by Peg Herring
“Wonder what made old Abe stand out from the crowd.”
“Yvonne thinks maybe because he was a little older, more serious.”
“It’s a serious business,” Madison commented.
“Not one I’d opt for.” Jaime reached behind him to his jacket. “Dry-as-dust number crunching all day. I’d rather get my riches this way.” He pulled a $100,000 candy bar from his pocket.
“I guess all that money passing through a guy’s hands is attractive, even if it isn’t his.” Madison shook his head at the tacit offer of half the bar.
“Maybe Abe and Tori had some scheme and came to a disagreement.”
“She had no more access to money than he did.”
“Just tossing out ideas.” Jaime polished off his snack and wiped his fingers on a paper towel before going on. “Maybe they’re blackmailing someone who does have access to the money, and this person objects to being shaken down.”
“Possible.” Madison didn’t sound convinced.
“You’re having second thoughts about Lizzie Borden, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.” Madison indicated the papers on his desk with a wide gesture. “According to everyone who knew her, Tori was nothing but straight. From Honor Society in high school right up to running errands for the crippled neighbor and hiding the fact she hated the nuts he puts in his oatmeal cookies, she was the epitome of nice.”
“So Tori learned something about Abe he didn’t want her to know.”
“Gougeon almost certainly knew Tori better than he admitted.” Madison paused as an officer entered with still more printouts. The smile she directed at Jaime as she handed them over went unnoticed as he pondered the possibilities.
“Based on what you’ve told me, I like him as a suspect. The rest of these guys have been at the firm for years. It’s someone new, someone in a hurry to get where he wants to be.”
“I don’t see how he could do it, at least not alone,” Madison answered. He checked the clock over Jaime’s head. “Let’s take another look at the girl’s apartment this afternoon before we release it for cleaning.”
“Okay.” Jaime turned back to the first set of printouts. “And we need to find out if Gougeon told the truth about the gift car and the condo, too.”
Madison shook his head. “Where did you get that distrustful nature?”
“From you,” Jaime shot back. “I even believed in the Tooth Fairy till you came along and turned me into a cynic.” He grimaced in mock sorrow. “I miss my rose-colored glasses!”
“I’ll buy you something Polarized to reflect your new outlook,” Madison promised, tossing him half of the latest batch of updates. “Now make like a real detective and research.”
Chapter Seventeen
Got a Date with an Angel
Dinner was again tempting and well-presented. Tori located the formal dining room, dressed in a seashell-pink sheath that accentuated her curves and flattered her pale complexion. Little skewers stood upright in a basket on the table she was escorted to, each one topped with fresh vegetables: radishes, broccoli and carrots formed into rosettes, dice-like blocks of cucumber and tomato triangles. She wondered what type of person gave up Eternity to stay behind and make veggie centerpieces.
After the main meal, when a waitress pointed her to the dessert table, her thought became a question. “Do you enjoy the work you do here?”
The woman, apparently in her thirties and pretty in a Barbie-doll way, grinned. “You mean why would I keep waiting tables when some grand thing is waiting for me?” She rolled her eyes. “Maybe I don’t believe it yet. Here I know what I’ve got, and it’s pretty good. I work a few hours then live like a queen the rest of the day. I don’t think I got much pampering back there.”
Her face took on a bemused expression, and Tori realized she had only vague recollections of her former life. Soon, even they would disappear. Then would the woman move on? “I went swimming twice today,” she said, cutting Tori a slice of cheesecake, “in two different suits.”
Tori considered the waitress’ words along with what Mike had said about many Portalists, “They’re here for the goodies.” Was it possible people refused Eternity for the thrill of choosing endless new outfits? After a moment, Tori had to admit she was considering something similar, delaying her own future because of a life she could never again experience.
Mike was in the dining room, but he only wished her a pleasant dinner, no one-on-one chat this evening. Tori had hoped he’d introduce her to her detective. Was he disappointed in her or simply focused on the young man she had dubbed the Sinner?
Phillip was still despondent, still uncommunicative, despite the hospitality around him and the extra attention from Mike. He looked stiff and uncomfortable in his elegant tux, and she couldn’t help picturing him like that in his coffin. Poor guy! He couldn’t shake his belief that some awful punishment awaited him. Tori left the dining room, thinking what some people did to their kids was—well, damnable!
Making her way down the deck, she took in the peace offered by the spectacular view. The night air was just cool enough to be refreshing, and the odd, light-spotted darkness of the horizon was restful after the bright lights inside. Suddenly she was aware of cigarette smoke. Under a balcony, a glow came and went.
“Who is it?” she asked, sensing the answer.
“You wanted to speak to me,” a rough voice said matter-of-factly, “so here I am.” Out from the shadows stepped the man she had met twice before. His face was neither warmer nor more handsome. He wore the same suit. Visits to Mr. Li were probably not high on his list of priorities.
“I sort of assumed people couldn’t smoke here.”
“Nobody told me that,” came the laconic reply.
When he made no further forays into conversation, Tori decided on a business-like approach. “I need a Portal Detective, if that’s what you are. I was murdered, and it doesn’t seem right to go on until I have some idea why.”
The man stepped to the rail, setting one foot on the lowest rung and leaning his elbows on the top. Unsure how things would go, Tori waited for his response. They watched the gently moving colors in the distance for a while. Finally he said, “You got to understand I can’t guarantee justice in the world. The guy responsible might never be punished in his lifetime.”
That made sense. The dead returning to Earth with lightning bolts or battleaxes to avenge crimes against them made good horror stories, bad reality. “If I know who and why, that’s enough.”
He stepped back from the rail. “All right, then. I’ll leave right away.”
“Wait!” In her excitement, Tori caught his arm, and fire rose in his almost colorless eyes. The man looked at her hand, and then up at her, his brow narrowing. She let go quickly but resisted the urge to step back. “I—I thought I’d go along.”
Now his eyes widened in disbelief. “You? No deal, Sister. It doesn’t work that way.” He seemed to draw in upon himself, become even smaller. “I go, I tell you what I find, and you go forward into the Happy-Ever-After.” His tone betrayed disdain for what he proposed that she do.
Now Tori’s anger rose and her face flushed. She was the one who had been murdered, yet everyone else wanted to tell her what to do. Cinda wanted her to have fun being dead, Nancy wanted her to embrace being dead, even Mike wanted her to accept being dead. Now this guy demanded she let him be the one who determined why she was dead. If he could go back, so could she!
Drawing herself up so her six-foot frame loomed even further over her companion, she said decisively, “Let me tell you how this is going to work. I am going with you, to see for myself who is guilty of my murder. Whatever that involves, I will do. If you won’t help me, I’ll go on to the next guy, and the next and the next, until I find one who will.”
The gray eyes narrowed again. Tori thought she read what flickered in them, measurement of her determination, perhaps, assessment of her purpose. Despite the fact her own outburst had shocked her, Tori stared back, hoping it
was clear she meant every word. After some seconds, the Portalist spoke with grudging acceptance.
“It isn’t easy, or everyone would do it. There are things you won’t like. Limits. And pain.”
Tori set her jaw. “Whatever it takes.”
The slight form relaxed an iota more. “All right. We’ll see what Gabe says.”
“Who is Gabe, and why do you have to ask him?”
“He has to give permission for a personal visit. Gabe is in charge, and he’ll want to know you’re on the square. If just anybody was allowed to cross-back, we’d have all kinds of loons back there.”
Dealing with the recently dead must be more delicate than she had imagined. Mike watched for jumpers, and Gabe judged mental capacity.
“How do I get to see this Gabe?”
“I’ll take you there tomorrow morning.”
Tori sighed, frustrated. “But we’re wasting time!”
A grimace that might have been a smile passed over the man’s homely features. “You won’t miss a thing. ‘A thousand ages in His sight are like an evening gone.’”
The space between life and death was not infinite, but infinitely small! From the tiny bit she knew of quantum theory—that made sense too.
“All right. I’ll meet you here. What time?”
“Eight too early?”
“No, it’s fine.” The man nodded and turned to go.
“Wait!” she called again, and he turned with a frown. “What do I call you?”
“Believe it or not, my name is Seamus.” He turned away again. “Seamus the Shamus.” His backward glance might have included a grin, but it was hard to tell as he disappeared into the shadows.
Chapter Eighteen
Angels Watching Over Me
The next morning Seamus led Tori to an office where they entered an anteroom hosted by a tense, middle-aged Portalist. “We’d like to see Gabriel,” Seamus told her. The woman, a round-faced brunette with tight curls, looked as if he’d asked her to strip naked and dance for him.
“Gabriel?” she finally repeated.
Seamus wasn’t overly patient. “Yes. We’d like to go in there”—he pointed to a closed door—“and talk to Gabe. Will you let him know we’re here?”
The woman’s eyes flashed terror for a second, but she gulped and touched a button on the phone. “Seamus is here with a—a guest,” she said timidly.
The answer came in a rounded tenor voice. “I’ll be a minute. Ask them to wait.”
The woman looked at Seamus to see if he heard. “Thank you,” he said with discernible sarcasm. The woman, relieved to have accomplished the task, did not appear to notice.
As they sat on leather chairs situated against the far wall, Tori watched the woman discreetly. She seemed unable to focus and kept abruptly changing direction, rising one moment to water the plants, setting down the pitcher after only doing half the job to move some folders from one place to another with no apparent result. When a chime finally sounded and the voice called, “Please send them in,” she jumped as if she had been Tasered.
“This way.” She opened the office door, and when they were barely inside, closed it firmly behind them.
A man at a large mahogany desk rose to greet them, a smile on his regular features. Again Tori got the impression of both perfection and concern. There was a distinct resemblance to Sean Connery, but the desk nameplate identified him simply as “Gabriel.”
“Miss Van Camp, nice to meet you. Seamus, always good to have you back.” He put out a hand and Tori took it, though shaking hands seemed irreverent in this situation. “Please, sit down.”
They sat, and Gabriel asked Seamus almost wistfully, “Is Martha doing okay out there?”
Seamus grinned. “Nope. Still nervous as a bridegroom with a flat tire.”
Gabe shook his head, explaining to Tori, “Martha was a doer, always working at church suppers, helping with Bible school, making quilts for the sick, that sort of thing. She wanted to help out here before going on, didn’t believe she’d done enough. I thought it would be a nice reward for her to work in the front office, but to tell you the truth, it will be a blessing when she decides she has done her share.”
“Why is she so nervous?”
Gabe smiled ruefully. “Terrified she’ll make some mistake that will change Eternity somehow. This office scares the—” He rephrased his thought. “We make her nervous.”
A crash from the outer office punctuated his remark, and Gabe grimaced before turning to business. “You want to cross-back with Seamus.” Intense eyes measured her determination. “He tells me you’re sure, and I respect that, but we are careful in these matters.” Tori nodded, saving breath in case her petition was denied.
“The usual procedure is the detective goes back, using information the client provides, and finds out what he can. He reports the solution or lack of one to the client.” Gabe regarded her with gentle challenge. “What makes you believe you should act differently?”
Tori had spent sleepless hours deciding how best to plead her case. “It’s very important to me to be there, to feel I’ve contributed somehow. I’m kind of like your secretary out there.” Another crash sounded from the outer office just then, followed by a muffled groan. “I don’t feel like I accomplished much in my lifetime.”
She said it calmly, but it was a bitter conclusion, reached alone in her stateroom the night before. Tori felt as if her whole life had been spent in preparation but had ended before she found out what she was preparing for. “All I can do now is try to accept that, but it would be easier if I were an active part in the investigation. I’ll do whatever Seamus says,” her voice trembled despite her resolve, “but I need to go. Please.”
Gabriel nodded. “It’s within your rights. You have free will, as we all do. But sometimes we make decisions under stress we regret later.” He leaned back and the leather chair hissed softly. “Have you thought about what it will be like to witness the effects of your death? Or that you may find there’s no answer to why you died? It may have been a random act.”
Tori breathed deeply before replying. What would it be like to observe the aftermath of her own murder? Gabe alluded to grief and sorrow, but who on Earth would truly grieve for her? Her sister, but she had lots of other things to distract her. Maybe Carmon, who had just begun to come out of the shell she had constructed around herself. But who else would really notice?
“If my death was random, I will accept it, but I’ll be more confident about deciding to go on once I do what I can to get closure for my life on Earth.” She sounded like a glib psychologists on a TV talk show, but it was hard not to when speaking of life, death, and what came afterward. It was pretty metaphysical stuff.
Patriarchal in all senses of the word, Gabe made no further argument. In fact, the interview was far easier than she had imagined when forming her arguments the night before. The chief angel had apparently made his decision upon first laying eyes on her. Maybe “angels watching over me” was more literal than she thought.
Gabe leaned forward, his dark eyes serious. “I see you have considered this carefully, and that’s good. No one here will stand in your way.” Tori breathed a sigh of relief and surreptitiously wiped sweaty palms on her pant legs. She was going!
“However,” he raised a cautionary finger, “now we come to the nuts and bolts of going back. It isn’t easy, and one does not approach it lightly. Those like Seamus here, our regulars, go through a lot each time, and you must understand the passage to and from is not pleasant. Nor is what you will experience anything like life as you once knew it.”
“I understand.” She was willing to say anything to finish this part and get going.
“All right, then.” He stood to signal the end of the interview. “I’ll okay it, since Seamus is willing.” Tori shot the detective a glance, but he gave no indication he anticipated the partnership with any optimism. “Remember your promise to do as he says.”
“I will.” She turned to go, feelin
g she had won but at the same time not sure if it was something to celebrate.
Chapter Nineteen
One More River to Cross
In the corridor outside Gabe’s office, Tori commented to Seamus, “He’s nice.”
Her companion replied lightly, “I guess they all are.”
“But you refuse to go on.”
Seamus walked on a few steps, seeming to ignore her question, but then stopped and scratched his prominent Adam’s apple absently, eyes averted. “They mean well, they really do. They’ve created all this for us, to make us feel better about being dead.” The hand went to the back of his neck, and his head bent toward the floor. “But it isn’t my way, y’ know? A guy that looks like Errol Flynn behind a desk, trying to act human—”
