J Duncan - Deadworld

Like hell. Jackie shrugged. “Perhaps. We’d just like to talk to you for a few minutes and settle some questions for us. It won’t take long.” Or it could take all day, depending on how you answer, cowboy.

“Sure,” he said, waving them toward the back. “Come on back. Cynthia? No calls, please.”

“No problem, Mr. Anderson.”

Nick Anderson’s office was quiet and clean, but not compulsively so. There were a lot of Western motif knickknacks around, dominated by a saddle mounted to the wall behind his desk. Either the guy had some real Western blood in him, or he was really over-the-top on the whole cowboy image thing. She had a hard time imagining it as a selling point for a PI.

Laurel picked an old craftsman-style leather chair in the corner, as far away from him as she could get, avoiding the more comfortable-looking, overstuffed chenille chairs in front of the desk. Jackie wondered but said nothing. She decided to stand before the desk between the two chairs, close enough to show him she was not threatened.

Nick stopped before sitting down in his own chair. “Please sit, Ms…?”

“Agent Rutledge, and thanks, but I’ll stand for now, Mr. Anderson.” She wished Laurel had remained standing as well, but she merely sat in the chair, ramrod straight, clutching the case folder tightly in her hand. Ghost feeling must have been stronger in the office.

He sat down and leaned back, sipping at his coffee. “Okay. Suit yourself. What sort of questions did you have for me then?”

“Can you tell us where you were last night from roughly midnight until dawn?”

“Sleeping mostly. I was up around five thirty to go for a swim.”

Jackie bit off the sarcastic bark of laughter. “At five thirty AM? What pool is open at that time of day?”

He apparently found her annoyance amusing. “It’s quiet then and a pleasant way to begin the day when I have a case to think about. It helps clear my head.”

She found her mouth inching into a matching grin, her eyes locked on to his. What was it about them? They had a fire all their own. Or was it just a trick of the light?

Jackie snapped her gaze away from Nick’s, focusing instead on his mouth. Tricky little shit. This guy was smooth. She would have to see if he could be ruffled up a bit. “You happen to have any witnesses to corroborate this, Mr. Anderson?”

“Only if someone was hiding out at my lake.”

“Bit cold in the morning to jump into a lake, don’t you think?”

“More of an oversize pond, but I find it refreshing, and I’ve a high tolerance for the cold.”

The smile on his face once again had the corner of Jackie’s mouth quivering upward. A quick glance showed her that Laurel was riveted by this man. She sat unmoving, her pen poised on the blank notepad. What the hell was she seeing? Jackie wished she could have a word with her.

“So after the swim to clear your head, you did what?”

“Showered, ate, came into work around eight.”

“Were you here all day?” Come on, cowboy. Lie to me. Go ahead.

He shook his head once. “No. I left from about nine until one.”

“Doing?” The effort at sounding casual with the question did not fall well on Mr. Anderson. He leaned forward in his chair, placing the now empty coffee cup on the desk.

“Agent Rutledge,” he said calmly, “I was at your crime scene today. I was driving through the area and spotted the circus going on in the park. I was curious, so I stopped to see what it was all about. I ran into Agent Carpenter there when she was about to pass out, and then I decided to leave shortly after. I’d heard and seen enough to know more or less what happened.”

“What did happen, Mr. Anderson?” Jackie suppressed the urge to wipe the smile off his face, though, admittedly, it was the urge to smile along with him that got under her skin more than anything else. If she got the chance, she would have to ask him how he did that.

“Some sociopath exsanguinated a young boy and stuck him under a tree.” There was a note of anger there now, a hard edge to his voice.

“Agent Carpenter? Would you show Mr. Anderson our piece of evidence, please?” When no reply came, Jackie turned and cleared her throat. Christ! What was wrong with Laurel?

“Oh. Sorry.” Laurel flipped open the file folder and pulled out the sealed penny, handing it to Jackie with an apologetic smile.

Jackie frowned and plucked it from her fingertips, giving her a “What the hell?” stare. Laurel smiled apologetically, settling back into the chair. She spun back to face Nick and set the coin down on the desk. “Does this look familiar to you at all, Mr. Anderson?”

Something washed over his face, gone as quickly as it appeared. Surprise? Fear? Jackie could not be sure what. He picked up the coin and studied it intently for a moment, turning it over with large, steady hands. The eyes, which so often gave suspects away, narrowed just a hair. Without their gaze focusing on her, Jackie watched them, but everything about his demeanor remained unruffled and calm.

“It’s a penny.”

Nice deduction, Sherlock. She snatched the penny out of his hand. “Yes, a rather rare and very valuable penny. You know nothing of it?”

“Should I, Agent Rutledge? Was this found on the boy?”

Jackie handed it back to Laurel, who returned it to the folder. They were not going to get anywhere with the penny. That much was obvious. “Mr. Anderson, what exactly is it that you investigate? Special Investigations is a rather vague name.”

He paused. For the first time, he looked just a bit unsure about how to respond, and Jackie felt a twang of satisfaction run through her. He looked over at Laurel, and Jackie wondered why Laurel’s opinion would make any difference to him.

“Ghosts, Agent Rutledge. Most folk come to me about ghosts.”

Jackie blinked a couple times in disbelief. She heard Laurel suck in her breath. That had not been the answer she expected, but given Laurel’s response, it certainly made some sense. “Seriously? Why does the CEO of a multimillion-dollar medical company spend his time investigating ghosts?”

The bright hazel eyes caught hers again, and Jackie glared back. He certainly looked to be telling the truth, as bizarre as it sounded. “It’s something of a calling, I suppose.”

For about two seconds, it made perfect sense, but then Jackie shifted her eyes away, and the ridiculousness of it all rushed back. “So you expect me to believe a man of your means spends his time being a ghost hunter?”

He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking against his weight. “Why would I make up something like that, Agent Rutledge? I figured the FBI would have already known that. The fact is, I stopped at the park because I sensed a ghost in the area. Likely the boy’s. They will linger at a scene sometimes.”

“No,” Laurel said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jackie turned to look at her. “No?”

“No,” she repeated, standing up and walking up next to Jackie. “It wasn’t the boy’s ghost.”

Nick looked over at her, a genuinely curious look on his face now. “Do you know whose it was, Agent Carpenter?”

“No, but I sense it here, and it’s very close. In this building, I believe.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding. “You’re a medium then. I’d guessed as much.”

She shrugged. “Yes and no. I can sense spirits though, and something really strong is very close by. Do you know what it is?”

At that moment, the office door swung open, and a very pretty, dark-haired woman wearing black wraparound sunglasses poked her head inside.

“Nick! There are feds snooping-” She stopped, seeing the two of them at last, and grinned sheepishly. “Oh. Seems the feds are already here.”