I checked the time on the video: 1:17 pm.
I rewound the video a few seconds—hell, I’d gotten quite adept at manipulating the video controls, having spent the past three days working them—and watched her step out of the Starbucks again, this time closely watching her.
She was smallish, about the size of Lucy, if I had to guess. And I did have to guess. It was my job to guess...to make an informed guess. The woman on the screen was walking with her head down, and talking into a cell phone. The woman had black hair. Very black hair. Almost too black for her skin tone.
Interesting.
Lucy, of course, had light brown hair. The woman was also wearing different clothing, too. Shorts and a tank top. She carried a medium-sized handbag under her arm.
A different handbag than what Lucy came in with.
Maybe it wasn’t her.
The woman paused briefly and actually shaded her eyes, even though she was wearing Jackie-O-type sunglasses. She paused and waved her hand. A red SUV, whose license plate was unreadable, pulled up next to the curb, and the woman with the sunglasses, with the pitch-black hair and pale skin, got into the passenger seat, and shut the door.
The SUV pulled away and was gone.
I frowned at the whole scene, replayed it twice more, and then did what any detective would do. I rewound to the early part of the day and painstaking went through each minute of the video.
And at no time did a dark-haired woman with the big sunglasses actually come into Starbucks.
She only exited.
It was Lucy; I was sure of it.
I could have kissed someone.
Even Kingsley.
Chapter Thirty-one
“So, the broad’s alive,” said Detective Sharp.
“Yes,” I said, “And no one says the word broad anymore.”
“Too bad. It’s a good word. My pops used to say it.”
It was midday, and we were in his brightly lit office. A few minutes earlier, gasping and whimpering, I had dashed across the half-empty parking lot, only to push through the heavy glass doors. Once inside, I did all I could to compose myself as quickly as possible, although I might have whimpered a little.
Now, in his too-bright office—and sitting as far away from the direct sunshine as possible—I said, “Let me guess, your father was a cop, too.”
“How’d you guess?”
“Because you sound like a cop stuck in the seventies.”
“What can I say? I grew up with ‘the boys,’ as my father used to call his cop friends. They were over all the time.”
“No mom?”
“She died young. Just me and my pops.”
“He’s dead, too?”
“Five years now. Ain’t a day goes by that I don’t miss him.”
“He’s here now,” I said.
“Say again?”
“Your pops is here now. He’s standing behind you. His hand is on your shoulder. You can probably feel a tingle there.”
He reached up and made a small movement toward his shoulder, and then pulled up short. “Not cool. Who the hell sent you—”
“Shut up and listen,” I said. Mercifully, his office door was closed. I hadn’t expected to do a reading today, or to give a message from Spirit. I didn’t have a TV show where a camera crew was following me around, waiting eagerly for me to give a stranger a reading. And I sure as hell wasn’t from Long Island. But, nonetheless, I could see into the spirit world, and I think spirits took the opportunity, sometimes, to relay a message through me.
Your friendly neighborhood vampire.
I said, “I can see spirits, you big boob. I’m kind of like a medium, only cooler.”
“Wait. What—”
“Your dad is here. He’s a big guy, bald. At least, that’s how he’s projecting himself to me right now. He’s still holding your shoulder. You should be feeling a serious tingling there right about now. He’s telling me, over and over, how proud he is of you.”
“If this is a joke...”
“No joke, Detective,” I said. In the past, I couldn’t hear spirits. These days I could, especially vociferous, loud spirits. His father was such a spirit. I relayed his loving message to his son, and when I was done, Detective Jason Sharp was left sobbing at his desk, a real mess. Spirits have that kind of effect on people.
His father seemed to nod, patted his son again, and faded out slowly.
* * *
Detective Sharp finally looked up from all his blubbering and said, “That was so unfair.”
“I don’t make the rules,” I said. “And your father wanted to come through.”
“He’s pushy like that.”
“Oh, and he also wanted me to tell you not to be such a dick when you talk to me on the phone.”
“Did he really—oh, bullshit. You’re messing with me.”
“I am.”
“I guess I was a bit of a douche on the phone.”
“A bit, and I hate that word.”
“Sorry. Guy talk.”
“If you haven’t noticed yet...”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re a broad.”
“That I am, and like I said, no one says that word anymore.”
“Well, I’m bringing it back. Now, can we get back to work?”
We did. I first showed him the various points when the muted light had turned on in the back of Starbucks, then progressed quickly over to the fifth day.
“Now watch.”
“I’m watching.”
When the woman with the dark hair and big sunglasses appeared on the screen, Sharp said, “Well, I’ll be damned.”
“That makes two of us.”
“What?”
“Never mind,” I said. “Any mention in the report of anyone with a red SUV?”
“No,” said Sharp.
“What about her phone records?”
“She never used her phone again, neither calls nor texts after she disappeared.”
“She’s using a throwaway phone, then,” I said.
“Would be my guess.” He looked at me. “So, if we find the red SUV...”
“We find the broad,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow. “Broad?”
I shrugged. “What can I say, I guess it’s growing on me.”
Chapter Thirty-two
It was late.
I’d spent the day debating whether or not to tell my client about his wife, and decided now was not the time. I needed more answers. And I would find them, sooner or later.
I’d also spent the day thinking about Kingsley. I didn’t often spend my free time thinking about my ex-boyfriend who cheated on me, who had been manipulated to cheat on me. Kingsley had, in fact, proven himself to be a good man this past year, despite the fact that I had been treating him like shit.