When she turned around, she found her Guardian observing her with a look of respect. She winked and he shook his head.
“You didn’t think I could pull that off,” she said.
I wasn’t sure.
“It was a lower entity, nothing too nasty. I’ve had a couple of them show up when I’m doing magic. They’re pretty harmless, providing you show them you’re the boss.”
There is worse out there.
“There’s always something worse out there, Bart. That’s the way things are.” She looked over at Bradley. He was giving each of the tiny bears a hug in turn, his face wreathed in a broad smile. “That was just a coyote, and not a very bright one.”
Still a danger to a lamb.
Gavenia nodded gravely. “Yes, but not this time.” After another deep breath, she joined Bradley in the corner. She needed to convince the boy to keep his tantrums to a minimum and then place some magical wards on the doors and windows to keep other coyotes from finding this little lamb.
* * *
O’Fallon flipped closed the cell phone, gritting his teeth. Glancing around as if someone might see into his private hell, he swore for good measure. The instant he’d read the caller ID, he knew what Kathryn’s call meant. To her credit, she’d let him down gently, telling him how much she’d enjoyed their time together, but the chemistry wasn’t there, like always.
Sometimes blind hope gets in the way of cold reality.
He’d been polite about the whole thing, but all he really wanted to do was scream and throw things like a toddler having a royal tantrum. Instead, he’d kept his game voice in place, wishing her all the best while his heart raged in chaos.
He’d been naive to blame his problems on the job. Now that he wasn’t a cop, the problems remained. That left only one other option.
“It’s me,” he said, shaking his head. “Why am I so hard to live with?”
Another dream deflated.
O’Fallon glanced up at the sound of a car and watched the red Miata slowly exit onto the street. For a moment it looked as if she was going on past, then she veered in behind his car and came to a halt. His gut tightened. He didn’t want another confrontation with that woman. Too many doubts swirled through his mind, and she only added to them.
As the witch walked toward his car, something about her appeared different.
What had happened inside the house?
He pulled himself out of the vehicle and leaned back against the rear quarter panel, arms crossed over his chest.
The witch halted about six feet away, her eyes wary. “Back for more?” she asked.
“Is there more?” he asked, hoping the answer was negative.
She peered over his shoulder in that unnerving fashion and then shook her head.
“No ghosts today?” he asked, secretly relieved.
“No. They come and go at will.” She used her cane to point toward the rear of his car with the cane. “You took off the bumper sticker.”
“I try not to make the same mistake twice.”
She seemed on the verge of retorting but bit back the comment.
Sensing weakness, he asked, angling his head toward the house, “So how’s Mr. A this morning? Was this a social call or just a quickie on the sofa?”
Her eyes narrowed as she rose to the bait. “Neither.”
“Which means?”
“None of your damned business.”
“Everything is my damned business, Ms. Kingsgrave. At least when it applies to you.”
“You have one hell of a God complex.”
The gloves were off.
“Does being a translator pay better than being a psychic?” he asked.
“Way better. Why?”
“So as a translator, you’re familiar with things like foreign commerce and banking?”
“Meaning?” she shot back.
“That you’d know how to hide money offshore if needed.”
The midnight-blue eyes signaled he was dangerously close to the line.
“Mousetrapping me into making incriminating statements isn’t going to work, Mr. O’Fallon. You’re not a cop; I’m not a felon. As soon as things are settled with Bradley and his father, I’m out of their lives.”
“Then who’s next on your hook?”
“You’re fishing, and I’m not biting.” She started to turn away and then halted. A distant look came to her face.
He knew the look. He’d seen it the day before. “Is it my father?” he blurted without thinking.
She shook her head. “No. This one is younger.” She blinked and then sighed. “He’s gone. He didn’t want me to talk about him.”
O’Fallon’s fury surged, angered he’d fallen for her nonsense yet again.
“Are you aware that head injuries can cause delusions?”
“Are you aware that being ignorant is curable?” she shot back.
“I’m not the issue here.”
The woman glowered. “No, Bradley is, and until he’s at peace you’re in the way, Mr. PI, and I won’t tolerate that. Once I find Merlin, I go away. Then you can plague some other innocent person.”
“And Mr. Alliford?” he asked, watching her closely.
Her face grew grave. “Unless he gives up the booze, he’s going to have a very short life.”
“Are you in love with him?”
Her eyes jerked up, and he saw honest surprise. “No, I’m not. I’m just worried about him. Not everyone has ulterior motives, Mr. O’Fallon.”
He rose from the hood and dusted off his jacket. “Not in my experience, lady.”
“Then you must lead a pretty depressing life. No wonder both of your marriages failed.”
His mouth fell open in astonishment. After delivering a triumphant smirk, the witch headed toward her car, the cane impacting the ground as she walked.
He shouted at the retreating form, “Did you know your boyfriend was already married?”
She abruptly halted and then continued on as if she hadn’t heard him. Her steps were hesitant now, her right hand shaking each time she raised the cane from the ground. The car door slammed with incredible force and then the Miata spun gravel, pelting him with debris. Halfway down the street, the car blew a stop sign in a long screech of burning rubber.
O’Fallon’s moment of gloating triumph faded instantly, replaced by cold remorse. Why had he lost control? Was it because she flogged him with his failed marriages? They were behind him, weren’t they?
“Apparently not,” he said, shaking his head, dusting his jacket and pants. He’d been cruel, even if she was aware that Winston Thomas had been a married man. From her reaction, it appeared she’d been clueless.
If not for an obscure Internet article penned by Thomas’s bereaved wife, O’Fallon wouldn’t have discovered his secret. The man had led a shadow life, girlfriends on the side, acting the dutiful husband when he was home. In the end, none of that deceit had mattered after his encounter with the stone wall in Wales.
O’Fallon swore under his breath. No wonder he couldn’t get along with women.
Chapter Eleven
Gregory Alliford peered at the business card with a puzzled expression on his unshaven face.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t quite understand why you’re here, Mr. O’Fallon.”
“I’m hoping you can give me a bit of information about Gavenia Kingsgrave.”
“Gavenia? Why are you interested?”
“I have been hired to do a background check on her.” Not quite a falsehood.
“Oh, like an employment check?” Alliford asked. He placed the business card next to a tumbler of whiskey. An empty fifth sat on the desk nearby.
“Sort of. What can you tell me about the woman?” O’Fallon asked, pulling out his notebook. He was sitting on a very nice leather sofa next to an end table. His eyes caught on the picture of a little boy and a dog. Bradley and the missing canine, no doubt.
“Gavenia came highly recommended by a friend of the family. She’s ve
ry caring. She’s trying to help us with Bradley.”
“Your son?” O’Fallon asked, angling his head toward the picture.
“Yes. He’s . . .” Alliford hesitated and took a sharp breath. “My son died two weeks ago.”
O’Fallon played innocent. “I’m very sorry.”
“Things will never be the same,” the father said, more to himself than to his visitor.
“How is Ms. Kingsgrave helping your family?”
“She is a psychic. My son’s soul hasn’t gone to heaven like it should. She is trying to help him cross over, as she calls it.”
Time to dig. “How is she trying to accomplish that?”
“By finding my son’s dog.”
“Why is that important?”
“My son refuses to cross over until he sees Merlin again. The dog was with him when . . . he was hit.”
“I see. How did your son communicate this wish?”
“Through Ms. Kingsgrave. She sees him just like you can see me. It’s rather creepy, actually, but I believe she actually does see the dead.”
“And you don’t?”
“No. But I’ve heard him. He plays in his room. It’s like he’s still alive.”
Great. The man’s a drunk and he thinks he’s hearing his dead child. What a perfect setup.
“What sort of fee is Ms. Kingsgrave charging?”
“Fee? Oh . . . well. She gave me a piece of paper. Let me get it.”
Bingo. A part of him felt regret. On some level O’Fallon hoped the witch wasn’t like everyone else.
Alliford rose and dug through the unruly stack of papers on his desk. O’Fallon thought he could see unopened mail, bills and such—the fabric of a life unraveling thread by thread.
“Here is it.” Alliford handed over the paper with a shaking hand and then retreated to his chair. Another sip of whiskey followed.
O’Fallon scanned the page. There had to be a mistake. This was a list of charitable organizations, complete with addresses, contact names, and phone numbers.
“Are you sure you gave me the right paper?”
Alliford nodded. “That’s it.”
“So how much is she charging?”
Alliford pointed. “It’s explained on the back.”
O’Fallon flipped the paper over expecting to see a sliding scale of outrageous expenses. Instead he found a paragraph of legal verbiage stating in lieu of direct payment, a charitable donation be made to any one of the organizations listed on the reverse side of the sheet. If a donation was beyond the recipient’s financial abilities, that was acceptable. Ms. Kingsgrave’s flowing signature was at the bottom. It was light, like a butterfly floating on the wind.
O’Fallon frowned. He turned the page over and studied the list: a battered-women’s shelter, a literacy program, an inner-city day care, a library.
This had to be a scam. The organizations were probably just clever fronts to funnel money to the witch to keep her in bats’ wings and bright-red sports cars.
“Is there any way I can have a copy of this?” he asked.
Alliford nodded and hoisted himself out of his chair. Each time it seemed more difficult. As he fed the paper through the fax machine, pressing the copy button, O’Fallon asked, “Has Ms. Kingsgrave made any other requests?”
Alliford frowned and then nodded. “She suggested I talk to my priest. She thought that might help me cope with . . .” His voice trailed off, and he returned his attention to the machine as if the words were too painful to speak aloud.
“And have you done that?”
Alliford shook his head. “Father Davidson wouldn’t understand what is happening. He’s a bit, well . . .”
“Old-fashioned?”
Alliford nodded. “He’d be upset if he found out that Gavenia was in the house.”
Most priests would. O’Fallon closed the notebook and returned it to his suit-coat pocket. On impulse, he pulled out another one of his business cards and penciled a name and phone number on the back. When Alliford handed him the copy, he handed him the card in return.
“This is my priest. He’s got an open mind.”
Alliford took the card and nodded. He studied the name for a moment and then stuck the card into his shirt pocket. “Thanks.”
O’Fallon folded the copy and tucked it away. “Thanks for your time.”
“Have I helped you?” Alliford asked.
Guilt rose. Alliford was a genuinely nice guy. How much hurt would he feel when he learned that the witch was only after his money? That she’d lied about hearing his dead son?
“Yes, you have.” O’Fallon hesitated, feeling the need to offer more. “Talk to Father Elliot. He’s helped me more than once.”
Alliford pulled the card out again and then nodded slowly. “I will.”
As they walked to the front entryway, O’Fallon heard a distant thumping and then laughter, as if a child were bouncing a ball inside the house. The hair on his neck rose.
He gave Alliford a startled look.
“It’s Bradley,” the father explained.
O’Fallon swallowed. It didn’t lessen the tightness in his throat. “Does he do that all the time?”
“No, only off and on.” The man took a deep breath. “We just need to find Merlin.”
O’Fallon thought for a moment and then asked, “Did you get the dog from the pound?”
“No, we bought him from a breeder. Why do you ask?”
“Does he have one of those microchips—you know, the kind they can scan if the animal gets lost?”
Alliford shook his head, an expression of deep regret covering his face. “He didn’t have one of those.”
“Well, maybe you’ll get lucky.”
“God, I hope so.” They shook hands again.
Alliford opened the front door and then paused, transfixed.
“Janet?” He took a couple of steps outside the house. “Janet?” he repeated.
A cab sat near the front of the house, a vigorous argument in progress between the driver and the passenger. Something to do with the fare.
“I’ll pay you,” she shouted. “Just wait.”
The man answered in broken English, gesturing wildly.
“Wait!” the woman said. “Just wait!”
Janet Alliford entered the house like it was the first time she’d visited, her gait uneven and her eyes darting in all directions. As she walked past O’Fallon, a frown appeared, as if she was trying to place him. Her hair was unkempt, her garments rumpled, her nail polish chipped. O’Fallon detected a fine body tremor. The tremor increased, and she hugged her arms across her chest in a protective gesture.
Coke or meth? O’Fallon pondered. It wasn’t booze, though she probably had some of that in her system as well. He settled on cocaine as the addiction of choice.
“What are you doing here?” Alliford demanded. Outside the cabbie kept shouting in his native language, advancing toward the house, gesticulating wildly.
Janet hugged herself harder.
“I . . . need to talk to you, Greg,” she said. Another look in O’Fallon’s direction.
The cabbie was almost to the door. O’Fallon pulled a couple of twenties out of his wallet and intercepted the driver before he came inside. The couple stared at each other, oblivious, caught in their own private hell.
By the time he’d settled with the irate man and got a couple questions answered in the process, things were at a boil inside the house.
“That’s why you’re here? You need money? That’s the only reason?” Alliford shouted.
Janet nodded, looking around nervously.
“You don’t say hello, how are you; you just demand money. Well, I’ll make a deal, Janet. Tell me where Merlin is, and I’ll give you enough cash to pack your nose tonight. How’s that?”
The woman blinked in surprise. “Merlin? Why do you care about him?” she asked.
“Because of our son. You do remember Bradley, don’t you?”
Janet visibly flinched.
“I don’t know where the dog is.”
“You took him!” Alliford advanced a step, and she staggered backward in response.
O’Fallon grew more uncomfortable. This had all the makings of a domestic brawl in the making.
“I just . . . wanted company. He . . . ran away,” Janet said.
She wasn’t a good liar.
“If you could give us a general idea where he got . . . lost,” O’Fallon said, throwing his voice into the fray.
“Who are you?” she asked, squinting in his direction. He winced—he’d seen corpses with nicer eyes.
“Douglas O’Fallon,” he said.
A strange look came to her face. “You’re the investigator my mother hired, aren’t you?” she charged.
O’Fallon gave a short nod. Oh, damn.
Alliford’s fury refocused. “You lied to me,” he fumed, pointing his finger at the PI.
“No, I just didn’t tell you who my client was. The rest was on the money.”
“Why the hell does she want to know about Gavenia?”
O’Fallon mentally tossed a coin and opted for the truth. “She thinks Ms. Kingsgrave’s trying to run a scam on you using your son as the bait.”
“That’s ridiculous! Gavenia’s not after my money.”
“Then why is she here?” Janet demanded.
Alliford smirked at his wife. “Not for what you think, either. She’s here to help Bradley.”
“Then Mother needs to stay out of this,” Janet said, switching sides with astonishing speed—no doubt a move designed to score some cash off her husband when the shouting ended.
O’Fallon felt the tide turning. Just like a domestic. The battling couple unites against a common enemy, usually the cop. In this case the enemy was Mrs. Pearce. But since she was safely in Palm Springs and he was her proxy . . .
As if on cue, Alliford turned on O’Fallon. “Get the hell out of my house before I have your license revoked.”
O’Fallon accepted both his dismissal and the threat graciously. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Alliford.”