J Duncan - Deadworld

Jackie could hear a definite note of tension in Mr. Anderson’s voice now. “Shel, this is Agent Rutledge and Carpenter. This is my business partner, Shelby Fontaine.”

The grin got wider, and she stepped into the room. “Hi.” She thrust out her hand at Jackie, who took it reluctantly. The skin was very cool and smooth. Her lips were painted a brilliant, gleaming red, and the hair was pulled back into a French-style braid. Her eyes were a crystalline blue, like tropical ocean water glittering in the sun. It took Jackie a second to realize they had the same unnatural shine to them as Nick Anderson. What the fuck? Was it some special PI mind trick? Jackie decided she didn’t like this woman with the model looks and the freaky eyes.

When Laurel took the hand, the friendly smile on her face dissolved like sugar in water. The blood-red nails of Shelby Fontaine’s hand gripped Laurel’s firmly, but certainly not so tight to create the gasp of shock that burst from Laurel’s mouth. The color sank out of her body as though someone had pulled a plug.

“Sweet mother,” she whispered, staggering away from Shelby’s now limp hand. After a second she regained her balance, looking decidedly green, and then bolted for the door. A moment later, the bathroom door in the hall slammed shut, but it did not entirely muffle the sounds of vomiting.

Jackie struggled to close her mouth, which had mindlessly dropped open. What was going on?

Shelby offered a nervous laugh. “I say something wrong?”

Nick rubbed a hand over his face after Agent Rutledge left to check on Agent Carpenter, slamming the door behind her. Shelby still stood there, hand frozen in the same place, looking back over her shoulder down the hall. If Shelby’s actions had not made the situation completely screwed, he would have found the expression on her face priceless. It took quite a bit to stun Shelby Fontaine.

“Came in the back door, didn’t you?”

His voice snapped her mind back in to focus. “Yeah. I um… parked out back when I saw the feds.” She looked back again, rubbing absently at her hand. “What the fuck just happened?”

“Agent Carpenter is a medium,” he said with a wry smile.

“Oh. Shit. You mentioned her before, didn’t you?”

Nick nodded and sat back down. The agents would be back in soon, no doubt about that. “Just in passing.” He lowered his voice then, to make sure the agents could not hear. “She was at the scene, could sense me in the crowd, but didn’t know what to make of it.”

Shelby snorted. “Big surprise there. Bet I just scared the living crap out of her.”

“Probably.”

“They know anything?”

“Just that I was at the scene. I don’t want them to know anything yet. Okay?”

“Nick-”

“Not yet, Shel,” he said, adamant. The agents could not get involved at this point. It would be far too dangerous for them, especially with a medium to clue them into what they were up against. The trick of course would be to maintain a position he would not be forced to lie from, and with a little luck this would be over before they even realized what was happening. He would not lie to them. They were law, after all, and that was at least one code he had not broken over the course of a century and a half.

“Fine, you stubborn shit.” She mumbled the last word and moved out of the way as the agents came back into the room.

Agent Carpenter had a cup of tea in her hand, likely the quick work of Cynthia. Smart woman. It had not even occurred to him to offer anything.

“Everything okay, Agent Carpenter? There’s some stomach flu going around. I hope you haven’t caught it.” It was lame, but Nick felt sorry for her and wanted to say something consoling. It was, however, the wrong thing to say, by the look on Agent Rutledge’s face. Her eyes had narrowed, and her hands were now thrust in her pockets. She knew quite well it wasn’t the flu.

Agent Rutledge’s voice tipped on the fine edge of anger. “Do you sense any ghosts around here now, Mr. Anderson?”

“This building has a couple of them that show up now and again.”

Her mouth drew down into a thin line. “Do you sense any of them now?”

This woman was going to be trouble. The sort that would not go away once she sniffed something wrong, and her partner throwing up had put a foul scent in her brain to be sure. “One of them was around earlier, but nothing now. No.” It was the truth, for the most part.

Agent Rutledge glanced back at her partner and then at Shelby. “Want to tell me what happened with your father in 1970, Mr. Anderson?”

Stoic as he could render himself, Nick nearly grimaced at Shelby’s wide-eyed reaction to the question, which likely didn’t go unnoticed. “I was three years old then, Agent Rutledge.”

“Agent Carpenter, can I have that newspaper clipping, please?”

Nick found a familiar news article slapped down on the desk before him. “Ah. Well, my sordid family history is now brought to light.” Out of the corner of his eye, Nick watched Shelby roll her eyes. What a lovely situation this was turning into.

“So you know your father was involved in a case that bears a striking resemblance to this one, Mr. Anderson?”

Nick steeled himself. Show nothing. This is a solid story I’ve told a thousand times. “From what I read about it, the method does bare some similarities.”

“You never talked to your father about what happened?”

“My father left just before my fourth birthday. I never saw him again.” His hearing picked up the nearly silent snort of air from Shelby. He gave her a quick, hard stare, but she only sat there with her arms folded across her chest, one eyebrow arched up at him. It was a necessary lie. The feds would not handle the truth very well and would likely throw his ass in jail.

“Anyone told you, Mr. Anderson, that you are the spitting image of your father?”

“On occasion.” This time Shelby’s noise of annoyance was clearly audible, and Agent Rutledge whirled around on her.

“Something here bothering you, Ms. Fontaine?”

“Nothing a swift kick in the head won’t solve,” she said, her ruby lips spreading into a large, not-so-amused grin. “Sorry. I have my own issues with the cowboy here.”

Agent Rutledge said nothing for a moment, looking first at Nick and then back at Shelby. He could tell the agent was stifling some angry reply. He got the impression the fuse on this woman was a bit on the short side.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m getting the shit end of the stick here?”

“Beg your pardon?” Nick said.

“Something’s missing here,” she said, voice lowered. “I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful with me, Mr. Anderson. My partner here throws up because she senses something is off… way off in this place, and yet you act like it’s just any other day, like ghosts are just a usual occurrence with you.”

“They are, Agent Rutledge.”

“Damn-” She cut herself off and snatched up the article from the desk. “I don’t buy it. You know, it might be to your advantage to cooperate just a little more. The situation here is serious.”

Nick nodded. He felt a little sorry for her, but the truth would just unravel that knot of anger, and nothing would get solved now. She would be back. It was just a matter of time.

“I understand your concern. The murder of a child is about as serious as it gets, and under the circumstances, I would’ve been checking me out as well, but I assure you, I had nothing to do with that boy’s murder.”

The hands came out of their pockets and perched on her hips now. “Why do I find no reassurance in that, Mr. Anderson?”

Shelby chuckled, and when Agent Rutledge faced her again, Agent Carpenter finally stood up. “You know, Jackie, it might behoove us to interview Ms. Fontaine and the secretary separately now. Their perspectives on things might even it all out.”