Cat Adams - Demon Song

“No, I just remember her mentioning what she called her senior trip . I’ll work on it overnight. Maybe something will pop into my head.”

He tapped the pen on the pad for a moment and then nodded. “Okay. But it could be the key to everything, so think really hard. We’ll talk again tomorrow. Same time?”

I flipped the calendar a day and then checked my watch. It was nearly noon. My only morning appointment was at ten. “How about eleven? My afternoon’s packed, and I might need driving time.”

Shawn pulled out his BlackBerry and punched the screen a few times. “Done and done.” He stood up and pointed the pen at me. “Think hard,” he repeated. “This could be the difference between a short search and one that takes years.”

I agreed. “I’ll pull out all the stops. I promise.” I desperately hoped I wasn’t lying, but I feared I might be. I did know a couple people who might be able to help, but it was a long shot at best.

He let himself out while I gathered together my purse and car keys. Moments later I walked past the front desk, mulling over the dozen things I still needed to do today, like remember to look for the fly in my car. I held out a hand expectantly and, as always, Dawna responded by stuffing a stack of messages into it.

Muttering, “Thank you,” as I reached for the doorknob, I was startled when Dottie’s voice stopped me: “Sunscreen?”

Dawna added a reminder: “Umbrella?”

Crap. I’d forgotten to slather myself up before heading outdoors. Again. Guess I was still tired from the night’s activities.…

“Thank you, ladies.” Shaking my head, I started back upstairs. My makeup had a 50 SPF built in, but I’d only put it on my face, not arms, hands, or neck. Yes, it was winter, but it’s also California. So far I hadn’t turned to ash in the sunlight like most vampires. But I burn like nobody’s business. Just getting to my car, the morning after I was turned, left me with second-degree burns. They heal, but they hurt as bad as falling asleep on the beach for the afternoon.

“Here. I bought extra for the front desk. For ‘weather emergencies.’ ” Dawna held out a bright orange and blue tube. Like the makeup, it had the highest possible SPF.

A sigh slipped out of me. “You’re the best, girlfriend. Sorry I’ve become such a pain in the butt.”

She waved a hand at me with a “pshaw” expression. “You’ve always been a pain in the butt, girl. Just new and different kinds lately.” Dottie chuckled but kept her eyes on the computer screen. “It keeps our relationship … spicy. Like my grammy always says, spend your time with those who challenge you.”

Dawna’s grandmother is a tiny little Vietnamese woman who met and fell in love with an American soldier who protected their village for a week against tough odds after his squad was killed. He married her and brought her back to his home because he said she made the best ph this side of heaven. I agreed. It was “grab your tongue and throw it to the floor” good. She said she married him because he was smarter than she was. I wasn’t sure I agreed.

I squeezed a glop of white lotion into my palm, letting the coconut and other scents take me to a happier time, when all I had to worry about was off-center tan lines. “Did I ever thank her for the last batch of phở, by the way?”

Her brow furrowed and lips pursed. “Don’t remember. But I’m sure I did for you. I should ask her to make another batch. That woman loves to cook and nothing in the world makes her happier than to be asked to do it.”

I slathered the lotion on all bits of exposed skin, including my ears, before handing back the tube. “Thanks. All set now. Or have I forgotten anything?”

The two women looked at each other. “Nothing I can think of offhand,” Dawna said. “What did Alex tell you about the sniper who tried to take off your head at the Will reading? I know they caught him, but did they ever find out why he was shooting at you or who he worked for? She wouldn’t tell me squat.”

I swore under my breath because it hadn’t even occurred to me to ask. “No. But I’ll ask her when I talk to her tomorrow.” I glanced at the person in the waiting room, probably a client of Ron’s, who raised his head at the mention of the word “sniper.” I really didn’t want to talk any more about it with people listening. “Thanks for the reminder.” It’s sad when a sniper who’d tried to put three bullets into your brain slips your mind. For most people, it would possess their every waking moment. For me, it was a humdrum daily event.

Sad, that. I need better days.

On the way to my car, I flipped through the messages using one hand and my lips because the other hand was holding the umbrella. Most were from existing clients asking if I was available for certain dates and times. I wouldn’t know until I checked my calendar, so I tucked those in my pocket. As I unlocked the driver’s door, one of the messages caught my eye and made me nearly drop the umbrella. I did drop the car keys.

The message was from John Creede:

You didn’t have to return the fly, but the report gave me a lot of information. Thanks. But you’re not off the hook for dinner.

What the hell?

No wonder I couldn’t find the fly. Someone had delivered it to Creede. And while it was nice the fly had found its way back home, that meant … crap!

I picked up my car keys and raced back into the building. Both women looked up and Dawna opened her mouth. I shook my head frantically, holding a finger over my lips. Dottie looked around as if she thought something was going to jump out of the shadows. I grabbed a pen and reached for the spiral-bound message book.

Call Justin. Have him come and do a FULL sweep for bugs. The roaches seem to have especially big ears upstairs.

I turned the book so they both could see it. Dawna stared at the message, mouthing the words several times. On the surface, it seemed like I was asking them to call an exterminator because of an infestation. And I was. Except Justin didn’t work for Orkin. He was our security consultant. The “bugs” I was worried about were of the electronic variety. Only Creede and I had been in the room when he’d handed me the fly and asked for a report, and I sure as hell hadn’t mentioned that to Jones. Okay, it was possible that I’d talked while under the influence at the safe house. Possible, but unlikely. Former torturers would agree that I’m hard to break. Those who are still alive, anyway.

Then Dottie’s face lit up and she wrote the words “listening devices” on her palm. Dawna’s expression shifted from elation at understanding my message to fury at the implication. I didn’t blame her. She nodded briskly and reached for the phone and I headed back to my car, feeling better. Jones is good, but Justin is better. He’d find whatever Jones had planted.

A perfect blue sky with fluffy clouds under a warm sun just didn’t scream Christmas. It sucked that I had to drive my Miata convertible with the top up, but nowadays I can only put it down at night. The Salvation Army bell ringer on the corner near the building, in somber-colored long sleeves, was out of place in a sea of color and movement. But she reminded people of the season nonetheless and they opened wallets and purses to stuff coins and paper into the red plastic bucket.

About halfway to Birchwoods, I realized I’d forgotten to call my gran before heading out the previous night. I turned on the radio, then tucked my cell phone into the holster on the dash and attached the nifty device that lets the sound come through the radio speakers. I hit the speed dial and she answered on the first ring. “Hi, Gran. What’s new?”