Drowning in Amber (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 2) (24 page)

“I’d love to,” I said.

“Good.” He glanced a smile in my direction, then pulled out into traffic.

Now that the pressure was off, I was ravenous. Lunch sounded great.

I WENT TO
the tree.

Don’t ask me why, because I wouldn’t be able to give you a straight answer. Part of me hoped I’d find a junkie sleeping nearby, because my nerves were starting to jangle something fierce and I knew that soon I wouldn’t be good for anything besides lying on the ground and puking my guts out. At least, that’s the way it was when I was alive.

Another part of me—the dead part, I’m thinking—didn’t want to do that. Didn’t want to feel that anymore. Didn’t particularly want to go through withdrawals, but really didn’t want to get high again. Life’s unfair. I got shit on for most of mine, but death? Death really levels the playing field. I was actually starting all over again. All I had to do was decide not to go that route. Get clean and stay that way. Then go on to the next thing. Whatever the hell that was.

There weren’t many of my own people around at that hour. Nobody sleeping off a drunk or a high, anyhow. Just civilians in their nice clothes, with their lunches in brown paper sacks clutched in their hands, looking for a place to chow down. They all skittered past the churchyard and the tree, opting for the cement monument known as Churchill Square. Didn’t blame them. I could still see blood, dirty brown and flaking away, but still there, on the tree, and the gouges on the branches were still bleeding clear sap. Only a freak would eat at a murder scene.

Yeah, I know, stupid. Seeing that horrible tree freaked me out, and I just wanted to get away from it. So I ran back to the park and waited for Crank to show up. I pretended it was so I could eavesdrop on whatever bit of gossip he was going to spill, but really, it was so I could hook up with one of his early customers and steal a hit. Just to get me over this rough patch.

I’m just as weak dead as I was alive.

JAMES AND I
picked up burgers and fries and headed back to the office. I thought we were going to eat together, but James clinked plastic glasses with me, said, “Welcome on board,” then grabbed his food and headed for the inner office.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“I have to set up a safe place for Honoria,” he replied. “Just trying to get ahead of the curve for once. You okay out here by yourself?”

“I guess,” I said, even though I wasn’t. I’d been looking forward to sitting with him, talking to him while we ate. Just spending a little bit of time together that wasn’t work-related.

But he walked into his office and shut the door on me. So, as I ate my burger, I decided to do a little more research. About Ambrose Welch, this time.

What I found was exactly nothing.

How could that be? If the police knew him, there had to be something online about him. But there was nothing. It was like he wasn’t a real person.

“Maybe because he isn’t,” I muttered. Ambrose Welch was probably not his real name. But how would I find out his real name? I had no idea and reluctantly put that research aside.

I’d do more checking about Stewart, then. Specifically, more research about his son, Luke.

Luke had died at home, and I still hadn’t determined how he’d died. Not really. But I was beginning to lean more toward drug overdose than bad drugs. There were no other newspaper articles about deaths related to bad drugs, anyhow. So I dug deeper.

I found his obituary notice and checked to see where donations in lieu of flowers could be sent, hoping I’d be able to tell from that what had happened to him.

I shouldn’t have been surprised to see that good old dad had decided that donations to a cop fund were good enough for his son’s memory. No clue about how he died from that.

So why was I trying to figure out how Luke died? Because I thought that maybe—just maybe—if Luke had died from a drug overdose, he might still be where he died, even if it was six months before.

And if Luke died at home, and was still there, he might be able to tell me whether his father had a hand in Eddie’s death.

Yes, I was seriously thinking about going to the house of the police officer who had threatened both James and me, to talk to his dead son.

“Did you find something?”

I jumped, then glared at James, who had somehow snuck out of his office without my hearing. “Make more noise, would you?”

“I’m like a panther,” he said, grinning. “So what did you find?”

I clicked everything closed. He didn’t need to know I was checking out Stewart’s son. Not yet. “Nothing much.”

I half-expected him to demand to see what I was looking at, but all he did was grab his coat.

“Where are you going?”

“I found a place for Honoria to stay,” he said. “I’m going to get her. Wanna come?”

I sure didn’t want to be face to face with Honoria again. What if she said something about me? About my “gift.” Even in passing. I inwardly shuddered and turned back to the computer. “I have a little more research to do. Mind if I sit this one out?”

“Oh come on,” he said. “What, are you afraid that going to a bookstore could infect you or something?” He grinned, and I reluctantly grinned back, and just as reluctantly, reached for my sweater.

“I’m not afraid of going to a bookstore,” I said. “Will you buy me a coffee?”

He shook his head. “I was half-hoping you’d want a book.”

I shook my head.

“Magazine?”

Another head shake. “Just a coffee.”

“You’re a cheap date,” he said. And then before I could respond to the date thing, he opened the door. “Let’s go get our client.”

“And a coffee,” I said, and scooped up my purse.

He sighed. “And a coffee.”

James saw the first tail before we’d gone five blocks.

He glanced into the rearview mirror, frowned, and looked again, more intently.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“I think we’re being followed,” he said. He frowned more ferociously. “But I don’t think it’s the cops. Unless the cops are now driving Escalades.”

I felt a jolt of pure fear. “Do you think it could be that Ambrose Welch guy?”

“No idea,” he muttered. “Time to lose them, whoever they are.”

I blinked. “You can do that?”

“Of course,” he scoffed. “Watch me.”

He zigzagged through the traffic, and for a while the SUV kept up. I watched it maneuver through the traffic, slewing and squealing its tires as its driver fought to keep it under control. Then I frowned and turned to James.

“I think somebody’s following
them
,” I whispered.

“What?” James glared into the rearview mirror. “Where?”

“The car behind the SUV. That dark blue one. I swear, it’s going everywhere we go.”

“Good grief,” he muttered.

“Are they following the Escalade—or are they following us, too?” I asked.

James shrugged. “Who knows? Who cares? I’ll lose ‘em both.”

And he did. As soon as we no longer saw either vehicle behind us, James pulled into a long-term parking garage and parked the car. We sat in it, in silence, and listened to the motor tick and ping as it slowly cooled.

“What do we do now?” I finally asked.

“We take a cab,” James said. His face looked as tight as his voice sounded. “We have to get Honoria to the safe house, and then we need to figure out why we’re being tailed by nearly everyone in the city.”

Good grief.

The Chapters bookstore on Whyte Avenue was something to see, I have to admit. I didn’t get down to the shabby chic part of the city much and had never even put a foot in the bookstore, though I had been to “Pigs Can Fly” across the street, once, when I was flush and wanted to find quirky cute Christmas gifts for my family units.

The thing that really hit me when James and I first walked in was the amount of stuff for sale that had nothing to do with books.

“What’s the deal?” I asked, pointing at the multitude of shelves filled with everything under the sun that was not a book.

“It’s a fad,” James replied. “Just trying to get people like you in here. Once everybody’s hooked on books again, it’ll disappear.”

I picked up a coffee mug with “Kiss Me I’m a Reader” on it, put it down, and picked up some sort of chocolate-covered candy that I’d never seen anywhere before. “I wouldn’t count on it. We nonreaders are pretty set in our ways.” I put down the candy and picked up a blanket. “This is pretty, though. And so soft . . .” I put it down, regretfully.

“What about the blanket, instead of a coffee?”

“I’m not buying you a blanket at a bookstore,” he said. “Let’s find Honoria. She’s upstairs.”

As we walked further in, James’s head was on a swivel.

“Do you see anyone?”

“No.” He glanced down at me, and then turned his gaze back to everywhere else. “Looks like we’re alone.”

“Good.” I sighed out my relief. “Where’s Honoria?”

“In the washroom at the back of the store.”

We walked through what felt like miles of racks of books, to the far wall of the store, and then followed it to the restrooms.

“Go get her,” he said, pointing. “She said she’d wait for us in there.”

So I did. Much as I didn’t want to.

I walked into the washroom and frowned. It appeared empty. I bent down, looking under the line of stall doors, but saw no feet.

“Honoria?” I called, softly. “Are you here?”

I heard noise from the stall furthest from the door. “Is that you, Marie?”

“Yes. James is just outside. We should go.”

She opened the stall door and stepped out. She looked around, as though making sure for herself that we were alone, then hitched the big backpack she was carrying a little higher on her shoulder.

“This sure is a mess, isn’t it?” she said. “Now I can’t even go home.”

I knew how that felt, and felt a twinge of sympathy for her.

“It won’t be for long,” I said.

“Can you guarantee that?” she asked.

I looked into her angry eyes, and then down at the floor. “No.”

“Well, you better figure this out, quick,” she said. “I’m not going to let my life fall apart. Not again. Fix it, any way you can.”

“We’re doing our best,” I muttered, glancing longingly at the door.

“You better figure out how to do better,” she replied. “You know what’s at stake, after all.”

Then, before I had a chance to even think of anything to say, she pointed to the door.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

I stared at her for a long moment, mesmerized by the tremour at the edge of her left eyelid. I should have felt more sympathy for her. Empathy, even. But all I felt was a dull, red anger. She’d threatened me. Again.

“Okay,” I said, and held the door open, letting her leave first.

The escape from the bookstore was remarkably uneventful. We stepped out of the washroom, and James walked up to us. His head was back on the swivel again, so that he barely looked at either of us as he jerked his thumb in the direction of the stairs.

Without a word, Honoria and I followed him down the stairs and to the main entrance. The place was full of people, and I had a bad moment or two when I lost him in the stupid bookcases, but Honoria didn’t seem to have the same problem, so I trailed along behind her, feeling absolutely like a hanger-on, and a useless one at that.

James got to the front entrance and held his hand up, indicating we should stop. So we did, good soldiers that we were, and I ran my hand over the incredibly soft blanket one last time as we waited for him to let us know it was time to leave.

It only took a moment, and he was back beside us.

“I have a cab,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Honoria didn’t even ask about the cab situation. Just followed James out to the crowded sidewalk, stepped into the cab, and settled on the seat with a small sigh.

But I didn’t move.

“Come on,” James said. “We gotta go.”

“I have something I have to do,” I said, and pointed down the street, vaguely. “Call me when you have her settled.”

I didn’t really want to ride in the cab with Honoria. Didn’t want to go to her new hideout and sit around drinking herbal tea and chitchatting, or whatever James was going to do to calm down our brand-new client.

He could handle her. I was going to go and find Luke, Stewart’s dead son, if he was still on this plane. And I was going to get answers. Finally.

I steeled myself for the inevitable fight and was surprised beyond measure when James said, “No problem.” Almost too agreeably, I thought. And then, they were gone.