A Barricade in Hell (24 page)

“I'm surprised you remembered, but yes, he still worked for the church in his off hours. Over the last few months, he'd been working with our pastor to raise money for a new sanctuary. The old one survived the quake, but needs to be replaced.” She winced and pressed a hand tight against her side. “Pastor Scott and Brad hit on the idea of renting the church hall out evenings. Choral groups and ladies' sewing circles mostly, but Brad found a very popular speaker too. Fees for using the hall three nights a week for several months was a tidy sum. Pastor Scott says they've raised almost half the builder's price already.”

“Mrs. Wells … did your husband mention the name of this speaker? Or the name of anyone who might work for this person?” Gabe's cop mask stayed firmly in place, calm and professional, hiding how fast his heart beat, or that sweat trickled down the small of his back.

He knew the answer. He needed to hear her say a name.

“I remember the men who came to the house to give Brad the deposit and pick up the contracts.” Adele wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Bradley introduced them as Conrad Lang and Jonas Wolf. I didn't care for how either of them spoke to me, so I excused myself as soon as was polite. I'm sorry, but I don't remember who they worked for.”

The creeping itch on the back of his neck grew worse, transforming guesses into certainty. One of the men hiring laborers for Effie Fontaine in Mr. Glibert's grocery had been called Jonas, an uncommon-enough name that the chance of two popping up in a short amount of time were very slim. Gabe was sure this had to be the same man. He knew where to start looking for these men and who they worked for, but building a solid case took time. Too much time.

That Jonas Wolf had been in Bradley Wells's home bothered him a great deal. Adele was already in danger. The more he and Jack poked around Effie Fontaine, the more the danger increased. They needed to move as quickly as possible.

Gabe refused to frighten her, so instead he chose a somewhat lesser evil. He lied. “We can find their employer if need be, Mrs. Wells. Just knowing their names is a big help. There's only a slim chance that these men had anything to do with your husband's death, but we need to follow all possible leads.”

Jack's glance acknowledged he knew what Gabe had done and why. He lied just as glibly. “Gabe's right, Adele. We'll follow up with Pastor Scott, but not all leads pan out. Don't get your hopes up.”

Telling the commissioner he was placing guards on the house, and why, wouldn't be pleasant, but he knew Lindsey would agree once he heard him out. Robert Lindsey was a blowhard, but Gabe was sure he'd do anything to keep his daughter and grandchild safe. He stood to leave, meaning to speak to the commissioner on the way out.

The front bell rang, drawing a scowl from Lindsey.

“Blast. This better be important. I'll be right back, Addie.” He stalked out of the room.

Jack squeezed Adele's hand and stood. “Thank you, Adele. You've been very helpful. If you need anything from me or Sadie, please let us know. Gabe and I will let you rest now.”

“I'll try.” She pressed a hand to her side again and grimaced. “This baby doesn't let me sleep much. I'm sure Sadie went through the same thing.”

He smiled. “She did. Those last weeks before Stella was born might be the only time I've seen Sadie grumpy.”

Lindsey appeared in the parlor doorway, his posture oddly stiff and formal. Gabe saw Marshall Henderson standing in the entryway near the open front door, hair soaking wet and plastered to his head, his coat sluicing water all over the oak floor.

Marshall wouldn't leave his post without reason. His heart caught in his chest for an instant, afraid that something had happened to Delia. But Marshall was watching Jack, his distress clear. That didn't make Gabe feel any better.

The commissioner cleared his throat. “Lieutenant, one of your officers needs to speak with you. I gather it's urgent.”

Jack saw Henderson waiting and hurried to meet him in the entryway. They kept their voices low and the conversation was brief, but after listening to what was said, Jack was ashen and visibly shaken. He grabbed his coat and ran out the front door.

Marshall stared out into the rain after him, but didn't follow. The sound of a car door slamming and an engine coming to life carried into the parlor from outside.

Very few things would cause Jack to leave so abruptly without saying where he was going, or telling Gabe why. The list was short and utterly terrifying.

Gabe retreated behind the shield of professionalism and pulled himself together. “Thank you again, Mrs. Wells. Commissioner, can I have a word before I go?”

They stepped into the hall. “Commissioner, I want to put an around-the-clock guard on your house. Hear me out before you object.” Gabe outlined why he felt the need to put guards around Adele, giving her father reasons that he hoped didn't sound like the ravings of a man jumping at shadows. The entire time he was patiently answering Lindsey's questions, Gabe's attention was tugged toward the open door. He couldn't help stealing glances at Marshall fidgeting in the doorway, watching Gabe anxiously and impatient to leave, but knowing he couldn't interrupt.

Lindsey finally ran out of steam. He ran a hand over his face. “I'll trust your judgment on this one, Ryan. I don't want to take any chances with my daughter's life. But I want your guards inside the house, where they can do some good, not out in the yard or standing on the street. I'll think of an excuse for Addie.”

Gabe shrugged on his coat and buttoned it before plucking his hat off the rack. Rain still speckled the gray wool, glistening in the lamplight. “Expect Officer Rockwell and at least two other men within the hour. I know Lon is on duty tonight, but I'm not sure who else is available. We won't let anything happen to your daughter.”

“Make sure of it, Ryan.” Lindsey eyed the parlor door and lowered his voice. “Catch these bastards. I don't care how you do it, just get them. I'll take the heat from the press if necessary.”

Gabe nodded. “My men will be here soon. Good afternoon, Commissioner.”

He followed Marshall onto the porch, pausing to pull his hat down tight and flip up his collar before they dashed to the car. Rain fell straight down in sheets, soaking yards and flower beds, and creating shallow rivers that ran downhill in the center of the street. Even with his collar turned up, large cold drops found their way down his neck, making him shiver.

Once inside the car, he gave Henderson almost no time to catch his breath. “What happened, Marshall?”

“Polk brought a message for the lieutenant from the station, Captain. He waited to take the lieutenant back with him.” Henderson twisted around to look at Gabe in the backseat, wide-eyed and face ashy with shock. “It's Archie Baldwin. He's dead.”

“Baldwin's dead.” Gabe stared, numbness filling his chest and slowing his thoughts. He'd tossed her a name, but Fontaine couldn't get to Archie, not locked away in a jail cell. She couldn't; that wasn't possible. “How?”

Marshall looked away and cleared his throat. “He hanged himself, Captain. Stripped the sheet off the bed and tied it to the bars.”

They sat there for a few seconds, neither of them saying a word. Henderson recovered first, starting the car and heading back toward the station without waiting for orders. Thinking for himself.

Gabe slumped against the seat, hat pulled low and staring out the rain-splattered window, fighting his guilt and losing. He kept circling back to the idea that Fontaine couldn't be responsible for Archie's suicide. She couldn't reach him.

Yet, somehow, she had. He knew she'd found a way to get to Archie, felt the truth of that knowledge nestle into his bones, even if he couldn't explain how.

But he'd find the answer. Then he'd lock Effie Ladia Fontaine away for the rest of her life.

 

CHAPTER 15

Delia

Isadora's home was both a haven and a fortress. Entering her house always lifted a weight from my shoulders, one I hadn't known I carried until it vanished. The protections woven around the house were designed to keep the spirit realm at bay, as well as block strong emotions from the people living around her. As sensitive as Dora was to pain and suffering, and the anger of spirits who resented leaving this world, she'd have gone mad long ago without a place to retreat.

She'd lived in the house seven years, and no ghost had been powerful enough to cross the threshold without her permission, or unless deliberately summoned by Dora. I counted on that holding true well into the future. Tarot readings sometimes stirred up unwelcome attentions in the spirit world.

We'd settled in her sitting room to wait for Gabe, Randy, and Jack. Rain pounded the side of the house, but the room was warm and snug, and bright enough I could perch on the window seat and read. The light dimmed as afternoon wore on, taking on the heavy gray cast of clouds and rain. I'd be forced to turn on a lamp soon or forgo my book.

The kitten was sleeping in a wicker basket Dora had pulled from a closet, content in a nest made from my scarf. Mai appeared to be comfortable in Isadora's house, likely for the same reasons I was. She'd lapped up most of a saucer of cream and promptly fallen asleep afterwards.

Dora sat at a round table in the center of the room, fussing with her tarot deck. She shuffled the tarot cards for the fourth or fifth time, mixing them well, squaring them up, and laying the deck atop the black silk cloth covering the table. Then she closed her eyes, head tipped to the side, and listened. Also for the fourth or fifth time, she frowned at the gilt-edged stack of cards once she'd opened her eyes, fingers drumming a slow rhythm on the tabletop.

“I don't understand this, Dee. The cards have never been angry before.” Dora stood abruptly, pacing over to the shelf in the corner that held her cigarettes and matches. She took a cigarette from the case, waving it around unlit as she talked. “Once or twice I've needed to coax them to cooperate, but this is different. They positively vibrate with rage.”

If I concentrated very hard, I heard an angry buzz, low and just within hearing. The noise was akin to the sound that came from a hornet's nest knocked to the ground by the gardeners, furious at being disturbed and hunting a target. There was a time I'd have thought I'd imagined hearing. Now I attributed very little to flights of imagination.

“Perhaps I should try. The cards might cooperate for someone else.” I moved away from the window seat and took the chair opposite Isadora's. “You said yourself that the tarot reacts differently to me.”

She lit the cigarette and sat at the table again, eyeing the cards. “You've done readings with this deck in the past. I suppose letting you handle the cards and lay them out can't do any harm. Perhaps if we concentrate on Gabe's reading first, the energy will calm down. But if they don't settle or become more agitated, we'll have to cancel and try the reading another day.”

“Perhaps I should have worn my fortune-teller robes. That might have made the cards happy.” Dora's raised eyebrow and exasperated expression made it clear she wasn't in the mood for levity. I laid my hand over the deck, half-expecting more than the feel of smooth paper against my skin. “Shouldn't Gabe be here for a reading? I thought the point was to find out why this ghost is so fixed on him.”

“Normally I'd agree, but a reading isn't going to give us many answers about who this ghost is or why she's attached herself to Gabe. A little guidance about directions for the future and what this all means is what I'm really hoping to find. If we're fortunate, the cards will point us in the right direction. I'm trying other methods to discover more about this spirit.”

Dora rested her cigarette on the sand-filled ash stand next to the table. She left the room briefly and returned to her chair with a rather large glass of whiskey in hand, and a book tucked under one arm. “Normal haunts are fixed on one person, almost always to the point that others in the world of the living don't exist for them. But this one has gone out of her way to involve other people, including her attack on you and disrupting Mrs. Allen's house. It's very clear to me she wants Gabe's attention and will go to any lengths to make sure he can't ignore her.
Why
she's so desperate is important and interests me a great deal.”

I shuffled the cards, cut them three times, and paused before laying out the first one. The angry buzz was gone, replaced by a sense of quiet eagerness. I'd never have attributed awareness or purpose to a pile of printed paper before meeting Dora. That time seemed far distant, a past that happened to someone else. “You've said from the beginning she doesn't behave like a normal haunt. Whatever this little girl spirit might be, I want her out of our lives.”

“I agree. Banishing her is for the best, no matter what her true nature.” She took a long drink of her whiskey, and another, all the while watching raindrops slide down the windowpanes. Dora set the glass aside and opened the book she'd brought back, flipping through pages. “I've spent my evenings going through books, looking for other possibilities. Some of what I found confirmed my first guess, that this spirit might be a kind of ghost-eater.”

My fingers tightened around the tarot deck. “You mean a demon.”

“In one sense of the word, yes, she might be. We spoke about that after our failed attempt to find Katie Allen's poltergeist. But even demons have limited degrees of power and a strict hierarchy. A mere ghost-eater wouldn't manifest the way this spirit does, nor would she be able to invade Gabe's dreams.” She glanced up from the book. “Ghost-eaters deal strictly with the dead. They have no purchase in the world of the living.”

Dora viewed most conversations about ghosts, haunts, and denizens of the spirit realm as opportunities to teach me something. As a result, she often took the longest road. Most days I didn't mind, as eager to learn as she was to pass on knowledge.