darkness, the tortured psychic space that would surround the murder. She pulled out of the dive, looked quickly to the sunlit landscape to anchor herself. She wondered if Beauforte had seen her mood change.
When she'd steadied, she decided to return the provocation. 'Why not? Haul the corpse away, clean up the gore, even give the walls new coat of paint. Then eat your breakfast. Why not?'
'The idea just does something to the, ah, ambience, wouldn't you say?'
Cree shrugged. 'What's the matter with the ambience? What could possibly remain to discomfort a person?'
He opened his mouth to respond, then shut it again. Finally he grinned sourly and said, 'Touche.' Then the smile faded and he looked at her appraisingly. 'So, Ms. Black. Would it be safe to say the 'empathic techniques' you referred to earlier are your, uh, personal area of expertise? Your primary responsibility in your firm?'
'You're very observant.' Yes, he'd caught her sudden slide and recovery.
'Which brings up the question, why would an attractive, intelligent woman like you want, actively seek out, involvement with places and situations like that? How the hell'd you ever get into this line of work?'
Beauforte's eyes showed he'd caught the dodge. But he nodded, accepting it, then checked his watch again and stood up. 'Well, this has been one of the strangest conversations I have ever had, but I can't say it hasn't been educational. In any case, I have a meeting to get to. Ms. Black, we'll go as far as to pay for one of your preliminary reviews. Hell, maybe if we can convince my sister we've done something, that'll fix her head. Chalk it up to the placebo effect.' He paused, opened his lapel to take out a checkbook and a fat Mont Blanc fountain pen, then flipped open a paird it's something you can do soon. We, uh, feel it's become a matter of some urgency given my sister's state of mind, you understand.' He put on the glasses but peered over the top of them with a blue gaze calculated to drive home the point: His sister was not coping with whatever had happened to her.
Cree tapped on her keyboard to bring up her calendar. 'There are a few things I need to take care of, and as I said, my partner's in Massachussetts, so he's not available… It's short notice, but I think I can juggle things to get down there by the end of the week. Is that soon enough?'
'Sooner the better. Your retainer for this 'preliminary review,' how much would that be?'
'Five thousand dollars, plus expenses – airfare, hotels, and so on.'
Beauforte began to write out the check.
'Mr. Beauforte, there is one other thing you and your family should be aware of.' The obligatory caveat. It was in the contract, too, just so clients couldn't say you hadn't warned them.
'Oh? And what's that?' Bent over her desk, he paused, eyes alert.
'Part of our process is to do extensive investigation into the personal and family histories of our clients. It will be especially important in this case, since the house has been in the family for several generations. Should we take on this case, we will need to have candid, in-depth discussion with you and your sister, your mother, and any others who have known you, your father, or your grandparents.'
'Isn't it Temp Chase's family you want to talk to? Isn't he the supposed ghost?'
'We don't know that yet. One of the problems facing a serious researcher is that the history of a place is very much… layered. We'll need to be like archaeologists, delving down through those layers of time. If there is a haunting entity, it could be the residuum of a homeless person who died there while the house was empty back in the forties. Or the wife of General Beauforte, say, or one of those Union soldiers who occupied it. Or someone from any time in between. And sometimes it can be… older still.'
Beauforte nodded equivocally. 'Okay, I get the idea.'
'Your family's history is particularly important for two reasons. One is simply that they've been the house's primary occupants. The other is the issue of the link – why it is your sister who has had these experiences, why she's particularly vulnerable or sensitive. We'll need access to family archives, photo albums, and genealogies. .. My point is, this can become very personal, and some clients find the process intrusive. And sometimes… unpleasant details emerge. But let me stress that this is an essential component of our work. And our contract includes strict confidentiality clauses that – '
'Ms. Black.' Beauforte took off his glasses, squared his wide shoulders, and drilled his eyes into hers. 'You have never been to New Orleans, have you?'
'No.'
'When you do come, you will discover that we Beaufortes are held in highest esteem by our community. For the simple reason that there is nothing less than honorable in our history. Nothing in the slightest unsavory.' He finished writing the check, ripped it free, and flipped it onto Cree's desk. 'Your warning is unnecessary and verges on being offensive. The Beaufortes have nothing to hide.'
'Of course not, Mr. Beauforte.' The smile she gave him was meant to be reassuring and businesslike, but it felt wan and wry on her face, the best she could manage. She felt a rush of sympathy for him: He was either a man who knew very little about the human condition, or a man who worked very hard in what would always be a futile effort to stay above it.'No insult was intended,' she said, wanting suddenly to console him.
'Of course not.'
2
After he left, Cree jotted a few more notes, started a file on the case, and brought the retainer check out to Joyce. The outer office was smaller but had enough room for a row of file cabinets, a big bookcase, Joyce's desk, and a couch and coffee table. A small counter held cups, napkins, and a coffee brewer that filled the suite with a tempting smell.
Joyce looked up. 'Good-lookin' guy, huh? Clark Gable with a little more meat on his bones.'
'If you like the type.' Cree handed her the check.
'Which I take it you don't?' Joyce looked at the check and whistled.
'Hallelujah. We'll get paid for at least another couple of weeks.'
'He wants us to provide the placebo effect,' Cree said dryly. 'For his sister.'
'A skeptic, huh?'
'Also a model of probity and integrity, from a family without a smudge upon its name. But the site is historic, and the case has other interesting features. It might be a productive one for us to investigate. I was thinking I might try to get down there for a preliminary before – '
'Cree.' Joyce's face showed concern, and she reached out to take Cree's hand. 'You're speaking with a Southern accent.'
'Shit.'
Cree shut her eyes and let Joyce rub her hand, feeling the stabilizing effect of physical human contact. Thank God for Joyce, who took seriously the job of keeping Cree anchored in herself, in her own body and identity, in the here and now.
It was so easy to drift. Before she knew it, she was resonating with another person, the way an old piano will sing ghost notes from the vibration of your footsteps as you walk by. The tendency even had physical manifestations: She often took on clients' limps and gestures, felt their aches and itches. When her sister had delivered the twins, Cree had been doubled up with sympathetic labor pains.
You had to keep the empathic connection manageable, or you'd lose yourself. In their work, it was a useful talent that allowed her to perceive things beyond the ordinarily inviolate walls of individual identity. But in daily life, it was more like a disability, some exotic disease. It required constant vigilance. If you weren't careful, the sheer mass of human presence in the world could crash over you, a tidal wave of emotion that would drown you in the hungers and hopes and fears that were all around, everywhere, always. Or, as had just started to happen, it could subtly, stealthily erode you. Without her even noticing it, her borders had blurred and she'd absorbed some of Ronald Beauforte, becoming him to a tiny degree, picking up his accent and who knew what else. And she didn't even like the guy!
Cree hated imposing her penchant on her friends and colleagues. It made her feel fragile, dependent – a sickly child. And yet it was essential to their work.
'Sorry. Thanks.' Cree took a deep breath and blew herself a Bronx cheer, retrieved her hand, and briskly slapped her own cheeks as if putting on aftershave. One of Pop's gestures, she remembered. ''The rain in Spain
