Medium Rare: (Intermix) (3 page)

He stared at her for a long moment, then shrugged. “I don’t have anything concrete yet, Rose. But something is happening. There’s some kind of trouble coming. I can feel it. And it’s centered on Bradford. It may be a threat to our enterprise. Or possibly to the family itself.”

Rose stared at him for a long moment. “A threat to the family? What kind of threat?”

“You remember your brother’s problem with the haunted carriage house?”

She frowned. “The demonic ghost who wanted to suck up his soul? Yeah, I remember that pretty well. Are you saying we’ve got another one?”

“Not precisely the same, no. But perhaps another ancient ghost is involved. It’s certainly a possibility.”

“But what does that mean? Is it coming after us directly? How is it related to Bradford?”

Skag shook his head impatiently. “As I said, it’s nothing concrete yet—just a feeling. That’s why we need more information. Human information this time, since my spiritual sources aren’t proving helpful.”

Rose sighed. “And who exactly will run Locators, Ltd. while I’m off playing research assistant with Evan Delwin? Since that’s my sole source of income now, I’m not inclined to let it slide.”

Skag waved an impatient hand. “You can catch up in the evening. I assume Delwin won’t want more than eight hours of your time per day.”

“Wonderful. So I end up having even less of a life than I have currently. I didn’t think that was possible.”

“It’s only a temporary situation. Delwin will undoubtedly return to his home base once he’s finished this current project.”

“I’ll discuss it with you tomorrow.” She marched toward the stairs, turning back at the door. “Did I mention Delwin looks a lot like the Prince of Darkness himself? He’s got a nose that would have made the Medicis proud.”

Skag raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea his appearance would matter. Isn’t that rather shallow of you?”

“Right, I forgot, only men are allowed to be shallow.” She blew out an irritated breath. “Look, Skag, I’m tired. I just spent the evening pretending to be an old lady so I could watch William Bradford run a confidence game on the bereaved, not to mention I’ve got powder in my hair. I need to take a shower. Then I’ll check Delwin’s ad. Then I’m off duty for the rest of the night. Don’t even try to call me.”

“Your Great-great-great-grandmother Maura also behaved the way you’re behaving,” Skag mused. “Testy. Easily annoyed.”

“So it runs in the family. Sue me. Good night, Skag.”

“Testy,” he murmured, his feet becoming transparent. “Definitely testy.”

Rose watched him fade completely into the darkness before heading back upstairs. “Trust me, my see-through cousin,” she muttered, “you haven’t begun to see testy yet.”

Chapter 3

Alana DuBois peered up into the opaque San Antonio sky, trying to get her bearings. When she’d gone into the storefront before the séance, the weather had been mostly clear and muggy, just a little drizzle. Now mist obscured the buildings on both sides of the street. Somehow it turned everything around—she couldn’t get her sense of direction to work.

She flexed her shoulders, shaking off the niggling sense of uneasiness. Just fog. In a few moments, she’d figure out where she was. She peered toward some distant streetlights, considering which way she should turn at the intersection. The street signs were too dark to read.

Her red velvet cloak tangled briefly around her ankles. Normally, she loved the sweeping contour the cloak created, but it could be a pain in the neck, particularly on a warm wet night. The hood started to slip again, and Alana jerked it back up, shivering.

She wished she’d been able to drive to the storefront where the séance had taken place. But downtown San Antonio didn’t offer a lot of parking, even on a weeknight. She headed toward the bus stop.

For a moment, she thought she heard the scrape of footsteps behind her, echoing up the street. Her chest tightened uncomfortably.

“Oh, grow up,” she muttered. “What do you think it is? Ghosts?”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly as she chuckled. Ghosts. Oh yes, that would certainly make her night. Her first real ghost after years in the business.

Get a grip.
She tucked her purse more firmly under her arm. Muggers or rapists were much more likely than ghosts, particularly when she was dressed like Little Red Riding Hood. What thief could resist?

She started walking again, more quickly this time, wrapping her hand tightly around the pepper spray attached to her keychain. She’d never used it, but there was always a first time. She only hoped she could remember which way to spray it so she didn’t get a face full of pepper oil.

At the next corner she turned right, listening for footsteps but hearing nothing. She breathed a small sigh of relief. Overactive imagination. She took a deep breath. No one else was out walking on the street. She was just on her way home from work, like an average person.

“Sylvia?”

The voice seemed to come from directly behind her, a thin rasping whisper, like dry leaves skittering across a gravel road.

Alana froze for a moment, swallowing hard, then picked up her pace. “I’m not Sylvia,” she muttered.

No Sylvia here. No, siree. No Sylvia for several years now
. She stumbled slightly on a crack in the sidewalk, holding herself firmly in check to keep from running, her leg muscles tightening with the strain.
Just keep walking. Everything’s fine.

“Sylvia?” the voice seemed to scrape across her skin like sandpaper. Ancient, desiccated. “Sylvia Morris?”

Alana caught her breath.
No.
She’d never used that name in San Antonio. Sylvia was long gone—nobody knew her here. She was Alana DuBois. “You’ve got the wrong person,” she snapped, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “I’m not the one you’re looking for.”

“Sylvia?”

Alana swallowed hard again, beginning to trot. “I don’t know you,” she squeaked.

“Sylvia? Sylvia? Sylvia?” The raspy singsong followed her down the street, enveloping her like an icy wind.

Alana whirled at the corner, glaring behind her as she pushed the hood back from her face, trying to see where the voice was coming from. “I don’t know you,” she screamed. “Leave me alone.”

She opened her mouth to scream again and suddenly her throat was filled with jagged light. She felt it burning against her skin, slicing into her ears, her nose, her eyes. A great wave of light, turning her into light herself. She became a shimmering candle burning with cold fire in the middle of the street.

The red velvet cloak disintegrated into ashes at her feet. Her body clenched in silent spasms, organs, bones, and skin melding together into a small dried husk.

After a few moments, the wind caught the ashes that were all that remained of Alana DuBois, bearing them away into the empty spaces that lined the street.

***

Rose paused at her computer, a shiver snaking up her spine. “What the hell?”

“Something unexpected?” Skag appeared at her shoulder, staring at the screen.

She shook her head. “I felt something weird. Just . . . someone walked across my grave, I guess.”

Skag snorted. “What a very unfortunate turn of phrase you have sometimes, Rose.” He disappeared again.

“Oh, bite me,” she muttered. But after a moment she clicked on another lamp at the other end of the desk. All of a sudden the room seemed way too dark.

Chapter 4

Evan studied the stack of résumés on his desk and felt like sighing. His requirements for a research assistant weren’t exactly stiff—just someone who knew his way around a library and an online search and who maybe had the smarts to do a few interviews. He’d hoped the tight job market might throw out a few hungry grad students or maybe an out-of-work reporter. Instead he’d gotten a lot of people who didn’t seem to have a clue about what the word
research
meant. The one kid who’d seemed promising had turned out to be a devout believer in UFO’s and ghost hunters. Evan had a feeling the boy wouldn’t be exactly unbiased in digging for facts on William Bradford.

Now he glanced down at the other promising résumé and back up at the woman who went along with it. Rose Ramos didn’t exactly look Latina. She did, however, look a lot like the librarian she’d apparently once been. Or at least like the librarians he’d known when he was a kid. Her hair was pulled back tightly in the kind of low ponytail that made his forehead ache in sympathy. Her formidable black-rimmed glasses took up half her face. Her loose cotton blouse and knee-length black skirt gave no hint of what her figure might be like.

Which was, of course, none of his business anyway and certainly not relevant to the present situation. Evan grimaced. He needed to focus. Based on Ramos’s résumé, she might be his last best hope for a competent research assistant.

“You’re a reference librarian?” he asked.

Ms. Ramos nodded. “I was. For three years. I have a degree in library science from UT Austin.”

“Why did you leave?”

She shrugged. “Bad times for libraries. Staffing reductions.”

Which was a nicely vague nonanswer. Evan decided to let it go for now. “Are you familiar with what I do, Ms. Ramos?”

She nodded. “I’ve read a couple of your books. The one on the Fox sisters and the one on ghost hoaxes.”

He tried to think of a way to ask the next question without sounding like a complete asshole.
Oh well, just go for it.
“What did you think of them?”

“They’re very well written. And I like your attitude.”

“My attitude?”

“A lot of skeptics’ books are sort of . . . nasty about people who believe in the paranormal. Dismissive. You seem to be, well, kinder.”

Evan raised an eyebrow. “Kinder? That’s not a word that’s been used much about me in the past.”

“I don’t mean you’re saying they’re right. But you don’t look down on them for believing what they believe.”

“No, I don’t,” he agreed. “But I also don’t have much sympathy for the people who take advantage of them.”

Ms. Ramos seemed to stiffen slightly. “Yes. I’m aware of that.”

“Would that be a problem for you?”

“A problem?” She shook her head. “I’m not in favor of taking advantage of people. Particularly if they’re vulnerable people.”

“Good.” He watched her face. “Have you heard of William Bradford?”

“The medium? Sure. It’s hard to miss him these days.”

“What do you think of him?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know much about him other than the TV shows. He seems successful.”

“He makes money. In that sense he’s successful.”

“You’re investigating him?”

“I’m investigating several things, but he’s definitely one of them. He seems to be based in San Antonio right now.”

She nodded. “He’s got a house out in one of the ritzy developments beyond Loop 1604. It was big news when he moved here. What are you looking for?”

“Several things,” he repeated. He wondered how much more to tell her.
Suppose she’s working for Bradford.
He pushed the thought away almost as soon as it had occurred to him. Bradford would have no reason to know what he was investigating. He hadn’t told anybody except his editor and Harry Dominguez. Still, there had been that call about Alana DuBois.

“At the moment, I’m still doing basic background research.”

“Bradford doesn’t come from around here, as far as I know. I’m not sure where he does come from.”

Millersville, Ohio.
Evan had already gone over Bradford’s background. Nothing that marked him as special, no matter what his official biography might say. Early jobs in radio, community theatre, church work. Lots of experience in performing, but nothing about spirits. “He’s a Midwestern transplant. Are you from San Antonio, Ms. Ramos?”

She nodded. “Second generation. Third, actually, on my mother’s side.”

“Interesting,” he said politely. “Now about the research job—I’d need you two or three days a week, possibly more if we come up with something we need to pursue.”

“Would I work here?”

She raised an eyebrow as she surveyed his rented office. Admittedly, it was a bit Spartan. But he hadn’t needed anything more than a basic desk and chair, along with the computer dock. And the white walls and window blinds had suited him. He didn’t usually personalize his work space. Still, something about that raised eyebrow annoyed him. “Would that be a problem?”

She shook her head. “I can work anywhere I have a computer hookup.”

“Good. I can see about getting another desk.” Which was actually not at all what he’d planned to do originally. He figured his assistant would work somewhere else. Rose Ramos had become a somewhat annoying woman. “The salary is fifteen an hour. You keep track of the hours you work, including anything out of the office, and give me an invoice at the end of each week.”

She gave a small sigh. That vague sense of annoyance accelerated.
All right, so it’s not the highest paying job around. So what?
“Are you still interested?”

She licked her lips, her pink tongue moving across a lush mouth the color of ripe strawberries. He stared at her again.
Focus, damn it!

“Of course. What will I be working on?”

“Initially, I need you to see if you can locate Ms. Alana DuBois.” He handed her a slip of paper with an address and phone number.

“Who’s she?”

He shrugged. “Haven’t a clue. I had an anonymous call that said she might have some information about Bradford. I got the address and number from the Web.”

“What kind of information?”

“Background. Apparently, they worked together several years ago. Or so the caller said.”

“Male or female?” Ramos picked up a piece of paper and a pencil from his desk.

Evan’s eyebrow went up again. “Excuse me?”

“The caller. Was it a man or a woman?”

“A woman. She left a message on my voice mail. It might have been Alana DuBois herself.”

“And what do you want to know when I find her?” Ramos looked up expectantly.

“
If
you find her, ask her about Bradford. Find out when she knew him and what she can tell us. If she seems to have any interesting information, let me know and I’ll do a formal interview.”

“Right.” Ramos pushed herself to her feet and he had a brief glimpse of more-than-respectable legs beneath her loose black skirt. “I guess I’ll be out of the office for the next day or so, then.”

“That should give me time to get you a desk.”

“Wonderful.”

He detected a note of sarcasm there.
Tough shit, Rosie.
“Give me a call if you find anything. Otherwise, I’ll expect to see you in a couple of days.”

“Count on it, Mr. Delwin,” she said dryly.

Okay, more than a note of sarcasm this time. “Call me Evan,” he said automatically.

As she opened the door, he caught another glimpse of well-toned calf. He was beginning to think Rose Ramos was more interesting than she’d appeared initially.

Which led to another intriguing question: Why exactly had a good-looking woman wanted to look less than good-looking when she’d come to interview for a job with him?

***

Rose massaged her feet as she leaned back in her kitchen chair. Tomorrow she’d have to remember to wear sturdier shoes. She couldn’t get by with sandals if she was going to be hiking all over town.

She hadn’t exactly gotten the goods on Alana DuBois, but she was definitely on the right track. She took a long sip of wine. Apparently, spending all her time running Locators, Ltd., which mostly involved her computer and consultations with Skag, had made her a softie. She hadn’t felt this tired in months.

“Well?” Skag’s voice echoed from the hall behind her. “Did you get the job?”

Rose sighed. Technically, Skag was allowed in the kitchen since it was on the first floor, but she didn’t exactly encourage him to join her there. Having another room to herself was a definite plus.

“I got the job. I’m already working for him. If you’ll give me time to finish my wine, I’ll come to the living room and tell you all about it.”

“You can bring the wine with you. Come on. I want to hear what’s happened.” His voice resonated down the hall.

Rose sighed again, gathering up her glass of Sangiovese and heading after him.

“What’s Delwin working on? What does he have you doing? How long is he going to be here?” Skag’s questions hit her like machine-gun fire as soon as she walked into the living room. His white tuxedo shirt glowed in the shadows near the fireplace.

Grimacing, she headed for the front windows, pulling the curtains aside to let in the setting sun. “He’s investigating William Bradford, as you’ve already guessed. However, he’s got me looking for a woman named Alana DuBois, who may or may not be an old acquaintance of Bradford. And I have no idea how long he’s staying, but I really hope it’s a quick visit.”

Skag moved further back into the dimmer part of the room. “You weren’t impressed?”

“Not particularly. He’s only paying me fifteen dollars an hour for part-time work. I was making more than that at the library.”

Skag gave her a dry look, running a hand over his brilliantined hair. “I wasn’t aware you were in need of money.”

“I’m not. It’s the principle of the thing.”

“Other than his parsimonious nature, how did he strike you?”

Rose set her glass back on the coffee table, picturing Evan Delwin in his barren office. Tall, dark, unsettling. Sort of like one of those Renaissance princes who took what they wanted and asked no questions at all. But she didn’t particularly want to discuss Delwin’s sexual allure with Skag. “He’s after something, but I’m not sure what. He may just be trying to expose Bradford as a fake, although that’s already been tried several times. People don’t seem too interested in the facts. Still, Delwin might have a better shot than most.”

“Who’s this Alana DuBois you’re supposedly investigating for him?”

“There’s no ‘supposedly’ about it. I am investigating her. She or someone representing her called Delwin and told him she had information about Bradford. Delwin wanted me to track her down and find out what she had to say.”

“And did you?”

“Yes and no. I found her apartment, but not her. Which was somewhat troubling.”

“Explain.”

Rose sighed, taking another swallow of Sangiovese. “She wasn’t at her place. And she hadn’t been there for several days.”

“Perhaps she thought better of her message to Delwin and decided to decamp before he found her.”

She shrugged. “I suppose that’s possible, but she didn’t take anything with her as far as I could tell. Her landlady said all her things were still in her apartment.”

“You spoke to her landlady? Why?”

Rose shrugged again. “I needed to find out when she’d been home last.”

“And when was that?”

“The landlady didn’t know exactly. She hadn’t paid her rent for a couple of weeks.”

“Where does she live?”

“A duplex outside Ft. Sam Houston, toward the national cemetery. The street name is something like Brentwood.”

Skag sniffed. “Not exactly an exclusive area. Are her possessions still there?”

“Yes. I paid her rent.”

He stared at her in consternation. “You paid her rent?”

Rose opened her eyes wide, doing her best Little Miss Sunshine imitation. “Well, of course. The landlady said if Alana DuBois didn’t come back, I could take what was there. And since I paid the rent, I have a key to the apartment. I decided it might be helpful in the investigation. Having a key, that is.”

“The landlady allowed this?” He sounded faintly scandalized.

“The landlady would have allowed just about anything as long as she got the rent paid.”

Skag pulled his cigarette holder from his pocket, lit cigarette already in place. “Of course, when Delwin finds out you paid her rent, he may be as stunned as I am. And he may well wonder how you could afford it.”

“Oh, I’m going to bill him for it on my invoice. I figure it’s a business expense.” Rose gave him a cheery smile, that faded slightly after a moment. “I found out something else, Skag. About Alana DuBois. The landlady said she was a medium.”

“A medium? What kind of medium?”

“What kind?”

He sighed. “Did she claim to be psychic, clairvoyant, tell fortunes, predict the future?”

“Oh.” Rose blew out a breath. “Apparently the old-school kind. The landlady said she conducted séances.”

Skag grimaced. “Of course she did. You realize that no reputable medium indulges in séances these days? She may have said she was a medium, but that hardly constitutes proof.”

“It gets worse. She was apparently one of the mediums who worked with Augie Garcia at the Nightmare.”

Skag blew an angry cloud of smoke. “All the more evidence that she was a fraud. Garcia is the worst kind of charlatan.”

“All true. But still.” Rose leaned back staring out the window at the setting sun.

“But still?” Skag prompted.

“She was a medium.” She held up a hand to forestall his protest. “A self-proclaimed medium. She had some connection to Bradford. And she’s disappeared. It’s enough to make me . . . uneasy.”

He sighed, grinding out his cigarette in his omnipresent ashtray. “Would you like me to check into her mediumistic career?”

“You can do that?”

“Of course. If she was truly a medium, she may have been working with some kind of spirit guide, however inadvertently. I’ll ask around. Perhaps someone will remember her.”

Rose picked up her now-empty wineglass, pushing up from her chair. “And now I’ve reported everything I’ve done so far. I’m going back to the kitchen to have dinner, then to the study to work on whatever we’ve got pending at Locators, and then to bed to sleep until I have to drag myself up at some ungodly hour to meet Delwin tomorrow. I’m already hating this whole project.”