Last Car to Annwn Station (3 page)

Donald exhaled. “Of course. You should cover your ass in case this all goes bad.”

“Sir, I—”

“I don’t want to hear anymore, Mae,” he said, raising a hand to stop her next outburst. “I’m sorry about this. I know it’s unfair. Just leave the file on my desk at the end of the day.”

Donald turned and left her office without giving her a chance to argue the matter more.

It took Mae an hour to write her letter and finish closing out the file. As she walked toward her boss’s office, she made a detour on impulse. Several minutes and dozens of photocopies later, she left the case file on Donald’s desk as ordered.

A copy rested in her bag.

She knew she could be fired for what she had done, but her instincts screamed that it was critical she keep an eye on this girl’s welfare, no matter how hard County Attorney Backstrom tried to bury the case. Moving quickly and quietly, Mae slipped out of the building, nervously looking over her shoulder, expecting someone to stop her and demand to search her bag at any moment.

Mae dug around in the refrigerator, looking for something quick and easy for dinner. She pulled a can of diet cola and a sealed container of leftover lasagna from the fridge, dished the cold lasagna onto a plate and placed it in the microwave. She hit one of the preprogrammed timers and popped open the soda and took a long drink. The microwave dinged and Mae withdrew the plate of heated lasagna.

The high ringing of a bell made Mae look outside. She glanced down from her third-floor window to the street below. Parked in front of her building on Lagoon Avenue was one of the yellow streetcars. As she watched the car, its bell rang twice.

Mae kept her eyes on the streetcar. “I don’t think so.”

The bells rang again.

Mae frowned. She knew she shouldn’t but…

She grabbed her cell phone from the kitchen counter and dropped it into her bag. On impulse, she shoved the copy of the Arneson file into it as well. She shrugged into her coat and picked up her bag. Checking her pocket full of coins, she started downstairs.

The streetcar was waiting for her, its red front door open. Taking a deep breath and wondering if she was mad, Mae stepped aboard. She dropped her dime into the fare box and took the slip of paper from the conductor, jamming it into her pants pocket.

Mae turned toward the back of the car, expecting to find an assortment of faerie creatures and animal spirits.

All she found was Death.

Death smiled at her, the universe in his eyes. “Good evening, Maeve Kathleen Malveaux.”

Mae licked her dry lips and grabbed the back of a seat to steady herself as the car started rolling. “Death, are you here for me tonight?” she asked, heart pounding.

“No. My business is elsewhere.”

Mae was silent, more than a little nervous. She was unsure how to start a conversation with Death. It seemed she needed a better lead-in than something like, “So, how about those Vikings? You think they’ll make the playoffs this year?”

As the streetcar passed by the silver shimmer of Lake Calhoun, Mae plunged ahead. “If you don’t mind my asking, people die constantly, but here you are, riding a streetcar like you have all the time in the world.”

Death smiled. “That is not a question. However, I understand your point. To answer your unasked query, Maeve, I am unencumbered by mortal concepts of time and space. They simply do not apply to my existence.”

“Oh.” Mae cringed on the inside at her inability to articulate. She gathered herself and made another attempt. Waving her right hand around, she asked. “Why? Why ride on one of these if you can exist anywhere, everywhere, anytime?”

Death’s smile grew wider and he leaned toward her. “I do not
need
to ride these cars, Mae. I do it because it amuses me and I enjoy contact with those who I do not have business with.”

For what was the first time since she had boarded the streetcar on Hennepin Avenue in downtown, Mae wondered why she could see and interact with the streetcars while other people, like Jill, apparently could not. She glanced out the window and watched the shops along Excelsior Boulevard go by. They seemed dark and alien to her, not at all a part of her normal, everyday life. Mae frowned to herself.

“You are troubled, Maeve Malveaux,” Death said.

“I don’t understand why I can ride these cars when other people don’t even notice them.”

Death stood and shrugged. “I do not have the answers you seek, except that the cars are both a part of and apart from the mortal world, and any who interact with them must be as well. That is why the spirits and fae folk are able to use them. As to why they have revealed themselves to you, I do not know. This is my stop, Maeve Kathleen Malveaux. Good evening to you.”

Mae saw they were near Methodist Hospital, about to cross Minnehaha Creek, heading into the little suburb of Hopkins. His form disappeared into the darkness when the streetcar rumbled forward again. She looked at the interior. She was acutely aware of how alone she was. Mae sighed. She had not stopped to purchase another can of pepper spray. She settled back into her seat and cursed herself for wandering off unarmed into the night on a vehicle that technically did not even exist.

She watched the night scenery go by. The car traveled through downtown Hopkins, past its string of antique stores and family-owned bars and restaurants, and turned slightly north. Mae realized the car was heading toward Lake Minnetonka.

She withdrew the illicit file from her bag and checked the address listed for the Arneson family. The senior Arnesons lived in Excelsior, just off the lake in a section of the metro where old money held sway. Marie Arneson had returned to her family home, living with her parents after she finished drug rehab.

The streetcar stopped at the end of a long driveway. The back door opened. No one climbed aboard and the car made no motion to continue on its path. Remembering Ellie’s statement about the cars getting you where you needed to go, Mae realized this was her stop. Thanking the conductor, she glanced at the name embroidered on his uniform.

Lowry. It was the name of the man who had been the driving force behind the creation of the modern streetcar system in the Twin Cities over one hundred and forty years ago.

She gave him a startled look. He tipped his hat to her and turned back to the front door, ready to greet any rider who might climb aboard. She stepped into the cold night air.

She found herself facing a Victorian-style mansion. Mae realized this was probably an actual Victorian, not one of the replicas that had been cropping up along the lake, built by the new rich. This structure had likely stood on this spot for the last one hundred forty-odd years.

Mae walked up the driveway, past the elaborate grounds, the snow-covered topiary, the marble statuary. The fountain at the top of the circular driveway was turned off and drained, likely in preparation for the harsh Minnesota winter. Lights shone brightly and Mae took note of the small fleet of luxury cars parked along the drive. She recognized a couple of the vehicles by their vanity plates.

Mae noted the address again as she approached. She gave the huge mansion a sour look. Well, she was here, no sense in not ringing the bell.

The solid-looking front door was answered by a stern, gray-haired woman in a black skirt that reached her ankles and a white blouse that was pressed to razor sharpness.

“Yes?” the woman asked. “May I help you?”

“My name is Mae Malveaux. I’m with Child Protective Services. I wondered if I might have a word with Marie Arneson.”

The woman frowned, looking Mae up and down. “May I tell her what this matter is about?”

Mae smiled, hopefully in a winning way. She realized how rumpled she must look. “It’s just a small matter that I need to take care of before I can sign off on her case.” Mae was lying through her teeth.

The woman stepped aside to allow Mae entry. “If you would follow me, Miss Malveaux.”

Mae was led to a sitting room and left alone. She stood, looking at the elaborate decorations and antique furniture. She suspected the contents of this room alone were worth more than an entire year of her salary. She gave herself a quick check in the mirror hanging on the wall, straightening her blouse and smoothing wrinkles from her slacks. She tried to make her limp hair do something besides look stringy and unwashed. It was a failing effort.

The sound of a door opening made Mae turn. She found herself facing Marie Arneson’s father, James, and the family attorney, William Hodgins. Both men looked remarkably fresh for late evening, dressed in pressed suits with coordinating ties. Neither seemed to have an end-of-day shadow on their faces, and each man’s gray hair was styled and in place as if they had just risen from a barber’s chair. It was Hodgins who spoke.

“Miss Malveaux, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

Mae smiled at both men and addressed James Arneson. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Arneson, but there was one small matter I needed to attend to before I could sign off on your granddaughter’s case file.”

Hodgins stepped back into the conversation. “I’m sure you’re aware this—unfortunate—situation has been resolved to the satisfaction of the county attorney’s office?”

“Yes, Mr. Hodgins, I understand that, at some point, a deal was reached. However, I cannot close the file until I’ve done my exit interview.”

“I didn’t know there was a need for an exit interview,” Hodgins said, suspicion in his eyes.

Mae shrugged. She was way off the deep end and knew she was in for it tomorrow at work, but she had come this far. “It’s a simple formality. A few questions, then I can complete my paperwork and we can put this—as you called it—unfortunate incident behind us.”

“My daughter is at a meeting of her support group,” Mr. Arneson said.

Mae nodded in understanding. “I see. Perhaps I could speak with Chrysandra?” She looked at Hodgins. “Under your supervision, of course. That should be enough for me to complete my report.” She turned back to James Arneson. “A couple of questions, then I’ll trouble your family no more.”
At least,
Mae thought,
until I can figure out what’s really going on here.

The two men looked at each other for several moments. Mae felt a little shiver go down her back. The air in the room seemed to cool as the two turned back to her.

“If you will wait here, Miss Malveaux, I shall bring my granddaughter,” James Arneson said.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll make this as quick as possible.”

The man left the room, leaving Mae alone with Hodgins. She turned and grinned at him with false bravado.

“So which one of those rides outside is yours, Bill?”

“What are you playing at, Malveaux? Are you trying to get yourself fired?”

“I’m just doing my job, making sure that little girl is cared for.”

Hodgins narrowed his eyes at her. “Your bosses think Marie Arneson is a fit mother. That should be good enough for you. Perhaps I should ask the county attorney to join us?”

Mae shrugged and turned away, pretending to examine a bejeweled egg. Inside, her heart was hammering and there was a ringing starting in her ears. She knew someone like Hodgins could and would get her fired. He could file a complaint with Backstrom, saying that she was harassing the Arneson family.

“It’s just a couple of questions, Bill. I’ll ask them, and then you and the rest of Arneson’s golf buddies can go back to smoking cigars and drinking brandy.”

Before Hodgins could retort, the door opened again. James Arneson came into the room, holding the hand of a little girl. The child seemed well fed and clean. Her blue eyes were bright and her brown hair was brushed and tied back in a ponytail with a ribbon. It had a nice healthy sheen to it. Mae smiled down at her.

James Arneson knelt next to the child. “Darling, this nice lady would like to ask you a couple of questions. Will that be okay?”