by Kate Baray
Marin snorted. “But the car keys? That con artist is making off with her husband’s car, I guarantee it.”
“I don’t know.” Jack rubbed his neck. “I don’t know. I was planning to visit Conrad, but now—I’m thinking we head back to the B&B and have a serious talk with Milton. There are too many similarities between Rose’s and Betty’s behavior. Yeah. Back to the B&B.”
Marin shoved her hair behind her ears then took a breath. “Right. You got it, boss.”
Jack did a double take. He hadn’t detected even a hint of sarcasm.
CHAPTER FOUR
Milton had been hesitant to talk in the house, but he’d agreed to have lunch with them in town—Lake Charles, not DeRotan—though not until one o’clock, when his sister was available to come stay with Rose. Apparently there was only one diner in DeRotan, and that was too public.
After killing a few minutes on his computer with some fact-checking he should have already done on his client, Jack knocked on Marin’s door and told her he’d meet her at the car in five.
Once they were both seated in Marin’s car, she asked, “Any reason we’re leaving a half-hour early?”
Jack programmed Conrad’s address in the GPS. “I want to run by the psychic’s house and have a quick look, sniff, whatever it is you do to pick up magic signatures.” He pulled out his glasses from his breast pocket. “And I’ll take a look with these.”
“Then we’re headed to Lake Charles? No lingering around the bad guy’s place, right?”
“That’s the idea.” Jack kicked back in his seat. “And don’t jump to conclusions; we don’t know he’s a bad guy.”
“Sure we don’t.”
Jack closed his eyes and leaned back against the headrest. Apparently Marin got the hint, because she didn’t say a word to him until they arrived several minutes later.
“Wake up. We’re here.”
Jack opened his eyes and cleared his throat. “Not sleeping—reviewing the players. By the way, Dottie Wallace is a partner in a tax law firm.”
“Am I supposed to be surprised?”
Jack shrugged. “Mom owns her house outright and has lived there for fifty years. No signs of severe financial distress. Also, I found at least a dozen addresses for Conrad just within the last five years, and no convictions.”
“He likes to move, or he has to move?”
“Excellent question.” Jack pulled out his warded glasses again and put them on. “How close can we get to this guy’s house without him catching our scent or tripping a ward of some kind?”
“He’s not Lycan. I’m almost certain. Moving frequently, conning people. Sorry—probably conning people. Probably charming, comfortable with new people and new environments. That’s a far cry from the typical Lycan.” Marin’s gaze panned across the street as she spoke.
“I’d agree.” Jack completed his scan of the area surrounding Conrad’s rental house. “I’m not seeing anything that looks like a ward.”
“Maybe he’s your garden variety, regular human psychic with an electronic security system.”
“You really think that?” Jack asked.
“Of course not. I’m playing devil’s advocate.” Marin squinted at Conrad’s house, half a block away. “You asked how close we could get without tripping a ward, or being scented—I don’t know. Without knowing what this guy might be, other than human, I just don’t know.”
“How close to the house do you have to be to sense any kind of magical signature?” Jack worried they’d have a replay of Miersburg.
“You’re so transparent. The only reason I tripped that crazy woman’s death magic ward was because I was texting my location to you—and it was a faint ward.” Marin tipped her head first one direction then the other. “So really, it was your fault I tripped it. Your plan, your fault.”
“Your failure in execution does not make the plan flawed. That’s deeply flawed reasoning and you know it.”
Marin waited.
“Okay.” Jack lifted both hands in surrender. “Have at it. If you think it’s safe...” He hesitated a moment. “If you think it’s safe, I trust you.”
“Be still my heart. If only I’d caught that on tape.” Marin had hopped out of the car and was a few feet away before Jack could even begin to consider a response.
He kept forgetting how fast she could be.
He couldn’t help but roll his eyes when she walked right down the sidewalk on Conrad’s side of the street and passed his house. She was moving at a good clip, for a human, but it still seemed needlessly reckless. She came back down the street on the opposite side of the road. The whole thing probably took less than three minutes, but he wanted to strangle her.
“Don’t get your boxers in such a twist,” she said as she slid into the driver’s seat.
“First you blame me then you take risks. Just drive.” Jack punched the diner’s address into the GPS.
“If I didn’t know better, Jack, I’d say you were worried.” Marin pulled out onto the quiet street. “But the reason I got so close? There wasn’t a hint of any magic. As you should know by now, a magic-user has to actually do magic to leave a trace signature. Either Conrad’s not using magic, or he’s doing it strictly indoors. No traps or wards that I could detect.” Marin shifted in her seat then finally added, “And I didn’t smell Lycan.”
“I knew it. You huff about the difference between Lycan and dragons, but I knew you guys had a nose.”
Marin snorted. “It’s better than yours, anyway.”
It took less than twenty minutes to reach the restaurant. Jack spent the drive sorting through the people involved in the case, considering possible motivations, and estimating the likelihood of magical influences. He checked his notes, but mostly he just gave it some thought. Marin hummed.
“Closer than I thought it’d be,” Jack commented as they pulled into the parking lot.
“This place is on the edge of town.” Marin waved and smiled. “There’s Milton. He’s a little early, too.”
Jack and Marin hopped out of the car, Jack pulling his laptop bag with him as he came. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he motioned Marin ahead of him. He kept a close eye on Milton as he followed Marin inside, but all he saw was a tired old man.
They were seated immediately in a booth, and the waitress greeted Milton by name.
After she’d taken their drink orders, Jack leaned forward and asked, “When did you start noticing problems with the reservation system?”
“I think you know the problem isn’t our computer.” Milton clasped his hands together on the table. “My wife gets confused sometimes. She forgets who’s booked. Or mixes up the names of our guests. Sometimes she forgets where she is.” He looked down at his hands. “What year it is.” He glanced back up, an earnest look on his face. “But that doesn’t happen very often. She usually knows the day. What happened last night—that doesn’t happen very often at all. It’s usually the little details that she confuses.”
“Has she been to the doctor?” Marin asked.
Milton puffed out an angry breath. “Doctors. They run a bunch of expensive tests and don’t tell you anything. I keep at ’em and they say Rose is just getting old.”
The waitress came back with a cup of coffee for Milton and two glasses of water.
Milton ordered a hamburger when Marin deferred to him. “Good hamburgers here.” He gave Jack and Marin an encouraging look.
“Okay, then. Hamburgers. I’ll take mine with cheese, mustard, onions, and pickle.” Jack handed the waitress the single-page, plastic-coated menu.
“I’ll have the double with cheese, lettuce, tomato, and mayo. Can I get extra fries? And some onion rings?” Marin must have caught Milton’s surreptitious head shake. “Sorry—no onion rings. I’ll have the...”
“Fried pickles.” Milton smiled. “They’re good.” Once the waitress had left, he said, “So many young ladies now don’t like to eat a good meal.”
Jack hid his grin, but Marin still kicked hi
m under the table.
“I’ve always had a healthy appetite. It runs in the family.”
Jack raised his eyebrows. “She wasn’t that nice when I brought it up.”
“That’s because Milton is a gentleman.” Marin smiled sweetly at Milton. “Thanks for the pickle recommendation.”
Milton looked between Jack and Marin. “Have you been working together long?” When Jack replied in the negative, Milton closed his mouth and made a noncommittal sound.
Glancing at Marin, Jack saw she looked as clueless as him. “When did you start to notice Rose’s behavior change?”
Milton’s wrinkled hands twisted together. “Well, everyone forgets the small things sometimes: a dentist appointment, where you put the keys, that kind of thing.”
“Maybe you noticed when she started forgetting the little things more often?” Marin prompted him. It was clear the topic was difficult.
A red flush rose in Milton’s face. “No, I didn’t. Well, not till after. She had an incident with one of the guests. It wasn’t breakfast in the middle of the night, but the same idea. And then, when I started to look back, I could see there’d been a problem for several weeks.”
“If possible, we’d like to establish a timeline.” Jack pulled a small notepad and pen from his pocket. “Can you narrow down the date?”
His brow furrowed. “I thought you were here to investigate Conrad Blevins? I’m not sure what Rose’s illness has to do with that.”
Jack set his pen down. “Marin and I interviewed Mrs. Lasserre this morning, and we noticed some similarities in their behavior.”
Milton nodded and leaned toward them. Before he could speak, the waitress returned with their orders. It took several seconds of shifting and settling before everyone had their meal and the waitress had left again.
Marin shoved her plate a few inches away. “You were saying—about Betty and Rose and how they were having similar difficulties?”
“I think it’s in the water.” Milton looked grim. “Something’s in the water in DeRotan, and it’s making people lose their memory.”
Jack and Marin exchanged a glance. Marin nudged his foot, and when he didn’t immediately speak, she nudged harder, so Jack asked the million-dollar question. “Why do you think the water’s contaminated?”
“First it was Eric Miller. Then Betty, and Rose was next. All in the last six months. All three having mental difficulties. And we all live within a mile and a half from each other.” Milton looked down at his plate. He didn’t look nearly as hungry as before.
“You know what—we can talk about this after we eat. The burgers look great, and we should try to enjoy them.” Marin pulled her plate close again and picked up her burger.
Milton started to say something but changed his mind and picked up his burger.
They ate in silence for several minutes until Marin spoke. “The pickles are fabulous, Milton. Thank you for the recommendation.”
Milton looked around then said quietly, “The onion rings aren’t crunchy. They come out slimy on the inside and soggy on the outside.”
“Soggy is no good for onion rings. My burger tastes fabulous, almost as good as the pickles.” Marin packed away another mouthful of burger.
Milton wiped at the burger juice dribbling down his chin. “They make a good burger.”
They finished the rest of the meal quickly. Jack hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he started eating. And when he wiped his fingers after the last bite, he wanted to sit back and enjoy the afterglow of a well-cooked meal with just the right proportions of protein and grease.
Milton flagged the waitress and asked for a warmup, a good sign he was ready to talk again.
“I’ll take a cup,” Jack said.
Marin added herself to the list, and a few moments later they all had a hot cup of coffee and some privacy.
“If it was the water, don’t you think more people would have symptoms?” Jack flipped his small notebook open.
“Well, the water makes a lot more sense than Conrad Blevins.” Milton gave Jack a funny look.
“We’re not saying Blevins is responsible,” Marin said. “They are simply some commonalities we’re trying to explain.”
“Well, other than the geography, Eric Miller’s little girl died recently. Cancer. And Betty lost her husband. But Rose still has me, and the kids have been doing really well.” Milton shook his head. “Since you’re so keen on Blevins, my Rose has seen him a few times—but not like Betty. She just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Betty went on about him, so she set up an appointment or two.”
Jack underlined “Eric Miller” in his notebook and made a note about Rose seeing Blevins a few times professionally. “Can you tell us what happened to Eric?”
Milton heaved a sigh. “Eric didn’t make it.” His eyes locked on to Marin’s. “You can see why I’m so worried about Rose, can’t you?”
Very carefully, Marin asked, “Are you saying that Eric Miller died recently?”
“Shot, in his own home. Terrible mess for his wife to find. He never would have done that if he hadn’t been sick. If you knew Eric... His wife can’t even go in the house. She moved back in with her mother.” Milton shook his head. “He wasn’t himself. And he changed all of a sudden. Not directly after his daughter’s death, but maybe two months later. He started to act oddly and then he was gone.”
“Is there a reason you think his death is tied to the water and to Betty’s and Rose’s condition?” Jack asked.
“Sure. Like I said, he lived close. And he started to act strange: confused, forgetting things, angry all the time.” Milton gave Jack another strange look. “And I definitely didn’t think Conrad Blevins had anything to do with it. Eric wasn’t the kind to pay a psychic. I don’t know if they even knew each other. Blevins had only lived in town six months when little Corinne Miller passed.” Milton shook his head. “That was a terrible, terrible thing for such a little girl. May God rest her soul.”
Jack waited what he thought was an appropriately respectful moment then asked, “Do you think Eric’s wife might speak with us?”
“I don’t know. First her daughter then her husband—she’s had a hard time. I’m sure she’s trying to move on with her life.”
Marin gave the old guy a hopeful look. “Can you ask her if she’d be willing to meet with us? The request might be easier for her to hear coming from you.”
Milton’s lips pursed. “I’ll try.”
Apparently those green eyes could be persuasive when they weren’t all lit up and glowing, dragon-style.
“You want me to call now?” Milton pulled a slick new smartphone out of his pocket. After a few murmured words of thanks from Marin, he headed outside to make the call.
Jack slipped a few bills on top of the check. “What do you think?”
“I think three people with Swiss cheese brains—all developed in a short period and after Conrad’s arrival—in a town with fewer than three thousand people is nuts.” Marin tipped her head. “No. It’s batshit crazy nuts.”
Jack looked at his notes and went through the cast of important players. “There’s no tie between Blevins and Miller.”
“That we know of. Milton wouldn’t necessarily know if Eric was seeing a psychic, even though he’s convinced Eric wasn’t the type. I mean, what’s the type? Lots of people consult with psychics.” Marin waved through the window. “I think Milton is done. You ready?”
Jack slid out of the booth and offered Marin a hand.
Taking his hand, she asked quietly, “You up for a grieving widow?”
Jack tugged a little harder than he should, and Marin gave him a look.
As they emerged from the diner, Milton approached. “She’ll see you, but she says to come right away, quick as you can.”
~*~
Jack walked into Karen Miller’s living room, trying to pick out something of her personality in the fussy, cluttered room. “Thank you for seeing us.”
“Come on in
. My mom’s out shopping for at least another half-hour. I don’t think she’d be comfortable with this. And she wouldn’t understand why I’d want to talk about Eric.” Karen ushered them further into the room as she spoke and gestured for them to sit.
The immediacy of the appointment made sense. And at the mention of her mother, Jack recalled this wasn’t Karen’s home. He looked at the figurines crammed haphazardly on the mantel, then at Karen, perched on the edge of an old-fashioned recliner. Tidy hair, a crisp sleeveless shirt, and no makeup that he could see—not really the fussy figurine type of woman.
After settling on the sofa, Jack said, “It’s a difficult topic. We appreciate you speaking with us.”
Karen made a small sound that could have been the beginning of laugh or a sob—Jack couldn’t tell. “It’s a relief. Truly. My husband’s death is like some terribly kept secret. Everyone in town knows—or thinks they know—what happened, but no one will discuss it, especially not with me. The entire town walks around pretending it never happened.” Her voice was bitter, and anger bubbled just below the surface. She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips then said, “I’m moving next month. I’ve found a job in Houston, and I’m getting out of here. It’s the best thing for me.”
“What can you tell us about your husband’s death?” Marin’s question, although direct, was voiced in a calm, compassionate tone. It seemed to do the trick, because Karen answered without hesitation.
“It was always about our daughter.” Karen smiled, as if a happy memory played out in her mind. But her smile quickly faded. “Corinne was sick a long time. By the time she—” Karen drew a sharp, hiccupping breath. It took her a moment before she started to speak again. “By the time Corinne left us, Eric and I thought we’d be prepared. We’d known for so long that she wasn’t going to make it. But all the preparation, the counseling, it doesn’t mean much when your child dies. The first few months were a terrible time for both of us. But then he seemed to be doing better. He joined a support group—I wasn’t ready, but he said it was helping.”
