She sighed and picked up the phone. She punched out Madame Carabini’s number and waited, hoping no one would answer.
No such luck. After two rings, a familiar voice answered the phone. Allie introduced herself.
“Oh, good,” the psychic exclaimed. “I was afraid you wouldn’t call. I’ve been getting some new impressions about that missing reporter.”
“You mean Cody?”
“Yes. I’m more certain than ever that he’s not dead. But it’s confusing. He doesn’t seem to be quite alive either.”
“What?” Allie hesitated. She didn’t want to put words in the psychic’s mouth.
The Streeter
wasn’t
The National Enquirer
and she wasn’t about to help it descend to that level. “Are you suggesting he’s in some kind of suspended animation?” she asked cautiously.
“I can’t be as specific as that. Whatever it is, he’s not conscious. He’s also cold, or in a place that’s extremely cold. A place that’s . . . that seems to be not of this . . . not of this world.”
“What?” Allie couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“I know it sounds strange. I’m sorry,” the psychic responded quickly. “But it . . . I’ve never gotten impressions like this before. I don’t understand them at all.”
“Hmm.” Allie paused. She didn’t like the direction the psychic was heading, but she didn’t dare miss anything either or Nate would have her hide.
“Is there anything else? Anything that would clarify your impressions?” she prodded.
“No, not that I can think of.” Madame Carabini paused. “But I was wondering whether you’ve looked into that photographer’s background yet.
He keeps preying on my mind. Whenever I concentrate on Mr. Walker, he’s there too for some reason.”
“No, I haven’t checked his background yet.”
Allie’s stubborn streak surfaced. “But I don’t really think it’s necessary. You must have seen the papers or heard the news yesterday. He saved my life.”
She heard the sharp intake of breath, followed by silence. Finally the psychic spoke again.
“I know dear. But it doesn’t matter. I still experience a dreadful uneasiness every time I see or visualize him. And it always focuses on you.
Don’t be fooled by the superficial. Please, promise me you’ll investigate his background. I’m afraid for you.”
Allie grimaced. The woman meant well, even if she was absolutely wrong. “All right. I’ll do it as soon as I can.” She caught sight of Nate turning into his office. “In fact, I’ll take care of it as soon as I get off the phone.”
She said her goodbyes and hurried over to Nate’s office. She stood in the doorway. “Got a moment?”
“Sure.” Nate glanced up from a copy of that morning’s
Tribune
.
Allie slid into the seat in front of his desk. She pondered the best way to broach a subject that Nate was bound to consider none of her business.
Finally she decided the direct route was the only way to go. “I wanted to ask you a couple of questions about Erik Berenger. When you and Doug hired him, did you ever check his references?”
Nate put down his paper. “Sure. Why d’you ask?”
Allie’s grip on the arm of the chair relaxed. She was surprised to realize she was relieved. “No reason,” she waffled. “I’m just curious. Besides being a really good photographer, Erik rescued me from that Klassen character. I guess I’d just like to know more about the man who saved my life.”
“He is a great photographer, isn’t he?” Nate responded smugly. He rested his pudgy hands on the small round belly that protruded over his belt buckle. “He used to work at the
Sydney Examiner
for this editor I met at a conference in Hawaii a couple of years back.”
“Oh? Who was that?”
“Jim Miller. I doubt you’ve heard of him. I don’t think he’s been to the States. But a great guy, Aussie accent and all, and he really knew his stuff. If Erik was good enough for him, he’s good enough for me.”
Her hunger for details whetted, Allie pushed for more. “So what exactly did he have to say about Erik?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Nate sat forward in his chair and picked up the
Tribune
again. “I never actually talked to him.”
“What? But you said you checked Erik out. Or was it Doug who made the call?”
Nate sighed and let the paper fall to the desk.
“Allie, he’s a great photographer. The day he showed up, we needed a photographer. His portfolio was terrific, and he’d worked for a guy I know and respect. What else did Doug or I need to know?”
“It’s customary to check references. You never know,” Allie retorted.
“Never know what?” Nate frowned. “That maybe he’s a serial killer or a rapist? That he’s an impostor? Allie, he saved your life. That seems like a pretty good reference to me.”
“I know, but—”
“But nothing.” Nate folded the newspaper and slapped it on the desk. He stood up. “You haven’t noticed anything strange about him, have you?”
“No! Of course not.”
“Well then, get off my case. Erik’s a quiet, straightforward guy, and he’s a great photographer.
What more do we need to know?”
Allie glanced up at the late afternoon sky before hanging up the car phone and resting her forehead against the steering wheel of her parked car. The morning’s rain had petered out, but the sky remained grey and dreary.
She sighed. Dear Lord, how she hated talking to Norah Walker. She’d left it until now to call her, hoping the police, or police reporters, or
someone
would have a lead, a new direction to follow—anything she could tell Mrs. Walker that would reassure her or give some reason for hope.
But no, there’d been nothing, absolutely nothing.
She certainly couldn’t tell her what the psychic had said. And she’d gladly forget every hurt Cody had inflicted on her if only he would turn up alive, smiling at every female in sight.
She sat back and glanced at her watch. Almost four o’clock. Erik was supposed to meet her here, outside Grace Firetta’s apartment building, any minute now. He would accompany her to the interview, and take photos if the information warranted it.
Just thinking of Erik made her mind turn to the thoughts that had been tormenting her all day between interviews and writing. Despite her resolution to ignore them, Madame Carabini’s vague warnings about Erik and Nate’s failure to check Erik’s references kept resurfacing, gnawing at her sense of happiness. That and the psychic’s odd suggestions about Cody’s whereabouts.
She was still turning the situation over in her head when she saw Erik’s sleek Jag glide into the parking space in front of her Honda.
She stepped out of her car at the same time he got out of his. Her uneasiness evaporated as she took in the solid, lean lines of his body, and the faint but real smile that lit his stern face when he turned towards her. As Nate had said, what more did she need to know? She wasn’t going to let some vague comments by a psychic—a
psychic!
for goodness sake—undermine her relationship with the most wonderful man she’d ever met. A man her heart told her she’d been waiting for all her life.
When he reached her side, she rose on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his, tantalizing herself with a taste of his searing sexuality and the evening to come. She noted his sudden intake of breath, and the hunger in his eyes. She stepped back and grinned. She and Erik were humming together like an electrical transmitter and for once she didn’t care!
She glanced at her watch. “Oops, we’d better hurry. Firetta said she had to leave for work soon and I want to catch her before it’s too late. Come on.”
Pushing her bag back on her shoulder, she headed for the plain, soot-darkened brick low rise that looked as dull and ugly as its surroundings in a vaguely rundown section of Chicago. She’d hate to live here, she thought with a shudder.
“So what’s this about?” Erik asked as he strode by her side.
“Don’t know for sure. The woman—her name’s Grace Firetta—wouldn’t tell me over the phone.
Said it had something to do with Cody’s disappearance. Something about his car. She wouldn’t say anything else.”
After walking up three flights of unpainted concrete stairs, and proceeding down a dim hallway with torn and dirty green carpeting, Allie knocked at a peeling gold door.
The woman who opened the door was small and wan-looking, her drab blonde hair tied back from a lined face marked by pinched lips and pale blue eyes. She wore the uniform of a new restaurant chain that specialized in fast Italian food. Allie showed her press card and the woman stepped back to let them in.
“This will have to be fast,” she said, glancing at a watch on her bony wrist. “I have to leave in five minutes. I can’t afford to be late for work again.”
She sat down on a wooden folding chair in the tiny apartment. Allie sat on the sagging love seat facing the black and white TV. In the corner she noticed a plastic tub of toy trucks, and another of the action figures for which her nephews were always clamoring. Erik set his camera bag down and sorted through his equipment for the right lens.
Grace looked at Erik. “He’s not taking pictures, is he?”
“Well, I thought—”
“No!” Grace’s voice rose in a shrill. “You can’t use my name. And there can’t be any pictures.
Nothing like that.”
She looked fearfully at Allie. “Maybe I didn’t explain well enough on the phone. I’m a single mother. My son’s next door with a neighbor. My husband’s dead but his mother is looking for any excuse to take my son. If she knew it was me who told you this, she’d use it to get custody of Sean.”
Allie blinked. “I don’t understand. Why would what you tell me help your mother-in-law take your son away?”
Grace shook her head. “You will when I tell you. But like I said, I’m not telling you anything until you promise not to use my name. And no pictures. That’s why I didn’t tell the police.”
Allie frowned. “Hmmm. Well, we can probably do without the pictures. But your name . . . I don’t like to use unnamed sources. It undermines the story.”
“Okay. Your choice.” Grace stood up. “I’m sorry to have dragged you here then. I just wanted to help, especially after I read the interview with that poor man’s mother.”
Erik cleared his throat. “Come on, Allie. Let’s go. No pictures, no name, it’s not worth it.”
In surprise, Allie looked at Erik. His expression revealed neither impatience nor irritation, but it was unusual for him to open his mouth during an interview. Normally he just left it to her.
Allie paused. Erik was right, of course. But in this case she wondered whether it might be smarter to take a chance. They still had next to nothing on Cody’s disappearance.
She made a snap decision. “No, not yet.” She turned back to Grace. “Okay. I agree. No names, no pictures. Okay?”
The woman nodded and sat down again. She took a deep breath. “You see, I usually work at night, until about one or so. My mother-in-law doesn’t like it. She thinks I’m neglecting Sean.
But it’s the only way I can be with him during the day. Anyway, that night, Wednesday night, or actually Thursday morning, I stayed a bit later at work.”
Her gaze met Allie’s, looking for agreement.
Allie nodded sympathetically. Grace continued.
“You know, kibitzing around at work with the manager and the other staff. It’s always slow that time of night in the middle of the week and sometimes, well, sometimes I just need to talk to somebody. You understand?
“Well, this night I was driving home about three in the morning. Coming north on Lakeshore Drive. Anyway this night, there was hardly any traffic. I was just coming over a hill when I saw this blinding blue light—”
“A blue light?” Allie interrupted.
“Yes, a blue light. At first I couldn’t see anything but the light. It was right on the shoulder. And then I realized there was a car—I thought maybe it was blue too, but it must have been white—right in the middle of the light.
Anyway, as I got closer, I saw a man get out of the car, and kind of stumble forward for a few steps. I thought maybe he was hurt or drunk, so I looked again as I got along side him. But he was gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“Gone. He’d disappeared. I don’t know where.
The light’s fairly bright there and there’s no guard rail. He was just gone—like he’d disappeared into thin air. It was like one of those TV shows where the guy’s abducted by aliens.”
“What?”
“See what I mean?” Grace said, her pinched face turning defensive. She rose to her feet. “You think I’m crazy too, don’t you? That’s why I didn’t tell the police. That’s why I haven’t told anyone.
And that’s why you can’t use my name or picture.
My mother-in-law would probably get me put away with that. She’d claim I was drunk or on drugs.
But I know what I saw. And I saw that man disappear.”
Allie regarded the woman carefully. After all, she could have sworn she’d seen a blue light around Cody’s Corvette too. Erik’s hand, too, she remembered uneasily, and on more than one occasion. She paused for a moment, then dismissed the ridiculous idea, and turned back to Grace Firetta. Seeing a blue light and a man disappear was one thing. But to make the leap to aliens? That seemed extreme. “What made you think it was a UFO?” she asked quietly.
The woman shrugged her thin shoulders and reached for a sweater hanging on a hook on the wall. “I guess I don’t really think that. I don’t believe in things like that. But that blue light—it was eerie. That’s why I kept looking. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever seen before. It made me think of outer space and aliens and stuff like that.”
The woman smiled glumly as she pulled on her sweater. “But that’s unlikely, don’t you think?”
Allie sighed and stood up. She looked the woman in the eye. “Yes,” she said, ”it is unlikely.”
Out by the curb where Erik and Allie had parked their respective cars, they watched as Grace Firetta backed her rusted out Chrysler from the parking lot into the street. She waved as she drove off.
Allie shook her head. “Well, there goes another hot tip. I’m sure this one will just make Nate’s day.”
She rolled her eyes. “Between Madame Carabini and her suggestions that Cody is alive, but some place cold and faraway, and now this—