Dead People (32 page)

“There’s something about the Taylor case you can’t tell my deputy?” he asked, his voice booming like a bass guitar.

Not waiting for permission, Luke took a vinyl covered chair with wooden arms that looked as if it had been in the room a few generations before he was born. “When I talk to a deputy, I like one who’s old enough to shave.”

The sheriff rubbed his hand over his droopy jaw. “Mr. Rivers, we’ve been in a payroll freeze for two years now, during which five of my most experienced deputies left. We’re doing the best we can.”

“This isn’t a traffic crime, Sheriff. It’s a poisoning.”

“An
alleged
poisoning.”

The muscles on the back of Luke’s neck tightened. He didn’t like the look on the Sheriff’s face, as though he pitied Luke. “What do you mean?”

“My deputies have been hard at work, contacting witnesses who were at the tavern last night and the restaurant earlier on.” The sheriff picked up a pen and tapped it on the desktop. “Look, this is an ongoing investigation. I don’t need to tell you a damn thing.”

Luke thought of asking Uffingham if he’d prefer to talk to his lawyer, but he could practically hear his lawyer’s porny voice in his ear.
“When two men get into a pissing contest, that always means money for me. Piss away, Luke, piss in every corner you can find.”

“I respect what you do,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “and don’t want to give you any trouble. But when Cassie gets out of the hospital, she’ll stay with my daughter and me. I need to know what to watch out for.”

“Like I said, we’re doing what we can.” Uffingham set the pen down carefully. “She was in a packed bar where anyone could have spiked her beer.”

“That’s it? Nothing else?” Then what the hell had the sheriff been insinuating?

Uffingham’s sigh was as heavy as the moon. “Since you’re concerned about your daughter’s safety, I suppose I can talk about a hypothetical case you might find of interest.”

Luke sat back in his chair. “Hypothesize away.”

Resting his elbows on the chair arms, Uffingham steepled his fingers and gazed up at the ceiling. “Consider this. A woman is sitting in a bar, people surrounding her. Someone drops crushed up medication in her drink...yet not one person notices.”

Luke’s spine straightened. “Studies have shown people don’t notice other people’s actions. You know this better than I do.”

“That’s just a small part of my hypothesis. There’s more.”

“What about the motel room break-in? She didn’t report it, but—”

“We know about it. The alleged break-in, where the door was locked and nothing taken.”

Although the office was on the cool side, Luke felt his skin heat. “Why would she make this up?”

Uffingham speared his gaze straight between Luke’s eyes. “I’m talking about a fictional person in a fictional town reporting a fictional crime. Got that?”

“Got it.” Luke heard his clipped tones with the combination of anger and concern that would fit a rap song. “What’s the fictional reason?”

“Let’s say this fictional person has an unusual occupation. She talks to...vampires. Someone hires her to come to this fictional town to interview this supposed vampire and get him to leave his former home. Let’s say about this time another vampire talker published a book about her profession.”

Uffingham leaned back and opened a drawer. He pulled out a book and dropped it on the desk top, the same one Luke had bought at the mall.

Cassie knew about the book. What the hell did that prove?

“Now let’s say the book is doing very well. Reese Witherspoon is optioning it for a movie.”

He waited, as if expecting Luke to jump up, slap him on the back, and say,
“You’re so right. You must be a fucking genius.”

“So?”

Uffingham’s only sign of disappointment was a small shrug. “So, maybe she thinks about writing her own book. She can’t do the same thing the other woman did. But she’s working for a famous client. That might get her a contract. But wait! If she can show she’s in danger, all the better.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Is it? Just look at her record.”

Luke sat up. “Record?”

“Background.” Uffingham waved his hand. “She’s been staying under the radar until now. My guess is she’s been waiting for the big one.”

“You mean me.”

“We’re talking fiction here, remember? Your fictional counterpart. A celebrity. She’s an opportunist and your counterpart is an opportunity waiting to be exploited.”

Luke glowered at Uuffingham’s hangdog face. “There are holes big enough in your hypothesis to fly a 747 through it.”

“That’s one hypothesis. I’ve got another.”

“I bet you do.”

Uffingham grinned, as if Luke had complimented him. “Maybe this vampire talker has a psychiatric problem. You’ve heard of people like this. They’ll say anything to get attention. That they talk to vampires. That their fictional rooms are broken into and nothing taken. Or so the fictional motel owner told the fictional law enforcement agency days after the alleged fact.” His grin dropped, and lines deepened on his forehead. “They’ll say someone tried to poison them—even when the evidence is against them.”

“She’s in the hospital. How much more proof do you need?”

“It’s a common heart medication. Not hard for anyone to get.”

“Maybe so.” He pictured Cassie and her don’t-you-fucking-feel-sorry-for-me defiance. “But you haven’t convinced me.”

“Here’s some more fictional background.” Uffingham gave him a pitying look. “Maybe she was telling ridiculous stories about vampires last night, and it was real clear she enjoyed the attention.” He held up his hand, deflecting Luke’s defensive comments before he made them. “And let’s go back further. Maybe she’s been seen in the library, taking out books on the alleged dead vampire.”

“It’s called research.”

“Maybe she’s been at the county building permit office, looking up records of this house.”

Luke jerked, then deliberately stilled his muscles and made his face blank. “She’s investigating a haunted house. Looking up old records is a good idea. I don’t know what that has to do with anything.”

“That’s because you’re not working a con. Cons cover all the angles. In addition, one of the fictional patrons in the fictional bar reported seeing her at the clinic after hours. The next day samples of the drug subsequently found in her system were reported missing.”

“This fictional patron also tell you I was with her at the clinic? She wasn’t stealing drugs, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“You swear to that?”

“Yes,” he answered, not taking his gaze from Uffingham’s bassett hound face.

“She didn’t go to the bathroom once? In my experience, women usually do.”

Luke didn’t blink. “No.”

“I still have the one telling part left.” Uffingham leaned over his desk. “When contacted by phone, the alleged vampire talker’s parent said his daughter is a disturbed individual and has been since childhood. He said his late wife, the girl’s mother, had a psychiatric problem, and it’s his opinion that the condition is genetic.”

“That son of a bitch.” Pain radiated from Luke’s hands up his forearms. He glanced down and saw he was clutching the chair arms, his knuckles white, his veins sticking out. He loosened his hold.

“That may be.” Uffingham’s mouth turned down. “Or it may be he’s telling it like it is. With all this racked up against the fictional vampire talker, and only a hospital visit in the other column, you can see why my people aren’t out chasing after fart fumes. This doesn’t mean we stopped investigating. It just means our focus has changed.”

Luke felt like a block of ice. He nodded and pushed himself up.

“You satisfied?” Uffingham asked.

“Yeah.” Luke walked away. He was satisfied the sheriff’s department was run by fucking idiots.

Chapter Forty-two

Cassie felt half-alive, as though part of her soul had wandered to another, more interesting body while she was out, and wasn’t thrilled about the body coming back to life. She didn’t blame it. She wouldn’t mind being in a different person’s body either.

She reclined under a turquoise quilt with lime green flowers. Erin hovered next to the bed, her brow worried and her lips pinched. Cassie forced a smile, conscious that Luke’s bedroom was across the hall.

“Is the bed comfortable?” Erin asked.

Cassie nodded but the worried pucker between Erin’s brow didn’t smooth. “I feel like the princess without the pea.”

Erin’s face lit up, and she pealed with laughter. Cassie felt a tug of love and pride. Erin was going to be beautiful when she was grown.

“I picked this bed out,” Erin said. “I picked out everything.”

Even as Cassie smiled, tiredness pressed down on her, thick and smothering, and it was an effort to speak. “It’s a great bed. Do you mind if I sleep?”

Her eyes closed, and she drifted to sleep aware that Erin watched her with concern. She didn’t feel like the Princess with the Pea anymore. She felt like Sleeping Beauty.

Who needed a prince when she had Erin?

***

The smell of food and a footfall woke her to a dim light, night already falling. Tricia helped her to the adjoining bathroom, then set a plate on a tray table in front of her loaded with mashed potatoes, applesauce, peas so soft they squished, and a veggie burger. Cassie thanked her, picked at the mashed potatoes and applesauce, pushed the tray table away, snuggled down, turned onto her side and slept heavily.

No dreams, no nightmares, no ghosts.

A noise woke her, and she sat up in the dark room, straining to hear. Only the hum of the furnace came to her ears. It felt as if hours had passed, and she had no idea what time it was. She had to pee so she slipped out of bed and felt her way to the adjoining bathroom, stubbing her toe twice, shivering in her Tweety Bird T-shirt with matching boxers.

When she was about to turn off the bathroom light, she heard the noise again, like a mouse crying.

“Isabel?” she whispered. She tilted her head. Only the furnace. She mentally mapped out the path to the bed and turned off the light.

Two steps out, she heard it again. Probably some weird house noise, but it sounded like a live creature. She shuffled toward the hall door, missing it and feeling her way on the wall until she reached the wooden jamb.

Twice during this time the noise came.

In the hallway, she gazed straight ahead, where she knew Luke’s door must be. An ache rose in her. It would so easy to keep walking until she reached the closed door. To feel for the handle. And then...

She shook her head and turned down the hall. She couldn’t identify the sound, but it wasn’t coming from Luke’s room. It was a sound of suffering, of pain. It resonated inside her, and she could almost name the sound—

It came again. She felt along the wall until she reached a door. Her hand slid across the wood and her fingers curved around a handle. She turned it and pushed. A nightlight shaped as a fairy sent a glow over the small figure rocking back and forth beneath the ruffled bedspread, blonde hair spread over the pillow.

Cassie made her way to the bed. Put her hand on the thin shoulder. “Erin?”

A face wild with grief gazed up at her. “My mom’s going to kill herself. She told my dad. I heard her. And she hasn’t emailed me. Something’s wrong, I know it.”

“Oh, honey.” Cassie brushed her hand over Erin’s head, the blonde hair soft under her fingers. “You should tell your dad.”

“No!” she whispered explosively. “He’ll know I listened. He’ll be mad at me. He won’t call her anyway. She said mean things to him.”

“Honey.” Cassie slid to her knees on the fluffy rug. She shivered, wishing she could wrap it around her shoulders.

“My mom says mean things to everyone. She can’t help it. She has a disease. She told me all about it. And when she does mean things, it’s not her fault.”

“I know, I know,” Cassie soothed, petting Erin’s shoulder and upper arm as if she were calming a frightened puppy.

“I’m the only one who stays with her. She tells me all the time she can’t live without me. And now I’m gone. It’s all my fault. I should’ve found a way to stay.” Erin pushed up on her elbows.

Cassie swallowed twice before she could talk. Damn Vanessa for dumping her troubles on Erin’s small shoulders. “Honey, you’re the kid, she’s the mom. You’re not supposed to take care of her. It’s the other way around.”

“You can help me find a way to stay with her. Please? Please, help me?”

Cassie’s hand stilled on Erin’s shoulder. “I can’t.”

“My mom will pay you back. I’ll make her pay you.”

“It’s not the money. It’s...” She took a deep breath. “Your dad needs you as much as your mom. Maybe more. Your mom had her chance, now it’s his.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Give him a chance, Erin.”

“No. I hate you.” Erin pulled the cover over her head. “I wish you never came here.”

Tears welled in Cassie’s eyes. What was wrong with her? She must be allergic to the air here. Ever since she got here, her tear ducts worked overtime.