A Soul To Steal (The Sanheim Chronicles, Book One) (6 page)

Since she had arrived in town, she had been forced to think about it. The memories and the dreams made it feel like it had occurred just a few days ago, not more than a decade before.

“Wherever I go, some part of me will always be here, Mom,” she said. “I can never leave it.”

She hadn’t visited the grave in years, but it was easy to remember where it was. It was always there in the dreams. She shouldn’t have come back. She had thought it might make it better, but now that seemed laughable. Instead, she was either waking up screaming or seeing things near the printing press. That vision had seemed so real…

She fought it off. Some part of her felt like pulling her hair out. She could never talk about this. Her mother’s death was an untreated wound she kept hidden from the world. It kept her weak and bleeding, but she would never let anyone see it. Sometimes she wished she had died too. She flexed her hand and stared at her mother’s grave. This was it. This was the way it would be. She would move on, but… this will always be here.

She jumped as she heard the gate swing open behind her. Reacting on instinct, she moved herself behind a tree for cover.

She saw a man walking down the path. It took a minute as he came closer to realize she knew him—it was Quinn from the paper. She watched him walk around the bend and made a move to follow. She wondered just what the hell he was doing here.

Kate watched as he walked down the hill and through the inner gate at the back. He paused, looking out at the pond below the cemetery. Then he walked forward and sat on a bench on the hillside.

Kate moved slowly and with great uncertainty. She felt like she was intruding somehow and forgot that it was he who had disturbed her moment at her mom’s grave. But he appeared to be merely sitting on the bench and made no move to do anything else.

Part of her thought she should leave. She should turn around and leave him in peace. But another side wanted desperately to know what he was doing. She also felt some kind of pull towards him, as if she couldn’t quite walk away even if she had wanted to.

Instead, she moved carefully. As she came closer, she could tell the bench was made out of marble. It appeared to be a memorial to someone, but obviously placed there so people could sit on it. She paused and wondered how to approach him.

Lacking a better idea, she moved so that she was in his peripheral vision and called out, “Hello Quinn.”

He jumped up, whirling around. For a moment, he looked ready to run away.

“It’s Kate,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I know,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “It’s just, well, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“What were you expecting?” she asked, and smiled at him.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting anyone to jump out at me,” Quinn said. “And certainly not someone who isn’t in a hockey mask or something.”

“Sorry about that,” she said, as she walked towards him. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” he said and gestured for her to sit down. “What are you doing here?”

“I was working out this way,” she lied. “I saw you walk in and I was curious.”

“Wow,” he said, and smiled at her. “You must be a good reporter.”

“I tend to follow my instincts,” she said.

“I can see that,” he said.

“I just wanted to see what you were doing,” she admitted.

“Honestly,” he said, “I’m just here to think. I feel very calm here.”

“So you come here often?” she asked.

“Only when I have had a rough day,” he said and laughed.

“Well, now we are talking,” she said and smiled. “What caused your rough day?”

She swung her legs around so she straddled the bench, then lifted one leg up and wrapped her arms around it.

“I don’t want to bore you to death,” he said.

“No, no,” she said. “Look, I haven’t had much conversation lately that isn’t about watches, or Bill’s treatise on the bologna sandwich. I could use a decent one.”

“All right,” he said, and grinned. “I’m game.”

“So what’s the problem?” she asked.

“Where do I start?” he laughed. “Buzz has got me running around God’s green acre working on business stories. Helen keeps bringing up a story about dog shit,  and Laurence’s idea of a raise is about 500 bucks a year.”

Kate laughed. She couldn’t help it.

“Dog shit?”

Quinn laughed back.

“Apparently, it’s quite the health issue. Nobody is cleaning up after their dog, people step in it, kids get sick and basically it’s the end of Western civilization.”

“Wow, that sounds like a great story,” Kate said, and smiled so he would know she was kidding.

“That’s Helen. She’s very generous. Not to mention pushy.”

Quinn stared back at the wall.

“I’m also getting my butt kicked by Summer and I haven’t slept more than four hours a night in roughly a gazillion years.”

“Summer?” Kate asked.

“Local
Post
reporter. Thinks she’s God’s gift to journalism. You’ll meet her soon enough.”

“Well, the sleeping part I can relate to. I have bouts of insomnia myself,” Kate said.

“Oh, I can fall asleep easily enough, but…”

“Dreams?”

“Dreams are nice fluffy things where you get the girl and save the day. What I have is definitely not that. And it feels so real.  I mean, I can hear sounds, feel the gravel beneath my feet… it all seems so intense. Then when I wake up, I don’t want to go back to sleep.”

Kate nodded in agreement. She didn’t want to say anything—she really didn’t know Quinn—but she could relate more than she wanted to admit.

“You have the dream a lot?” she asked instead.

“Every October,” he said, looking out at the pond.

“That’s strange. Only one month a year?”

“It started a little earlier this year, but yeah, always around now. And every year, it’s worse. If I had my way, I would prefer not to dream at all. Ever again.”

“Would you?” she asked as he turned back toward her.

“Yeah,” he said with more conviction. “I would. I’d kill to get rid of that dream. It infects everything else around it. I think about it way too often. Does that make any sense?”

“A lot, actually,” she replied. “But I don’t know if I could give up on dreams. I think maybe they are the closest thing to magic we have. They show us worlds that never existed, places we’ve been that are long gone and give us the ability to talk to the dead.”

Kate did not say what she was really thinking. That her dreams were the only place she could still talk to her mother.

“Mine don’t show me any of that,” Quinn replied. “At least not that I can remember.”

“Maybe it’s there, you just choose not to remember it,” she offered. “Besides, nightmares aren’t all bad. Sometimes they can be a warning.”

“Oh, believe me, that’s what I fear the most,” he said, looking back at her. “That’s the worst part.”

Quinn wanted to tell her the whole truth. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t. The truth would sound better than he had made it out to be. But he thought he might sound crazy. He worried he might have already gone too far.

It is one of the ironies of life that two people can have virtually the same thought at the same time and never really know it. Kate, too, was close to telling him the truth. She desperately wanted to talk to someone. About her mother, about her return to Leesburg, about everything. When was the last time she had talked about any of that?

But for Kate, it had been too long since she talked about it. Her experiences had taught her long ago not to let down the wall that kept others out. It might make you feel better for a time, but ultimately, it would only make matters worse.

For his part, Quinn would have been more than willing to tear down his own walls. Since the moment he had laid eyes on her, he had wanted to get to know her, to be her confidant. But it was precisely his desire that kept him from talking. Though he wanted to be close, he was afraid of what she might find out. Afraid that she would see him for what he really was. It seemed better—safer—to stay distant. Best not to let her see how weird his life had become.

And so they sat there in silence, staring across the gravestones toward the ducks on the pond. 

“This is a nice place,” Kate said after a time. “I can see why you come here.”

“It’s very peaceful,” he said. “You are going to think I’m crazy, but sometimes Leesburg feels a little crowded. My mind gets cluttered with stuff. I come here to get uncluttered.”

“That makes sense,” she said. She looked suddenly at her watch. “I need to get back to the
Chronicle
.”

“Well, it was good chatting with you,” Quinn said.

“You too,” she replied, and stood up. “You want to come with me?”

“I’ve got a little time to kill,” he said.

“You sure? Don’t we have that planning meeting to go to in a couple hours?”

Quinn stared at her blankly.

“Phillips Farm?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Quinn said finally. During the conversation, it had totally slipped his mind. Laurence had asked if he could give the Phillips Farm beat to Kate so she would have something to focus on. Considering Quinn was having trouble keeping up with his own responsibilities, he had been happy to let it go.

“I think Laurence was hoping you could show me around and introduce me to a few people at Friday’s meeting, but if you have some other plans…” she said.

Quinn laughed out loud, then stopped abruptly.

“Oh, you were serious,” he said. “No, I’m afraid many of my Fridays involve working. I’d be happy to come, I just forgot about it.”

He jumped up. He was suddenly cheerier at the thought of spending much of the rest of the day with Kate. She smiled at him.

“Great,” she replied.

They started off down the path side-by-side.

Chapter 6

“
The debate over the future of Phillips Farm continued to rage last week, with conservationists threatening to file a lawsuit to block any development of the land. Martha Paletta, director of  Protect Loudoun’s Heritage, said on Tuesday the group had received a large anonymous donation to continue its quest to stop development by Heller Brothers of the 100-acre property. ‘It just proves that people everywhere do not want to see this property destroyed,’ she said. Martin Heller, the co-founder of the development firm, said the group’s opposition would not deter the company from moving forward. A public meeting with county officials is scheduled Friday
.”

—Quinn O’Brion, “Phillips Farm Debate Started,”
Loudoun Chronicle

Friday, Oct. 6

Quinn moved through the crush of people to the front of the room. He did not see Kate anywhere. He just hoped she knew where to come. He had gone into Laurence’s office for a quick discussion, but when he came out he found a note on his desk that said she had run out for a bite to eat and would see him at the meeting.

Quinn had been disappointed, hoping that maybe they could have dinner together. And when he arrived at the meeting, he didn’t see her anywhere.

He moved to the front of the room to see a row of chairs reserved for reporters. They didn’t often get front row seats. Reporters as a rule tended to prefer the back where they could slip out if events were boring.

“So are you going to give me credit this time?” a voice asked behind him.

Quinn rolled his eyes. He did not turn around.

“Summer, what a pleasure to talk to you again,” he said.

A petite brunette with curly hair walked in front of him.

“I’m serious, Quinn,” she said.

“Give you credit for what?”

Summer snorted. “For this,” she said, and spread her hand out at the room.

“You called all these people here?” Quinn asked. “That’s funny, I thought the county did that.”

“You know what I mean,” she replied.

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him dramatically. On the surface, Summer could be considered pretty. She had a graceful figure, dark brown eyes and an attractive face. But there was an intangible quality below that—everything about her, the way she talked and moved, felt calculated. And beyond the pretty eyes there was something in her stare that reminded Quinn of the dull sheen of a boulder.

“What do you want me to say? It was a great story. You found out about the plan and I didn’t. Super job. Way to go, Tiger.”

“Thanks, but are you going to give me credit?” she said.

“Maybe,” he said and shrugged.

The move appeared to infuriate her, as Quinn knew perfectly well it would.

“Oh, come on. You have to. We reported it first and I’m so tired of everybody…”

“I don’t
have
to do anything,” Quinn said. “Remember a month ago? Who had the story about the Leesburg First State Bank getting slapped with a fine by the federal government for losing all those files? Last I checked, I exclusively reported that with a document leaked to me from a source. But when the
Post’s
Extra ran the story, with your by-line as I recall, I don’t remember getting any credit.”

“That was different,” Summer said. “I told you that I already had that document. If I had relied on your reporting in any way, I would have…”

“Oh, you had the document, did you?” Quinn said. “Is that the rule now? I thought reporters generally gave credit when they got beat to a story, not just when they didn’t already know about it.”

“Listen, this is totally different…”

“Am I interrupting something?”

Quinn had been so focused on his debate with Summer he hadn’t noticed Kate standing right by him.

Summer’s attention instantly shifted away from Quinn.

“Hi, I’m Summer Mandaville,” she said with a bright smile. “I’m with
The
Washington Post
.”

“The Loudoun Extra to be exact,” Quinn said.

Summer shot a dirty look in his direction and extended her hand. Kate shook it.

“I’m Kate Tassel,” she said. “I’m new with the
Loudoun Chronicle
.”

Quinn could almost see Summer stop the handshake. The smile stayed on the rival reporters’ face, but it appeared suspiciously plastic in nature.

“Oh,” she said. “Well, that’s great. The
Chronicle
could use a fresh face. It’s a good little paper. A great place to start.”

While Quinn silently fumed at the condescending words “good little paper,” Kate jumped to the rescue.

“Actually, I have several years experience already,” she said. “I chose the
Chronicle
. I wanted to join a paper that would really dive deeper into local issues. A lot of the larger papers don’t have the time or energy to do that.”

Summer’s smile slipped a little.

“Well, at the Extra…”

“Oh, I think it’s a great idea,” Kate said. “A free supplement buried in a big paper like that. It’s a great little handout.”

Quinn watched with glee as Summer struggled to find something to say.

“It was nice meeting you,” Summer finally said, in a tone that indicated it was anything but.

“Nice meeting you too,” Kate said cheerfully, as if nothing was amiss. “I’m really looking forward to getting to know you better. I’ll be covering the Phillips Farm case, so I’m sure we will see each other around.”

Summer nodded and walked to the end of the row before sitting down.

Quinn turned to Kate.

“That was fucking awesome,” Quinn said. “I have never seen anyone leave her speechless before.”

Kate grinned and she seemed to positively glow. She leaned in closer to Quinn and talked softly.

“Her article wasn’t that good,” she said. “I’ve just been handed the plan for the farm, and she got a couple facts wrong and missed the most important part. So we already have a good way to come back on this story. Also, your article did a better job than hers of really laying out the situation.”

Quinn looked at her to see if he could find a trace of flattery there. But Kate’s gaze held no dishonesty in it. She really thinks my story is better, he thought.

“Believe me, I will give her a run for her money on this story,” Kate said with a smile that on a competitor would have frozen Quinn in his tracks. “I so look forward to kicking her ass.”

Quinn thought he had never heard someone say anything so sexy in his life.

*****

From there the meeting was a blur. While Kate took notes as citizen after citizen spoke about protecting their local heritage, Quinn found it hard to concentrate. He was nominally there as back up, but one look in her direction and he knew he wasn’t needed. She knew what she was doing.

After the meeting was over, it was no different. Quinn watched as Kate made the rounds easily with everyone important in the room. Martha Paletta appeared to be practically eating out of her hand as Quinn stood nearby.

“We’ve got great plans for the place,” Martha was telling her. “We have a Christmas tree farm all set up for winter. In the meantime, we’ve just been planting a large vegetable garden. I know the folks around here aren’t much for pumpkins—for obvious reasons—but there’s still no reason not to grow some and sell a bundle in Fairfax County. Course I don’t think we have the manpower to pick everything out there, but it’s a start at paying some of the bills and the Phillips were incredibly kind to…”

Quinn lost interest. No wonder Summer had beat him on this story. A reporter was no good unless his story interested him. You do what you must to fill a paper, but you are never going to really own a story unless it owns you a little too.

Maybe I can take up an interest in dog shit, he thought. I can be the go-to guy for pooper scooper stories. He sighed. Quinn thought he should just be happy with what he had.

Quinn saw that he was not the only one to notice Kate’s easy access to the powers-that-be. While Kate sat down briefly with Martin Heller, local developer bogeyman, Quinn saw Summer staring in disgust.

Just because he could, Quinn decided to needle her a little.

“Looks like Kate is fitting in just fine,” he said as casually as he could.

“Martin chases anything in a skirt,” Summer replied.

Quinn leered at Summer for dramatic effect.

“Last I checked, you were wearing one too,” he said.

Summer waved him away.

“The guy won’t talk to me since I ran that profile of him,” she said.

Quinn thought back to the story three months ago. It hadn’t been his beat then—but he was forced internally to acknowledge it had been a good profile. Very tough, but not unfair. Just because Summer was a pain didn’t make her a bad reporter.

Of course, he was not about to tell her that. Instead he just grunted and Summer wandered away, casting dirty looks in Kate’s direction.

When most of the room had cleared, and Martin had walked away looking pleased with himself, Kate finally turned in Quinn’s direction.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” she said.

“Well, it was so clear you needed my help.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I’m quite shy, I’m sure you noticed,” she replied.

“Also, I thought I could give you a lift. I didn’t think you had a car.”

“I do, although I walk a lot,” she said. “But it’s getting late. That would be nice.”

They walked outside and Quinn took a deep breath. There was a smell in the air. He could never place it, but it reminded him of leaves blowing in the wind, night coming quicker—fall, in other words.

“It smells nice, doesn’t it?” Kate asked.

“Nothing like it,” he said. “Leesburg’s small enough so there isn’t much pollution. The air is nice and clean.”

He walked her to the car and opened the door for her before getting back in the driver’s side.

“So where’s home?”

“Leesburg Inn,” she said.

“I hope the company is paying for some of that until you find a place.”

“What do you think?”

“My guess would be no because they are cheap bastards.”

“Good guess,” she said.

It was not a far drive. Quinn was more than a little disappointed about that.

“So what’s up with you and Summer?” Kate asked.

Quinn practically choked and had to will himself not to stray from the road.

“I deeply hope I misunderstood that question,” Quinn replied.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. If I hit a nerve or something.”

“Well… I… No… I… just.”

Quinn looked over at her to see her smiling slyly back at him.

“You’re taking the piss, aren’t you?” he asked.

“If you mean making fun of you, yes,” she replied.

“Sorry—I’ve been around Janus too long. For the record, there is nothing between Summer and I, nor has there ever been, nor will there ever be.”

“Don’t worry, it seemed pretty obvious she wasn’t your favorite person.”

“Kate, I’ve met many people in my life,” he said melodramatically. “A lot of politicians, lobbyists, heads of trade groups. Some are great, but others are the most self-important people you could ever meet. And Summer beats them all with room to spare. She is the most effortlessly self-involved person I’ve ever met.”

“Sounds charming.”

“Also, she has a persecution complex a mile wide. She thinks everybody is out to get her.”

“Is she right?”

“Well, some of the time. In terms of her reporting though, Summer’s intense and definitely no slouch. She’s desperate to make it to
The
Washington Post
—absolutely consumed by the idea.”

“She already works there,” Kate said.

“Yes and no. The Loudoun Extra is very segregated from the main paper. So around here she can say she works for the
Post
, but it isn’t like she can escape Loudoun exactly. They view her as belonging to a satellite—and slightly inferior—office. So she works her butt off to try and get stories into the main paper. Something that will help her prove to them she’s ready for the big time.”

“Hard to do, I’ll bet.”

“Sure. My point is she’s tough. If you want to beat her, believe me when I tell you I would like nothing better. But she’ll give you a run for your money. You might be able to charm people to tell you the truth, but she will beat them over the head with a stick until they give her what she wants.”

“Don’t worry, I can be plenty aggressive when I need to be,” Kate said.

Quinn looked at her. For a moment, she looked so serious that he was worried he had offended her. But she smiled back at him.

“Here we are,” she said.

They pulled into the Leesburg Inn. Quinn pulled up to the door hoping she might stay in the car a while longer, but she thanked him for the ride and was almost out of earshot before he thought to stop her.