Haunting Refrain (7 page)

Kate stood slowly and returned her notebook and glasses to their place in her purse, then said to
Venice
. “He didn't believe us. None of them do except Martin.”

“Most people don't really believe, my dear. They're only interested in tall, dark strangers and wealth that's just around the corner.”

“That’s unusually prosaic for you,
Venice
,” Kate said. “But if the police don't believe us, they're probably looking for Kelly in the wrong places.”

“There's not much we can do about that. Eventually we'll be proven right. And next time the police will be calling us.”

“I don't want there to be a next time. This one is driving me crazy.” Kate pulled out her hairpins to let her hair fall free, and ruffled it to break up the stiff spray. “Oh, that feels better.

“I can't stop thinking about her. I know she was murdered.” She swallowed hard, recalling the powerful feeling of cold and death. “I'm going to see what I can find out. Will you help me?”

“Of course I will.”
Venice
patted her shoulder. “But what can we do?”

“We know she's in a lake somewhere. How many can there be around here? Maybe we'll get some more images if we can find the right one.
Venice
, you realize there's a murderer walking around loose?”

“Yes, I do. That's the part that frightens me. Not the visions.”
Venice
tapped a long red fingernail against her purse.

Kate noticed that the glue showed around the edges and the nail wasn't on straight. Dear
Venice
.

Then the older woman brightened. “I suppose I could talk to Ramses. Perhaps he can help.”

Kate was never sure whether
Venice
was serious about the spirit who inhabited her crystal ball. She swore that he was there and spoke to her, but Kate had caught an irreverent twinkle in her eyes more than once.
“Ramses?
I thought he only communed with the—”

“The dead.
He does, although he isn't limited to those on the other side. However, in this case it might be most helpful. Don't you agree?”
Venice
lifted the turban off, twisting it in her hands. “Don't you love the way the gold catches the light?”

“Lovely,” Kate muttered. “Well, while you and Ramses commune, I think I'll start investigating on my own.”

* * *

Preoccupied with Kelly Landrum, Kate didn't notice the blue Dodge pickup that eased out of the parking lot behind her. As usual, she turned off the highway to take the winding road over
Paris
Mountain
. The pickup took the same turn.

John didn’t catch up with
Wolynski
until he got to the police station, probably because he was thinking about Kate, trying to reconcile the cool, professional woman at the meeting tonight with the firebrand who’d left the
Black Forest
spitting nails. They might have been two different people. When she did that bit with the comb . . . It was chilling. He didn’t know what to think of her, but she interested him. She had an elusive familiarity that puzzled him, but he couldn’t place her.
Venice
he considered an eccentric old woman who took her leads from Kate, but he would check further into her background before he wrote her off. He knew too well the price of dismissing someone because they had an unusual story.

He introduced himself to
Wolynski
.

Alarm flashed across the officer’s face. “The police are not working with these people—we just went as a courtesy to the university.” He looked around the room as if seeking help.

“It’s okay,” John hastened to tell him. Poor guy, he probably envisioned headlines such as “
stumped police consult psychics
,” and his career blown away like yesterday’s news. “I understand. I’m really interested in the articles you had with you. I just want to know if the women were on the mark about where they came from.”

“I’m not sure I should be talking about this with you.” He glanced at a picture on his desk. “You ought to talk to Detective Waite.”

John followed his gaze and saw a small dark-haired child sitting on a pink tricycle, a hairy creature with his tongue hanging out lolling beside her. He would bet he knew where some of the articles came from. “Cute little girl. I guess that’s her dog beside her. I’ve never seen one quite like it.”

“Yeah, that’s my little girl, Lisa,” he said, a fond look on his face. “The dog’s Chips—poodle and Heinz.”

“Lisa’s ribbon and scarf, I guess,” John said. “Those women may be nuts, but they seemed pretty certain.
Spooky, huh.”

“Yeah, they are.”

The awe in the young man’s voice told John all he needed to know. Shifting awkwardly on the distorted chair angled against the gray metal desk, he said, “Ashburton I don’t know about, but McGuire was pretty impressive.” They didn’t encourage visiting here.

“Yeah, she was scary with that stuff about the water. Don’t know what it means, though,”
Wolynski
locked his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, more relaxed now.

“I guess Detective Waite told you to find some other things to mix in with Landrum’s.” John propped his ankle on his knee. He’d had about all he could take of the chair.

“Yeah, so I brought some of my little girl’s stuff.”
Wolynski
shook his head in wonder. “She knew. Somehow, they both knew.”

“Thanks,
Wolynski
.” John stood, grateful to be out of the chair, and held out his hand. At the younger man’s worried look, he added, “It’s okay, you can ask Waite about me—I’m not out to make you guys look stupid. I’m trying to figure out those women.”

* * *

Traffic over the winding mountain road was usually negligible this time of evening, and Kate shrugged her shoulders, trying to loosen up and enjoy the drive. She noticed the headlights coming up behind her and reduced her speed automatically. She absolutely could not afford a ticket, and she knew from experience that the RX-7 attracted an excessive amount of official attention.

Few homes graced the back side of the mountain, and the temptation to accelerate rode with her. Ignoring it, she concentrated on staying within the speed limit, especially since the trailing vehicle now maintained a steady distance behind her.

As the road rose and the curves tightened, the headlights shifted to high beam and the gap between them closed. The bright lights loomed high in her rear and side mirrors. The fool was right on her tail, blinding her. Gripping the wheel firmly in her left hand, she adjusted the angle of the rearview mirror, but the reflection in the side mirror still glared in her eyes.

The road straightened momentarily. With growing unease, she slowed and pulled as far to the right as she dared on the mountain road, hoping if the person was in a hurry, he would get on with it and pass. Instantly the driver pulled up bedside her, crowding her dangerously close to the edge. She glanced over.
A truck.
She couldn’t see the driver. Whoever it is, he must be drunk, she thought, gritting her teeth. Probably some kid, wanting to prove he was king of the hill.

In a few hundred yards, she would be on the outside of a series of sharp curves. If the truck stayed beside her, he would be on the inside. She slowed further. He slowed with her, edging closer. Was he crazy?

They entered the first curve. He was going to push her off! Holding the wheel in a death grip, Kate dropped her right wheels onto the narrow shoulder. The RX-7 lurched on the uneven surface. She stepped hard on the accelerator and shot out in front of the truck, spitting gravel. She could feel the pull on the back end as the car leaned into the curve, but it held the road. She fled up the mountain, leaving the lunatic in her wake.

Still shaking when she pulled into her garage, Kate considered reporting the incident to the police. She pulled the doors closed behind the car and dropped the latch in place, picturing the steep drop. If she had been in an ordinary car, she would most likely have gone over. Flicking off the light, she scooted out through the door into the back yard, still thinking about reporting the near accident.

But what would she say? “Someone, either drunk or crazy, in a dark-colored truck, tried to run me off
Paris
Mountain
. No, officer, I didn't get the license number. No, officer, I can't describe the driver. No, officer, I don't know what kind of truck. Yes, officer, I'm the psychic who thinks she's seen Kelly Landrum floating in a lake.” That should go over well. They would probably lock
her
up.

Kate decided to forget the whole thing, put it out of her mind. He was probably drunk and there was nothing she could do anyway. The police weren't interested in anything she had to say, although she had to admit she hadn't given them much to go on so far.
A lake.
Kelly Landrum had been strangled and was in a lake. That was about it. Ditching the suit, she sank gratefully into bed.

* * *

When a car backfired early the next morning, she groaned and sat up, knowing she would never get back to sleep. She shook off the cobwebs and groped her way down the steps. I'm going to have to find Kelly myself, she thought, measuring coffee into the filter.
But how?

No leads
. The headline from John's last story ran through her head like the message on a computerized sign. She decided to make a list of everything she knew about the girl. Searching through a drawer, she discarded two dried-up pens before finding one that worked, and sat down at the kitchen table with a small notepad. Starting with the two articles John had written, she wrote whatever seemed pertinent. Her list wasn't long. There had been other stories, but she didn't have the papers and couldn't remember anything specific. While the coffee gave a last gurgle in the machine, she dialed
Venice
’s number. She was an early riser. After several rings,
Venice
answered breathlessly.

“Did I interrupt something? Were you and Ramses in conference?” Kate quickly poured herself a cup of coffee and returned to the table and her notepad, listening to
Venice
.

“I was outside looking for the paper.”

Kate could hear the pages rattle. “I’m making a list of what we know about Kelly.” She read the brief notes. “Can you add anything?”

“Only that she was mixed up with the wrong man. I think he said something about her lying. Do you know anything about the kind of person she was?”

“No, but that’s an interesting thought. I see from one of John’s articles that her roommate at Poinsett is Josephine
Wardlaw
. I wonder if she’d talk to
me?
”

“She’s probably been questioned to the point of persecution by now. She may not be receptive.”

“I think I’ll try.” Nibbling at the end of her pen, Kate thought about trying to recall the visions. “Do you think it’s possible to die from a vision? If Professor Carver hadn't stopped it, would I have continued to choke?”

“I don’t think so. I believe you would pass out first.”

“That’s comforting.” She definitely wouldn’t try that alone. “Can you think of anything else?”

“You said she was tall, that she could see the top of her car, so the killer must be quiet tall.
And very strong.
Maybe her roommate could describe the men she went out with.”

“What about the lake?
And the ghostly trees?
Could it be in an area near a forest fire?” Kate sipped her coffee, afraid to go too near the visions.

“Somehow, that doesn’t seem right. Maybe if you look at a map, something will come to you.” More paper shuffling. “I don’t see anything in today’s paper. Why don’t you call John?”