Haunting Refrain (18 page)

Staring at the door, Kate sank to the sofa, drained by her outburst. Her chest heaved. She held her hands in front of her, watched them tremble. She didn't know which surprised her most, the biting anger she had given way to or John's equally angry response. As the scene replayed itself in her mind, she considered the heated exchange, satisfied she had held her own.

Perhaps their disagreement had been a little heated, but he hadn't treated her like a child. He hadn't condescended to her. It had felt good to blow off like that for a change. All the tension of the past weeks had built to a monstrous weight, constantly pressing down on her. Unexpectedly light and free, she laughed aloud.

The studio door opened silently, and a woman stepped in, catching Kate in mid laugh.

Flipping open a wallet to display her identification, the woman smiled and introduced
herself
. “Ms. McGuire? I'm Detective Lynne Waite from the Greenville Police Department. May I come in?”

“Of course,” Kate choked out. She smoothed the faded jeans over her hips, wishing she had dressed better.
 
Waite, an attractive woman with short, honey-colored hair, looked entirely professional in a dark blue suit. Kate stood aside and gestured toward the sofa and chairs. “Please sit down.”

“As I'm sure you know
,
I'm here about Kelly Landrum.” Waite
sat,
looking perfectly composed, and asked, “Have you had good news? That was a happy laugh I heard as I came in.”

“Oh, that.” Inwardly Kate cursed the blush that warmed her cheeks. “I just figured something out.”

“Don't be embarrassed. In my business, that kind of joy is rare.”

She seemed sincere, and Kate liked the way her eyes crinkled at the corners. Maybe this woman would take her seriously.

The detective continued. “I read John
Gerrard's
pieces this morning, and then I talked with Officer
Wolynski
about the parapsychology meeting he attended last week. I'd like to ask you a few questions. Is that all right with you?”

Kate nodded.

“First, I want to understand about these visions and how they come to you. Can you tell me about it?”

Kate, after a few confused starts, gathered her thoughts and did her best to give a coherent explanation, ending with the last time she had touched something of Kelly’s. “Until this business, the experiments were sort of fun, nothing serious. Then, when I picked up the sweatband, I felt like I was the one being strangled.”

“Had you ever met Kelly Landrum?
Maybe taken a class with her?”

“No. I've only taken two, so I would remember.”

“What were these classes?”

“Business Law and Marketing.”

“Kelly Landrum was a business major. Do you know anyone who knew her?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Let's talk about the lake. Have you ever been to
Jocassee
?”

Kate hesitated, wondering if she and John should have gone there. “Not before they—before she was found there.”

“Have you been since?”

The question made her feel vaguely guilty. Maybe it was closed to the public or something. “Yes, I have.”

“Why?”

“I—I just wanted to see it. See if I could learn anything there.”

“Did you?”

Kate described what she had seen, leaving John out of it, and then added, “But it wasn't quite the same as the other times. I don't know whether I imagined it or it was real.”

“How about Charlene Nelson?
Did you know her?”

“I don't think so. The picture in the paper looked old, but I would have recognized her.”
A coldness
settled over her. The implications of the question were all too clear. “Is there a connection?”

“It's possible,” the detective said, her expression grim. Then she stood and held out her hand. “Kate, I have to tell you I don't put much stock in these visions—besides, they aren't specific enough to tell me anything. But that doesn't mean everyone thinks the same way. If the person who did this is a little unstable, they might see you as a real threat. Be sure to keep your doors locked and take a little extra care for a while.” She took a step toward the door,
then
stopped, looking back at Kate. “Did you know Kelly Landrum rented the house you live in when she first came to Poinsett? She was only there for a few weeks before she moved on campus.”

“In my house?”
Stunned, she caught her breath. “Maybe that’s why I keep having these visions. I must be constantly touching things she handled.”

“It was almost three years ago. I just thought you’d like to know.” Waite closed the door gently behind herself.

Kate flung herself down on the sofa, rubbing her forehead. How had she ever gotten into this mess? If John hadn't put her name in the paper—and
Venice
's—would that have changed things? No, because it wouldn't have changed the visions.

Waite's warning ran through her head. Would Kelly's murderer see her as a threat? The falling elevator—was that an accident?
And what about
Venice
?
Venice
!
She ran back to the phone and punched in the number.

It rang several times before
Venice
answered with a question in her voice. “Kate?”

“How did you know it was me?”

“I just got home,” she said. “What's wrong, my dear?”

“Nothing.
Detective Waite was just here. She warned me to be careful about security. I guess all the publicity brings out the crazies.
Venice
, the murderer may see us as a serious problem.” She hated to frighten her, but felt she had little choice. If something happened to
Venice
because she hadn't passed on Waite's cautious advice, she would never forgive herself.

“Oh, well. It's to be expected,”
Venice
said, apparently unconcerned. “But don't blame John. After the autopsy proved us right, he really had no choice. Are you calm enough to talk about it yet?”

Kate sighed, defeated.
So much for scaring her.
Venice
's only concern seemed to be for John. It was clear that she thought Kate completely unreasonable. “Go ahead,
Venice
. I'll listen. I'm sorry I was so rude earlier.”

“He called me to explain before the article appeared. He wanted to warn me. He also asked if I knew where you were. He'd been trying to reach you.”

“I forgot to turn on the answering machine,” she mumbled. But she wouldn’t give up so easily. “Was warning us supposed to make it all right?”

“It's more than most reporters would have done. You can't blame him for doing his job,” she said. “I have to go now, Kate. Mrs. Batson is coming for a reading, and I have to prepare.”

“Okay. Just be careful,
Venice
,” she said. “I’m going home now.”

By eight, the answering machine had recorded two hang-ups and two calls, one from a woman who wanted Kate to find “something precious” for her and another from a man who thought he had a ghost in his house. He wondered if Kate could tell him why the spirit couldn't rest. Nuisance calls, but not frightening.

She double-checked the locks on her windows and carefully shoved home the deadbolts. She stacked her glass bottles at several strategic places around the house, and for good measure, carefully balanced a kitchen utensil on top of her precarious homemade alarms before she got in bed. At least she’d have warning if someone entered her house.

Another restless, dream-haunted night caused her to oversleep. Fortunately, or maybe not, she thought, considering her bank balance, she had no appointments today.

Still not up to running on her tender ankles, Kate sipped her coffee and stared out at a beautiful day, thinking about Charlene Nelson. What would happen if she touched something of hers, she wondered. Would there be any trace of her left? The woman had been dead for nearly a year. Kate decided to go by the newspaper office and look up the stories on Charlene Nelson. That way she wouldn't have to ask John for help.

She dressed quickly in a bright madras skirt and blouse, but took time with her makeup, carefully hiding the shadows under her eyes. She planned to get to the
Times Herald
building around lunchtime, so John should be out. Nevertheless, she found herself checking the mirror when it was time to go.

* * *

At the paper, she was directed to a large room called the morgue, the repository for past articles.
NEED TO MAKE A FIELD TRIP TO THE
PAPER.
She
asked a young woman at a desk for help in locating stories related to Charlene Nelson.

“Right over there. See that man with dark hair? Right where he is,” the woman told her.

Kate turned just as the man looked up. He stood quietly, watching her. She couldn't leave, would have to face him. “Hello, John.”

“Kate,” he said.

He wasn't going to make this easy. She swallowed. “I came to look for the articles on Charlene Nelson.”

Holding up the file in his hand, he said, “This is most of it.”

“May I see it? I wanted to . . .
 
Is
her family here in
Greenville
? I'd like to talk to them.” She looked at the file,
then
raised her eyes to meet his. “I'm sorry about yesterday, John. I don't agree with what you did, but I shouldn't have lost my temper. I guess I got a little carried away.”

“I may be a little touchy on the subject myself—I don't usually slam doors on my sources.” A slow smile started across his face.
“How about some lunch?
We can discuss the terms for a truce.”

The sudden lift in her spirits was out of proportion to the casual invitation. “Okay.”
Watch it, McGuire
,
and for heaven's sake, keep your mouth shut
.

He returned the file to its place and picked up a notebook. “I have the Nelson's address. I'm planning to see them this afternoon. Want to come along? We could go after we eat.”

She gave him a long, assessing look. He
had
tried to call. “Sure. We can take my car.
It's
right out front, and the meter will run out soon.”

A meter maid was approaching the shiny RX-7 when they reached it. “This can't be yours, Gerrard. It's too clean and besides, there’s money in the meter.” She moved on to the next car.

“You're all heart, Joyce,” he said, sliding into the car. Fastening his seat belt, he turned to Kate.
“How about the
Main Street
Grill?
It's close.”

“Sure,” she said over her shoulder. Taking advantage of an opening in the traffic, she backed into the street.

He looked around the clean interior and whistled. “Look, I'm sorry about that scene in your studio. I know I sounded like a pompous ass,” he said. “I meant what I said, but I guess I didn't say it very well.”

“I didn’t handle it well myself. Let’s forget it.” She smiled at him, a little sheepishly. She didn’t want to spoil the day. “Have you—”

“Is there anything—” he asked at the same time.

They laughed, and John said, “You go first.”

“Okay. I was going to ask if you’ve found anything new about Kelly or Charlene.” Kate whipped into a parking space close to the little restaurant.