder at her. She raised her eyebrows at him and he tilted his head slightly. Veronica watched this wordless conversation with fascination. How long had they known each other, that they could talk without speaking like this?

  Seong turned back to Veronica. “He was there from about nine until twelve thirty. That’s the other part of what you said that stuck with me,” he continued. “You said they went out to dinner, and you were right about that. You said she left the restaurant ahead of him, and that was also true, she left at about eleven.”

  Felsen groaned and twisted away, pacing a few steps toward the bedroom door. A muscle jumped in Seong’s cheek, but he persisted. “She left, but he didn’t follow her out. He stayed behind and went to the bar and proceeded to get very drunk. So much so he was a nuisance to the other patrons, and they had trouble kicking him out. So you see, he was very memorable.”

  Veronica sat motionless, frowning. Sylvia’s husband had a real alibi? How could she have been so wrong? When she thought about it, it was true that Sylvia never directly accused her husband. “Oh, this makes no sense,” she murmured. Seong gazed at her. She looked back at him, trying to figure out where she’d made the mistake. “I don’t understand. She told me—she said, ‘He crushed it,’ when I was at her viewing, and I was looking at her throat. They’d dressed her with this high collar, and she said, ‘to hide my throat.’” Felsen shot her a pinched look.

  “Okay, but she didn’t say who crushed it,” Seong said.

  Veronica shook her head slowly.

  “So it could very well have been Collins, the man we arrested,” he said.

  “Wait a minute, it sounds like you actually believe me now,” Veronica said.

  Seong looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t know. You’re either psychic or you got a hold of the ME’s report, and maybe some of the other statements.” He looked at her again. “I did do a little research. You’re good friends with Melanie Dukas, aren’t you? Who works for the DA?”

  Veronica groaned. “Yes. Yes. I am. And obviously that makes me some kind of fraud, because hell knows, I am just making money hand over fist with this whole thing. You know, I didn’t call you, Detective. I didn’t invite you here today. You came to me.”

  “Look, Miss Barry—”

  “No. You know what? I’ve had enough of this.” She stood up. “You two don’t believe me. For some reason you decided to come here and tell me so. Don’t you have a better way to spend your afternoon? Shouldn’t you be out there—I don’t know, writing parking tickets or something?”

  “Actually, our shift ended twenty minutes ago. So the illegal parkers of Sacramento are safe from us,” Seong said.

  “Glorious.” She stepped to the door and laid a hand on the knob.

  “Look, Miss Barry, I might believe you. Okay?” Seong said without moving from his seat. He glanced at Felsen, but she had turned her back on them and was rocking from one foot to the other, looking at nothing in particular. “I—I have some family members who are very spiritual people… I mean, I have religious family members who are members of the Sacramento Korean Presbyterian Church, but I don’t mean them. I have a couple of older family members, my grandmother, and my great aunt, to be exact, and they do believe in this sort of thing. They always have, and I was raised to respect them, but also to think they were a little crazy. And hard to understand, to be honest—my Korean was never very good—”

  “Why are you telling me all of this?” Veronica said.

  “It’s just that—” he stopped and then sighed. “Miss Barry, if you do have some kind of—of telephone line, to the dead… and you have reason to believe that Collins didn’t kill Sylvia Gomez—well, I’d really like to know who did. I’m not in the business of putting innocent people in jail. But it sounds like you don’t have any information that exonerates Collins, or that implicates another possible suspect…”

  Felsen blew air out through her teeth in a kind of whistle.

  Seong glanced at her and then fixed his dark eyes on Veronica. “Felsen doesn’t agree with me, alright? I asked her to let me talk to you and not interfere, but she’s against the whole idea. So this is it. Do you have any information I can use?”

  Veronica pursed her lips. She looked down at the floor, and then back at Seong. “I know Sylvia knew him, Detective. I’m sure of that. I know she knew him, and she must have known him well, and had some kind of serious feelings for him at some point, because she feel so guilty. So guilty—she felt like she deserved to die. You don’t feel that kind of guilt when you see a homeless guy. Maybe you feel bad. Maybe you wish you could do something, and maybe you’re even moved to volunteer at a homeless shelter or give the guy a twenty, I don’t know. But you don’t want to die. You don’t think you deserve to die.”

  “Maybe she made a mistake,” he said.

  “How?” she asked, lifting her hand from the doorknob to hold it out in supplication.

  “Maybe she thought it was her husband following her, and she was wrong. Isn’t that possible?”

  Veronica took that in. She felt dizzy. Leaving the door, she eased her way back into the seat at the
table. “Maybe,” she conceded. She rubbed her temples with her fingers. “Maybe. I guess it’s possible.” She looked at him. He was gazing at her with a sympathetic look on his face. She didn’t know how to feel about that. “I just—I guess I just thought—you know, when we die—we see the truth of things. We don’t make mistakes like that.”

  “Maybe we do,” he said, and drank some tea. “Do you have any reason to believe Sylvia saw the face of her attacker?”

  “You think she died believing it was her husband who was killing her?” Veronica asked. It was so horrible.

  “I think it’s possible,” he said. He took another deep drink of tea and set down the mug, standing up. “We’ve taken up enough of your time, Miss Barry.”

  Veronica stared at him, feeling numb.

  “I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” he added. “But if anything else comes up—you still have my card?”

  She nodded.

  He gave her a tight-lipped smile and walked out of the door. Felsen rotated on her heel and walked over to the table. She leaned so her face came within an inch of Veronica’s.

  “Seong looked you up and found out about your friend in the DA’s office,” Felsen said in her low voice. “But that wasn’t enough for him to realize you’re a con. So I did some digging, too.”

  Veronica forced herself to remain still. She wanted to push her chair back, put distance between herself and Felsen’s face, but she refused to give Felsen the satisfaction.

  “What could you possibly think you’ve dug up on me?” Veronica asked.

  Felsen smiled, her eyes narrowing. “Does the name Bo Bedragar ring any bells?”

  Veronica caught her breath.

  Felsen’s smile widened. “That’s right. I found out about your boyfriend. The one convicted of fraud? It said in the case file they brought you in for questioning six times during the investigation.”

  Veronica’s jaw clenched. She gave up trying to hold her ground, and leaned away from Felsen. The latter straightened and walked around the table to stand at Veronica’s shoulder.

  “I wonder what really happened back then,” Felsen said. “In fact, I’m thinking about reopening that case. You know, it’s three years old so it’s not like anything would come of it. But I’d be sure to call my friend over at the Bee and see about them running an article on it, at least.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Veronica choked.

  Felsen leaned in again. “Stay out of this case.”

  “That’s what I intended to do! You’re the ones who decided to come pay me a visit!”

  The doorknob turned and Felsen stood straight. Seong poked his head in.

  “Hey,” he said. “I thought we were leaving. What’s going on?”

  He doesn’t know, Veronica realized. He doesn’t know about Bo, and he doesn’t know Felsen’s threatening me about it. What is her deal?

  “Nothing,” Felsen said, stepping away from Veronica, toward the door. “I was just making sure we are all on the same page.”

  Seong frowned. “Come on, Lara. Let’s get going.”

  Lara? Who knew such a bitch could have such a sweet name?

  Veronica watched them close the door behind them, her fingers laced together to keep her hands from shaking.

  ~~~

  Melanie didn’t call to give her an update after all, and Veronica didn’t have the will to phone her. She sat on her stool, staring at her angel, contemplating the revelation about Albert Gomez, Sylvia’s husband.

  She had assumed he was the attacker because of the feelings Sylvia had at the time of her death. Was it possible that Sylvia herself had mistaken her attacker for her husband? It convinced Veronica of one thing: she had to be a lot more careful about how she interpreted the things she saw and heard. She was being given puzzle pieces without any idea of how big the puzzle was, or even what shape it was, much less the nature of the image it would create. It didn’t matter if something seemed to make sense with the few pieces she was given—there were always other possibilities, and she couldn’t know what they were. Who else might be the perpetrator? Sylvia’s son? Max, the man who interrupted the viewing so violently? Who was he? Why didn’t the visions reveal enough for her to know? She didn’t actually know anything that was useful to Detective Seong’s investigation.

  What use, then, was this ability? Maybe it was no use at all. People called second sight a gift but maybe they were wrong and it was just a nuisance, like an eye twitch or an allergy. Maybe she was just doomed to get extraneous bits of information that would never really amount to anything useful.

  Picking up her favorite paintbrush, she dabbed the end in Turpenoid and softened a lump of cream-colored paint.

  Except she did find Angie at the river.

  Yes, she couldn’t discount that. That had been useful, no argument there. Okay. So it could be worth something. No sense getting all gloomy about it.

  She touched the tip of the brush to the angel’s forehead, adding light.

  It just might not be useful every time. She had to accept that sometimes she wasn’t going to get the key information.

  Which was frustrating. Why would Sylvia go to the trouble of telling her anything at all, if Veronica couldn’t figure it out?

  And it seemed that Detective Seong might finally be ready to listen to her! That was a small miracle by itself. If only she had something worthwhile to tell him. And if only his partner wasn’t trying out for Bitch of the Year. What was Felsen’s problem? Was she into Seong, or something? Did she see Veronica as a threat?

  Mixing some red into one edge of the cream, she got a pale pink. She added some white.

  There was no way to know what drove Felsen’s malice. Pity the second sight wasn’t giving her anything on that. In fact, she wasn’t getting much information at all at the moment. It had been some time since she’d heard anything from Sylvia, or seen anything to do with her murder. Not since Monday, in fact. Two days. Had Sylvia gone away? Was it like they said on TV, and a spirit eventually crossed over into another realm? It was comforting to think we might go to a different world when we die. Better than being stuck in this one as a ghost. But if Sylvia had moved on, did that mean Veronica wouldn’t get any more messages?

  The pink, she decided, was still too dark, and it had too much red. She dotted some yellow into it and mixed.

  She’d have welcomed an end to psychic messages, up until recently. What a change! Veronica considered the way she felt. Spiders of shame still crawled in the background of her mind, but they had lost their power. The uneasiness still came over her as she remembered the ghosts at the funeral home, but she could think about the dreams and the visions she’d had without any real discomfort. She had accepted her second sight, and now she wanted to do something with it. Specifically, she wanted to help Sylvia. She remained convinced that if she had just made it to the park sooner, she might have saved Sylvia from dying. It wasn’t that Veronica blamed herself for Sylvia’s death, just that she was acutely aware of how she had fallen just short of rescuing her.

  Pausing, she held the brush over the canvas.

  How could she know if Sylvia was still out there, waiting for justice? Veronica closed her eyes and tried to feel for her. But it was no use. She had no control over what came to her. Was it the sort of ability you could practice and hone? Or would it always be a matter of what a spirit chose to communicate to her? And in the end, that might be just as well. Did she really think it would be a good idea to call a vision on, without any way of knowing what that might entail? What she might see? What might happen? She wasn’t the strongest person in the world. There had to be things she couldn’t handle. The nightmare of the roses had been close to that. She wondered if her mind might snap if a vision was too awful. She felt very attached to her sanity. She didn’t want to jeopardize it.

  Veronica set down her brush. All this fretting over bringing on a vision she couldn’t handle. It didn’t matter—she had no way of doing that. It’s not like she could go an
d exhume Sylvia’s body in hopes that touching her might trigger something. It’s not like she kept a pint of her blood to sink her hand into.

  But she had kept the nightgown.

  A cold feeling of dread washed over her.

  The nightgown. When she’d touched it, she’d had all those images invade her head again. It had been so strong she’d used a hanger to pick it up.

  It was sitting in a plastic bag in her storage shed. She could go and get it right now.

  She took a deep breath.

  She didn’t want to touch that nightgown again. She didn’t want to see those things—hear the legs among the rosebushes—feel that terrible pain…

  But it was the right thing to do. She knew it was.

  Veronica stood up, rubbing her mouth with her hand. What if all she saw was what she’d seen already? It would be a waste of time and she’d put herself through all of that for nothing. Just touching the nightgown wouldn’t be enough.

  If she was going to do this, she was going to do it in the most intense way possible. The only other thing she’d thought about doing was going back to the rose garden in McKinley Park. If she took the nightgown there and touched it in the spot where Sylvia died…well, that might work. Maybe doing it that way would make whatever it was that sent her these visions give her the whole story, at last.

  The trouble was, she didn’t want to do it alone.

  She was afraid. What if she did lose her mind? She’d felt so out of control when she had the nightmare. She ran off without putting on shoes, for pity’s sake. If that wasn’t insanity, what was?

  She thought about calling Melanie. Melanie was her dearest, closest friend, and there was no one she trusted more. But Melanie was dealing with Angie’s troubles. She hadn’t called, which meant they were probably having a deep conversation or a terrible argument or something that Veronica didn’t want to interrupt.

  She didn’t want to wait until the next day.

  Which left only one other person. Only one other person knew about her ability, and might believe her. That was Detective Seong.