Drowning in Amber (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 2) (16 page)

I looked out the window, and the sun looked warm. I wished I was out in it, and suddenly the wishing won. There was a soft grey swirl around me, and I didn’t even hear her reply before I was gone.

ANOTHER COLOURFUL SWIRL
, this time a little more grey than blue, but whatever. He was gone, again.

I looked at what I’d written down on the pad of paper and tried to keep from shuddering. How could stuff like this be going on in a sleepy little city like Edmonton?

Worse than that, it looked like Eddie had been right in the middle of it all when he died.

Even though he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—talk about who he thought killed him, I was pretty sure if I could figure out a way to keep him in the room with me and keep him talking, he would probably lead me right to the people who killed him. He knew a lot, and I got the feeling we were just touching the surface.

But he kept disappearing. What should I do?

Call my mother. That’s what.

I looked at the phone for a long time, not wanting to make that phone call.

“Just get it over with,” I whispered. So I did. Look at me being all brave. Almost put the receiver back down and disconnected when I heard the voice on the other end, though, because it wasn’t my mother. It was my sister, Rhonda.

“Yes?” she snapped. I sat, frozen, long enough for her to bark, “Is anyone there? I’m hanging up if you don’t answer immediately!”

“Hi, Rhonda, it’s me.”

My voice sounded all weak and whiny, the last thing I wanted. I had to sound strong with her. After all, she was the successful one of the family. Meaning she’d found a guy who could actually provide for her. “I need to speak to Mom. Is she there?”

“Oh. Marie. Nice to hear your voice.” She was lying. She had not been pleased when I’d left town because that left her with Mom. After all, she had that successful life of her own.

I felt the anger quotient jump up a few degrees, but did my best to cool it. I didn’t need to fight with her. I needed to talk to Mom.

Then I did a stupid thing. I asked, “How are things?”

“As good as can be expected.” She sighed. Darn it. I’d given her the opening she always looked for. The “oh poor me, my life is crap” opening. Even though it wasn’t. Her husband, Jasper, was a nice enough guy and did seem to love her, though I didn’t quite understand why. And her kids were well-mannered—another surprise, but hey, I guess a person can be a good mom and a bitch all at the same time. But I didn’t want to hear her complain. I just wanted to talk to Mom.

“That’s great!” I said, as enthusiastically as I could, hoping it would shut her up. “Can I talk to Mom?”

“She’s sleeping,” Rhonda snipped.

“Oh.” I didn’t want to wake Mom up, but I really didn’t want to listen to Rhonda anymore. “When do you think she’ll—”

Then I heard Mom’s voice before Rhonda slapped her hand over the receiver. There was muffled two-way bickering for a moment, then Rhonda came back.

“She’s here.”

The phone clattered as she dropped the receiver. There was scrabbling, and then I heard Mom’s voice. Breathless as always, but she sounded in a much better mood than Rhonda, thank goodness.

“Marie!” she cried. “How are ya, girl?”

“All right, Mom. You?”

“I’m good. Good.” I could hear Rhonda yelling something about not lying to me, but Mom talked over her words. “The medication I’m on seems to be helping a bit, so . . . I’m doing good.”

“I’m glad.”

I stopped talking for a moment, unsure how to proceed. If Mom was sick enough for Rhonda to be there, I needed to know that. But I didn’t feel strong enough to push through her well-intentioned lies. I had a problem, and only she could help me with it, and I think Mom knew that.

“Can you wait one moment before we talk?” she asked. “I want to move to another room. For a little privacy.”

“Okay.” I could hear Rhonda’s outraged voice fade as Mom walked to her bedroom. It disappeared when she closed the door.

“That’s better.”

I laughed. “That’s going to piss her off, you know.”

“Ah probably,” Mom replied. “She’ll get over it. She doesn’t like to hear me talk about the other side, and I’m assuming that’s why you’re calling. Right?”

“Right.”

“I thought you moved on the gentleman you were working with.”

I laughed. “Farley wasn’t really a gentleman, Mom. And yes, I moved him on. But I’ve met someone else.”

“Another spirit?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

“Yeah.” Interesting was never good. I knew enough to know that. “He’s a drug addict.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry! They’re so hard to work with!” Meaning, I knew, it usually took them forever to realize they were even dead. How I wished that was my problem.

“No. He knows he’s dead. It’s just that—”

“What? Most of the hard work is done. You just have to help him understand what’s holding him here and—”

“I know that, Mom. But he told me he doesn’t want to move on.”

That, at least, was the truth, but I could hear her frown in her voice. “Then what are you doing with him?”

“I’m—trying to solve his murder.”

“You know that doesn’t matter . . .” Her voice faded, and I wished I could tell her something, anything, that she’d actually want to hear from me.

“I met a clairvoyant, Mom,” I said, hoping that meeting an urban legend might put her off the whole “solving the murder doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things” issue.

“Really,” she said. She didn’t sound impressed. “Does she have anything to do with this case you’re working on?”

“Yes. She’s a person of interest in Eddie’s murder.”

“Eddie’s the spirit?”

“Yes.”

There was silence for a growing number of increasingly uncomfortable moments. Finally she asked, “Why did you call me?”

“I need to know how to get him to cooperate with me.”

“To figure out who killed him?”

“Yes.”

“Even though it doesn’t matter.”

That one stung. “Yes.”

“Are you planning on helping this spirit?”

“Helping? You mean move him on? Mom, he said he didn’t want to. I should respect his wishes, shouldn’t I?”

“Girl, they all must move on. Eventually. You know that as well as I do.” She shuffled, and I heard the springs of her old-fashioned bed ping as she sat down. “What are you playing at?”

“I’m not playing at anything, Mom.”

I was lying to my mother. This made me feel even sicker.

“I’m working for James now—I told you about that—and the clairvoyant came to us so we could help her prove she wasn’t involved in Eddie’s death. So, Eddie isn’t our client, Honoria is.” I shuffled my feet, feeling increasingly terrible. “I just want to know what to do next. To get him to help me figure this all out.”

“Huh,” Mom said. “That is a bit of a pickle.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I hated hearing that tone in her voice. That tone let me know that I was letting the side down. “I just—”

“I know!” Mom’s voice turned sharp, angry. “You want a normal life. You’ve told me that a number of times.”

I felt a spike of anger and knew if I didn’t calm myself, I’d end up fighting with her, and that wouldn’t do anyone any good.

“So what should I do?” I asked.

“Perhaps get another job?” she said, sarcasm dripping through her words. “Something that doesn’t put you in touch with the dead quite so often. I mean, if you aren’t going to help them—”

“I’m trying to help someone living, Mom!” I cried. “Isn’t that good? I thought that was a good thing.”

“Yes. Helping the living is fine. But you have the capacity to help the dead.” She sighed, and then coughed, and I flinched. Waited for the coughing to continue, even as I hoped it wouldn’t. I hated hearing her like that. Absolutely hated it. After a moment, the coughing stopped.

“All right. If you’re determined to follow this course of action, then I would advise you to forget the spirit. Focus on the clairvoyant’s dreams. I believe everything you need to know will be found there.”

“Are you sure?” I whispered the words, wishing I didn’t sound like I didn’t believe her—but I knew she’d never met one before. “Are you absolutely sure she’ll have everything I need? After all, I have the dead guy—”

“He’s a spirit. The least you can do is call him by the proper name,” she said, sharply. “And it would be best if you left him alone, if you aren’t going to help him. You are leading him on—and that is just cruel.”

She was right. Absolutely right. I was being cruel.

“I gotta go,” I muttered. “Thanks for the info.”

“Tell me one thing before you go.”

“What?”

“How is James? He seemed very nice on the phone, and I thought—”

“You thought what, Mom?”

“I hoped that maybe—”

“Maybe what?” Please don’t say it. Please don’t say it.

“I hoped that maybe you two would date,” she said. “You could do worse.”

“I
have
done worse,” I whispered.

“I know,” she said.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” I said. “Not now.”

I heard a noise behind me and whirled. James was standing in the doorway, looking tousled and suspicious.

“Who’s that?” he mouthed.

“My mother,” I mouthed back, then turned away from him.

“Gotta go,” I said, hoping Mom would let me off the hook quickly. “James is here, and we have work to do.”

I put down the receiver and tried to compose myself before facing James. I felt like he’d be able to read the whole conversation on my face, and I didn’t want that.

“How’s your mom?” he asked.

“She’s good,” I said. “Coffee? It’s fresh.”

“Thanks.” He grabbed a cup and poured. “So where’d you go?” he asked. “I woke up, and you were gone.”

I felt my face heat. “When did you wake up?”

“Oh, about five minutes ago,” he said, and I felt a thrill of relief. I didn’t have to mention my visit to Honoria. “But I missed you. It was nice, sleeping with you. You know?”

“I know.” I was blushing so hard, I was pretty sure my head was going to start sweating. “But I had work to do.”

“Work?” He sipped his coffee. “What couldn’t have waited?”

Now we were dangerously close to me telling him a lie about going to see Honoria, and I didn’t want to do that.

Oh yeah, the file. The file on Honoria.

“I started Honoria’s file. And a contract for her to sign, if you decide she can be our client.”

“Ah,” he said. “Bet that makes interesting reading, but I can’t do it now. I gotta head out. We need a computer, so I’m going to buy one.” He smiled. “Maybe two. Want to come?”

“Shopping?” I grinned. Shopping therapy. The best kind. “Do I ever!”

I put on my sweater and grabbed my purse, and then we headed out the door.

I didn’t care what either Honoria the Clairvoyant or my mother said. I loved doing normal. I really really did.

I ENDED UP
by the tree, again. Thinking about Luke had done it, I was pretty sure of that. Luke and his asshole father, Angus Stewart.

I guess that was the ultimate joke in all of this. My best friend’s dad was a cop. He was also a terrible father. He made Luke feel like he never measured up, because his old man always did the, “98 percent, huh? What happened to that other 2 percent?” kind of a guy. The kind you wanted to crotch-kick, when you got tall enough.

I often wondered if Luke hung around with me just to get back at his old man. Even asked him a couple of times, but he just gave me the smile that told me everything was A-okay, and said no. He liked me because he liked me. Didn’t have anything to do with his old man. And I believed him, right up until the end.

He’d found me in the park, hanging with Crank. I’d come into some cash—thanks, Mom—and looked all right. New clothes, and I’d eaten some. I was also just at the good part of my high. I could carry on a conversation, act like a human being, shit like that. So, it was nice to see him. I was pretty sure we were going to eventually have a “why don’t you get out of this life” talk. Most everybody I knew in my other life tried to have this talk with me, if they ran into me. And we did, but it didn’t go the way I thought it would. Not at all.

We talked about the good old days, and then I blew it by asking him how his old man was.

“That son of a bitch is killing me,” he’d said, rubbing his hands together as though he was suddenly all-over cold. “I don’t think I can take it much more.”

“You still at home?” I asked. “Maybe you need to move out. You know, be on your own.”