There were two people in the front seat of the car. Leah sat in the passenger's seat. And on the driver's side? Lucas Cortez.
"Maybe there's an explanation," Savannah said.
"If there is, I'm getting it now."
I strode into the kitchen, picked up the cordless phone, and hit redial. The line connected to Cortez's cell phone. Again, he answered on the third ring.
"Lucas Cortez."
"Hey, it's me, Paige," I said, forcing lightness into my voice. "Any chance you could pick up some cream on the way into town? There's a corner store right off the highway. Are you there yet?"
"No, not yet. I'm running a few minutes behind."
The lie came smoothly, without a millisecond of hesitation. You bastard. You lying bastard. I clutched the phone tighter.
"Do you prefer table cream or half-and-half?" he asked.
" Half-and-half," I managed to say.
I lifted the binoculars. He was still there. Beside him, Leah leaned back against the passenger door.
I continued, "Oh, and be careful when you drive in. I've got people hanging around my place. Don't pick up any hitchhikers."
A pause now. Brief, but a definite hesitation. "Yes, of course."
"Especially redheaded half-demons," I said. "They're the worst kind."
A long pause, as if he was weighing the possibility that this was a coincidental joke.
"I can explain," he said finally.
"Oh, I'm sure you can."
I hung up.
CHAPTER 17
GRIEF ON THE RUN
After hanging up on Cortez, I stormed into the kitchen and slammed the phone into the cradle so hard that it bounced out again. I scrambled to grab it before it hit the floor. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely get it back into the cradle.
I stared down at my hands. I felt ... I felt betrayed, and the depth of that feeling surprised me. What had I expected? It's like the parable about the scorpion and the frog. I knew what Cortez was when I let him into my life. I should have expected betrayal. But I hadn't.
At some deep level, I'd trusted him and, in some ways, that betrayal stung even more than the Coven's. With the Coven, I'd hoped for support, but deep down I knew better than to expect it. They'd told me from the start that they wouldn't help. That was rejection, not betrayal. Cortez had taken advantage of that rejection to insinuate himself in my life.
"Paige?"
I turned to Savannah.
"I thought he was okay, too," she said. "He tricked us both."
The phone rang. I knew who it was without checking caller ID. He'd had just enough time now to get Leah out of his car. I let the machine answer.
"Paige? It's Lucas. Please pick up. I'd like to speak to you."
"Yeah," Savannah muttered. "I'm sure you would."
"I can explain," he continued. "I was driving to your house and Leah hailed me. Naturally I was curious, so I pulled over and she asked to speak to me. I agreed--"
I grabbed the receiver.
"I don't care why the hell you spoke to her," I said. "You lied about it."
"And that was a mistake. I fully admit that, Paige. You caught me off guard when you called and--"
"And you had to stumble and stammer for an excuse, right? Bullshit. You lied without a moment's hesitation. You lied so smoothly I bet a lie detector wouldn't have caught it. I don't care about why you spoke to Leah, I care about how easily you lied, and do you know why? Because now I know you've got a talent for it."
A slight pause. "Yes, that's true, but--"
"Well, at least you're honest about that. You're a skilled liar, Cortez, and that tells me that I can't believe anything you've said to me so far."
"I can see where--"
"What I saw out there today only convinces me that my first instinct was right. You're working for the Nasts. I told myself that doesn't make sense, but now I get it. They made sure it wouldn't make sense."
"How--?"
"I'm a programmer, right? I think logically. Send me a smooth, sophisticated, well-dressed sorcerer, and I'd see through that scam in a minute. But send you and I'll say, this guy can't work for a Cabal. It doesn't make sense. It's not logical. And that was the whole idea."
A pause, so long I wondered if he'd hung up.
"I believe I can clear this up," he said at last.
"Oh, you do, do you?"
"I haven't been entirely forthright with you, Paige."
"Wow. Really?"
"I don't mean about being associated with the Nasts. I'm not. Nor was my motivation, as stated, entirely inaccurate, though I am guilty more of omission than deceit."
"Stop right there," I said. "Whatever you tell me next will just be more lies. I don't want to hear them."
"Paige, please. Just listen. I told you the version of my story that I believed you would find most palatable and would therefore--"
"Hanging up now," I said.
"Wait! You are, I believe, well acquainted with Robert Vasic. You're friends with his stepson, Adam? Would I be correct in assuming you trust him?"
"Adam?"
"Robert."
"What does Robert have--?"
"Ask Robert who I am."
"What?"
"Ask Robert who Lucas Cortez is. He doesn't know me personally, but we have mutual acquaintances, and if Robert is not inclined to vouch for my integrity, then he will be able to recommend someone who can. Will you do that?"
"What's he going to tell me?"
Cortez paused again. "I think, perhaps, at this stage it would be better if you heard it from Robert first. If I tell you, and you choose not to believe me, you may decide not to follow up with a call to Robert. Please call him, Paige. Then phone me back. I'll be at my motel."
I hung up.
"What'd he say?" Savannah asked.
I shook my head. "Honestly, I have no idea."
"Yeah, sometimes I can't figure it out either. Too many big words."
I hesitated, then dialed Robert's number, but got the machine again and didn't bother leaving a message. My finger was still on the disconnect button when the phone rang. "Williams & Shaw Legal" and a Boston phone number scrolled across the call display. Had my commercial lawyer found someone willing to represent me? God, I hoped so.
"May I speak to Paige Winterbourne?" a nasally female voice asked.
"Speaking."
"This is Roberta Shaw. I'm an attorney with Williams and Shaw. Our firm works with the Cary Law Office in East Falls. Mr. Cary has asked me to assist with the disposal of his son's current caseload. I've come across your folder among the deceased's files."
"Ummm, right. Actually, I am looking for someone to take over the case. If anyone at your firm would be interested--"
"We would not," Shaw said, the chill in her voice bordering on Arctic. "I am simply calling to request that you take possession of your file immediately. It is not in perfect order, but I am not about to ask Mr. Cary or his daughter-in-law to transcribe any of the notes. Under the circumstances, they shouldn't need to look at this file again. Out of consideration to the family, I will ask that you refer all questions to me. The billing will also come from my office."
"Look," I said. "I don't know what you heard, but I had nothing to do with Mr. Cary's--"
"It is not my place to dispute that matter. I have many files to go through today, Ms. Winterbourne. I would like you to collect yours this afternoon."
"Fine. I'll pick it up at the office--"
"That would hardly be appropriate, would it?"
I gritted my teeth. "Where do you suggest--"
"I will be at the Barton Funeral Home all afternoon. They've established an office for me in the funeral parlor, so I may consult with Mr. Cary easily while disturbing him as little as possible. You may meet me there at one o'clock."
"At Grant Cary's visitation? Now that's what I'd call inappropriate."
"You will come to the service door," she said, biting off each word as if it cost her unt
old effort to speak to me.
"There is a parking lot at the side of the building. You turn off--" Papers shuffled. "--off Chestnut. I assume you know where the funeral home is?"
"On Elm," I said. "Beside the county hospital."
"Good. Meet me there at one, in the side parking lot by the service door. Good day, Ms. Winterbourne."
So, with Cortez out of the picture, I was now officially on my own. If this had all happened a year ago I'd have said "no problem," and been glad for the chance to prove myself. Last fall, when the rest of the council had been reluctant to rescue Savannah, I'd been ready to go in on my own. Had I done so, I'd be dead. No question about it. I'd be dead and I might have got Savannah killed doing it. I'd learned my lesson then.
Now, faced with another big threat, I knew I needed help and was prepared to ask for it. But who? If I asked someone in the council, I'd put their life at risk for something that was a witch problem, and should therefore be handled by witches. But our Coven had abandoned us. Where did that leave us?
I tried instead to concentrate on doing exactly what Cortez had been coming over to do. Formulate a plan of action. But here I was stuck. If I went out and tracked down Sandford and Leah, I'd have to take Savannah along, and would probably end up delivering her straight into their hands. For now, the wisest course of action seemed to be to lie low, defend us against their attacks, and hope they simply decided Savannah was more trouble than she was worth. While it irked me to take a defensive position, at this point I refused to take chances with Savannah's life.
At twelve-thirty, I checked the crowd outside. Maybe I was being optimistic, but it seemed to be shrinking. When I went to tell Savannah to get ready, I found her lying on her back in bed. She opened her eyes when I walked in.
"Napping?" I asked.
She shook her head. "Not feeling so good."
"You're sick?" I hurried to the bedside. "You should have told me, hon. Is it your head or your stomach?"
"Both ... I mean, neither. I don't know." She scrunched her nose. "I just feel ... weird."
I didn't see any obvious signs of illness. Her temperature was normal, her skin wasn't flushed, and her eyes looked tired but clear. Probably stress. I hadn't been feeling so hot myself lately.
"You could be coming down with something," I said. "I was supposed to go out, but it can wait."
"No," Savannah said, pushing herself up from the covers. "I want to go. I'll probably feel better once I get outside."
"Are you sure?"
She nodded. "Maybe we can rent some videos."
"All right, then. Get ready."
"I bet it's a closed casket," Savannah said as I turned onto Chestnut.
An image of Cary's mangled corpse shot through my brain. I forced it back.
"Well, we aren't finding out," I said. "I'm not setting foot anywhere near that room."
"Too bad it wasn't one of those drive-through viewings. Then we could see him without anyone knowing."
" Drive-through viewings?"
"Haven't you heard about those? They had one in Phoenix when my mom and I lived there. We drove by once to see it. It's like a drive-through bank teller, only you look in the window and there's the dead guy."
"Grief on the run."
"People are real busy these days. You gotta make it easy." She grinned and shifted in her seat. "Isn't that weird? I mean, think about it. You drive up and then what? Talk into some drive-through speaker? Tell the guy how much you'll miss him?"
"Just as long as he doesn't sit up and ask if you'd like fries with that."
Savannah laughed. "Humans are so weird."
She shifted in her seat again.
"Do you have to go to the bathroom?" I asked.
"No. I'm just getting sore from sitting still."
"We've only gone five blocks."
She shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe I've got the flu."
"How's your stomach?"
"Okay, I guess."
I flashed back through everything she'd eaten in the last day. Then my gut knotted. "Did Cortez get near your cafe mocha last night?"
"Huh?" She looked over at me. "You think he poisoned me? Nah. He didn't touch my drink. Besides, potions aren't like that. If someone gives you one, you get sick all at once. This comes and goes. Oh, wait ... there, it's gone. See?" She twisted to look over her shoulder. "Isn't the funeral home on Elm?"
"Yes--damn!"
I swung the car into the nearest laneway and turned around. As I'd said, the funeral home was next to the local hospital. Actually, the two buildings were attached, maybe for ease of transporting those who didn't respond favorably to treatment. The hospital also affords an excellent view of the adjacent local cemetery, which the patients must find most heartening.
The lot beside the funeral home was full, so I had to park behind the hospital. With Savannah trailing along behind me, I fairly scampered around to the mortuary, so worried about being seen that I wiggled through a tall hedge rather than walk along the road. Once in the funeral home parking lot, I checked to make sure no one was coming or going, then dashed across to the side door and knocked.
"I think a branch scratched my back," Savannah said. "Who cares if someone sees us? You didn't kill the guy."
"I know, but it would be disrespectful. I don't want to cause any more trouble."
Before she could answer, the door swung open. A woman in her mid-forties peered out, her doughy face fixed in a scowl that seemed more habit than intent.
"Yes?" Before I could answer, she nodded. "Ms. Winterbourne. Good. Come in."
I would rather have stayed outdoors, but she released the door and vanished into the room before I could protest. I ushered Savannah inside, then stepped through into a storeroom. Amidst the piles of boxes was a folding chair and a table covered with files.
Shaw wore a linen dress, smartly fashionable and tailor-made--my mother ran her own dressmaking business, so I can tell a good piece from a Wal-Mart bargain. Though the dress was top-of-the-line, the expense was wasted. Like too many large women, Shaw made the mistake of choosing oversized clothing, turning an expensive dress into a shapeless piece of sackcloth that fell in folds around her.
As my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit storeroom, Shaw settled into her chair and busied herself with her papers. I waited a few minutes, then cleared my throat.
"I'd--uh--like to get going," I said. "I'm not comfortable being here."
"Wait."
I did. For another two minutes. Then, before I could comment again, Savannah sighed. Loudly.
"We don't have all day, you know," Savannah said.
Shaw glared, not at Savannah, but at me, as if Savannah's rudeness could be no one's fault but my own.
"I'm sorry," I said. "She's not feeling well. If you're not ready, we could grab lunch, then come back."
"Here," she said, thrusting a file folder at me. "The bill is on top. We require a certified check, which you can courier to the address shown. Under no circumstances are you to contact the Carys regarding payment or anything else related to your case. If you have questions--"
"Call you. I get the idea."
I walked to the door, yanked on the handle, and stumbled backward when it failed to open. How's that for a gracious exit? Regaining my balance and my dignity, I grasped the handle again, turned, and pushed. Still nothing.
"Is there a lock?" I said, peering down at the handle.
"Just turn and pull, as with any exterior door."
Bitch. I almost said it aloud. Unlike Savannah, though, my upbringing did not permit me to do any such thing. I tried the door again. Nothing happened.
"It's jammed," I said.
Shaw sighed and heaved herself from the chair. Crossing the room, she waved me out of the way, took hold of the handle, and yanked. The door remained closed. From the other side, I heard voices.
"Someone's out there," I said. "Maybe they can open the door from the outside--"
"No. I will not have you bothering the mourner
s. I'll call the custodian."
"There's a front door, isn't there?" Savannah said.
Again, Shaw glared at me. This time, I didn't apologize for Savannah.
"For obvious reasons, you are not exiting through the front," Shaw said, picking up her cell phone.
I sighed and leaned against the door. As I did, I caught a muffled exchange from outdoors. I recognized the voices.
"--really too easy," Leah said.
Sandford laughed. "What do you expect? She's a witch."
The voices faded, presumably walking around the front. I yanked on the door again, this time murmuring an unlock spell. Nothing happened.
"Leah," I mouthed at Savannah, then turned to Shaw. "Forget the custodian. We're leaving. Now."
"You can't--" Shaw began.
Too late. I already had the interior door open and was propelling Savannah through. Shaw grabbed the back of my blouse, but I pulled free and pushed Savannah into the hallway.
CHAPTER 18
A MEMORIAL TO REMEMBER
Once in the hall, I prodded Savannah forward. "Take the first door you see," I whispered. "Hurry. I'm right behind you."
To the left, an empty corridor snaked off into unknown territory. Sunlight radiated through a door less than twenty feet away to the right--twenty feet of hallway clogged with somber-suited mourners. I turned left. Following my advice, though, Savannah turned right, toward the front door, through the crowd.
"Sav--!" I whispered loudly, but she was out of reach and moving fast.
Taking a deep breath, I lowered my eyes, prayed no one recognized me, and followed her. I'd gone less than five feet when Shaw's voice boomed from behind me.
"Paige Winterbourne, don't you dare--"
I didn't hear the rest. A dozen heads turned toward me and a dozen pairs of eyes met mine. My name hurtled down the hallway on a blast of whispers.
"Winterbourne?"
"Paige Winterbourne?"
"Isn't she--"
"Oh, my God--"
"Is that her?"
My first impulse was to hold my head high and march to the door. As Savannah said, I hadn't done anything wrong. But consideration won out over pride and, in deference to the mourners, I ducked my head, murmured my apologies, and hurried after Savannah. The whispers snaked after me, petering out before turning to slander.
"Did she ... ?"
"I heard ..."
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