J Duncan - Deadworld

“More villains need to live out this way,” Laurel said. “It’s lovely out here.”

Jackie gave her a wry look. “Have we passed a single coffeehouse in the past twenty minutes?”

“You’ve had enough caffeine for the day, young lady. Besides, I could see you living out here. Look!” She pointed at a large white farmhouse, complete with blue shuttered windows, a picket fence, and an ancient tractor with a FOR SALE sign leaning against its front grill. “That place is beautiful.”

“And what would I do with a place like that?” Place for a bed, her piano, a fridge, and a bathroom was everything she needed. The rest was just wasted space.

“You could raise three or four kids in a place like that and still have space. A nice, strong guy to throw the hay bales around.” She grinned at Jackie. “Anyway. I’m just saying-”

“Three or four kids? Are you insane? I can barely take care of my goddamn cat.”

“Actually,” Laurel said with all seriousness, “I can see it pretty goddamn clearly.”

Jackie stared at her for a second. Was this one of those prescient moments? God, please, no, she thought. “You know as well as I do, Laur. I’d be a horrible mother.”

“You’d be a great mom.” The clipped, forceful tone of her voice had Jackie leaning up against the door. It was that “I know better than you, so shut the fuck up” voice. Sadly, the damn witch was usually right.

“I really hate that tone of voice.”

“You just hate that I’m right.” Laurel crossed her arms over her chest and stared straight ahead at the road, a smug smile on her face.

Jackie grumbled and shook her head. “Bitch. I’m getting a new partner.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Shut up!”

Laurel laughed but said nothing more.

Special Investigations, Inc. was a very unassuming place. A simple, one-story, brick office building with a small paved parking lot stood in a small strip of older shops in a blip of population along the highway. The downtown was one of those more recently renovated sorts that gave the buildings much of their old-world charm. Cracks in the parking lot were sprouting dandelions and grass, but across the street wafted the heavenly aroma of a doughnut shop.

Laurel pointed at what Jackie’s nose had immediately sniffed out when they got out of the car. “Bet there’s lattes in there. Everyone makes them now.”

“On our way out,” she replied. Walking up to the door, Jackie noticed the name of an attorney on the door above Nick Anderson’s. The attorney’s name was twice as big.

“Not big on advertising, is he?”

“Yeah. Low-profile type.” She failed at hiding the sarcasm.

Jackie opened the door and stepped inside, finding a short hallway down the middle of the building dividing Special Investigations from the attorney. The door to the office was unlocked, so she opened it up and found herself in a typical reception office. A variety of Western-themed paintings adorned the walls, which were painted a cool and soothing blue. The furniture was worn but well made with soft, brown leathers and dark wood stain. Next to a colorful bouquet of flowers on the spacious desk was a cute thirty-something. She could have been passing herself off as Santa’s girlfriend with the bright red, tailored suit. Jackie could tell by the way she studied them that the woman was no airhead.

The woman smiled, friendly but still cautious. “Good morning, and welcome to Special Investigations. How may I help you?”

Jackie laid her badge down on the desk. “FBI. I’m Agent Rutledge, and this is Agent Carpenter. I believe Mr. Anderson is expecting us.”

The woman picked up the badge and gave it a thorough look before nodding once and handing it back with the same friendly smile. Not a single flinch of worry or concern crossed her face.

“Might I inform him as to what this is about?” The voice was polite in that almost saccharine way that told you a person was not terribly fond of your presence.

“If you could just inform him we’re here to see him,” Jackie said, trying to mimic the same sweet tone. Behind her, Laurel walked around the room studying the paintings.

The woman shrugged, watching Laurel’s casual perusal as she did. “Very well. One moment.” She called, and the sound of a phone ringing in the back room could be heard. “Mr. Anderson? There are two women here from the FBI to see you. Yes, the badges look legit.” She glanced at each of them for a moment. “Yes, that’s right. Okay. You’re welcome.”

Jackie frowned at the knowing little smile the woman gave them. There had been a strong tone of familiarity in her voice. Either she and Mr. Anderson went back a long ways, or they were intimate. The deep voice on the other end had been slow but too quiet to make out any of the words.

“If you’d like to have a seat, he said he’d be just a moment.”

“Thanks,” Laurel said and sat down in one of the leather chairs.

Jackie turned to give her a look but stopped when she saw Laurel’s grim face. Her mouth was pulled taught, her eyes squinting with concentration. With her back to the secretary, Jackie gave Laurel a quizzical look. What’s going on? Laurel didn’t notice, so Jackie turned back to the woman.

“Actually, could we bother you for something to drink?”

The opportunity to get up and do something appeared to relieve the secretary. “Sure. No problem.” The loose-fitting red skirt swished back and forth as she hurried down the short hall to the partial kitchen inset into the wall. “There’s fresh coffee,” she called back at them.

“Great for me,” Jackie replied. “Water for Agent Carpenter.” She leaned over Laurel, lowering her voice to barely above a whisper. “What? You sense something?”

The frown relaxed a bit while one hand played idly at the crystal around her neck. “I think I just felt a ghost.”

Jackie arched an eyebrow. “You sure?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Gone now, but it was here when we walked in, and the same feeling from the scene is here. It’s like ghost central.”

That was the last thing Jackie wanted to hear. She avoided asking herself if it could get any weirder. “You okay for this?

“Yeah, just a little unexpected is all. I’ll be okay.”

“Agents, here’s your coffee and water.”

Jackie nearly jumped out of her skin. The woman had made no sound coming up behind them and now wore a curiously innocent expression on her face. She would have put her month’s check on the fact that the secretary was far from that. Jackie gave her a halfhearted smile. “Thanks.”

“I hope it’s not too strong. I watered it down just a bit. Mr. Anderson likes his coffee to hold spoons upright.”

“It’s fine.” Could not fault the guy for that, at least.

He came out then, holding his own steaming mug, brown hair cropped short and laying close to his scalp, and with brilliant, gleaming hazel-brown eyes. Jackie found herself staring and finally blinked away. It was the same look from the video. Nobody’s eyes were naturally that color. He had on rough, leather, square-toed boots; faded blue jeans; and a long-sleeved, navy-blue T-shirt. Not a dress-up kind of guy, but he was fit, lean muscle through and through. He looked a bit older than his forty years. It was the slight crow’s-feet around the eyes, Jackie decided. The rest of his face was smooth, if a bit unshaven.

“Good morning, agents,” he said and nodded to each of them. “I’m Nick Anderson. How can I help you?”

No sign of nervousness in the voice. He appeared relaxed. Jackie took a sip of her coffee. “We’d like to ask you a few questions regarding Archibold Lane.”

His eyes widened a hair. “This a case I’m involved with? The name isn’t familiar.”