“Probably.”
“They know anything?”
“Just that I was at the scene. I don’t want them to know anything yet. Okay?”
“Nick-”
“Not yet, Shel,” he said, adamant. The agents could not get involved at this point. It would be far too dangerous for them, especially with a medium to clue them into what they were up against. The trick of course would be to maintain a position he would not be forced to lie from, and with a little luck this would be over before they even realized what was happening. He would not lie to them. They were law, after all, and that was at least one code he had not broken over the course of a century and a half.
“Fine, you stubborn shit.” She mumbled the last word and moved out of the way as the agents came back into the room.
Agent Carpenter had a cup of tea in her hand, likely the quick work of Cynthia. Smart woman. It had not even occurred to him to offer anything.
“Everything okay, Agent Carpenter? There’s some stomach flu going around. I hope you haven’t caught it.” It was lame, but Nick felt sorry for her and wanted to say something consoling. It was, however, the wrong thing to say, by the look on Agent Rutledge’s face. Her eyes had narrowed, and her hands were now thrust in her pockets. She knew quite well it wasn’t the flu.
Agent Rutledge’s voice tipped on the fine edge of anger. “Do you sense any ghosts around here now, Mr. Anderson?”
“This building has a couple of them that show up now and again.”
Her mouth drew down into a thin line. “Do you sense any of them now?”
This woman was going to be trouble. The sort that would not go away once she sniffed something wrong, and her partner throwing up had put a foul scent in her brain to be sure. “One of them was around earlier, but nothing now. No.” It was the truth, for the most part.
Agent Rutledge glanced back at her partner and then at Shelby. “Want to tell me what happened with your father in 1970, Mr. Anderson?”
Stoic as he could render himself, Nick nearly grimaced at Shelby’s wide-eyed reaction to the question, which likely didn’t go unnoticed. “I was three years old then, Agent Rutledge.”
“Agent Carpenter, can I have that newspaper clipping, please?”
Nick found a familiar news article slapped down on the desk before him. “Ah. Well, my sordid family history is now brought to light.” Out of the corner of his eye, Nick watched Shelby roll her eyes. What a lovely situation this was turning into.
“So you know your father was involved in a case that bears a striking resemblance to this one, Mr. Anderson?”
Nick steeled himself. Show nothing. This is a solid story I’ve told a thousand times. “From what I read about it, the method does bare some similarities.”
“You never talked to your father about what happened?”
“My father left just before my fourth birthday. I never saw him again.” His hearing picked up the nearly silent snort of air from Shelby. He gave her a quick, hard stare, but she only sat there with her arms folded across her chest, one eyebrow arched up at him. It was a necessary lie. The feds would not handle the truth very well and would likely throw his ass in jail.
“Anyone told you, Mr. Anderson, that you are the spitting image of your father?”
“On occasion.” This time Shelby’s noise of annoyance was clearly audible, and Agent Rutledge whirled around on her.
“Something here bothering you, Ms. Fontaine?”
“Nothing a swift kick in the head won’t solve,” she said, her ruby lips spreading into a large, not-so-amused grin. “Sorry. I have my own issues with the cowboy here.”
Agent Rutledge said nothing for a moment, looking first at Nick and then back at Shelby. He could tell the agent was stifling some angry reply. He got the impression the fuse on this woman was a bit on the short side.
“Why do I get the feeling I’m getting the shit end of the stick here?”
“Beg your pardon?” Nick said.
“Something’s missing here,” she said, voice lowered. “I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful with me, Mr. Anderson. My partner here throws up because she senses something is off… way off in this place, and yet you act like it’s just any other day, like ghosts are just a usual occurrence with you.”
“They are, Agent Rutledge.”
“Damn-” She cut herself off and snatched up the article from the desk. “I don’t buy it. You know, it might be to your advantage to cooperate just a little more. The situation here is serious.”
Nick nodded. He felt a little sorry for her, but the truth would just unravel that knot of anger, and nothing would get solved now. She would be back. It was just a matter of time.
“I understand your concern. The murder of a child is about as serious as it gets, and under the circumstances, I would’ve been checking me out as well, but I assure you, I had nothing to do with that boy’s murder.”
The hands came out of their pockets and perched on her hips now. “Why do I find no reassurance in that, Mr. Anderson?”
Shelby chuckled, and when Agent Rutledge faced her again, Agent Carpenter finally stood up. “You know, Jackie, it might behoove us to interview Ms. Fontaine and the secretary separately now. Their perspectives on things might even it all out.”
Ah, cooler heads at last. Nick smiled. He decided he liked the medium. The stable one of the group. They did the good-cop-bad-cop thing pretty well, he had to admit. He managed to wipe off the smile before Agent Rutledge turned back to face him.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right. Mr. Anderson, would you mind leaving us with Ms. Fontaine and your secretary for a few minutes? It won’t take long. I promise.” The last word dripped acid on the floor.
Nick got to his feet, all too happy to dissipate some of the tension coiled in the air. “I’ll get Cynthia and let you have at them. I’m sure they’ll cooperate to their fullest abilities.” He nodded slightly and stepped around the desk, walking out of the room without looking back.
“Mr. Anderson?” Laurel said, stopping him in the doorway. “I have one more question first.”
He gave her the friendly smile, hoping she would not come much closer than she already was. “Sure.”
“You said you help people with ghost problems, more or less.”
He nodded. “Yes, I did.”
“How is it exactly that you do that?” She moved over next to Agent Rutledge now, who visibly relaxed when she stopped next to her.
“Difficult to say,” Nick answered. “Being a medium, you should understand the complexities involved in trying to define any sort of psychic ability.”
“Are you psychic, Mr. Anderson?”
From most, Nick would have caught the subtle sarcasm behind the question, but she was utterly serious.
He paused. “I would say no. It’s just something I can do.”
She turned and looked hesitantly over at Shelby, who leaned against her chair. “And you, Ms. Fontaine?”
Shelby smiled-the mischievous smile this time, the flirty “you’re kinda cute” smile he had loved so many years ago. “What about me, Ms. Carpenter?”
“Can we cut the coy bullshit?” Jackie snapped. “Just answer the goddamn question.”
Shelby frowned and sighed at Jackie. “Mr. Anderson and I…” She looked over at Nick for a moment, the smile not quite fading away. “We share the ability.”
Agent Carpenter’s eyes widened. “That’s very interesting, and rather unusual.”
Shelby shrugged. “We’re an unusual group.”
Nick wanted to laugh at that but refrained. It did not even approach the truth. Agent Carpenter looked hard at him, with that probing look he knew went beyond ordinary senses. There was little he could do about that. He leaned against the door frame, waiting for her response.
“Thank you, Mr. Anderson. Your cooperation is appreciated. Just a few minutes with your employees here, and we should be done. For now.”
“I’ll just get some coffee and wait for you all out here. I hope you can catch the guy. Truly, I do.”