pulled up a chair and parked himself across from her. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I know I was kind of a jackass back there.”
“Kind of?”
“Okay, I was a complete jackass,” he replied.
“Apology accepted,” she said with a quick nod. “And I should say that I’m sorry if I offended you with my observations on this case. I realize that what happened with Merrie is a touchy subject for you and everyone else in this town for that matter. I truly wasn’t trying to be insensitive to that fact.”
“I know you weren’t. You’re just following the leads like you’re supposed to. Truth is, I should’ve warned you up front.”
“About?”
“Me… That house…” he huffed, then paused, leaving a pregnant question mark hanging in the air. He thumbed the tab on his box and opened the hinged lid to reveal a wide slice of homemade pie that had been accessorized with a huge dollop of whipped cream. He stared at it for a moment, then picked up his own fork; but instead of digging in, he waved the utensil through the air and proceeded to fill in the blank he had left. “This sort of thing has happened before. More than once. You can ask your Fed buddies about it. I just don’t do well in that house. Too many bad memories, I guess… And just more gettin’ made.”
“I think I can understand that. Between the painful memories and the frustration you must feel with this case, I’m sure it can’t be easy on you.”
He bobbed his head in agreement. “Not so much, that’s the truth. Most memories dull with time. Eventually they fade enough that they get easier to deal with…but not this one. It just gets harder for me every year. Still, that was no cause for me to take it out on you.”
“Would it help if I confessed something?” Constance asked.
“What’s that?”
“Being in that house was getting to me too. I know that might sound crazy, especially since I don’t have the history with it that you have.” She paused, then shrugged and added, “To be honest, I was actually even a little spooked by it yesterday. I hate to admit it, but I was sort of relieved when your flashlight didn’t work.”
“Hard for me to imagine you being spooked by much of anything,” he replied, then puckered his lips into a thoughtful frown and offered, “I guess I was too wrapped up in myself to notice. Sorry.”
“What was that you said earlier? ‘Now we’re even’?”
“How’s that?”
“It’s hard for me to imagine you not noticing something.”
“It happens,” he replied, a half chuckle following the words. “As a matter of fact, that’s when I usually end up buying somebody a piece of pie. Oh…how’s your shin, by the way?”
Obviously he hadn’t missed the fact that she’d stumbled over that bottom stair when he stormed off and left her standing in the dark.
“Sore,” she answered. “And I’m sure there’s a bruise on the way, so I doubt I’ll be winning any sexy legs contests in the near future.”
“Maybe not, but from the language I heard coming up the stairs I’d sure put money on you to win a cussin’ contest.”
CHAPTER 16
4:26 P.M. – December 23, 2010
Greenleaf Motel
Hulis Township – Northern Missouri
Constance straightened her posture, then interlaced her fingers behind her neck and arched her back as she stretched. She held the position for several seconds before unclasping her hands and slowly reaching toward the ceiling. She heard a pop from her left shoulder and rotated it carefully, then made another mental note about that massage when she was finally back home in Saint Louis.
Finally, she relaxed and allowed her arms to drop to her sides as her back unbowed. Then she closed her eyes and slowly rolled her head in a circle, first left, then right, then left again. When she was finished working the muscles in her neck, she glanced at her watch, then at the paper-strewn bed. She’d been hunched over for better than two hours this time, so she definitely needed a break.
She sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, shaking her arms and rocking her hips as she danced in place to get her circulation going. It seemed a bit chilly, so she turned away from the bed and wandered over to the wide heater unit that was mounted through the wall beneath the window of her motel room. It wasn’t pushing any air at the moment, so she bent over and inched the temperature control dial up another notch. It kicked on immediately.
Straightening up, she reached out and pulled back the edge of the dark burgundy insulated drapes that covered the smudged panes, and then peered out through the gap. On the other side of the glass, it was reaching the cusp of darkness. The last throes of what little sunlight had been managing to penetrate the low clouds were throwing themselves against the coming night in a futile suicide assault. However, the dirty blue-gray shadows were winning, just as they always would.
In the dimness she could see that a light snow was still falling, the same as it had been since mid afternoon. Something on the order of an inch had accumulated so far-maybe even a bit more. What she’d been able to tune in earlier on the two-decades-old television had told her that it would be picking up the pace, and there would likely be three to five more on the ground by morning, at least. Sometime around midday tomorrow the weather system was supposed to finally taper off to flurries, leaving another day of overcast skies and an added blast of bitter cold slipping in from the northwest.
It looked like it would definitely be a white Christmas for northern Missouri, not that anyone here in Hulis would be celebrating. Except for Merrie, of course.
Constance felt a sudden chill run the length of her spine, and she shivered.
Out of instinct, she rested the heel of her palm on the butt of her Sig Sauer. Her index finger was extended, and the others were curled lightly over the grip, while her thumb hovered against the quick release. As she leaned in toward the window and twisted to scan the rest of the parking lot, the edge of her hand pressed against her side, sending a brief but sharp pain through the cell-phone bruise. She winced and adjusted her torso a bit, but left her hand resting on her sidearm.
She didn’t consciously believe that she was being watched, but she was still on edge. This wasn’t the first odd chill she’d felt since returning to her room, and it wasn’t because of the heater. While she was at the house on Evergreen Lane, she could almost understand it. Not without some question as to why, of course, but at least it made some kind of sense for it to happen there and then. Here and now, it didn’t.
Her being spooked was unusual enough in itself, but for it to carry over like this was just unheard of. After all, she worked cases on a regular basis with Rowan Gant, a paranormal consultant for the Saint Louis police and the FBI as well. She had been witness to some truly inexplicable things during some unbelievably bizarre cases, so this shouldn’t be a big deal at all.
However, what she was really accustomed to was Rowan’s preternatural cognition, not her own; that was because she didn’t have any. Maybe she’d get a gut feeling here and there, but nothing like he had. He was the supernatural member of the team, not her. She was the skeptic and sometimes his official handler during investigations, but that was all. Yes, she made it a point to remain open minded; however, she was still a rationalist. And, as much as she liked Rowan, she simply wasn’t in a big hurry for his mysticism to start rubbing off on her.
Of course, the more she thought about it, the more she had to admit that all of the exceptional observations being made by Sheriff Carmichael probably weren’t helping her anxiety either. They were certainly nothing inexplicable-as he had proven with his explanations-but they were peculiar nonetheless. As benign as the curmudgeonly old cop seemed on the surface, she still wasn’t sure quite what to make of him. In fact, she had a strange feeling that he was hiding something from her. She didn’t know exactly what it was, but she felt positive that she wasn’t getting the whole story from him.
