Cusp of night, p.13
Cusp of Night, page 13
His gaze traced to the hearth, the spit and crackle of flames the only sound for several seconds. “I know it is tiresome, but there will always be a new member to question your legitimacy. I’ve heard rumors Alden Harwood once worked as an amateur magician for a traveling medicine show. He’s been exposing frauds on the flimflam circuit for months and has set his sights on a loftier trophy. You’re the crown jewel, my dear, the most highly touted medium of our age. The SPR may find Harwood crass, but they’re impressed by the results he brings.”
Startled, Lucinda sat forward. “You didn’t tell me Harwood had been a magician. What if he sees through me?”
“Don’t worry.” Simon grazed his knuckles down her cheek. “I have no doubt you will dazzle as always, and Harwood will fall under your spell.” The words had no sooner left his mouth than he was overcome by a fit of coughing. Rounding his shoulders, he crumpled the handkerchief against his lips.
A knot of fear burrowed in Lucinda’s stomach. “Simon, your cough is getting worse.” She slid a hand onto his back. “You must see a doctor.”
“The malady will pass. It always does.”
Sometimes she hated his stubbornness. After Emma’s casual remark about his health, Lucinda had wasted no time in confronting him. He’d told her the cough was an old ailment, bothersome, but nothing to be concerned about. The frequency changed with the weather, and the rainy cold days of March were not favorable. She wanted to believe him, but the rattle sounded worse, rooted deeper in his chest. If she couldn’t convince him to see a doctor for his own good, she’d manipulate him for hers.
“The cough may lessen with time, but do you want to take the chance with Alden Harwood waiting around the corner?”
“Harwood?” He sat straighter, eying her warily. “Perhaps you should explain.”
“We’ve been fortunate that you’ve been able to control your cough during séances, but are you willing to take that risk with Harwood seated in the room?”
“You think I’m a liability?”
“Through no fault of your own.” Lucinda disliked using his weakness against him, but it was her only tool. “Your cough is the liability, not you, dearest husband.” She softened the words by placing her hand on his cheek, willing him to read the love in her eyes—the very echo of the sentiment inscribed on the pocket watch. “You hold my heart. Would you have me fail?”
“I would not.” He drew her hand down, then pressed his lips to her palm. “Nor would I have your performance suffer for worry over my infirmity. I will see a doctor tomorrow if it will give you peace of mind.”
She breathed easier. “Yes. Thank you.”
“With that settled, let us go to bed.” Standing, he extended his hand. The hint of a smile touched his lips when she rose gracefully, as he had taught. “You are indeed a jewel, my lovely Lucinda. I have no doubt that when Harwood tests you in April, he will sing your praises to the world.”
* * * *
Present Day
Maya opened the front door at the sound of the bell, thankful she didn’t have to spend another hour alone in the brownstone. She loved the old house, but the events of the last two nights had put her on edge, especially now that darkness had fallen.
Collin Hode stood on the stoop, haloed in the parchment-yellow glow of the porch light. A paperback novel and small laptop were sandwiched together in his right hand. “Reporting as promised.” He flicked a glanced at his watch. “And on time.”
“Well, at least you didn’t write me off as a nutcase.” She moved aside, allowing him room to enter. “Yet.”
The corner of his mouth curled in appreciation of her humor. “It’s not every day I get to ghost-sit. I’m always looking to broaden my job description.”
She hadn’t expected him to be so easy-going. He seemed far less formal than he had the other times she’d met him. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Just some water.”
She led the way to the kitchen where she retrieved two bottles of spring water from the refrigerator.
Collin took the one she offered, then set the computer and paperback on the counter.
Maya eyed the cover of the book. “You’re reading a Stephen King novel while staking out a house for ghosts?”
“It seemed a good fit, and I need something to keep me awake. I brought that”—he nodded toward the laptop—“for work. Can I hop on your Wi-Fi?”
“Sure. I’ll get you the code.” She took a sip of water, then returned the bottle to the refrigerator. She wasn’t thirsty so much as her mouth was dry. Probably from nerves. Wiping her hands on her shorts, she wondered how she would manage to sleep with him camped out in her bedroom. “I’ll write it down and leave it on the nightstand. Um…help yourself to anything in the refrigerator. I should probably turn in. I have to get up early for work tomorrow.”
She hadn’t even considered whether or not he needed to do the same. And what if he spent the entire night only to have nothing happen?
“That’s fine.” Collin scanned the room as if noticing it for the first time. “I’m going to look around down here then check the front bedroom again. I’ll keep the light turned off when I come upstairs so I don’t wake you.”
She guessed he was giving her time to get settled into bed. Even though she planned on sleeping in her T-shirt and shorts, she appreciated the gesture. “How are you going to read?”
“I came prepared.” He drew a small flashlight from the back pocket of his jeans. It looked like the LED kind that would emit a soft white glow.
“Okay.” Her smile came easily. She started to turn away, then thought better of it. “Can I ask you something?” It was impossible to ignore the thought gnawing at the back of her mind.
He shrugged. “Sure.”
Uncertain how to broach the subject, Maya wet her lips. “It’s just that…I really appreciate what you’re doing this evening. You could have written me off as crazy and told me to deal with the problem, but you didn’t.” Walking to the snack bar, she leaned into the counter, the sleek granite creating a barrier between them. “I know I’ve only been in Hode’s Hill a short time, and maybe it’s none of my business, but the person here tonight doesn’t seem like the person I hear about in the news.”
“Ah.” Collin twisted the cap off his water. He downed a slug before replying. “You’re talking about Pin Oaks.”
Maya thought of Sonia DeLuca and the numerous residents who would be displaced. “Are you really going to tear it down?”
“Yes.” The swiftness of his answer surprised her. No attempt to defend himself, no debate.
“To build luxury condos?”
“Yes.” Again, no hesitation.
Her mouth moved, but the words clogged in her throat.
“You think I’m reprehensible.” He said them for her. “That Hode Development is only interested in money and doesn’t care about displacing a bunch of senior citizens, many who are on fixed incomes.” A brow arched into the fringe of his sandy hair. “Does that about cover it?”
She hoped her revulsion didn’t show. “How can you be so cavalier?”
“Practice.” He set the water on the counter, then flipped open the laptop. It took a handful of seconds for the little computer to boot up, during which time Maya’s indignation grew.
“I don’t know what your tie to the DeLuca family is—”
“I don’t have one.” Collin’s fingers danced over the keys.
“Sonia DeLuca can afford to move, but the other people who live there rely on those accommodations.” Maya might have been repeating what she’d heard from others and read in the paper, but she believed what she said. Her own grandparents rented a small apartment in a senior center, a place where they could live comfortably on an income that didn’t grow in equal measure with the economy. “Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.”
“Would you rather I didn’t do this?” Collin spun the computer around.
Maya stared, trying to make sense of the image on the screen—an artist’s rendition of a three-story brick building surrounded by meandering walking paths, gardens, and trees. “Why are you showing me this?”
Collin pointed to lettering in the bottom right corner. “There.”
Maya leaned closer, reading aloud. “The Cottages at Chinkwe.” Drawing back, she folded her arms over her chest. “What is this?”
“It’s where Sonia DeLuca and the other residents of Pin Oaks will be able to live for the same rent they’re paying now, should they choose.”
She must have heard wrong. “What are you talking about?”
“Something that hasn’t been released for public knowledge.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you. My father would rake me over the coals for the breach of trust.”
“Oh.” Understanding grew in Maya’s mind. “Everyone’s wrong, aren’t they?” Astonished, she raised a hand to her mouth. “You’re not displacing the residents of Pin Oaks. Not really.”
“No. What we’re doing is tearing down a building no longer up to code.” One-handed, Collin worked the touchpad on the computer, wiping the image from the screen. He flipped the lid shut. “Pin Oaks has a great location overlooking the Chinkwe. Residents like that, but the maintenance concerns of the building have grown to the point where it’s no longer feasible to do repairs.”
“That’s why you’re tearing it down?”
“Exactly. We can build something nicer, offering better accommodations and amenities. And by moving the location, we free up the existing site for condos. The river view translates into higher rent, which allows us more leniency with the bottom line for the Cottages at Chinkwe.”
She stared, flabbergasted. “But why wouldn’t you tell people? Why do you keep letting everyone think Hode Development is in it for the money? If Dante DeLuca knew what you have planned—”
“The news will leak eventually,” Collin interrupted. “We don’t want to promise what we can’t deliver, and there are still details to finalize. We never intended for anyone to know about our plans for Pin Oaks until we could share the information about the Cottages. The whole thing spiraled out of control when Len Kovack was fired. He got wind of Pin Oaks before the top blew and leaked what he wanted to the press.”
Kovack again. “He seems like a miserable man.”
“You’ve met him?”
“I tried to introduce myself. He told me to get lost, in so many words.”
“Sounds like Kovack. Look—it’s important you don’t tell anyone what I shared with you. The only thing worse than the black eye Hode Development has now would be to announce the Cottages prematurely and have the whole thing go belly up.”
“I won’t say a word.” Hesitating, she lowered her eyes. “Thank you for sharing that with me. You didn’t have to.”
“I’d like to think we’re developing mutual trust.” He paused briefly, his gaze direct. “Which brings me back to the night my father was attacked.”
Maya stiffened. “Do you think I lied to you about something?”
“No. But my father told David Gregg the guy who attacked him was short and had blond hair.”
“Why would he say that?”
“I was hoping you’d know. Gregg said your description was different.”
Maya spread her hands. “The thing, the person”—she had to force herself to think of that hulking mass as human—“was squatting beside your father, Collin. He was huge, dwarfing everything around him when he stood. I might not have seen his hair color, but there’s no way your father could have mistaken him for being short.”
“Yeah.” Collin’s tone was thoughtful, as if he’d expected the answer.
“Why would your father…” She couldn’t force herself to use the term “lie,” but something didn’t add up. “How could he be that mistaken? Maybe he was in shock.”
“Maybe.” Collin didn’t sound convinced. His gaze slid sideways. “You said the guy had a cape. He was dressed like the Fiend.”
“Yes. I know the creature can’t exist, but at that moment in the alley, I thought I was looking at a monster.” She felt silly admitting it. “Now, with all the sightings that have been going on…”
“Did you read up on the Fiend?”
She thought of the newspaper accounts she’d poured over on microfiche. “I found an old article about Charlotte Hode, and what happened the night she was killed. Her coachmen, Frederick Brundage, said—” Sudden understanding dawned in her head. The thing she’d overlooked before, what Collin had been pointing to all along.
Shock coursed through her. “Brundage said the Fiend was small and lithe as a cat. He said it flew across the rooftops.”
“Doesn’t really fit the description of the person you saw, does it?” Collin’s expression said he’d been waiting for her to arrive at the same conclusion. “Now do you see why all these Fiend sightings are bogus?”
Maya slumped onto a stool at the counter, bewilderment pinging through her nerves. “Something has been attacking people—your father, that boy.” She met his gaze with an impassioned stare. “Maybe it’s not the Fiend of legend, but I still have a hard time thinking of what I saw in the alley as human. And there is something in this house. Whether it’s the Blue Lady or the ghost of someone she summoned, I have an awful feeling the two are connected.”
“The Fiend and the Blue Lady?”
She nodded. “Imelda said the creature killed her. Even if someone else is responsible for the attacks and sightings, why are both things happening now?” She rubbed her arms, thinking of the shadowy minutes after her car accident when she’d lingered, trapped between life and death. For one crazy moment she thought about telling Collin, but if he didn’t believe she’d seen the Blue Lady’s face in the glass, he’d never believe her spirit had wandered through a Netherworld.
“Let’s take one thing at a time,” he said. “Starting with what happens tonight.”
* * * *
Collin listened to Maya’s even breathing. He shifted, trying to get comfortable in the high-backed chair she’d described as “shabby chic.” He’d ditched the white chenille spread and rose toile accent pillow within two minutes of settling with his King novel, but the wood frame kept digging into his elbow. At least there was a small ottoman—also covered in white chenille—to prop his feet on.
He’d kicked his shoes to the side, pulled the tail of the shirt from his jeans, and tried to focus on Salem’s Lot. He’d read it once before, the last time a few years ago. Reading had become a habit after his divorce from Carole. The singles scene left him cold, and he hadn’t been in the mood for many guys’ nights out despite haggling from his friends. Books had taken on new appeal. Unfortunately, the citizens of Jerusalem’s Lot weren’t holding his interest tonight.
He flicked a glance at Maya’s alarm clock—2:19. Just as well. Ben Mears’s battle with vampire Kurt Barlow wasn’t cutting it. In another three minutes, he might be living his own supernatural thriller. His gaze tracked across the room to the vintage rocker Maya claimed moved on its own. The chair was a bulky shape, dimly outlined by moonlight, innocuous-looking and still.
Leaning forward, Collin dragged a hand through his hair. In the heavy silence, the house creaked, vocalizing through settling wood and old floorboards. Maya made a soft sound, shifting on the bed. Collin stood and stretched. He paced to the window.
The rear of the brownstone offered a clear view of Chicory and the adjoining alley. As he watched, a silver Chrysler turned the corner, coming to a stop a short distance away. A vague impression he’d seen the car before flirted at the back of his mind. The passenger door opened and a man dressed in a dark T-shirt and jeans stepped onto the curb. Seconds later, the sedan vanished, headed toward River Road. The man followed in the same direction, briefly stepping into the glow of a streetlamp.
The coppery gleam of red hair and the man’s inherently combative stride were instantly recognizable. Collin had seen both too many times not to know Len Kovack. What the hell was the painting contractor doing at—Collin shot a glance at the clock—2:22 in the morning?
Straightening, he swiveled to face the rocker.
Nothing.
When he looked back to the street, Kovack was gone.
Collin webbed a hand over his face and leaned against the window. Pressed to his shoulder, the glass was frigid, artic cold. The air chilled rapidly as if the temperature had plummeted thirty degrees.
“What the—”
A low creaking sound broke the stillness.
“It’s happening.” Maya sat up in bed, clutching the blankets to her chest. Her gaze tracked to the rocker.
“Get the light.” Collin strode for the chair.
The bedsheets rustled as Maya stretched for the lamp. A distinctive click left the room unchanged, draped in darkness. “The light doesn’t work. It never does.”
The odds of a power failure at that precise moment were slim. Collin flicked on the flashlight but nothing happened. He double checked the switch, then tapped the barrel against his hand.
Creak. Creak.
Even in the faint umbra of moonlight, he could see the chair pitch back and forth. Cold spots bloomed around him, unspooling from the rocker.
Maya crept to his side. She coiled her fingers around his arm. “I told you.” Her voice was husky, laced with the sharp edge of fear.
The taint of something unnatural prodded his skin.
“Enough.” Reaching forward, Collin grasped the back of the rocker, bringing the jerking motion to an abrupt stop. In the sudden stillness, silence thundered, suffocating and absolute. It lasted only seconds before a clipped echo resonated from down the hall.
Rap.
Rap. Rap.
Maya’s breath whistled between her teeth. Her eyes appeared midnight black in the darkness. “Do you see? I was telling you the truth.”
