"You should see me trembling. What else does our contact know?"
"The guy's name is Carl Luck. Known drug dealer and pornographer."
"Mommy would be proud."
"Last our contact heard, Mr. Luck lives in Simi Valley."
"The porn capital of the world."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"Eww," I said. "Is that all?"
"Nope. It gets better."
"I love better."
"Apparently Carl Luck drinks and gambles at an Indian casino near Simi, called Moon Feathers."
"A fitting name."
"I thought so," he said. "Anyway, I did a background check on Carl Luck."
"And?"
"And nothing."
I thought about that. "Maybe that's not his real name."
"Maybe it's his gambling nom de plume."
"Better than calling yourself Carl Loser."
I could almost see King grin on his end of the line.
"Anyway, his name doesn't matter," I said. "He could call himself Pepe Le Pew for all I care. Just as long as he shows up at Moon Feathers."
"Don't forget the part about him being a bad man. Remember, there's a very good chance that he killed Maddie's mother. And don't give me that shit about you being a highly trained federal agent."
"I'm a highly trained federal agent, I'll be fine."
"Shit." He paused, then added. "I want to come with you. Maybe bring the boys as back ups."
I shook my head even though Aaron couldn't see me shaking my head. "No. I want to go alone. I'll be fine. Promise."
He didn't like it, and I didn't blame him. I wouldn't have liked it either. The truth was, the boys just might get in the way. He said, "I'll keep my phone handy. Call me if you need anything."
"I will."
"Promise me."
"Scout's honor."
He laughed harder. "Okay, a federal agent I believe, but I know you weren't a Boy Scout."
We fell into silence and I felt that there was something heavy on Aaron's heart. I waited for him. Twenty seconds later he spoke, and I sensed it was after much deliberation. "I saw you looking at me last night."
I waited, sensing where this would go.
"I know that look," he said.
"And what look is that?"
"Recognition," he said simply.
Just outside the bedroom, I heard the sounds of someone cleaning: items on a table being moved and then being replaced again. I knew Kingsley didn't use a house cleaner. It was just Franklin. The idea of catching the gangly, patchwork man using a feather duster almost made me laugh.
"What do you mean?" I asked, although I was certain I knew perfectly well what he meant.
"You know who I am."
"Oh?"
"Don't play coy with me, kiddo. I saw the look on your eyes last night. How did you know?"
Now I heard Franklin humming to himself. Humming and dusting. A man composed of perhaps a dozen different men. I had Frankenstein outside my door, and Elvis on the phone.
My life is weird.
"I know things," I said.
"How?"
"Some call it a gift. I don't know what to call it."
"Are we talking ESP or something?"
"Yeah, something like that."
"So then there's no secrets from you."
"Often, no, although I can't always control the psychic hits I get," I said.
I could almost see him nodding to himself at the other end of the line. He said, "I know a thing or two about secrets, lil' lady, especially after keeping such a big one for so long."
"I bet," I said, although I didn't like where this was going.
He paused, then said, "And you have a big one yourself."
"No comment," I said.
He chuckled lightly into the mouthpiece. "Call me if you need any help. Psychic or not, I don't like the idea of you heading out to that casino alone."
"I can take care of myself."
"Maybe," he said, and now he didn't bother to disguise his voice. A harmonious and deep southern twang came through, edged with age, but as familiar as apple pie. He said, "Either way, lil' mama, let's get a coffee some time and talk about secrets."
"Sounds like a plan," I said, and shivered. I felt like a teenager at her first concert. An Elvis concert, no less.
He chuckled lightly and hung up.
Chapter Thirty-seven
It was early afternoon, and I was sitting next to my son's bed. The blinds were drawn tight, but I was still feeling weak and miserable and utterly exhausted.
I shouldn't be awake. I should be asleep in the dark.
Of course, whether or not I actually sleep is still an unanswered question. A few years ago, just after my attack and back when Danny was still making an effort to be a supportive husband, we had done an experiment. He had watched me closely while I slept. His conclusion (and he had looked seriously rattled when he had reported this), was that I didn't appear to be moving or breathing or even alive. That I had looked like a corpse in a morgue.
Hell, that might have been when I started losing him.
Speaking of Danny, he had waited here until my arrival, and had then given me a long and creepy hug that had included a little pelvic thrust that made me want to vomit.
I mean, what the hell was that? Our son is lying in a hospital bed and he's coming on to me?
It had taken all my willpower not to drive my knee up into said groin. He then patted my shoulder, gave me a pathetic puppy dog look with a crooked grin, and then quickly departed. After all, he had ambulances to chase.
I shuddered again.
Some errant sunlight from an opening in the window splashed across the far wall, and just looking at it seemed to have an ill effect on me. Sunlight, quite simply, drained me. It also physically hurt like hell, which led me to believe that if I were exposed to it long enough, without protection, I had every reason to believe I would die a very painful and miserable death.
So much for being immortal.
My son had yet to stir. Nurses had come and gone. All of whom smiled sadly at me, although most tried to lift my spirits. For a boy to lie unconscious this long, for a boy to be this sick, for a boy to have doctors this concerned, well, things did not look good for a loving mama, and they knew it.
Still, they smiled and said kind things, and I nodded and accepted their words, and when they were gone, I wept.
I was not weeping when Detective Sherbet stepped into the room. The big guy came bearing gifts, and the sight of him daintily holding the string of a helium-filled balloon in one hand and clutching a fistful of flowers in the other was enough to make my heart smile. He stood there blinking, eyes adjusting to the gloom.