Veronica frowned. She gazed at him, and took a moment to let what he said sink in. She didn’t like it. But she wanted to sort out why she didn’t like it. It wasn’t going to help to get defensive just because she felt vulnerable about doing those strange things while she was having her vision. But that wasn’t what bothered her. He was still expressing skepticism, and she was glad he hadn’t said anything like this before they got to the park. She wouldn’t have gone through with it. All that talk about how being a psychic didn’t make her crazy.
“If I’m not psychic, then what explanation do you have for what I saw?” she asked.
“Hey, I’m on your side, here. Don’t worry,” he said.
“No, I need to understand where you’re coming from here. Do you think I’m having some kind of hallucinations?”
“I don’t know,” he said. She could hear in his tone he was trying to be reasonable. He was reasoning with her. Like you do with a crazy person.
“You know what? No. I’m not doing this,” she said, scooting to the edge of the seat. His eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up.
“Veronica, wait,” he said, scooting out as well.
“No, no way,” she said. “You think I’m irrational. I’m not irrational. And the more I say things like that, the more I sound like I’m irrational! It’s a trap, and I won’t fall in it.” She stood up.
“You think I’m trying to trap you?” he said, staying seated.
“Oh, that’s perfect. Make me sound paranoid now, too! That’s just great.” She turned away from him and stepped to the bar. Down at the other end, the bartender chatted with two older men wearing flannel shirts. She tried to signal to him but he wasn’t facing her direction.
“What are you doing?” Daniel asked, as he came and stood next to her.
“I’m going to see if the bartender has the number for a cab.”
“Veronica, what is going on? One minute we’re sitting, having a couple of beers, and you’re about to tell me what you saw, and the next minute you’re trying to get a cab?”
“You still don’t believe me,” she accused.
“I don’t know what to believe!”
“I can’t talk to someone about this who thinks I’m faking—or crazy—”
“I don’t think you’re either of those things!”
“Oh, really? You just said you’re only here because you have nothing better to do. Why not humor the crazy woman and see if maybe in her hallucinations she might have picked up a real clue somehow! Isn’t that right?”
Daniel didn’t say anything. Well, that was confirmation enough.
She waved at the bartender again.
“I can drive you home,” Daniel said.
“That’s okay, really.” She waved. The bartender still didn’t see her.
“Why are you getting so upset? I don’t think you’re paranoid. I don’t think you’re irrational. Okay?”
Veronica turned and locked his gaze. “Bullshit,” she said. “All that nice talk about Native American flute music back there, and you never believed for a second that I was going to have a legitimate vision.” She waited for him to deny it, and he didn’t. “Yeah. You call it ‘keeping an open mind’? I call it bullshit. Do you know how scared I was to do that? I had to trust you, and I barely know you, and you lied.”
“What? No, I didn’t. I never said I bought into this.”
“Fine—don’t buy in.” She turned back to the bar and waved again. The bartender didn’t see, but one of the flannel guys did, and he pointed toward her. The bartender turned and started down toward her.
“Veronica, you must realize that it isn’t easy to just accept that you are having visions sent to you by the ghost of a murder victim in one of my investigations,” he said, his voice getting lower as the bartender got closer.
“Whatever,” Veronica said.
“I still want to discuss what you saw,” Daniel whispered.
She gave him a pinched look. “Why? So you can figure out whether to have the police shrink take a look at me?”
His fish are sick, came Sylvia’s voice. It startled her to much she didn’t hear what Daniel said next. She just stood and stared at him.
“Veronica?” he said.
“Ma’am?” said the bartender. “Is this guy giving you a hard time?”
Tell him, Sylvia said. Tell him it’s… and then she said something that sounded like Brooklyn.
“Ma’am?” the bartender said. Daniel took her arm. “Hey, buddy, you let her go. I’ll call the cops.” The two men at the end of the bar stood up, and then Daniel flashed his badge. They sat back down.
“Veronica?” Daniel said. “What’s up? You got a really strange look on your face.”
Veronica blinked at him. “Um. Do you have fish?” she asked.
Daniel’s face slackened. Then he frowned. “What?”
“Fish. Do you have fish?”
Clowns, Sylvia said.
Veronica shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“What doesn’t?” Daniel asked. His eyes were fixed on her.
“It doesn’t,” Veronica insisted.
“What?”
She shook her head, her eyes on the floor. “Clowns?”
“No fucking way,” Daniel said.
She looked at him then. His face had drained of color. Sylvia was right? “You have fish? What’s this about clowns?”
“Clownfish,” he whispered.
“Oh!” she said. “Well, they’re sick. Does Brooklyn mean anything to you?”
“Brooklynella?” he said, his voice rasping.
“That’s it! That’s what she said.”
“Who said?”
“Sylvia. She said to tell you your fish are sick. They have Brooklynella.”
“Okay,” he said, holding up a hand. The bartender was looking from Veronica to Daniel, clearly uncertain as to what to do. “Maybe—maybe you could know I have clownfish—maybe one of my co-workers said something—”
Veronica nodded, pursing her lips. Go right ahead and figure out a way to rationalize it, buster.
“But if it turns out they have Brooklynella—”
She crossed her arms.
“I’m calling my uncle right now,” Daniel said.
“Your uncle?”
“He owns a pet store. He sold me the fish—knows all about them. He’ll come to my apartment.”
She sighed. “It’s almost eleven.”
“Look, Veronica, I’ve heard of Brooklynella. If you’re right, my fish would die in like, a day or two. There’s no way to save them if you don’t catch it early.” He got out a cell phone and dialed.
“Never mind,” she said to the bartender, who rolled his eyes and walked back down to the other end of the bar.
“Hey, Samchon Jung-Hwa? Yeah, I think something’s up with my fish,” Daniel said. “Can you come check them out?” He paused. Then he nodded at Veronica. “Yeah, yeah. Fifteen minutes is fine.”
“Okay, well, I hope your fish will be alright,” Veronica said. She was going to have to bother the bartender again, she realized. She hadn’t asked him to call a cab.
“Come with me,” Daniel said.
“Um, no,” Veronica said.
“Veronica, don’t you want to see if you’re right?”
She glared at him. “It’s not if I’m right. It’s Sylvia. Remember? Because I’m the crazy person who listens to voices.”
“Will you please stop?” he said. “You have to be curious.”
Well, maybe a little. If nothing else, she was curious to see his clownfish. What did a clownfish look like? Did it have a red nose?
Oh, she was starting to feel giddy. This was a sure sign that she’d had enough excitement for one day. She gave the bartender a longing glance. If only he was psychic, he’d call her a cab right now and she wouldn’t have to humiliate herself by interrupting him again.
“Come on, Veronica. I promise, I’ll drive you home as soon as my uncle’s done
.”
“Done what? Evaluating my psychic ability?” she said. But she didn’t have it in her to put much venom in it.
Daniel just looked at her, and waited.
“Fine,” she conceded. “But I want to be home by midnight.”
Chapter 18
Daniel Seong lived in a condo on L Street, two blocks from the capitol, near the Downtown Shopping Plaza. The building was tall, gray, and nondescript. The entry hall had marble floors.
They rode up on the elevator without talking. He lived on the fourth floor. When they exited the elevator she saw a man standing outside the door. He was Korean, shorter than her, and he had his gray hair in a comb-over.
“Samchon Jung-Hwa,” Daniel greeted him with a curt bow.
“Danny,” he said.
“Samchon Jung-Hwa, this is Veronica Barry. Veronica, this is my uncle, Jung-Hwa Seong.”
She shook his hand. No images. “Pleased to meet you,” she murmured.
“Veronica, here, is the one who’s convinced my fish are sick,” Daniel said as he unlocked the door. Veronica shot him an evil look but he had his eyes on his keys.
“That’s not true,” she said. She gave Jung-Hwa a quick smile. “It was my friend, Sylvia.”
“You have a lot of girls over here,” Jung-Hwa said as he followed Daniel into the apartment.
“Don’t tell mom,” Daniel said to Jung-Hwa. Veronica purposefully held back so they could go in first. She wanted to take her time looking around. “She’ll start nagging.”
If she’d had to guess what his apartment would look like, she might have described it just like this. Clean and clear of clutter. The walls unfinished by design, with visible pipes, going for an industrial feel. The couch was black leather and the coffee table white plastic. The far wall was one big window overlooking L Street. To her left was the kitchen. Smooth white counters, matching cabinets. On her right a corridor led, she assumed, to the bedroom and bathroom. On the right wall of the living stood a large black bookcase that also probably housed a TV inside shut panels. On a stand a foot from the left wall perched the aquarium. It was a nice size—not very big, but not the small kind she’d had as a kid when she kept pet turtles and such.
Daniel went over to the tank and turned on a light. A half a dozen orange and white fish swam around inside.
“Those are clownfish?” she asked.
“Didn’t you ever see Finding Nemo?” Jung-Hwa asked. Then he frowned at Daniel. “I thought you said she saw the fish before.”
“No, like I said, that was Sylvia,” Veronica said.
Jung-Hwa raised his eyebrows. “What kind of nonsense have you been up to, Danny?” he asked, and then leaned over to look at the fish, apparently not interested in the answer. He had a red canvas bag with him, and he took some instruments out and started testing with the water.
“Can I get either of you anything?” Daniel asked. “A drink?”
Jung-Hwa dismissed him with a wave and Veronica shook her head.
“Please, have a seat,” Daniel said to Veronica, indicating the couch. She chose the matching armchair instead. He cracked a small smile when she sat, and took a spot on the couch.
Jung-Hwa started to hum as he worked. Veronica and Daniel sat without talking.
Veronica looked around. This place was so different from her own home. It was strange to think they even lived in the same city. Her eyes caught a framed black and white photograph of a man up on the wall. He looked a little like Daniel. His father or grandfather? Hard to tell. The shirt was maybe from the fifties. Maybe the sixties.
“That’s my grandfather,” Daniel said. “They took that photo a year before he came to America.”
“Did he come during the Korean War?” Veronica asked.
“Right after the armistice,” Daniel said. “My grandmother and him got married the day after that photo was taken.” He paused. “He died just two years after they immigrated.”
She glanced over at Jung-Hwa, who had stopped humming. The picture was of Jung-Hwa’s father, she realized. She wondered if he’s ever even had a chance to meet him.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“It was a long time ago,” Daniel said.
Jung-Hwa straightened. He turned to face them and put his hands on his hips.
“Tell your friend Sylvia she’s got a good eye. Brooklynella. Very early stages, though, so it will be no trouble to treat,” he said.
“Are you sure?” Daniel asked.
Jung-Hwa nodded. “They’re scratching against the rocks, and I can see two of them breathing fast. It’s a common disease for clowns.”
Veronica could practically see the wheels turning in Daniel’s head. Was it common enough that she could have guessed they had it and had a good chance of being right?
“How long have you had the fish?” she asked.
“Five years,” Daniel said.
“They ever been sick before?”
“Two years ago,” Jung-Hwa said. “You do something to stress them out?”
“What?” Daniel said, and made a scoffing face.
“I notice you’ve got a sixth fish, Danny. I didn’t sell you that fish.”
Veronica sucked in her top lip and looked down at the floor. The word “busted” came to mind.
Daniel pressed his hands together. “Okay, you got me on that, Samchon Jung-Hwa,” he said. “I was walking through the mall and I stopped in to buy flakes…”
“And you couldn’t resist bringing home a new fish,” Jung-Hwa said. “It’s bad enough you give business to those sagikkundeul, you didn’t quarantine the fish for very long before putting it in the tank, huh?”
“I did! I quarantined it for two weeks, Samchon Jung-Hwa,” Daniel said.
Veronica was uncomfortable being a witness to this, but she was also amused. This was a side of Detective Daniel Seong she hadn’t anticipated—the bad nephew taking a scolding.
“Next time you want a new fish you come to me,” Jung-Hwa said. “And you quarantine it for at least a month.”
“Okay, I promise,” Daniel said. “So what do I do to cure them?”
“I brought Formalin solution,” Jung-Hwa said. “You should treat them in a separate tank so it doesn’t kill the corals. You still have that twenty-gallon?”
“Yeah,” Daniel said.
Veronica stayed in the armchair and watched as they set up the tank. It turned out Jung-Hwa had more supplies in the car, including a sea-salt mix for the water. She was particularly intrigued about that because when she realized the clownfish were saltwater fish, her first question was where they got the saltwater. Good thing she hadn’t asked—she would have looked silly when they started purifying the tap water.
Just before midnight they finished up. She didn’t mind the late hour, though. The fish were pretty little creatures and she hoped they’d pull through their illness.
Daniel saw Jung-Hwa to the door and Veronica stood up to wave good-bye to him. Daniel turned to her after he shut the door and held his palms out toward her. “I’m sorry that took so long,” he said. “I had no idea it would be so involved.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I have to get home now, though. School tomorrow.”
“Right,” he said. He stood there. “Look, Veronica…”
She lifted her chin, eyes fixed on him. Let’s see what he’d say now.
“I’m really sorry,” he said. “Not just for how late it is. I know you’ve been through a lot. I can’t explain this one away. It’s—it’s just an adjustment for me.”
She gave him a nod. “Right,” she said. “Sure.”
“I’d like to have another chance,” Daniel said. “To talk to you, about what you saw tonight at the park. Can I see you tomorrow afternoon? I have an early shift, so whenever’s convenient for you…”
“Why?” she asked.
“Why what?”
“Daniel, don’t be obtuse.”
“Obtuse?”
She rolled her eyes and rocked
her head back with a groan.
“Okay, okay,” he said. “Why do I want to know about what you saw? Isn’t it obvious?”
“Just spell it out for me, please.”
“Because you may be right. I don’t feel good about Collins. I haven’t from the beginning, to be honest. And what you saw might give us what we need to catch the right guy.”
“So you believe me now?”
He took in a deep breath. “I’m going to give it a shot.”
“Why is this so hard for you?” she demanded.
“Because I don’t believe in anything like that!” he countered. “I have grown up not believing in anything like that. No supernatural. No aliens. No heaven. No hell. No afterlife of any kind. Nothing.”
“They say atheism is its own kind of faith,” Veronica said.
He ran both hands through his hair. “I’ve just always trusted things that are solid, you know? Things I can prove. It’s kind of important to care about that in my line of work,” he said, letting out a long breath. “But—if you’re for real—I can’t argue with Sylvia and the clownfish, okay?” he rushed to say, grabbing her hand. “I’m just saying. It’s an adjustment.”
Veronica looked from his face to his hand clutching hers. His touch was warm and firm, and she liked it, but she pulled her hand free of his. “I just want to go home,” she said. This disbelief of his—it was demoralizing. She could tell he still hadn’t really accepted any of it. His mind was working the angles. How she might have known about his fish. How she might have guessed that they were sick. He needed proof—she gave him proof. And now he was questioning that.
She walked by him to the door. Then she felt his hand on her arm. She looked down at it, wishing his touch wasn’t so nice.
“Please, Veronica,” he said in a quiet voice. “Just be patient with me a little longer.”
“Until when?” she asked, keeping her voice gentle as well. “Until I help you catch whoever really killed Sylvia? And then you’ll believe me?”
The River and the Roses (Veronica Barry Book 1) Page 15
