Clarity (12 page)

Detective Toscano nodded and poked his head into the hallway. “Bring them in!”

A parade of five guys marched into the room on the other side of the glass and followed orders to face the mirror. They were all a little under six feet tall and skinny, with short haircuts. One in particular was good-looking, in a bad-boy kind of way, with spiky hair, pierced ears, and tattoos down his arms.

Mom walked slowly across the room, stopping now and then to close her eyes and purse her lips. After several minutes, she sat. “I can rule out number two.”

Number two was the good-looking bad boy, and from the look Gabriel and his father just shared, I guessed he was Joel Martelli.

“You can only rule out one of them?” Detective Toscano asked, with an annoying I-knew-it tone.

Mom gave him an icy stare. “I can’t flip through their memories. I can only hear what they’re thinking right now. So if the murderer was thinking, ‘Yeah, I killed her. I did it and I’m going to do it again,’ right now, then I’d hear it. But none of them are thinking that.”

“Then why did you rule out number two?”

“He’s terrified because he stole a car and he thinks he’s going to be charged for that.”

“So?” Anthony said.

Mom sighed. “If you murdered someone and stole a car, which crime would you be more worried about getting fingered for while standing in a lineup?”

“What about the others? Anything from them?” Mr. Spellman asked.

“Nothing interesting. Though number four thinks Detective Toscano has a cute rear end.”

Detective Toscano blushed and left the room, mumbling about a waste of his time. Mr. Spellman thanked us for coming and told us we could go.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do more to help,” Mom told me.

I waved her off. “You did great, Mom.”

I wished she had gotten something we could use from Joel. Most of all so we could close the case, get the killer behind bars, and help ease Perry’s mind. But secondly to shove it in Gabriel’s face that he was wrong about my family and shouldn’t have doubted us.

On our way out, we walked by Detective Toscano hunched over another officer’s desk. They were talking in hushed tones, but I picked up what he was telling the officer to do. Run the plates of the car Joel Martelli was driving.

Maybe my wish wasn’t so far off.

THIRTEEN

“I REALLY THOUGHT HE WAS GUILTY,” I SAID, pouting as we climbed the stairs and walked in the front door of the house.

“Don’t worry.” Mom patted my shoulder. “Detective Toscano will find the real killer. He’s a spitfire, that one. He’s not going to give up until he gets what he wants. Oh, hello, dear,” Mom said.

Perry was standing outside the reading room, his face pale, eyes sunken. I guess sleep still wasn’t gracing him with its presence, either.

“We have a walk-in,” he said. “But I don’t feel well enough. I can’t.” His voice cracked.

“No worries,” I jumped in. “Gabriel doesn’t need me for anything that I know of today. I can work. Go upstairs to bed.” I shuffled Perry toward the staircase, wanting him to get out of Mom’s range ASAP.

“You don’t mind, honey?” Mom asked me.

“Not at all.” I entered the reading room and found our customers, two handsome middle-aged men. I did my usual introduction, welcoming them to the Fern family home.

They exchanged a look and grinned at me. “Sorry,” the blond one said. “We didn’t expect you to look so …”

“Frankly,” the dark-haired guy picked up, “we thought you’d be an old hag.”

“Oh, that’s my mother.”

Their eyes widened as Mom came in on the heels of that line and then we all had a good laugh. The reading went smoothly. Mom awed them with her telepathic skills, and I impressed them by relaying details of their past vacations together to the Cape and even the day they met. They paid and left happy and entertained. If only every reading went that way.

I was about to make a sandwich in the kitchen when I heard the bell ring, signaling another customer. Busy day. Mom would be happy and maybe stop obsessing about Madame Maslov.

I returned the plate to the cabinet and backtracked to the foyer. “Oh, it’s you.”

“You sound disappointed,” Nate said. He wore cargo shorts and a green polo shirt that brought out his eyes.

“I was hoping for a paying customer, but I’m always delighted to see the Nate-ster.” I gave him a playful punch on the arm.

He smiled. “That’s what I like to hear. Is Perry home? I want to drag him to lunch.”

“He’s sleeping. He doesn’t feel well.” Nate’s face filled with concern so I quickly added, “I was just about to make a sandwich, but I’d be happy to accompany you to the world-class five-star establishment known as Yummy’s. If you’ll have me.”

He brightened immediately. “Perry should get sick more often! Let’s roll.”

A half hour later, my belly delighting in the first of many French fries, I leaned back and smiled. I didn’t even mind that we’d gotten stuck with the booth that had three duct-tape repairs on the cushion. “This is good. I needed this today.”

“Having a tough time working with Detective Delicious?” Nate smirked.

“The wannabe detective is delicious to
look
at. But frustrating to work with.” I stopped to munch another fry. “The case is getting to me. I thought we had the guy, but it looks like we were wrong. How about you? Hear anything around the newsroom? ”

He shook his head. “Nothing solid. Just rumors and talk.”

“What kind of talk?”

He paused. “The kind you don’t want to hear.”

I leaned forward. “Nate Garrick, you’ve known me since I was a little girl. You know you can’t tease me like that. Spill.”

He spoke softly, almost embarrassed to say the words. “I’ve heard a couple people suggesting the mayor.”

“Mr. Spellman?” I yelled.
Justin’s dad?
I thought. No way.

“Shhh. Keep your voice down.”

I leaned back and crossed my arms. “What motive would he have to kill some random tourist?”

“So the town would see him as a hero. Kill one disposable tourist, someone who’s single, with no kids. Then arrest someone for the murder, saving the town and its people, who will
be so grateful they’ll re-elect him in record numbers on election day.”

“Munchausen mayor? That’s ridiculous.”

“Crazier things have happened. Plus, isn’t it quite a coincidence that he brought in this new hotshot detective a week before the murder? ”

The idea was so ludicrous I hardly knew what to say. “That’s … that’s … crazy talk! ”

Nate shrugged. “Maybe Detective Toscano’s involved, then. He has a shady past.”

“What do you mean?” I took a bite of my sandwich.

“My boss assigned me a fluff piece. Introducing the new detective to the small town. You know, light stuff. But I’ve been doing background on him and it’s not so fluffy. He didn’t leave New York City on his own terms.”

I took one last sip of my soda, draining the glass. “He was pushed out?”

“That’s what I’m hearing.”

“Again, Nate, it’s just talk, no solid evidence. This summer job better not turn you into a gossipmonger.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m going to be Eastport’s Perez Hilton. This is how the business works, Clare. Believe me. We have one reporter following up on a possible Mayor Spellman mistress and another reporter investigating a possible Dallas Clayworth mistress. Sometimes rumors are just rumors, but sometimes they lead to the truth.”

I made a face. “It all seems so seedy to me.”

He fiddled with a rip in the paper placemat. “Just be on
the safe side, Clare. Don’t trust the Toscanos. They’re hiding something. I know it. Don’t get too close. At least not until I get some answers.”

I knew Nate was ambitious, but it seemed to me that he was taking this story personally. Before I could ask him more, my cell rang. I looked at the caller ID. Gabriel.

“What’s up?” I said, answering.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“At Yummy’s, getting lunch.”

“I’ll pick you up outside in five minutes.”

“Okay, where are we going?”

“Twenty-six Berkshire Drive. Billy Rawlinson’s parents’ home.”

“Okay, see you in five.”

Refusing to meet Nate’s eyes, I said, “That was Gabriel. I’ve got to go meet him.”

Nate nodded and reached for his wallet. I pulled some bills out of my pocket and slid them onto the table. “This one’s on me. You get it next time.”

Nate had a look on his face that I couldn’t figure out.

“I don’t mean to tell you what to do,” he said. “You know I’m only looking out for you, right? ”

“I know. I’ve always felt I had two brothers instead of one.” I kissed his cheek and headed out.

Betty and Herbert Rawlinson lived in a split-level home on a road with other split-level homes that varied only by color and
lawn ornament selection. Berkshire Drive was probably pretty sweet when all the homes were new and hip in 1970, but now it seemed as dated as an episode of
The Brady Bunch.
The Rawlinsons’ house was painted an interesting shade of baby blue, which may have looked nice on the paint can, but translated into a garishly bright color on the wood shingles.

Gabriel told me he’d asked his father to accompany us to make it official, but the detective had refused. So this wasn’t police business. Two friends from school were going to show up at the house, looking for Billy.

That would be us.

We’d formulated a plan on the way over. Thankfully, the Rawlinsons had never come to my house for a reading. I’d never met them and they wouldn’t know I was the girl their son had bullied for years. The plan hinged on this, since I was pretending to be Billy’s friend.

Gabriel knocked on the door and Betty Rawlinson quickly answered.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Rawlinson. Billy wouldn’t happen to be here, would he?” Gabriel asked.

Betty smiled. Probably thinking what a polite and handsome young man Gabriel was, when he was really lying through his perfectly straight teeth.

“Are you friends of his?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “But we can’t seem to find him anywhere. He’s not at the motel.”

“He’s not here, either,” she said, “but please come on in.”

She led us up the stairs to the dining room. The table was piled high with laundry.

Betty swept all the clothing into a basket. “Sorry, I was doing some folding when you arrived.”

“No need to clean up for us, ma’am,” Gabriel said. “We’re sorry to barge in on you like this, but to be honest we’re a little bit worried.”

“We were with Billy last week,” I said. “He borrowed a bunch of my DVDs and we were supposed to meet him Saturday night to get them back. He wasn’t around. And we haven’t been able to find him. I wondered if maybe he was sick and decided to come home for a few days.”

“I wish that were the case.” Betty sat down at the table and motioned for us to do the same. “His father and I have been looking for him, too.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Gabriel asked.

“He came home Saturday night,” Betty said and cleared her throat. “It was kind of strange because it was the middle of the night. I don’t know exactly what time. I heard noises. Herbert got his baseball bat and followed the sound to Billy’s room. He was in there sitting at his desk. He looked shaken up.”

“Did he say why?” I asked.

“He said the neighbors were being too noisy at the motel so he was going to spend the night here. When I got up Sunday morning, he was gone, and I haven’t seen him since. We’ve been calling his cell phone but it goes to voice mail. He usually stops by or calls us every day so it’s unusual.”

Gabriel and I shared a look before he continued. “Is anything missing from the house? A lot of his clothing or anything to suggest he went on a trip?”

She shrugged. “He took his truck.”

“The gray pickup?” I said, and she nodded.

“We’ll keep looking around, at the hangouts and stuff, see if we can find him,” Gabriel offered.

Betty reached out and patted his hand. “Tell him to call me right away, okay?”

“We will,” I said and rose.

“Do you want to take a quick look in his room to see if your DVDs are in there?” she asked. “I feel bad that he didn’t get them back to you when he said he would.”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” I said, holding back my excitement.

“Not at all.” Betty rose and led us down the hallway to Billy’s room. It was sparsely furnished, with a twin-size bed and a desk. A poster featuring a wet, bikini-clad model hung on the wall beside his bed, probably in the same spot for years.

“Have a look,” Betty said, backing out of the room.

After she took a few steps down the hallway, Gabriel whispered, “Let’s do this. I’ll watch for her while you … do whatever it is you do. Just do it quick.”

Despite Gabriel’s order, I moved slowly about the room. Billy Rawlinson’s bedroom was the last place I ever thought I’d be. He’d hunted me through the halls of school like a lion to prey. I didn’t know if he truly did hate me because of my weird abilities or if he bullied me merely because he thought I was easy to pick on. But now I was in his bedroom, hunting him.

I opened the closet and let my fingers graze over the few
items of clothing hanging within. I tried doorknobs, his pillow, the bedspread. Then I moved to the desk and let my hands wander. Nothing. A ratty old T-shirt was strewn over the desk chair. I rested my weight on the chair, my hands gripping the back in frustration. I closed my eyes and kept my mind still and open.

Sometimes it comes slow. Sometimes all at once. And sometimes not at all. This time the vision I least wanted to see rushed to the surface first. I saw bodies writhing, heard moans of pleasure. The vision was small, as if from a distance, with a black halo surrounding it. Then it hit me. I was watching as Billy had watched. Through the hole in his motel room floor.

I was watching my brother and Victoria go at it.

I let go of the shirt and the chair, pushing myself backward. My eyes snapped open.

“What is it?” Gabriel asked. “What did you get?”

I shook my head, wanting to clear any remnants of the scene out of my mind. “Nothing.”