Medium Rare: (Intermix) Read online

  Skag levitated a few more inches. “A message? From whom?”

  “Supposedly from Alana DuBois. Which of course would mean that she’s dead if you’re willing to believe Bradford is a real medium.”

  “What did the message say?” His voice sounded tight suddenly.

  “Short and sweet. ‘Stop.’”

  “‘Stop’? That was all? Just ‘Stop’?”

  “That was the message. In its entirety.”

  Skag stared at her for a moment longer, then shook his head. “Too vague. It’s not clear what she’s talking about.”

  Rose froze, her glass halfway to her lips. “Are you telling me Bradford’s the real thing? That message was authentic?”

  He waved a hand. “I’ve no idea whether Bradford is a real medium or not, although I’m inclined to doubt it. But I’m increasingly convinced that Alana DuBois is, in fact, dead. I’ve been trying to locate her for the past few days, but I haven’t been successful. It’s possible she sent this message via Bradford as a way to contact you directly.”

  “It’s even more possible Bradford sent us the message himself, without bothering about Alana.”

  “Yes, of course. But why would he do that?”

  “He’d do that if he was involved in whatever happened to her and wanted us to lay off. That’s what Evan thinks.”

  Skag sighed. “Delwin may be right. If I can find Alana DuBois, I shall certainly ask.”

  “What about Bradford’s spirit guides? Any luck there? Or is he a total fraud?”

  Skag stared at the burning tip of his cigarette, smoothing the ash against the side of the ashtray. “I haven’t been able to discover anything one way or the other. There seems to be a great void of information surrounding William Bradford.”

  “If there’s a void, doesn’t that indicate he’s a fraud? I mean, if no one’s working with him?”

  Skag shook his head. “You misunderstand me. With most frauds, there’s a great deal of chatter among the guides, most of it derogatory. Spiritualist frauds inspire contempt and gossip. Bradford, on the other hand, inspires nothing. Only a great silence, as if the spirit world is afraid to speak. In fact, I’m finding some difficulty in getting some of my sources to talk to me at the moment, even about mundane matters.”

  “Perhaps there’s nothing to say.”

  “Perhaps. Nonetheless, I advise you to treat Bradford with care. He’s far from the harmless fake he seems to be.”

  Rose took a last sip of her port. “Well, harmless or not, I tried to set up a consultation with him for Evan and me. Maybe you can dig up some more information before we meet with him privately.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Skag gave her a long look as he began to dissolve. “I repeat, treat him with care. He may surprise you in ways that are less than pleasant.”

  Evan didn’t show up on her doorstep until late afternoon, which allowed Rose to finish off some Locators business, including sending out a few invoices. Considering how much time the Bradford/DuBois investigation was taking, she figured they needed as much income as they could get.

  As he strolled into the living room, Evan seemed to be ignoring last night’s kiss. She decided she might as well play along. “What’s up?”

  “Any word from Bradford’s people about the consultation?”

  She shook her head. “So what time are we due for the séance tonight?”

  “Around seven. Maybe we can grab some food afterward.” He looked deceptively casual.

  She decided to call his bluff. “So is this a date, Evan?”

  “A date?” He narrowed his eyes, then shrugged. “Sure. Why not.”

  “Good enough. Are we wearing costumes?”

  He glanced down at his jeans and denim shirt. “Apparently not. At least I don’t think this counts as a costume.”

  “All right, then, I’ll go with something simple. Who’s the medium tonight?”

  “Tonight? No idea. Why?”

  “It’s a logical question. I just wanted to know if it was somebody good.”

  He grimaced. “It’s a medium, Rose, not a bluegrass band.”

  She settled onto the couch, studying him. His expression seemed sour. “Why so down on mediums, Evan? Did one of them cheat your grandma out of her life savings or something?”

  An emotion she couldn’t identify seemed to flash deep in his eyes, but then it was gone. “No. As a matter of fact, Grandma Anton was careful never to give them more than a couple of bucks for an entrance fee. She never went overboard.”

  Rose blinked. “I was kidding. You mean your grandmother actually went to séances?”

  He nodded, sitting beside her. “Best show in town. She took me along until she got tired of hearing me tell her how the tricks were done. One summer we even went to ‘spook camp.’”

  “Spook camp?”

  “Spiritualist camp. Big-time mumbo jumbo. Mediums, psychics, faith healers, all the guys. Grandma had a great time.” His mouth twisted into something like a smile.

  “I take it you didn’t?”

  “It wasn’t a great place for a thirteen-year-old with a good functional knowledge of magic tricks. After two days they threatened to kick us out if Grandma didn’t rein me in.”

  “And did she?”

  He shrugged. “Sort of. We made a deal. I kept my mouth shut, and she didn’t send me to military school when we got back home.”

  He was still smiling that slightly twisted smile, but nothing about it reached his eyes. Maybe he hadn’t been all that sad to leave Grandma Anton behind.

  “Sorry, Evan. I didn’t know.”

  He leaned down to scratch Helen’s ears. “It wasn’t that bad. And I picked up a lot of information. It’s come in handy in my current profession.”

  A quick prickle of warning ran up her spine. Oh, yes, his current profession. Putting mediums out of business. And he apparently had good reasons for wanting to do that.

  She wondered just what he’d do if he found out she fell into the category of people who needed to be run out of town.

  Terrific. Her evening had just become a lot more precarious. “I’ll go change,” she said, pushing herself to her feet.

  ***

  Evan had been curious about what Rose might have chosen for a disguise. He wondered if she could go back to looking forgettable.

  He sure as hell couldn’t forget her now. In fact, every time he thought about that good-night kiss the night before, to say nothing of the make-out session on her couch the night the ravens hit, his temperature rose several degrees. He wondered if they could head back to her place after the séance, then told himself to cut it out. He had enough to concentrate on without thinking about Rose’s couch.

  When she came back downstairs, she was actually wearing a dress, and she did seem a little less spectacular than usual. He figured it had something to do with the way she’d pulled back her lush hair into a ponytail fastened low at the back of her neck. The dress was nothing special—dark blue, cut slightly above the knee. But her curves made even a simple dress look like pure sin.

  “Any problems?” Rose asked dryly.

  He dropped his gaze from the general vicinity of her cleavage and opened the SUV door for her. “Nope. Just amazed at how well you clean up.”

  “No need to call attention to us, right?”

  “Right.” He backed down her driveway and then headed toward the freeway. “What did you do with Helen?”

  “Left her at home. Why? Do you think we need her?”

  “No. I just wondered how you’d keep her from munching on the furniture while you were gone.”

  She frowned slightly. “She seems to pay attention to Lenore, amazingly enough. I figured the two of them could keep each other company.”

  Evan wondered if Helen might decide at some point that Lenore looked more like a snack
than a companion. Oh well, not his problem.

  By six forty-five, the parking lots around El Mercado had already begun to empty out. He pulled into one a few blocks from the séance location. “Okay, for the record, your name is Tiffany LaSeur.”

  “Tiffany LaSeur?” She raised an eyebrow.

  He grinned. “Like it? I saw it on some spam e-mail I got this afternoon.”

  “You think I look like a Tiffany LeSeur?” Her other eyebrow raised as well.

  He shrugged. “Better than Elfrida Humphries, which was the other possibility.”

  “Good call. And who might you be?”

  “Phillip Marlowe.” He slid his notebook into his jacket pocket. Yet another reason for wearing a sport coat.

  Rose raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  Evan nodded. “I figured Sam Spade sounded too obvious.”

  “Considering some of the names we saw on that list from Alana’s séance, you could probably call yourself Long Dong Silver and nobody would notice.” She opened the door of the SUV, squinting at the streetlights. “Lead on, Marlowe. Time’s a-wastin’.”

  A small crowd was gathered outside the storefront door, two or three college-age boys, mildly drunk, and a few girls at the side. They bunched together, spilling across the sidewalk and over the curb. Evan took hold of Rose’s elbow, just for security’s sake.

  Not that anybody noticed them. One of the boys was busy singing a tuneless version of the Twilight Zone theme at the top of his lungs.

  “Oh man,” another boy crowed. “You suck.”

  “I suck? Dude, you suck!”

  “Dude . . .”

  The door to the storefront opened and a man stuck his head out. “Keep it down,” he said in a level voice. “Unless you want to spend the rest of the evening in the police substation.”

  The boys looked somewhere between outraged and nervous. One of them opened his mouth to protest, then closed it quickly.

  Evan saluted his good sense. The man who now stepped into the street looked like a slightly smaller Augie Garcia. He wore dark glasses and a silver ring in one ear, his black hair oiled into a sleek rattail. He carried a clipboard, and he was a few inches taller than most of the boys.

  “It’s twenty-five dollars a person. Pay before you go in. Nobody gets in unless their name’s on the list.”

  The boys began pulling out their wallets. The girls moved up beside them. Surprisingly, even the assholes seemed to all have dates.

  Beside him, Rose grasped his arm tightly. He didn’t know if she was acting or if she was really nervous. Whichever, her hand felt warm. “Do you know him?” he muttered, nodding toward the bouncer.

  She shook her head, staring down at her shoes.

  Mini-Augie checked off names as the boys and girls filed past him, dropping their money into a cash box.

  “Tiffany LaSeur?” He gave Rose a penetrating glance.

  Evan’s shoulders tensed, but she flashed a dazzling smile. “Cajun. From Louisiana.”

  He gave her a slightly dazed look, then checked off her name.

  “You might want to go easy on that,” Evan muttered as they started down the hall. “It makes you memorable.” And how!

  “Go easy on what?” She gazed up with guileless eyes.

  “That dazzle thing you do.”

  “‘Dazzle thing’?” Her eyes widened.

  “You know—when you . . . sort of . . .”

  Her eyes widened even more.

  He swallowed. “Skip it.”

  Illuminated only by tall candles, the séance room had remnants of the cut-rate store it had once been, including cracked linoleum and cheap wood paneling. A battered folding table surrounded by metal chairs was in the middle.

  The boys and their dates moved to the far side of the room, muttering to each other and snickering. He and Rose stayed near the door.

  After a few moments, a small woman in a maroon dress hurried in, rubbing her hands together.

  “José,” she called back through the door. “Can you turn up the heat? It’s freezing in here.”

  Evan hadn’t noticed any particular problems, but now that the woman had brought it up, he noticed Rose rubbing her arms, too, her elbows tight against her body.

  One of the boys began humming the Twilight Zone theme song again, while his date giggled. The woman gave him a flat look.

  “I’m Brenda Cerrone. I’ll conduct tonight’s session. If you’ll all please take your seats, we can begin.”

  “Does is matter where we sit?” one of the girls asked. Another boy muttered something, and his friend guffawed.

  Ms. Cerrone waved a hand. “Just sit anywhere. Let’s get this started.”

  Rose slid into the seat beside Evan, hugging her arms across her body.

  “Are you still cold?” The temperature felt fine to him.

  She shrugged. “Short sleeves.”

  “You want my jacket?” he asked a moment before he remembered the miniature recorder tucked in his jacket pocket. He wondered if he could palm it before he passed the jacket to Rose.

  “That’s okay. Looks like she’s going to start.”

  Ms. Cerrone had taken her seat at the head of the table facing the candles on the rear wall. She was probably the least impressive medium Evan had ever seen—she looked more like a grade school teacher. Maybe five-five, graying brown hair, thick glasses that kept sliding down her nose, no jewelry he could see. Compared to what he’d heard of Alana DuBois and her Little Red Riding Hood getup, this medium looked like a nun.

  “Would everyone please hold the hand of the person next to them?” she said briskly. “We must maintain the circle throughout the session. It’s important that we remain in contact. José,” she called, “we’re ready to begin.”

  Evan could sense the grins of the boys across the table. Those grins dimmed slightly when Mini-Augie walked into the room, closing the door behind him and then leaning against the wall.

  Evan kept his eyes on Ms. Cerrone while he switched on the recorder in his pocket.

  “Please join hands,” she repeated.

  He grasped Rose’s hand, feeling a faint jolt of heat when she pressed her palm against his. He took a deep breath and focused on Cerrone again.

  The girl on his other side didn’t seem affected by the cool temperature. Her palm was sweating enough to make his own feel clammy. He really hoped this session didn’t last longer than a half hour or so, or he’d have to wipe his hand on something.

  Mini-Augie switched on a CD player at the back and the room filled with the kind of anonymous tinkling music he associated with yoga classes and soft porn.

  Cerrone closed her eyes, leaning back in her chair. She didn’t bother putting on much of a show. Her body relaxed almost instantly into a boneless slump, her head drooping forward.

  One of the boys started to mutter something, but stifled it when Mini-Augie cleared his throat.

  After a few moments, Cerrone lifted her head, although she kept her eyes closed tightly. “The letter K. Someone whose name begins with the letter K wants to speak to Jessica.”

  The girl next to Evan jumped, squeezing his hand painfully. “That’s me,” she stammered. “I don’t know any dead person named K, though.”

  “Heart,” Cerrone intoned, staring at Jessica. “Maybe heart. Lungs? Kidneys? Is someone . . . did someone close to you . . . perhaps . . . diabetes? Did someone close to you have diabetes?”

  The girl still clutched his hand. He tried stretching his fingers to loosen her grip, but she held on tight.

  “My Uncle Lyle died from diabetes. But that’s L, not K.”

  “L,” Cerrone murmured. “Yes. L. That’s right. Do you have any questions for your uncle?”

  “Maybe.” Jessica chewed on her lip, obviously trying to think of something. “Well, how’s he doing?”
>
  The boy across the table snickered. Jessica gave him a savage look, then turned back to Ms. Cerrone. “I mean, is he okay?”

  Another round of snickers followed until Mini-Augie pushed himself away from the wall. The boys quieted abruptly.

  “He’s doing well.” Cerrone’s eyes fluttered. “I’m losing contact. Anything else?”

  “Just, well . . .” The girl swallowed hard. “Tell him Jessie sends her love.” She sniffled slightly.

  Cerrone nodded, her head drooping again. The girl released the pressure on Evan’s hand marginally, but then took hold again as the medium raised her head.

  He had a feeling they were in for a long night.

  He was right. Cerrone stumbled through her messages, trying to attach them to the boys, the girls, even to Evan without a great deal of success. Periodically, Mini-Augie loomed over the table to keep the boys in line, but after a while even he began to sag with boredom.

  Beside him, Rose sat quietly, watching Cerrone’s face. He didn’t think her shoulders had touched the back of her chair all evening long. Strange that the medium hadn’t tried to give her any messages. Wasn’t she the right type?

  Finally, Cerrone relaxed in her chair again, head lolling. Then, suddenly, she sat up very straight indeed. Her body trembled slightly, like a wire pulled taut. Her eyes were more tightly closed than they had been before. “Caroline. Caroline says . . .” she gasped. She wet her lips, grimacing, then took a shuddering breath.

  Across from Evan, the boys and their girlfriends were suddenly silent, staring at Cerrone.

  “Caroline says . . .” The medium began to breathe harder. Evan watched her shoulders rise and fall, as if she were struggling with something. Maybe she was better at this than he’d given her credit for. At the moment, she looked like she was in touch with some force she couldn’t control.

  “Caroline says . . .” Cerrone caught her breath, her face convulsing. “Caroline . . .”

  Mini-Augie pushed away from the wall again. “Hey, Brenda, you okay?”

  “Don’t!” Cerrone cried, her eyes popping open as her body jerked upright. “Don’t look back!”

  She gasped, sucking in air, then sat blinking at the table. For the first time, the boys were completely silent.