Kissed by Moonlight (11 page)

Before I hopped into the truck, I gave Tommy a quick hug. He smelled of sage and juniper and wood smoke. "Thanks for the training. Sorry I have to leave early." I wasn't sorry.

"Liar. Don't worry about it. You'll be back." His eyes promised all sorts of revenge.

"I don't doubt it." I turned to climb up into the pickup, but Tommy's hand on my arm stopped me.

"Remember, there will come a day, very soon, when you will have to make a choice." His eyes were deadly serious. "When that time comes, you must choose wisely. Your choice... it could alter the future."

"Okay." I had to make choices every day. Life-or-death kinds of choices. I couldn't understand what he was trying to tell me. He was definitely a little over the top. Alter the entire future? I doubted it. "I'll, uh, do my best."

"Just remember, choose with the heart of a woman, not a warrior. It will not lead you astray."

He let me go then. Baffled, I climbed into the truck, slamming the door shut. As we bounced down the road in a cloud of dust, I craned my head to look out the back window. Tommy was still standing in the middle of the road. I watched him until we turned the corner, and Tommy and the cabin disappeared from sight.

Chapter 16

The wooden sign next to the street proudly proclaimed "Sunnyside Village," complete with curlicues and fake gold paint that was starting to flake off. Beneath the name, neat black letters proclaimed it to be "An award winning community of elegance and style for the retired."

In other words? Old folks' home. And it looked like one, too. Screw "retirement village," this place looked more like a prison. Okay, maybe not a prison, but I wasn't seeing a whole lot of elegance or style. Unless "depressing" was a style.

The building looked like it might have once been a single family ranch-style house. It was long and low with '60s era aluminum framed windows and worn vinyl siding painted a dull gray. At some point, somebody had added a couple extra wings to house the retirees and decided to paint them beige. No doubt beige paint had been on sale. It didn't help with the elegance.

Its saving grace was that Sunnyside Village was perched on the side of a hill overlooking Happy Valley and Sunnyside Road in the hills just outside Portland. It wasn’t a bad view. At least the inmates—I mean guests—didn't have to look at the building. Talk about depressing.

It was weird, too, because Happy Valley was known as a sort of posh place where people lived in huge cookie-cutter houses and drove gas-guzzling SUVs that took up three whole parking spaces. They shopped at snazzy grocery stores that had wide, brightly lit aisles and sold organic food for insane prices. Most everything was new and clean and fresh. Not Sunnyside Village. It stuck out like a proverbial sore thumb; a dandelion among peonies.

Jack led the way inside with me tromping along behind him. The place was giving me the willies, and I wasn't in the mood to hide it. My booted feet
thunk
ed angrily on the concrete steps leading up to the front doors.

"Chill," Jack hissed at me.

A nine-hundred-year-old warrior and former Templar knight telling me to chill? That made me giggle. But I took his suggestion onboard and stopped the tromping. Instead, I gave my purple corduroy jacket a tug and smoothed down my black skirt. That's right: skirt. I'd swapped my usual leather jacket and jeans for something more professional. I refused to give up the boots, though. A girl's got to have standards.

We passed through the glass double doors and into the interior of the building. The original living room had been turned into a front office, the carpet replaced with ugly vinyl tiles in white and gray, the kind you find in public bathrooms the world over. The walls were painted the same dull gray as the outside, and the counter that had been added was made of cheap pine and gray-speckled white Formica. They must have salvaged that from the kitchen or something.

The only spot of color and interest was the original brick fireplace. The opening had been boarded up, but the rest had been left as is. Somebody had placed a vase of pink and blue silk flowers on the mantle, no doubt thinking it would brighten up the place. Unfortunately, they just looked cheap and tacky.

Above the mantle hung a picture in a garish, gold frame. A pudgy man stared down upon us through thick-lensed glasses, a benevolent smile on his lips. A small brass plaque on the bottom of the frame no doubt identified the man, but I didn't need to read it to guess this was the facility's medical director, the man we'd come to see.

The woman behind the front desk was plainly bored out of her skull. In fact, I'd bet just about anything that, despite her appearance of business-like efficiency, she was actually playing Tetris. Couldn't say I blamed her.

Jack cleared his throat. She ignored him. Sort of. I could see her giving him the once-over out of the corner of her eye. Couldn't blame her for that, either. He'd also dressed for the occasion in a dark suit that emphasized his narrow waist and broad shoulders, and a blue button-down shirt that brought out the color of his eyes. He was, admittedly, extremely tasty in that get up.

"Excuse me, Miss," he said.

Miss? Despite the bleached-blond hair and frosted pink lipstick, the woman wasn't a day under sixty. The red plastic nametag pinned to her ample chest read "Doris."

"How may I help you?" Doris finally glanced up from her computer screen, carefully patting her hair into place with a pudgy hand and adjusting the hot pink sweater draped over her shoulders. If the expression in her eyes was anything to go by, Jack was in serious danger of losing his suit.

"Dr. Jackson Keel. This is my assistant, Ms. Bailey. We have an appointment with Dr. Mickleson."

"Oh, yes, you called yesterday."

I swear to the gods, she fluttered her eyelashes at Jack.

"Let me show you to Dr. Mickleson's office." Doris started to get up, but Jack waved her back down.

"Thank you, Doris,"—he put just the right purr into her name—"but I don’t want to take up your valuable time. Just point the way." He gave her a smile oozing with sex appeal. I barely refrained from making a gagging motion.

Doris beamed at him. "Down the hall, third door on the left. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?"

"No, thank you. Doris." Jack gave her another one of his blinding smiles that sent the poor woman's ample bosom heaving. She actually picked up a patient chart and started fanning herself with it.

I managed to repress my smirk long enough to make our way past the front desk and down the hall. "She wanted to eat you alive." I couldn't help a small giggle.

Jack scowled. "Shut up."

That made me laugh even harder.

We were in part of the original building. Bedrooms had been turned into offices, no doubt. The third door on the left had a strip of red plastic that matched Doris's name tag. The white letters proclaimed this was the office of Dr. M. Mickleson. Jack gave a quick rap and entered at the muffled response from inside. I trailed behind him, pulling a small notebook out of my pocket, playing the part of the dutiful assistant.

The first thing I noticed was the smell of aftershave; the office reeked of it. Something sharp and musky. It made my nose itch. I managed to repress a sneeze at the cost of making my eyes water.

The man behind the desk matched the woman at the front: short and slightly pudgy. They even had matching name tags and expressions of boredom. He did not, however, sport a hot pink sweater. His was navy. His hair was more salt than pepper with a shiny bald spot on top. I recognized him from the photo above the fireplace.

The men shook hands in that macho way they do. Mickleson ignored me, focusing his attention on Jack through thick glasses with chunky black plastic frames. I wasn't used to men ignoring me. Thanks to my more than generous curves and bright red hair I sort of stood out, but it was clear Mickleson was more interested in Jack's supposed status. As a mere assistant, I was beneath his notice.

"Ah, Dr. Keel. So nice of you to pay us a visit." Mickelson's tone didn't sound like he thought it was nice. More like he thought it was an imposition. His watery hazel eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Please sit." He waved us to a pair of plain wooden chairs that were insanely uncomfortable. Probably another thing they'd salvaged from the kitchen. "I understand you have a question about one of our former patients?"

"Possibly, Dr. Mickleson." Jack leaned forward as if about to impart a deep, dark secret. "You see, doctor, we have a most interesting conundrum, and since you are an expert in the field, we hope you can help us."

Dr. Mickleson steepled his fingers together, excitement flitting briefly across his face before he managed to school his expression. His eyes sparkled behind the thick lenses of his glasses, suspicion suddenly erased. He was on the hook. "I would be glad to help in any way I can. What seems to be the problem?"

"As you know, my practice is in geriatric psychology. Experimental, of course."

I almost sputtered over that, but Mickleson nodded eagerly. I guess there really was such a thing. Or he wanted there to be.

"Of course, Dr. Keel. Go on."

"Recently, a patient was brought to me suffering from dementia. She was found wandering the streets, confused. She remembers almost nothing of her past. I am trying to track where she came from so I can access her files and hopefully help her."

I heard the odd emphasis on "help" and knew what Mickleson was no doubt thinking. "Experiment on" was probably close, and Mickleson seemed way too eager to assist us. It made me wonder just what kinds of things were going on behind closed doors here.

"Of course. Of course. If you could give me some details... " Mickleson leaned forward, licking his thick lips.

"She remembers being a nurse in the Second World War, dancing to big band music, and living in a retirement home that includes the name 'Sunny.' That's it, I'm afraid," Jack said, leaning back in his chair. His tone was casual, but he watched Mickleson like a hawk.

During Jack's description, Mickleson's face had slowly drained of color. His mouth opened and closed a few times, and finally he squeaked out, "But she's... "

I knew what he'd been about to say: dead. Instead, he shook his head, sweat popping out along his upper lip and his eyes going wide with panic. He stood up quickly, flapping his pudgy hands to indicate we should do the same.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Keel, but I'm afraid we have no such patient here, nor have we ever. I'm so sorry you wasted your time." He herded us toward the door. "I really wish I could help you."

"As do I," Jack murmured. "She must have come from another facility. We have several more on our list to check."

"Yes, yes. I'm sure that's it. Well, have a nice day." Mickelson all but slammed the door in our faces.

I waited until we were back outside. "He's just about the best liar ever." My voice dripped with sarcasm.

Jack snorted. "No kidding."

"Now what?" Mickleson wasn't going to spill his guts without a little persuasion.

"Now," Jack said, climbing into my car, "we wait."

Chapter 17

We didn't have long to wait. Less than an hour later, Mickelson appeared at the side door of the Sunnyside Village main building. After a furtive glance around, he quickly crossed the small parking lot and hopped into a brand new Chevy Camaro in bumblebee yellow. The car roared to life, and Mickleson took off in the direction of the freeway.

"Total penis car," I muttered.

Jack snorted with laughter. "At least he'll be easy to follow."

"You got that right."

I pulled into traffic, keeping a couple of vehicles between my Mustang and Mickelson's shiny yellow car as we drove north on I205, then west on I84 into downtown Portland. Twenty minutes later, he pulled up in front of a small restaurant tucked in between a couple of larger brick buildings, completely ignoring the fact he was blocking a fire hydrant. As he disappeared through the turquoise door, I pulled into a loading zone across the street. Through the large front window, Jack and I had a clear view into the busy restaurant.

The doctor rushed through the dining room, giving a brief wave to the wait staff, who seemed to barely notice his presence. He slipped through a swinging door in the back, which no doubt led to the kitchen, vanishing from sight. Wherever he was going, he seemed in an all-fire hurry to get there.

I moved to get out of the car, but Jack grabbed my arm. "Not yet."

I shot him a scowl. "No way am I letting him slip away without finding out what's up."

"And what if he comes back and catches you? We'll find out more if we wait. Trust me."

Gods, I was sick to death of waiting, but I settled back into my seat and kept my eyes glued to the restaurant. I desperately wanted to know what was going on in there.

Five minutes ticked by with all the speed of five hours. Then ten. Fifteen. Finally, Dr. Mickleson emerged from the restaurant looking flushed and worried. He swiped a blue handkerchief across his face, then jumped into his bumblebee car and took off back toward the freeway.

"Okay, now." Jack nodded toward the restaurant.

I hopped out of the car and strode casually across the street. The inside of the restaurant was just as chaotic and noisy as it had looked from the outside. A harried waiter shook his head as he approached me, a tray full of steaming hot noodles on one arm. "Sorry, but we're full. If you want to wait... "

"I'm here to meet someone."

He frowned. "Uh, okay. Name?"

"Dr. Mickleson."

The waiter shook his head as he peered at the reservations list. "Nothing here under that name."

"Short, grayish hair with a bald spot, black hipster glasses... "

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, lady, you just missed him," the waiter interrupted. "He left less than five minutes ago." He started toward one of the tables with his tray of food.

"Really?" I gave him my best baffled expression, stepping into his path. "But he said to meet him here at one o'clock. I'm a little early. He left already? We haven't even eaten."

"I don't know what he told you, but he wasn't here to eat." The waiter moved around me to deposit the noodle bowls in front of customers at the table. Empty tray in hand, he turned and sped off toward the kitchen.