Medium Well (9781101599648) (25 page)

The couple had looked fairly interested by the time he got to the end of his spiel, but they told him they'd get back to him. Could be good, could be bad, could mean anything.
Crap.

And he still hadn't called Biddy yet. He thought he needed to. He knew he wanted to, if only to hear her voice one more time. Even if the reality was that he shouldn't talk to her until he could figure out what to say, besides, of course, all the things he couldn't say. Number one being
I love you.

***

Silver was easy to find once Biddy got back to her apartment. She had a jewelry box full of it. She slid on several rings and a heavy chain around her neck, then checked herself in the mirror.

Her linen suit looked like crap, but her suits always looked like crap. Unfortunately, the rings and chain also made her look like a white-collar gypsy with absolutely no fashion sense.

Screw it.

She pulled off her suit and blouse and pulled on one of her Chalk Creek Changelings outfits, a yellow-flowered sundress with spaghetti straps. She shook out the full skirt and changed her pumps for leather sandals. At least she'd be cool—in more ways than one.

Silver was easy, but what about iron? She tapped her fingers against her lips—iron or steel, according to Deirdre. After a moment, she ran to the kitchen, pulling open her junk drawer. A clump of nails rolled to the front—she grabbed them, dropping them into the pocket of her sundress.

On the way out, she took her kitchen scissors and cut a large bunch of lavender from the bush next to her front door. Grabbing her purse, she trotted to her car.

Back at Vintage Realty, she slipped into Araceli's office with her handful of nails. Araceli's purse was in the same desk drawer where she always left it. Biddy opened the clasp and tucked the nails into the side pocket, then closed the drawer again.

“Biddy?” Araceli stood in the doorway staring at her.

“Yes, ma'am?” Biddy had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Would Araceli think she'd been stealing? That might be easier to explain than what she'd actually been doing.

Araceli's eyes narrowed. “Where did you get that dress? Why are you wearing something like that in the office? And all that jewelry!”

She bit her lip, shrugging. “It was hot. I wanted something cooler. And I like silver.”

“You look like something out of Woodstock,” her sister snapped. “That is
not
the right image for Vintage Realty. It's totally inappropriate.”

Biddy blew out a quick breath. “Sorry. It won't happen again.”

Araceli looked at her watch. “It's too late to have you go home and change. I just hope Clark doesn't think you're some kind of hippie. Maybe I'll just call you my assistant so that he doesn't realize we're related. Or maybe you can stay in the car.”

Biddy managed not to repeat any of the myriad of comebacks dancing through her mind. “Whatever you want, Araceli. But you're going to need me in the carriage house.”

“Why would I need you? I've been selling real estate longer than you've been working.”

“With the carriage house, it'll help to have an assistant.” She managed a half-sincere smile.

“Oh, all right.” Her sister reached into her desk drawer and pulled out her purse. “Did you want something in here?”

“Just to double-check the appointment time on your calendar,” Biddy improvised.

“Two o'clock.” Araceli's jaw snapped shut.

“Right.” Biddy stepped around the desk and headed back to her cubicle. Lois stared at her as she walked by, raising her eyebrows almost to her hairline.

Biddy punched in Danny's number one more time and got the same voice mail message she'd gotten all day. “Okay,” she sighed after the beep, “I'm on my way to the carriage house. Your mother gave me some ideas for protection that may work. Maybe we'll all get lucky and Clark Henderson will buy the place. If you really are convinced that there's nothing wrong, I guess you don't need to worry either way. In case I don't see you again, good luck in Dallas.”

She punched in Deirdre's number and heard her pick up almost on the first ring.

“Have you been able to reach Danny?” she asked.

“No. I'm going over to the carriage house to meet Araceli and Mr. Henderson.” Biddy ran a hand through her hair, lifting it from the back of her neck. “I got some silver and I put some iron in her purse. And I'll bring along the lavender.”

“Good.” Deirdre didn't sound happy. “Just keep in mind they're only charms. They'll do some good, but they won't keep a demon away for long. Trust your instincts. If you sense anything coming after you, get out of there, Biddy, as fast as you can.”

Her fingers felt cold against her thigh. “What about Araceli? And Mr. Henderson?”

“They're both adults. Let them take care of themselves. The demon may not be interested in them anyway.”

“But he would be interested in me? Wow, imagine my delight.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes and trying to ignore the stress headache she knew was forming.

“You're sensitive,” Deirdre explained. “They don't seem to be. Or, anyway, this Mr. Henderson isn't. Has your sister ever been in the carriage house before?”

“No.”

“Then we don't know about her for sure. But you still need to look out for yourself first, Biddy. Promise me you will.” Deirdre's voice was insistent.

“I promise I'll be careful, Deirdre,” she hedged.

Deirdre snorted. “That's not quite the same thing, is it? But I guess I've asked as much of you as I can. I'll go on trying to reach Danny. If I can't raise him, I'll see what else I can think of.”

“Okay,” Biddy murmured, before her words had entirely registered. “Wait! Deirdre, you can't go over there . . . ,” she began, as she heard the click of the phone disconnecting.

Biddy grabbed her purse and her bunch of lavender and headed for the parking lot, wondering how exactly she could explain Deirdre's presence if she had to. Potential client? Looking for Danny? Demon hunter? Explaining the lavender was going to be hard enough without also having to explain extraneous relatives.

She rubbed the back of her neck again. Definitely a stress headache.

She didn't see Araceli's BMW at the Steadman house, but there was an unfamiliar Escalade parked near the drive. Biddy pulled her Accord in behind it.

Clark Henderson climbed out of the car, switching off the ignition and the air-conditioning. “Where's Araceli?”

“She's on her way.” She extended the hand that wasn't holding the lavender. “I'm Araceli's assistant, Mr. Henderson.”

Henderson narrowed his eyes. “I thought you worked for Ramos.”

Her headache throbbed. Of course he'd remember—just her luck. “Normally, I do, but I'm helping Araceli today.”

He ran his gaze over her body in a slow examination that made her skin crawl. “What's with the branches?”

She gave him what she hoped was a guileless smile. “It's lavender. The apartment seemed a little musty last time.”
All that brimstone.

He nodded slowly, his gaze drifting down her body again. “You're the singer, too, right?”

She gritted her teeth. Best to get this over with before Araceli got there. “Yes. I sing with a band. But my main job is with Vintage Realty.”

“Right.” His smile was vaguely unpleasant. He stared pointedly at the spot where her neckline scooped low over her cleavage.

She had an almost overwhelming urge to make sure her skirt wasn't hiked up anywhere. “So can I tell you anything about the carriage house before Araceli gets here? I don't know if you're familiar with its history.”

He shrugged. “History's bullshit. It's what you give the suckers. Me, I'm just interested in an investment.”

“What would you do with the place?” she asked, trying to sound interested. She could think of a few things to do herself, most involving high explosives.

He shrugged. “Gut it. Clean it up. New appliances. Should go for two or three hundred.”

She knew enough to add the
thousand
at the end of that figure. “You wouldn't raze it and build something else?”

He gave her a curious look. “You're a hell of a salesman, honey. You're supposed to convince me the place is a great buy as is.”

“I'll leave that to my sister.” Biddy watched Araceli's BMW pull into the drive.

“Clark!” she trilled as she got out of the car. “I'm so sorry. I had a last-minute call to take care of. I see Biddy was here to keep you entertained.”

Biddy managed not to stare at her. Surely she didn't mean what those words implied.

Henderson gave her a look that sent new chills down her spine. “She's been interesting.”

“Good, good.” Araceli picked up her purse and then shoved it in Biddy's direction. “Take care of this for me. I need my hands free.”

Biddy started to object, then slung Araceli's purse over her other shoulder. Silver. Iron. Lavender. She was a regular triple threat. Sighing, she followed her sister up the drive toward the carriage house.

***

At two fifteen, Danny's phone rang. He was so surprised, he almost hit the curb but he managed to flip on his speaker. “Yeah?”

“Danny?” His mother's voice sounded harried. “At last. Thank God!”

Danny's shoulders tightened instantly. “What's wrong, Ma? Is somebody hurt?”
Not Biddy. Please God, not Biddy.

“Not yet. And maybe not at all if you hurry. Biddy's at the carriage house. Her fool sister is showing it to a customer.”

“Fuck!” Danny exploded. “Oh, shit, I mean, sorry, Ma.”

“Never mind about that. Just get the hell over there, Danny.”

“Yes ma'am.” Danny spun the wheel, turning the Lexus back the way he'd come. “I'm on my way.”

Chapter 25

Biddy rattled the key in the recalcitrant lock, hearing the ghost cat's singsong voice in her mind: “Keep the lock on and it can't get out.”
And what would be your second choice, Mrs. Steadman?

“Need any help there?” She felt Henderson's breath on the back of her neck. Much too close, and Araceli wasn't doing anything about it.

Biddy's lips tightened. She might be trying to protect her sister from something evil, but Araceli didn't seem to be interested in returning the favor. Of course, maybe Araceli didn't consider being groped by Clark Henderson to be evil. Biddy begged to differ.

“I'm fine,” she snapped and pulled the door open.

Dust motes danced in the shafts of afternoon sunlight from the door and the smeared windows. The dirt and trash piled on the floor hadn't improved much over the last time she'd seen it.

Beside her, Araceli drew in a hissing breath.

Henderson glanced at her. “Something wrong?”

“No, not at all.” She marched resolutely to the center of the room. “Obviously, it needs to be cleaned, but look at the space here. This could be turned into a showplace with a little work, Clark.”

It was already a showplace as far as Biddy was concerned. But it wasn't a show she thought most people would want to see.

“Yeah, yeah, skip the spiel. I've already been through it with Ramos.”

Henderson was still standing too close for Biddy's comfort. She headed toward the staircase. “I'll just go put these flowers upstairs.”

“Flowers?” Araceli stared at her. It occurred to Biddy that her sister hadn't taken a good look at her until now. “Why on earth did you bring those weeds in here?”

She moved the lavender a little closer to her body. “Not weeds—it's lavender. To take care of the musty smell.”
And to calm the occasional restless spirit.

Araceli shook her head. “Honestly, Biddy.” She turned back to Henderson again. “All right, Clark, you want specifics? Let's talk square footage.”

Biddy climbed the stairs to the apartment, aware as she did that the temperature seemed to drop further the closer she got to the door. With her hands full of lavender and two purses, she couldn't rub her arms, but she wanted to.

In the doorway she paused, looking around the room. Steep sloping roof. Planked floor caked with decades of dirt. Darkness in the corners, even in midafternoon. Nobody in their right mind would live in this place.

But then, Palmer hadn't been in his right mind, had he? Possessed by a demon, if Deirdre was right. How had Mrs. Palmer turned the tables on him? Biddy had a feeling that might be good information to have right then.

She walked across the warped floorboards to the kitchen door and placed the lavender stalks beside it, near where Danny had said the bloody handprints began. In a weird way, the little piles of leaves and purple flowers felt almost like a memorial to Mr. Black.

She still couldn't see the handprints or any of the other bloodstains Danny saw, but she could feel something, some slight disturbance in the air, like a fugitive breeze trapped in the dim dusty spaces.

“I know you're here,” she whispered. “I'll do my best for you. I promise.” She only hoped Mr. Black might return the favor if push came to shove. Of course, there was always the ghost of Mrs. Palmer with her missing face, but somehow Biddy didn't think depending on her for help would be a good idea.

After a moment, she heard footsteps on the stairs, and Araceli's voice drifted up into the room. “You could always try to deal with Petrocelli directly, Clark. I'm not sure how interested he is in selling them together. Particularly when Ramos has been so lax about selling this one. But you could always make an offer.”

She clenched her jaw to keep from coming to Danny's defense. He was a big boy. Let him take care of himself—in Dallas.

Henderson walked into the room, ignoring Araceli as thoroughly as he'd ignored Biddy the first time he'd been in the carriage house. She wished he'd ignore her now. His expression when he looked at her made her feel like putting on an overcoat.

He walked around the apartment slowly, studying the walls and the sloping roof. Behind him, Araceli rattled off the results of the engineering report. Biddy wondered when she'd had time to memorize it.

Suddenly, Araceli stopped in the middle of the room, glancing around her. “Boy, it's cool in here,” she chirped. “Must be those stone walls they talk about in the report. Think what you'd save on air – conditioning!”

Henderson turned to stare at her, raising an eyebrow. “Cold? You think it's cold? Shit, it must be at least a hundred degrees up here.” He reached into his pocket for his handkerchief, mopping the sweat beneath his chin.

Araceli stood motionless, her arms wrapped around herself, her smile faltering. “Oh. Well. It seems cold to me. Maybe it's just in contrast to the outside air.”

Biddy closed her eyes for a moment.
Crap, crap, crap.
Araceli wasn't supposed to feel it, too. She was supposed to be a ruthless capitalist without any imagination, far too busy making money to be sensitive to ghosts.

Or to be demon bait.

Araceli glanced at her, eyes wide. “Does it seem cool to you?” she murmured.

Biddy nodded slowly. “Yes, it does. Some people think it's cold up here. Some people don't.”

Araceli's mouth firmed. “Lucky me, I guess. Where's the kitchen?”

The kitchen. Biddy swallowed. She should have anticipated this. Maybe she could take the lavender in there with her.

“Biddy?” Araceli raised an imperious eyebrow.

“It's over here, but the door's hard to get open sometimes.”

I turned the lock. I closed it in. Keep the lock on and it can't get out.

Biddy froze in midstep, her chest tightening.
Of course.
All of a sudden, she knew exactly where the demon was. “We probably don't need to go in there,” she stammered. “It's in very bad shape, and Mr. Henderson saw it last time.”

“Oh for God's sake,” Araceli snapped. “Is that it over there?” She pointed to the kitchen door. The tightly closed kitchen door.

Biddy nodded.

Araceli marched across the floor, grasped the knob firmly, and jerked. Nothing happened. “Is this locked?”

“It was once. It isn't anymore.”
Unfortunately.

Araceli jerked again, harder this time. The door groaned beneath her assault, but stayed firm. “It still feels locked. Give me the key to the front door.” She extended her hand without looking back. “Maybe it works on the other doors, too.”

Biddy fumbled for the key in her purse, her fingers slipping across the nails. Silver, iron, lavender.
What if none of it works?
“Here.” She handed the key to her sister.

Araceli turned the knob again. The door creaked open, just like a good haunted house.

An acrid, coppery odor filled the kitchen, sickly sweet. “Pew!” Araceli waved her hand in front of her nose. “What's that smell?”

“What smell?” Henderson half turned to glance at her curiously, then turned back to his examination of the ceiling beams.

Biddy put her hand over her mouth, steeling herself.
Foul smells. Indication one.
She moved forward into the kitchen.

“What a stench!” Araceli took a slow survey of the room. “I don't think that lavender's going to do any good. And this place is filthy. It smells like some animal died in here. We may need to have an exterminator check it out.”

She kept her voice low, but there was no indication that Henderson was paying any attention to her. He wandered to the far end of the apartment, squinting up at the bull's-eye window in the eaves.

Araceli glanced at the stove in the corner. “Good Lord, this thing might be worth something. Has Ramos had it appraised?”

Biddy shook her head. “It's attached to the floor, and it looks like it weighs a ton. There's no way to get it out of here without demolishing the place.” Which might not be such a bad idea.

“Wonder if that's where the smell is coming from.” Araceli extended her hand toward the ornate steel border.

Iron can be used to bind them.

Biddy grabbed hold of her sister's hand, jerking her backward.

“What on earth do you think you're doing?” Araceli sputtered. “Let go of me, you idiot!”

“Dirty,” Biddy blurted. “It's very dirty, Araceli. You'll get it all over you. You should call an exterminator first.”
Preferably one with demon experience
. She tightened her grip on Araceli's wrist.

“Biddy, I said let me go!” Her sister jerked away from her, turning again toward the ornate, black stove.

“Araceli, no, please!” Biddy reached out again, but she was too late. Araceli had grasped the lid lifter and opened one of the burners.

“Ugh,” she muttered. “The stink's definitely coming from inside here. Ouch!” She snatched her hand away, shaking it as if she'd burned it.

“What?” Biddy stared at her helplessly.

“It's hot,” Araceli muttered. “How can it be hot?”

The foul smell seemed to grow more intense. Biddy's nostrils burned and her eyes watered. Araceli backed away from the stove, holding her right hand in her left.

Biddy glanced back into the main room. Henderson stood in the same place he'd been before, at the far wall. But instead of looking up at the eaves, he was staring straight ahead, his back a rigid line.

“Mr. Henderson?” she called.

Henderson turned toward her. His expression had moved beyond being simply unpleasant to something that made her stomach clench. His grimace seemed to make the temperature drop even further—the room suddenly felt like the inside of a freezer. He narrowed his eyes at the kitchen door and began to move. To slide.

Biddy shuddered. What moved like that? Nothing warm-blooded.

“Mr. . . . Henderson?” she whispered.

Henderson's lips spread in an odd smile, as if the motion came from his skin rather than his muscles. “You weren't part of the deal,” he growled. “You're a bonus.”

Araceli stepped back into the main room, moving toward Henderson. “Clark? What's wrong? We can get this place cleaned, if that's what's bothering you. The kitchen's disgraceful.”

“Shut up,” he said mildly, as if he were commenting on the weather.

“Clark!” Araceli was standing in front of him now, her lips pursed. “There's no need to be rude! If you're not interested in the place, we'll leave. I have lots of other properties available.”

Henderson's lips spread again, the only part of his face that smiled. He placed one large hand in the middle of Araceli's chest and shoved. She flew across the room like a tossed rag doll, slamming to the floor in a heap near the stairway.

“Araceli!” Biddy screamed, running across the room to drop to her knees beside her sister.

“She's not dead. Yet.” Henderson moved into the shadow cast by the sloping roof near the kitchen door. “Nice try, by the way. You'd think she'd have bought the whole dirt idea. But she was too busy trying to get one up on Ramos.”

Biddy peered toward the sound of his voice. For a moment, she thought she could see his eyes in the shadows, glistening scarlet like spilled blood. Then he melted into the darkness again.

“What do you want?” She willed her voice as close to calm as she could get.

“Food,” the demon explained. “I haven't eaten since that bitch threw me in the stove. I've got a hundred-year appetite. Clark here is a nice snack, but not much more. And he'll be all used up soon.”

Biddy felt Araceli move beneath her hand. Glancing down, she saw her eyes flutter open. “Biddy,” she muttered, “what—”

“Here's the deal, Biddy.” The demon's voice sounded like Henderson's, but there was an odd resonance, as if Henderson were speaking through a voice-disguising mike. “You give me Araceli and you get out of here free. Think how many problems it will solve—you won't have to work in that office. You can sing full-time. And you get Araceli off your back.”

Araceli stared at him, then back at Biddy, her eyes wide. “What? I don't—”

“Go to hell.” Biddy tightened her grasp on Araceli's shoulders.

“Been there, done that.” The demon sounded amused. “How about you, Araceli? Give me Biddy and I'll let you walk.”

Araceli stared at him blankly. “Give you Biddy? What are you talking about? Have you lost your mind, Clark?”

“Oh, Clark's lost a good deal more than his mind. Not that he's in any shape to miss it.”

The demon Henderson slid out of the shadows with that odd movement. Biddy felt Araceli's shoulders stiffen beneath her hand.

“I don't understand,” she whispered.

“Ask Biddy to explain it.” The demon Henderson grinned at them, showing more teeth than usual. “Except, of course, we don't have time for that. Incidentally, I'm giving you a better deal than what Clark had in mind, which was dinner at Morton's, followed by a three-way at his apartment.”

Biddy fumbled for Araceli's hand, jamming one of her silver rings on her sister's index finger. “Keep this on,” she murmured.

Araceli stared at her blankly.

“Oh, Biddy, Biddy, Biddy,” the demon shook Henderson's head. “Silver? Iron? Lavender? How retro. You really think that stuff will hold me off?”

“I think after a hundred years in an iron stove, you're not as strong as you used to be,” Biddy snapped. “If you were, you'd have slashed our throats like you did with Mr. Black.”

“Don't kid yourself.” The demon moved Henderson's mouth into a snarl. “Silver and iron hurt, but not as much as hunger. In a pinch, I'll put up with them.”

Biddy pressed a nail against Araceli's palm. “Hold this,” she whispered.

“As for tearing up your friend, that was a special request. Normally, I wouldn't have wasted a good meal like that, but Palmer had his reasons. And I did get the tastiest part—the heart. I'll bet yours is yummy.”