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“Nothing important.”

  “ Thug tu d'eitheach, ” she returned, calling me a liar. Even though her tone held no anger, I knew she was somewhat serious because she had resorted to Gaelic.

  “Okay, how about nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Aye, do you really want me to say it again?”

  “Not really.”

  “Then tell the truth.”

  I fell quiet for a moment then attempted to redirect the conversation. “Are you about ready to go?”

  “Just a minute, I’m almost finished,” she told me then paused for a moment herself. I really should have known better than to think I could get away with diverting the topic, and she proved that when she asked, “You were talking about her, weren’t you? Miranda.”

  “She came up,” I replied.

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “And what about her?”

  “We decided not to invite her to the Christmas party,” I said, unsuccessfully trying to lighten the tense mood.

  “Be serious.”

  I shrugged in surrender. “Honestly, I’m not sure what you want me to say, sweetheart.”

  “I’m not sure either,” she sighed, then her voice took on a hint of fear as she added, “She’s still out there.”

  “I know,” I said, trying to sound soothing. “And, yes, that’s what we talked about.”

  “So what do we do about it?”

  “I’m working on it. We have the necklace put away.”

  “Aye. Do you plan to explain that at some point?”

  “Eventually, once I’m sure about some things. But, for right now though, as long as it stays in that jar of salt and you don’t come into contact with it, we should be fine.”

  “And what if it isn’t?”

  “That isn’t an option.”

  “But…”

  “No… No but’s…” I calmly interrupted her. “Listen to me, honey, it’s only been a few days. Everything is way too fresh right now. Just give yourself a little time to deal with all this, okay?”

  She didn’t respond. Instead she glanced down and began carefully tucking the tubes and compact into her purse. “I just need to touch up my lipstick,” she finally said, her tone flat and words terse. “But I’ll do that when we get there. I suppose we should get moving.”

  “So, are you mad at me now?” I asked.

  “No.” She shook her head as she looked over at me. “No… I’m sorry… I’m just…” She let out a frustrated breath and shook her head again. “I’m just trying to cope with… with…”

  “The guilt?” I offered.

  “Yes, but it’s not what you think… I mean, it is, but it’s something else too… It isn’t just… It’s… It’s just something you wouldn’t… It’s…”

  “I know, honey,” I cut her off. It was obvious that the time had come for confession whether I wanted it to or not. At least it had for Felicity and me. I held up my hand to stop her from stammering on further then said, “Believe me, I know exactly what you are feeling…”

  “You can’t possibly…” she began.

  I rushed to interrupt her again. “You feel guilty because as sad as you are that Carl died, you’re glad it was him we put in the ground today instead of Constance.”

  She gave me a startled look then slowly nodded as she placed her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes. After a moment she let out a long, low sigh and with a slight tremble in her voice, asked, “What did Miranda do to me, Row? What did that saigh change inside of me that I can even think such a horrid thing?”

  “Nothing,” I said, reaching over and brushing the hair away from her face. “Nothing at all… Because, Gods help me, I’ve been thinking the exact same thing.”

  Sunday, March 12

  8:22 A.M.

  Saint Louis, Missouri

  CHAPTER 4:

  “You look like hell,” I said, voicing my matter-of-fact observation in as jovial a tone as I could muster.

  “Yeah, fuck you too,” Detective Benjamin Storm grunted as he fixed me with a bleary-eyed gaze then shook his head and let out a heavy sigh.

  He was sitting across the table from me, where I had just joined him in a booth at Charlie’s Eats, a small diner that occupied a piece of corner real estate at Seventh and Chouteau, not terribly far from city police headquarters downtown. It was a favorite hangout of cops for meal breaks since they could get something more than just a sandwich. On top of that, the service was fast, the prices were reasonable, and its close proximity to the station didn’t hurt either.

  I was actually no stranger to Chuck’s, as the greasy spoon was affectionately called, though at times I felt like the only civilian in the place-with the exception of the staff of course. However, with life having been in such turmoil over the past several months, it had been quite some time since my last visit. Still, I wasn’t surprised in the least to see that little, if anything, had changed. Even the age-yellowed, multi-generational photocopy boasting that these premises were protected by Smith and Wesson still occupied its conspicuously prominent place on the back of the cash register for everyone to see. Of course, given that standard issue for city police officers was the Beretta nine-millimeter, someone had used a marker and added that fact underneath as well.

  “Rough night or something?” I asked my friend as I settled in and folded my jacket in the seat next to me.

  “Yeah, I guess ya’ could say that,” he grunted again. “Got called out on a body in a dumpster at around one this mornin’, haven’t stopped since.”

  “Never seems to end, does it?”

  “Nope. It sure as hell don’t.”

  I twisted slightly and rolled my left shoulder before reaching up and carefully massaging the side of my neck.

  “You okay?” my friend asked.

  “Yeah,” I replied, wincing slightly. “I think I just slept in a weird position or something. I’ve had this pain in my neck off and on all morning. Nothing bad, really, just kind of annoying.”

  “Yeah, well at least you slept.”

  “So, if you’ve been up all night then why aren’t you at home in bed right now?”

  “It’s Sunday the twelfth, ain’t it? Accordin’ ta’ my calendar we’re s’posed to meet for breakfast, right? Must be, ‘cause you’re here.”

  “Yeah,” I said, giving him a shrug. “But we started arranging these things on weekends for a reason. Since you ended up working anyway, you could have called me and begged off. I would have understood.”

  “Yeah, well, believe me I thought about it,” he replied with a yawn and then added, “But, ya’ know, I still gotta eat.”

  “When aren’t you eating?” a female voice filled with good-natured sarcasm slid directly in behind his comment.

  We both looked up to find a young blonde woman clad in blue jeans, a faded “Eat at Chuck’s” sweatshirt, and a server’s apron now standing next to the table. She wielded a Pyrex carafe in one hand and a ceramic mug in the other. She slid the cup in front of me, then with a quick flourish, deftly filled it with hot coffee.

  “Hey, Wendy,” I greeted the waitress.

  “Rowan. Long time no see,” she replied with a grin. “You haven’t been cheating on us and going to another diner have you?”

  I chuckled. “Never. You know this is my one and only. I’ve just been a little busy.”

  “I know the feeling,” she said. “So, how’s Felicity?”

  “Doing well. Sassy as ever and twice as gorgeous.”

  “You wouldn’t have her any other way.”

  I nodded and smiled. “True.”

  Wendy turned her gaze toward Ben. “Have I told you that you look like crap today, Storm?”

  “Three times since I got here,” he replied as he pushed his mug toward her. “This time makes four.”

  “I’m just looking out for you.” She grinned as she topped off his java. “So… Are you ready or do you need a couple of minutes?”

  “I’ve been ready,” Ben t
old her. “I’ll have the usual, with a side of aspirin.”

  “Headache?”

  “Yeah.”

  She cocked her head to the side and acted as if she was inspecting him. “Yeah. Looks to me like it would hurt.”

  “Yeah… Funny.” Ben didn’t sound amused.

  “Want me to just bring you the bottle?”

  “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Rowan could prob’ly use ‘em too. He was just sayin’ he’s got a pain in ‘is neck.”

  “And I’m guessing that would be you?”

  “Uh-huh…” he muttered. “Still not funny.”

  “Okay, got it, a number twelve with chili, and the aspirin,” she said.

  “You forgot the extra onions,” my friend reminded her.

  “Actually I remembered but I was hoping you’d forget,” she quipped. “I’ll go ahead and bring you a roll of breath mints with that too.”

  “Jeez, you’re a friggin’ laugh a minute today, ain’t ya’?”

  “Aren’t I always?” she said with a smile. “How about you, Rowan?”

  “I don’t know… Do I want a number three?” I asked.

  I had learned long ago that Wendy wasn’t going to let me order for myself. She always asked what I wanted at the outset, but nine times out of ten she would endeavor to talk me into something else. I still had no idea why she insisted on ordering for me because she didn’t do it for everyone, only a select few. In any case, it hadn’t taken long for me to simply roll with it and let her have her way.

  “No… I don’t think so,” she returned, shaking her head. “You really look more like you want a number five today.”

  I didn’t bother to inquire what a number five was because I already knew all of the single digit selections on the menu were varying numbers of eggs with some combination of breakfast meats and toast. Besides, she’d never steered me wrong yet. Instead I just asked, “Do I want my eggs scrambled?”

  “I think you’re in the mood for over hard today,” she replied.

  “Okay, do I want a side of biscuits and sausage gravy with that?”

  “Definitely.”

  I grinned. “Great, I was hoping I did. Okay, sounds good to me.”

  Ben waved a finger at me and told her, “Oh yeah, in case he forgets to tell ya’, give him the check. It’s his turn ta’ buy.”

  Wendy winked at me as she turned to go put in our orders, “Don’t worry. I’ll give you the cop discount.”

  I gave her a quick nod and smile. “Thanks.”

  When she was gone I turned my attention to the steaming cup of coffee she had slid in front of me. Leaning a bit to my left I snatched the saltshaker from the end of the table then tipped it up over the brew and gave it a couple of healthy jiggles. After a moment I set it aside and gave the contents of the mug a quick stir with a spoon.

  Ben had been watching me the entire time, and now he grunted, “So what’s your excuse, white man?”

  “For what?”

  “For bein’ brain dead this mornin’.”

  I took a sip of the coffee. “What are you talking about?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Are ya’ tellin’ me that tastes okay to you?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine.”

  “Row, I just watched ya’ put salt in it instead of sugar.”

  “I don’t take sugar in my coffee. Except when it’s really bad coffee.”

  “So ya’ did it on purpose?”

  “Yes. Besides, if you thought I was screwing up, why didn’t you stop me?”

  “‘Cause I thought maybe when ya’ tasted it, the look on your face would be funny an’ I could use a laugh.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Jeezus,” he mumbled. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why’d ya’ just salt your friggin’ coffee?”

  “It’s an experiment,” I replied. “I’m trying to stop the voices in my head.”

  “Voices in your… You mean like the Twilight Zone stuff?” he asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m retired, remember?” I offered the rhetorical question as my answer. “I’m just Rowan Gant, computer consultant now. No more consulting for the cops. I’m through talking to dead people and chasing down their killers. Finished. Done.”

  “Uh-huh… So then why do ya’ keep dunnin’ me about Devereaux every coupl’a days?”

  “That’s different. She’s unfinished business.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “She is.” I shrugged. “But if it makes you feel better, then you can call me semi-retired for the time being.”

  “How ‘bout I call ya’ full’a shit,” he grunted. “So…is it workin’?”

  “You mean the salt?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I think so.”

  “Prob’ly ain’t all that great for your blood pressure,” he commented.

  “And the pot said to the kettle…” I replied, implying reference to the overabundance of salt he customarily doused on his meals.

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  “So, since you brought her up, is there any word on Annalise yet?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve still got some feelers out, but like I keep tellin’ ya’, you’re askin’ the impossible. Last thing I heard was she lawyered up with some kinda high-dollar dream team.”

  “What good will that do?” I asked. “I thought there was a ton of hard evidence against her.”

  “There is,” he replied. “But she still gets ‘er day in court, and she’s got more money than God, so there ya’ go… Might not get ‘er off, but they might be able ta’ skate on the needle if they play it right. All depends on how good they are. But what the hell, either way somebody’s makin’ a paycheck.”

  I rubbed my neck as the pain ebbed, then I let out a sigh. With a little luck, maybe things were finally starting to loosen up, and I wouldn’t have to deal with the nuisance the whole day.

  “Do you think you could get me some of their names?” I asked. “Maybe I could come at it that way.”

  “Yeah, I can get that no problem,” he said with a nod. “But I doubt it’s gonna do ya’ any good. You’re pretty much the enemy where she’s concerned. Why the hell would they let ya’ talk to ‘er?”

  “I don’t know, Ben, but it’s worth a try.”

  “Well, personally I think it’s a waste of time, but then it ain’t my time so whadda I care.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So lemme ask ya’ somethin’ anyway… Don’tcha figure you and Firehair are in the clear now? I mean it’s been like what? Better’n two months now without a peep?”

  “When I’m able to undo that spell, then I’ll figure we’re safe. Not before.”

  “Yeah, well I hope that works out for ya’.”

  “Just keep trying for me, okay?” I asked. “And if you can get me the names of her attorneys I’d really appreciate it.”

  “Yeah, okay. That I can do.”

  I switched the subject. “So, enough about that. How’s Constance? We haven’t talked to her in a week or so.”

  “Pissy,” he replied. “But other than that, good…” A low trill started and began escalating in volume. Ben reached over to his wadded up jacket and rummaged around in the pocket while adding, “She’s got cabin fever if ya’ know what I mean. They’re gonna let ‘er start physical therapy next week, so I’m hopin’ that oughta help ‘er mood a bit.”

  I nodded agreement as he flipped open his phone then pressed it to his ear and said, “Yeah, Storm.”

  Wendy appeared at almost the same instant, carrying plates and the carafe of coffee. Settling the hot globe on the table, she shuffled one of the oblong dishes out of the crook of her arm and slid it in front of Ben then placed the other in front of me. Reaching into a pouch on her apron, she pulled out a bottle of aspirin and set it on the table as she topped off our mugs.

  “I’ll be right back with your biscuits and gravy,” she told me quietly. “Oh, and by the way, Chuck said since you’ve
got to put up with Storm, breakfast is on the house this morning.”

  “Tell him I said thanks,” I whispered with a smile.

  “…Okay, and you’re sure?” Ben was saying. “Yeah… Uh-huh… Yeah… I’m not so sure I wanna do that…” He glanced up at me for an instant then looked away. “Yeah… I know… But, who… Uh-huh… Okay… I’ll see what I can do, but I ain’t makin’ any guarantees… Yeah… Okay, so when is that? Yeah… Okay… No, I’m throwin’ down some breakfast over at Chuck’s… Yeah… Prob’ly half hour, maybe forty-five minutes… Yeah…okay, see ya’ then.”

  “Problem?” I asked as I watched him fold the phone and tuck it away.

  “No. Not really,” he replied.

  I wasn’t convinced, but then again, I knew better than to pressure him about that sort of thing. Odds are it was work related anyway, so I definitely didn’t need to hear it. Instead of pursuing the topic, I shrugged and reached for the peppershaker, but as I did, a sharp twinge erupted on the side of my neck once again. I pulled my hand back and reached up to massage it as I had done before.

  “Neck again?” my friend asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, wincing. “I must have really seriously pinched a nerve or something.”

  “Maybe you should have it looked at,” he said, while liberally salting the mound of food in front of him.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Or then again, maybe it’s somethin’ else,” he suggested, a mildly cryptic tone in his voice.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, shooting him a puzzled look.

  He slid the saltshaker toward me then reached for the aspirin. “Ya’ might wanna salt your coffee again.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Sure you don’t wanna salt your coffee?”

  “Ben…”

  He shrugged. “Okay, don’t blame me, I tried… So I know you say you’re retired and all, but lemme ask ya’ somethin’. Whaddaya know about vampires?”

  CHAPTER 5:

  “I get it,” I replied, voice flat and clearly humorless. “My neck hurts. Vampires. Witches. Very funny for a Halloween joke. Too bad it’s March and not October.”

  Ben shrugged as he tossed back the aspirin. After taking a swig of his coffee, he picked up his fork and said, “Yeah, well tell that to the girl I watched the coroner stuff in a body bag a few hours ago.”