J Duncan - Deadworld

“Sounds good,” he said and marched up the steps two at a time.

The curving staircase opened onto a loft space that looked down on the entry on one side and the living room on the other. The roof peaked overhead, letting in light through a series of skylights. A wide hallway extended out in one direction over the bedroom wing, lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves. He had a small bookstore’s worth of books. At the opposite end she could see a pair of overstuffed leather chairs, a table and lamp between them. The loft area itself had a large desk with a computer monitor perched on one corner. The rest of the room drew most of Jackie’s attention, however. There, in all its gleaming black glory, was a baby grand. A Steinway. It looked far more impressive up close than it had from the living room floor.

“Son of a bitch.” Did it have to be a nicer, better-kept version of her own?

“Find something, Jack?”

“No, keep looking. Check the desk. I’ll look in the library.”

Jackie walked the length of the hall, looking for anything out of the ordinary, but for all intents and purposes it appeared to be just what it was. There were books on all manner of subjects, even an entire section devoted to the supernatural. Somebody else was going to get to catalog everything if it came to that.

“Storage area over the garage here, Jack!” Summit called down to her. “You want me to get the picks and open it?”

Jackie wandered back toward the loft. “Just break the fucking thing open.”

“It’s dead bolted.”

“Interesting. Get the picks then.”

Five minutes later, Summit had the storage door open. The men downstairs had turned up nothing of interest to that point. Jackie flicked on the light switch next to the door, and the interior flooded with light, revealing what Jackie could think of as only a museum.

Summit whistled. “Wow. What the hell is this?”

She stepped in, careful not to disturb anything. A life-size painting of a woman was mounted to the wall at the far end, some twenty-five feet away. A display case had rows of quilts neatly stacked inside. Next to it was an old rocking chair, draped with one of the quilts and stacked up with dolls-the old, handstuffed Raggedy Ann kind. There was an old flip-top desk, and Jackie saw when she walked up that the top had been changed to glass, turned into a display case, which covered a neatly arranged assortment of coins inside plastic sleeves.

“The little fucker,” Jackie muttered under her breath and opened the case. She grabbed the penny sitting in the last spot in the last row of the collection.

“Hey,” Summit exclaimed. “Is that the penny stolen from the evidence room?”

“I think so.” It would be interesting to hear Nick explain that one away.

“What is all this shit, you think?”

Jackie put the penny in her pocket and kept looking around. Though a museum had been the first thought that had come to mind, she realized now, as she approached the painting at the far end, what it really was. “Memories,” she said.

Nick Anderson had built a shrine to his dead family.

A framed piece of newsprint on the wall caught Jackie’s eye. The title, written on a small placard beneath the old news clipping, read, GWEN AND THE KIDS, FIRST DAY ON THE JOB, APRIL 1862. It was the photo Hauser had pulled up on his screen. There were a couple more old photos of the family. On top of a small curio stand by the painting was a small wooden box with tarot cards inside. Carefully, Jackie fanned through them. They were all in the same style as the one they had found, and-sure enough-the one they had was not in there.

The nervous pang of fear returned in full force. Jackie could not shake the feeling that Laurel was in serious danger. What if the freak-out about Jackie needing to be careful had really been intended for Laurel? What if her little visitor had been trying to tell her that she specifically was in danger? She gathered up the box, knocking over one of the photos, which she noticed had the names and ages of the family on the back. The realization hit her, a sucker punch to the gut, leaving her momentarily breathless. Gwen and Laurel were both thirty-one. How had she missed that?

“Summit,” she said, motioning to everything in the room. “Pictures. I want pictures of everything in here. I’ve got to head back now.”

He gave her a perplexed look. “We just got here.”

“Just do it, Summit. I’m going.” She pushed passed him and leaped down the stairs three at a time.

Five minutes from downtown, her cell rang, and Jackie snatched up the phone. She recognized the number, but it had not been the one she was expecting. Clenching it so tightly her hand shook, Jackie flipped it open, her voice barely above a growl. “Where is she, Shelby? Where is Laurel?”

“Jackie, listen,” Shelby’s voice came back, sounding winded. “I don’t have her.”

“So help me, you bitch, if you’ve hurt one hair on her head…” She blindly ran a red light, swerving around oncoming traffic and narrowly avoiding causing an accident. Her fear and frustration boiled over. “Get out of the fucking way!”

“Listen to me, Jackie. It wasn’t me. Drake has her.”

“Liar!” she yelled into the phone. “We’ve talked to your last vic in the hospital. We found the penny, the tarot deck. You’ve been covering for each-”

“Penny? What the hell are you talking about?” She sounded truly dumbfounded.

“Don’t be stupid. You know exactly what I’m talking about. This whole Drake thing is a front for your own twisted little vampire games. I want to know where she is, Shelby. It’ll be much worse for you if I have to track you down.”

There was a bark of sarcastic laughter in her ear. “Would you just listen to me for two fucking seconds? Drake is-”

“No!” she screamed into the phone, fed up with the stalling and angry she was not getting the reply she wanted. Why couldn’t Shelby have just said Laurel was fine and on her way back? Why did the worst case have to be what came out of her mouth? Jackie did not want to believe. “You listen. You’ll bring her back right now before I hunt you down and blow your bloodsucking head clean off.” Her voice cracked at the end as Jackie fought back the tears of fear and terror.

“Silence!” Shelby snapped back, and Jackie could almost feel her mouth being held shut. The feeling startled her back to some sense of reality. “We don’t have time to waste. He’s somewhere within a mile or two of West Central and Pine, likely in a blue Rolls. I dropped her off at the Jade Dragon two hours ago, and some chick at a mini mart saw her walk out with a man in a blue suit, Jackie, so pull your damn head out and call out your cavalry. And get Nick. I need him out here before it’s too late.”

Too late. Jackie stared blankly at the phone until horns began blaring at her to notice the green light. “Shelby?” The cell answered her with silence. “Fuck. Laurel. Be wrong. Please be wrong.” She called downtown and got Belgerman to scramble the men into action. Local enforcement would be notified. She didn’t trust Shelby, but the risk of disbelief far outweighed throwing money away on a manhunt that wasn’t there.

“What about Nick Anderson?” John asked her. “Should he help?”

Shelby’s words echoed again in her head. She could not ignore the request if there was any chance at all he could or would help. “Yeah, get him ready to go. I’ll take him over to where Ms. Fontaine said Drake’s likely location is.”

“Jack?”

“What, sir? I’m nearly there now.”

“You good for this?”

“Good for what?” She hit the parking-garage drive too hard and bumped her head against the roof of the car. “Ow! Fuckin’ A!”