by Terri Garey
“Bizarre rant?” I didn’t care for Lisa’s tone or her choice of words.
“You know, that bit about being fat and how dead people talked to you.”
Of course Lisa would’ve seen the video—probably seen it several times.
Then I realized what else she’d said. “A defense to use against who?”
“The Cowart family, of course.” Lisa eyed me coolly. “We’ve already heard from their attorney.”
“The guy’s an ambulance chaser.” Joe was obviously irritated. “1–800-ASK-TONY is plastered over every bus in town.”
“I’m familiar with Tony Danforth,” Lisa replied. “He is an ambulance chaser, and a real jerk. He’s also a bulldog with a nose for fresh meat, Joe, and you’re looking like Grade A steak to him right now. We’d be foolish not to take him seriously.”
I couldn’t help but notice her use of the word “we.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Joe didn’t do anything wrong.” Except get involved with me. “He shouldn’t be held responsible for something I said while I was”—I mentally gritted my teeth—“under the influence.”
“We’re talking malpractice, here, Miss Styx.” Lisa leaned forward in her seat. “Negligence, at best. You publicly accused Dr. Bascombe of doing nothing to save a dying woman, and by association, the rest of the hospital staff, as well. While the board has already issued a statement denying culpability, we need to get our ducks in a row.”
I was tempted to tell Lisa what she could do with her “ducks,” but a quick glance at Joe’s face stopped me.
“Fine.” I leaned back and crossed my legs, giving Lisa a good look at my boots—Giuseppe Zanotti anklets, pointed toes, buckles and all. My boots could kick her heeled pumps’ collective ass any day. “Let’s get it over with.”
Lisa pretended to hesitate, then said, “I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that what you said goes beyond slander, Miss Styx. It was caught on video and played over the airwaves. Dr. Bascombe is well within his rights to sue you for libel.”
Joe spoke up, voice hard. “I already told you that’s not going to happen, Lisa.” He leaned forward, both hands on his desk. “Let’s move on.”
“Wait just a minute here.” Words like “libel” and “sue” were nothing to toss around lightly. “Are you saying you recommended Joe sue me?”
Freaking lawyers…Who the hell did this woman think she was?
“The hospital board would be in a much stronger position if he did.” Lisa barely glanced at me, giving Joe her attention. “It would bolster our defense if Dr. Bascombe took this as seriously as we do.”
I stood up, ready to rip Ms. Butler a new one. “I came down here to apologize and clear things up, not to be threatened with legal action.”
Lisa turned a bland, blue-eyed gaze in my direction. “Actions have consequences, Miss Styx.”
“Then sue the television station! Don’t they have some liability here?”
“We’re looking into it,” Lisa said coolly.
Furious, I looked at Joe. “Do I need an attorney?”
He rose from his chair, shaking his head. “Not as far as I’m concerned.” The look he shot Lisa was extremely unfriendly. “But maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea.” He came around the corner of his desk, adding, “In fact, maybe I should hire a private attorney of my own.”
“Let’s all calm down, shall we?” Lisa hadn’t moved from her chair. She crossed her legs for good measure, swinging a stilettoed pump in my direction. “I’m merely laying out all possible options.” She shrugged. “If Dr. Bascombe is willing to let bygones be bygones in his personal life, it’s hardly any of my business, now is it?”
“Damn right it’s none of your business.” She was an Ice Queen, this one. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”
“I doubt that the board of directors would agree with you.”
“The board of directors can take their opinion and…”
“Nicki,” Joe said warningly.
It was just my name, but it was enough to make me shut up. I didn’t need to get Joe in more trouble than he was already in.
Then I heard it—a giggle, high and shrill, with an edge of mania that raised the hair on my arms.
I jumped, unable to help myself, and looked around to see where it came from.
“Something wrong, Miss Styx?” Lisa raised a plucked eyebrow in my direction.
I ignored her, and looked at Joe. “Did you hear it?”
Before he could answer, the laughter came again, and my blood ran cold.
I didn’t like the sound any more than I had yesterday morning on the sidewalk outside Moonbeans. Crystal Cowart was here, somewhere, and unless I missed my guess, all hell was about to break loose.
“Um…I’m gonna go,” I said, edging toward the door. “I just remembered someplace I need to be.”
In bed, with the covers over my head.
Joe, being nobody’s fool, caught on immediately, but the fool in the bombshell pumps was clueless.
“Surely I haven’t run you off?” Lisa looked somehow pleased at the prospect. “You musn’t take what I say personally.”
Actually, I’d taken what Ms. Legal Beagle said very personally, but now was not the time to argue.
Another evil giggle, and then a stack of paper on Joe’s desk went flying.
Too late.
Lisa gasped, uncrossing her legs.
A coffee cup full of pens and pencils tipped over, spilling them all to the floor. Lisa leapt up from her chair.
“What the—” No need for Joe to finish that sentence, as he had a pretty good idea what. “Clumsy of me.” He scrabbled for a stray pen, but I wasn’t sure Lisa was buying it. He’d been standing beside the desk, nowhere near the cup.
Since I already felt like a deer in the headlights, I’m pretty sure I looked like one, too. “I gotta go,” I repeated, and bolted for the door.
I had some major meditating to do.
“You’re not going anywhere, Chubby Cheeks,” said Crystal, and my veins filled with ice. She was just behind and to the right of me—I could see her rail-thin figure from the corner of my eye.
I pulled at the door handle, but it didn’t budge. Desperate, I glanced over my shoulder at Joe.
He moved toward me, walking straight through Crystal Cowart, whom he didn’t see. Her image wavered like smoke, then steadied.
“Oo,” said Crystal, mockingly, “that felt good, baby. Do it again.”
Gross.
“The door seems to be locked,” I said, trying to speak normally for the benefit of eagle-eyed Lisa.
“Your boyfriend is a real hottie, even if he is a murderer,” Crystal said, conversationally. “I’m going to enjoy hanging around him for a while.”
I couldn’t answer without speaking to thin air, so I said nothing, refusing even to look at her. Joe tried the door handle; it opened easily for him.
“Bye, bye, Chubby Cheeks, and don’t you worry about a thing,” Crystal said mockingly. “I’ll take good care of Dr. Goodbody.”
I couldn’t help it—I shot her a glare.
It only made her laugh. “I’m going to enjoy driving you both nuts,” she said, fading as I watched. “See you around.”
“Nicki?” Joe’s hand was on my elbow.
I was just standing there, in the open doorway.
“Miss Styx?” Lisa Butler’s concern did not sound genuine. “Are you all right?”
“It was nice to meet you, Lisa,” I lied, with a tight smile. “But I’ve got things to do. Joe, I’ll see you later.”
CHAPTER 7
“What’s going on, Nicki?” Joe caught me by the elevator before I had a chance to escape. Luckily, Lisa didn’t seem to be with him, but I drew him aside just in case.
“It was Crystal Cowart.” I kept my voice low, glancing anxiously at a passing nurse, who was paying us no attention whatsoever. “She was in the room with us, standing right in front of you.”
The elevator d
inged, and the doors opened. We stepped back to accommodate an orderly pushing an old man in a wheelchair. Once they were out of the way, I ducked inside the elevator, and Joe followed.
As soon as the doors closed behind us, he said, “Sammy’s got you really freaked, doesn’t he?”
For a moment, the comment made no sense, because we were talking about Crystal. Then I realized what he meant.
“He’s using me, and he’s using this poor dead girl, who would’ve died regardless of what anyone did for her.” Joe took my hand. “You’re afraid.”
I hesitated, not wanting him to know how truly terrified I was at the thought of Crystal possessing me again. Or of his dumping me because I was a freak who’d cost him his job.
He smiled, a little ruefully. “I’ve seen you stand your ground against a voodoo priestess and her entire cult, Nicki. The way you just bolted tells me a lot.”
I looked at him, feeling helpless, which was not a feeling I enjoyed.
“She can’t hurt you, Nicki,” he said gently. “And she can’t hurt me, either.”
“She’s haunting you, Joe. She said she’s going to enjoy driving us both nuts.”
He shrugged, apparently unconcerned. “Now that I know she’s out to cause trouble, I’ll be on my guard. What can she do to me? Flip a few papers? Knock over some pens?”
“Famous last words,” I said glumly. “Look what she did to me. With Sammy’s help, there’s no telling what she can do to you.”
For just a second, Joe’s eyes gleamed fiercely. “Let him bring it, then,” he muttered. “He needs to stop hiding behind the women and fight like a man.”
I stared at him, memorizing the fine lines at the corner of his eyes, the way his dark hair curled at his collar. This would never be a fair fight—how was I going to keep Sammy from ruining Joe’s life, his career? Today it was an anorexic ghost with an axe to grind; what would it be tomorrow?
I hadn’t said a word, but the next thing I knew, Joe had his arms around me, my cheek pressed against his white lab coat.
“You’ve seen him again, haven’t you?” he said.
Feeling vaguely guilty, though I wasn’t sure why, I answered honestly. “Yes. He showed up twice this morning.” I didn’t give Joe all the details—he had enough to worry about today. “Both times I told him to get lost, and he did.”
Joe sighed. He unwrapped one arm long enough to push the elevator button for the ground floor. Then he tipped my face up to his.
“You keep telling him that, babe, and don’t forget—I’m right here. Anytime you need me, I’m right here.”
His eyes were so green, so intense…that was the last thought I had before his lips came down on mine. I clung to him, kissing him back gladly, fiercely, letting my body say everything I needed—wanted—to say.
Here, in Joe’s arms, Sammy’s image faded.
I wished I could stay here forever.
But the elevator gave a slight jerk, then dinged.
Joe broke the kiss, but kept his arms around me. I buried my face against his chest, just for a moment, then pulled away.
I didn’t need to be told that it wouldn’t look good for one of the hospital staff to be seen kissing a girl in an elevator, and he was in enough trouble because of me as it was.
“I’ll be okay,” I said, as the doors opened. A pair of elderly women were waiting to get on. “I’ll call you later.”
“You’d better,” Joe said, very seriously. There was a smudge of pink lipstick on his upper lip, and a smear of makeup on his white coat, which kinda took away from his sternness. But it was so cute.
Take that, Lisa Butler. Miss Tight-Ass Attorney probably wished she could make out in an elevator.
Belatedly, I rubbed my hand over my own lip as a signal, but Joe didn’t catch it.
“What floor, ladies?” I heard him ask as the elevator door closed.
What a guy. I smiled as I headed toward the parking lot, remembering how safe I’d felt in his arms.
Sammy didn’t stand a chance. Good always triumphed over evil.
Didn’t it?
“Aside from the obvious—crosses, holy water, that type of thing—the only other references I can find to avoid possession by evil spirits are some arcane references to emeralds and yarrow root.” Kelly was on the other end of the line again. “Oh, and some supposed ‘spells’ that need to be cast under a full moon, but I somehow doubt their effectiveness.”
“Oh, my God, Kelly, if you start telling me I need to cast a ‘circle of protection’ or something like that, I think I’ll go stark, raving nuts.”
My long, horrible day was finally over, and I was home in my jammies, feet propped on the coffee table while I sipped a glass of merlot. Concrete Blonde was on the CD player, the curtains were drawn and the doors were locked.
I know, because I’d double-and triple-checked them.
“You could try baptism,” Kelly said.
“Kelly, this is the Bible Belt. I’ve already been baptized.” Calvary Baptist Church, as a child of twelve. I used to attend every Sunday with my parents, until fifteen or so, when I’d declared organized religion to be brainwashing and that forcing me to attend was a violation of my civil rights.
My poor parents had shaken their heads and continued to go without me.
Kelly sounded worried. “There’s always exorcism. A priest could bless the house and the store.”
I shuddered involuntarily. That movie had given me nightmares for months.
“If my head starts spinning around on my shoulders, or I start vomiting pea soup, a priest will be the first person I call.”
“Stop making jokes, Nicki.” Kelly sounded irritated. “I know that’s how you deal with stress, but this isn’t funny.”
“Laughing is always better than crying.”
“How would you know? I’ve never seen you cry, not even when Peaches died.”
I sighed, because we’d been down this road before. “I didn’t know Peaches when she was alive. How was I supposed to grieve for her?” Plus, I knew she was okay—not only did I know that there was a world beyond this one, I’d known that whatever essence made Peaches who she was still existed.
And I didn’t like to cry. It made my eyeliner run and my nose swell like a grapefruit.
“Just because I don’t cry every time I get upset doesn’t mean I don’t care.”
“You should let it out, Nick.” Kelly’s voice was somber. “It’s unnatural to hold your feelings in—it’s not healthy.”
Good thing my sister wasn’t there to see me roll my eyes. She hated it when I did that.
“You’re rolling your eyes, aren’t you?”
Damn. “What are you now, a psychic?”
Kelly ignored my sarcasm. “Bijou told me you called her today. Have you tried meditating yet?”
“I’m getting myself relaxed first,” I said loftily. “The wine hasn’t kicked in.”
Kelly made a rude noise, which I ignored.
“Just remember to breathe properly. It’s very important.”
“Okay, okay, quit nagging. I’ll meditate. Let me know if you find out anything else I should be doing.”
“Be careful, will you? You think you’re a lot tougher than you really are.”
You think you’re a lot smarter than you really are.
A knee-jerk mental reaction; I didn’t say it, or even mean it. Kelly was a first-class egghead, and her mother-hen routine covered a lot of personal insecurities. If nagging me made her feel better, I’d do my best to put up with it.
For now.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay.”
After I hung up, I tried my hardest to settle into what Bijou called a “meditative state.” I finished the wine, turned off the music, and settled myself comfortably on the couch. My breathing was regular—in through the nose, out through the mouth—concentrate, concentrate, concentrate.
It was the “clear your mind” part that was hard.
My conversation with Kelly had sparked something, and after about five minutes of useless breathing exercises, I gave up trying not to think about it. I got up from the couch and padded through the quiet house to my bedroom, where I opened the closet and took something down from the top shelf.
My mother’s jewelry box.
I ran my hands over the carved cedar, admiring the workmanship. The box was a beauty, elaborately scrolled except for two smooth, painted ovals on the lid. Quaint pastoral cameos of young women picking flowers, the scenes similar but different, the colors faded with time. She’d told me that one of her uncles had given her the box as a child.
Mostly costume jewelry, of course—Dan and Emily Styx had never been wealthy. They’d always valued love and comfort over material things, though they’d been big believers in life insurance. I’d never have been able to open Handbags and Gladrags otherwise. Between that and the house, inherited mortgage-free, my parents had left me well taken care of.
A few rings gleamed up at me from furrows of velvet; Mom’s high-school ring, a tiny ruby heart Dad had given her one year for Valentine’s Day, and the ring I was looking for—a square-cut emerald she’d inherited from her own mother. I slid it on, but it was loose on my ring finger, so I slipped it on my index finger instead.
Everything else—bracelets, watches, a few necklaces—lay piled in a heap of gold and silver.
From the pile I picked up one other thing; a tiny gold cross my mom used to wear. I’d almost buried her with it, but I was glad I hadn’t.
Kelly was wrong about how I never cried.
I let the tears wash over me like a flood, then put the cross around my neck and went to bed.
CHAPTER 8
Some days you’re the bug; some days you’re the windshield.
The next morning, it became obvious that I was still nothing more than a yellow smear on the front of a black Mustang convertible.
“There she is!”
I’d barely stepped out of the back room at Handbags and Gladrags when I was confronted by a group of women clustered in front of the cash register. They were all plump and middle-aged, either staring at me or shooting each other significant glances.
