Seeing the Light (A Marie Jenner Mystery Book 1) (10 page)

“Are you sure you should go back to work?”

“Yes. I want to figure out what happened down there. A water spigot shouldn’t blow apart like that.” He shook his head, then glanced over at me. “Thanks, again. That was fast thinking on your part.”

“If I’d thought a little bit faster, I could’ve convinced someone in the building to give us a ride there—and back.” I tried to laugh, and almost succeeded. “But any UPS van in a storm, I guess.”

“I guess.” James stared out the side window, then glanced over at me again. “Listen, I’d like to thank you properly. How about supper? Tonight, maybe?”

All right, so he was cute, and I liked sharing a sandwich with him out in front of the building and all that, but there was no way in the world I was dating the guy. There was no dating in my future. I slapped my “let’s be friends” smile on my face. “No can do. Sorry.”

“Oh.” James looked disappointed. “Tomorrow night?”

“Nope.”

“The weekend?”

He wasn’t taking the hint, so I decided to put him out of his misery, quickly. “I think it’d be better if we don’t go out on a date.”

“Oh.” James looked positively wretched. “I wanted to thank you. What if we didn’t call it a date? Just a supper? Two colleagues out for—”

He was making this very difficult, and I sighed. “Maybe. Sometime. Not this week, though.”

“All right.” The smile was back on his face, and I felt like kicking myself. I’m supposed to be strong about stuff like this. Then, I really thought about what he’d said about the spigot.

“James, do you think I could see the spigot? The one that cut you?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Oh, I’m interested. Remember Farley Hewitt, the guy who died down there? Maybe the spigot had something to do with his death.”

“Doing a little sleuthing?” He grinned.

“Maybe a little.” I grinned back. I couldn’t help it. His smile was infectious. “So, what do you think?”

“I’ll get it for you when we get back.”

The silence between us was comfortable. I glanced over at his handsome profile and wished, for a small moment, that I could bend the no dating rule. It could have been fun—but I wasn’t willing to take the chance.

The cab pulled up to the Palais and we got out, walking into the main foyer.

“Give me a minute,” he said, and disappeared through the door to the furnace room. He was back in moments, his good arm wet to the elbow. He held a shard of the spigot in his hand.

“Watch it. It’s sharp.”

“Thanks.” I carefully took the piece of metal, and tucked it in my sweater pocket. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Yes.” He looked embarrassed. “It was the blood.”

“I know how it is. I lose it over spiders.” I grinned at the look of relief that flooded his face.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. I act like a real girl, screaming, the whole bit.”

“I have trouble seeing that.”

“Well, it’s the truth.” I pointed to the elevator. “I have to get back to work. Thanks for the cab ride.”

“You’re welcome. When we can talk about that supper?”

“Next week.” As I turned away, I tried not to sigh. I’d deal with it when Farley had moved on, and I felt stronger.

“Good.”

Marie:
The Hero, Back at the Office

Mr. Latterson and Farley were both waiting for me when I walked into the office.

“You
do
know you only have a half hour for lunch,” Latterson started.

“Just tell me you left the idiot at the hospital,” Farley growled at the same time.

I didn’t know who to look at. Decided to deal with the living first, and turned to Mr. Latterson. “There was an accident, in the furnace room,” I said. “James—you know James?”

He shrugged, but didn’t stop me.

“James Lavall, the caretaker for the building. He cut his hand, and the furnace room flooded.”

Mr. Latterson reacted to this news, strongly. “What happened in the furnace room? A flood? How the hell—”

“I don’t know,” I said, deciding for the moment not to mention the spigot. I had no idea why it had blown apart, but I wanted the chance to discuss it with Farley, alone. I hoped that talking about it would spark something in his memory. I hoped.

“James hurt himself, so I helped him. Then I had to take him to the hospital.” I pointed at the phone sitting on my desk. At the red flashing light, indicating a voicemail message. “I called.”

Mr. Latterson stared at the phone. It was obvious he hadn’t seen the light. “Oh,” he finally said. “Oh, well, that’s good.” He patted me on the back, called me a hero, and then disappeared into his office.

Then Farley and I were alone.

“Somebody messed with the spigot, Farley,” I said.

“Your face is flushed,” Farley said acidly. “What, are you falling for that guy?”

I stared at him for a second, then sat down and stared at the top of my desk. “No, I’m not. Give it a rest.”

“Well, quit looking like that, then.” He frowned ferociously, then blinked. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m not—” I started. Farley shook his head impatiently.

“Not that,” he said. “You said something about a spigot. What about it?”

“Oh. Somebody screwed with it. That’s how James cut his hand. He went to turn it on, to run water, you know, and it blew apart.” I pulled the piece of twisted metal out of my sweater pocket and put it on the desk.

Farley stared at it for a long time. “Did the idiot—”

“His name is James. James Lavall. Don’t call him an idiot.” I felt warmth as I blushed. God, now I’m standing up for him. What was wrong with me?

“Did he use a hacksaw on this?” Farley asked, pointing at the spigot.

“No. He said he found it this way. He was trying to change it, when it blew.” I really looked at the metal piece, and understood why Farley had asked the question. It did look like it had been cut. I touched one of the edges, gingerly, then pulled my finger back. No wonder James hurt himself on it.

“Why would someone do this?” I asked.

“The bigger question is, who did it,” Farley replied.

“I don’t have a clue.”

“Maybe Carruthers,” Farley mumbled. “Maybe him.”

“Carruthers? The owner of the building? Why would he do something like this?”

“I don’t know,” Farley said. “Just a thought.” He leaned in, getting as close as he could to the spigot. The piece of metal had cut the varnish, leaving a small white scar.

“Is it ever sharp,” Farley said. “No wonder the kid—James—cut himself. Those edges look like so much razor wire.”

And then, he faded. Most of his light left him. He looked like a smoky smudge curling over my desk, staring at the sharp edges of the broken spigot.

“Farley!” I cried.

“What’s wrong with your voice?” Farley asked, his eyes never leaving the spigot. “You sound like you got cotton in your mouth.”

He faded even more, and when he looked up at me, his eyes looked like two burnt coals, dead black in the grey of his face.

“It’s funny,” he said. “Razor wire that close doesn’t look dangerous at all.”

Razor wire? What was he talking about? Why was he fading so quickly? This was bad. Even worse than the time before. He was like a black hole, sucking all the light and colour from everything around him. He just kept staring at the spigot as though his eyes were glued to the thing.

“Farley!” I cried. “I can barely see you, what’s going on . . . Farley, don’t go!”

Then Mr. Latterson stuck his head in the room, demanding to know what all the yelling was about. And blink. Farley was gone.

Farley:
To Hell, Again

My hand on the wire, the sound of the hacksaw, the voice, like hearing it through a tube, and then white. Then it would start again. Thirty-five to forty seconds, tops. Over and over and over again. Not being able to hear what the voice was saying past “that would sell on eBay” or some shit. All I could tell for sure was that it was my hand on the wire, and I knew the voice from somewhere.

Jesus, Marie, help me. Please.

Marie:
Again with the Blinking

I didn’t check to see if Farley was hiding somewhere in the office, because I had to concentrate on Mr. Latterson, who was yelling at me because I was being entirely too loud. He said, “Stop wasting my time and money and get back to work.”

“I will, Mr. Latterson.”

When his door shut, I clicked the computer mouse. The only name Farley had mentioned before he disappeared was the owner of the building, George Carruthers. It was time to find out as much as I could about him.

What I found was a big fat zero, zilch, nada. Well, close to it, anyway. George Carruthers owned a bunch of buildings besides the Palais in Edmonton, and he’d recently moved from the Palais to an office in a much more fashionable part of downtown Edmonton.

Other than that, he managed to stay right off the grid. I’d have to figure out another way to get information about him. However, that would have to wait, because Mr. Latterson’s afternoon appointment walked in.

It was Raymond Jackson, aftershave wafting from every pore, as usual.

“So, is he here?”

The drinks he’d had with lunch—or for lunch—were barely disguised by the spearmint candy in his mouth. I noticed the new diamond chip imbedded in his right incisor, and tried not to roll my eyes. I could only imagine what this bad boy wannabe’s car looked like.

“He’s in his office. One moment and I’ll get him for you.” I walked to Mr. Latterson’s door, though I could’ve pressed the intercom button. I had to get out of the aftershave.

“Mr. Latterson.” I knocked and entered, frightening him so badly papers flew from his hands in a small avalanche. “Your two p.m. is here.”

“Good.” Latterson tried to act like he was cool and together, but only managed to rub the sweat from his face into the thinning hair on his scalp. It was not a good look for him. “Send him in.”

Raymond sauntered by me, his hand touching my back and sliding around to cop a quick feel as he stepped to the door. I sidestepped him, and his hand hung, groping in the air like a squid pulled from the ocean.

“Thanks, Sweetie,” he said, the diamond chip glittering. “We’ll talk later.”

“You’re welcome.” I held the smile as long as I could, which was until the door clicked shut, then staggered over to the entry door and opened and closed it several times, trying to clear the air so I could breathe. I glowered at the controls for the furnace and air conditioner. Why couldn’t I move air in this office?

James, even though he was injured and all that, was the handyman. He needed to do something about my situation. I put the phone to voice mail, and stalked out to find him.

I wasn’t mad at James about the air conditioner. Not really. I was worried about Farley, and about my mother, and about my money problems, and every other stupid thing that seemed to have landed in my lap since I took this job.

Luckily, I realized there was a very good chance I was going to take it out on James, injured or not, so, I turned right instead of left, and walked out the ornate front doors. I’d walk around the block, get some air and some perspective, then go back in and figure out Farley’s problem. If I could.

The big problem was, the further I walked, the less perspective I got. Meaning I had no idea in the world what I was going to do about Farley.

So, I decided to call my mother, for real this time. I was ready to put my own crap aside for the moment to get to the bottom of Farley’s situation. Something really weird was going on with him. I needed help.

That’s when I realized I’d left my stupid cell phone in my purse, which was under my stupid desk. I wasn’t going back there. Not yet. I needed a phone, but couldn’t remember if there was a phone booth on the block. It’s something you don’t look for, when you have a cell phone in your pocket.

I had to walk three blocks before I found one. Luckily, it looked like it was still in working order, so I picked up the sticky receiver, trying not to think about who had used it, and what was making it feel so tacky.

I had to do the collect call thing, because, of course, I didn’t have any change on me either. Then, I hung up before my mother answered.

It wasn’t because I’d jammed again about talking to her about Farley, or because she couldn’t really afford to accept the call, because I knew I’d be paying for it. No, I hung up the phone because I couldn’t think of any way to have a decent conversation with my mother when a ghost was crammed in the phone booth with me.