Delia's Shadow (23 page)

“There might be another way.” Delia hesitated and wrapped her fingers tighter around his. She was obviously nervous, but pushed ahead anyway. “You can teach me how to hear what Aileen has to say. Show me how to control letting her inside.”

Isadora frowned. “I’m still not entirely comfortable with you opening yourself to her, Delia. Controlling the ghost and confining her to the portal was difficult, and I have years of experience. I’d like to find another way if possible. Putting you at risk is a last resort.”

Delia’s chin came up. “I’m already at risk. All of us are at risk. We have to find this man and stop him from killing more people. Letting Aileen give me her memories is the only way I know to get answers. If you’re not comfortable with that, give me another way.”

Gabe was only a bystander when it came to dealing with ghosts, a witness to a series of strange events he was forced to believe were real, but that he’d never understand. Delia and Isadora lived at the center of all the strange occurrences. He had to trust they did understand, help when asked, and keep them safe while they dealt with spirits. His skills and experience as a cop were useless for anything but watching over them.

“Let me think.” Dora’s nails tapped on the side of the whiskey glass, the rhythm eerily like a heartbeat. “Maybe we can bypass the ghost all together. A man who’s killed this often will have attracted a great deal of energy to his aura. I can’t say for sure, but at least a portion of that energy should rub off on anything he touches. We might be able to find him that way.”

“But for some reason you’re not certain you can find him. Is that right?” Gabe saw a look pass between the two women. “Both of you appear to know what you’re talking about, but I don’t. Explain it to me.”

“Every person has an aura. Some draw and hold energy, others shed every scrap almost as fast as they encounter it. A murderer would draw negative emotions, anger, pain, and a desire for vengeance. That isn’t the kind of energy that dissipates quickly. Traces should linger on anything he touches.” Dora tucked the whiskey glass between her right leg and the side of the chair, and fished her cigarette case out. She lit a cigarette, but let it dangle from her hand. “But there is always the chance someone in his life grounds him and bleeds that energy and emotion away. I’m not sure we can discount that possibility entirely.”

Delia let go of his hand abruptly and stood. She paced, arms hugged over her chest and frowning. “Someone in his life. You mean this killer could be married? Have children?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. To the rest of the world he likely looks perfectly normal.” Isadora took a long drag off the cigarette and blew out a cloud of thin blue smoke. She watched wispy circles swirl toward the ceiling. “He could be married, have a job and a family. His neighbors likely believe him to be a model citizen. Murderers don’t often wear their desire for blood on the outside for all to see.”

Gabe perched on the edge of the settee and leaned forward, hands resting on his knees. He wanted to question Isadora about how she knew so much about killers and where she’d gained the experience, but she wasn’t on trial. If she wanted him to know, she’d tell him. “What do you need, Dora? I have access to all the evidence from this case. Just say the word and I’ll make sure you have a chance to see any or all of it.”

She retrieved the whiskey glass and drained it in one swallow. Dora licked her lips and smiled, turning all her slightly drunken charm on him. “Seeing the evidence won’t be enough, Gabriel. I’ll need to hold things he’s touched and handle the victims’ effects. It will take me two or three days to prepare for that. Aileen’s cross took me by surprise, but I know what to shield against now. I won’t be much use to you if I faint again.”

Gabe was aware of Delia settling next to him, of the cushions shifting under her weight, the sound of her breathing, the fragrance of her hair. He pushed it all into the background, giving Isadora all his attention and focus. This is where being a policeman became useful. He knew how to take care of a prize witness. That’s what Dora was now: not merely a friend, but a person with information that might help him solve the case. He’d feel obligated to try and talk a friend out of taking a risk, especially a risk she deemed too great for Delia.

He’d fail if he did try. Isadora might be slightly tipsy, but the determination to go through with this was real. He needed to draw on that vein of trust again and believe that Dora knew how to protect herself. “What can I do to make this easier for you? Tell me how to help.”

“Arrange a place outside the station house if you can. Someplace neutral.” She set the glass aside and buried the cigarette butt in the white sand filling the ash-stand. “Trite as it sounds, too many criminals around will make sorting guilt more difficult. And the older the evidence, the more chance I have of weathering the storm. Don’t bring anything from the latest victim.”

“Gabe.” Delia touched his hand. “What about the files at your father’s house? Those would be the oldest and hopefully the safest for Dora to touch.”

“If they aren’t too old for her to use, yes, those might be safest. And Dad’s house is a neutral place, too.” Gabe took Delia’s hand and addressed Dora’s inquisitive expression. “My father was a detective, a captain. Jack’s mother wasn’t the only person this man murdered thirty years ago. Dad was in charge of the investigation. He has boxes of evidence and files at his house in Santa Rosa. Can you use something that old?”

Dora rested her head against the back of the chair and shut her eyes. “Aileen’s cross laid me flat, Gabe. I’m sure anything your father has in his files will more than serve the purpose. Will the day after tomorrow be too short of notice for your family?”

“Dad would be fine with five minutes notice. Two days will give Mom time to cook enough food to last a week. She’s like Annie, happy when she has people to feed.” He wanted Delia to come as well. Any thought of asking her made his hands sweat and his stomach clench. The trip to Santa Rosa was part of an official investigation, but Delia meeting his parents for the first time still felt laden with importance. “I’ll arrange for a car and driver to take us out there.”

Dora intervened, almost as if she knew Gabe was working up the nerve to speak and saved him from feeling like an awkward schoolboy. The reason was perfectly logical, but Gabe couldn’t shake the feeling Isadora intended to smooth the way for him. “Delia, I want you there as well. You’re more attuned to Aileen’s ghost and her reactions, and I’ll have my hands full with victims’ pain and the killer’s energy. I can’t keep track of her ghost as well.” She opened one eye and peered blearily at them. “You don’t have plans, do you? We can do it the next day if Sadie needs you for anything wedding related.”

“No, no plans. We meet with the dressmaker tomorrow afternoon for Sadie’s fitting, but the next day is free.” Delia glanced at him and a hint of color crept into her cheeks. “I’ll consult Sadie about the proper clothes to wear for dinner with your parents and combing through files on old murder cases. She’s the expert on these things.”

He relaxed. If Delia could make jokes and tease him, he had no reason to be nervous. His parents would dote on her and that presented an entirely different set of problems. Gabe needed to think through that ahead of time. His father wouldn’t say much, but his mother would ask a lot of questions. “Remind Sadie my folks live out in the country. Egg ranches aren’t known for being overly formal.”

“No ball gowns then.” Delia kept a straight face and appeared perfectly serious. Knowing her the way he did now was all that kept him from falling for it. “Perhaps I can borrow a pair of coveralls from the gardener.”

Dora sighed and sat up, eyes bloodshot but wide open. “Don’t be offended, but watching the two of you being adorable is exhausting. Go home, both of you. Pick Delia up before you call round for me, Gabe. No earlier than tenish, please. And don’t bother acquiring coveralls for me. I’ve no plans to spend time in the chicken house and I assume your mother doesn’t keep them as house pets.”

Delia gave Isadora another look and stood. “I left my handbag in your workroom. Will fetching the bag myself cause problems?”

“No, you’ll be fine.” Dora made shooing motions with her fingers. “Go. You’re safe in my house.”

Gabe hesitated before following her. “Is there anything else you need before going through Dad’s files, Dora?”

“Sage and white candles. I’ll gather those myself.” She smiled, teasing him again with Delia out of the room. “Candles and herbs aren’t standard issue for murder investigations, but useful to have at hand none the same. I’ll want to cleanse your parent’s house when we’re done. Waking remnants of the killer’s aura and leaving them roaming loose wouldn’t be wise.”

That was something else Gabe didn’t understand. If he was going to trust Dora, his confidence in her had to extend to everything she did. His father’s reaction to Isadora cleansing the house of evil spirits worried him, but he’d find a way to smooth things over. “Delia and I will be here around ten morning after next. Get some rest.”

He turned to leave and Dora spoke again.

“Gabe, one last request.” She slid down in the overlarge chair and curled up with her head resting on the arm, limp as a small child after a tiring day. “Put a bottle of brandy and some glasses in a picnic hamper for the trip back to the city. After touching pain and death all day, I’ll need something to drink on the way back.”

He almost asked why, but thought better of it. Delia would know; he’d ask her. “Any special brand?”

“Ask the liquor merchant for his recommendation.” She covered her eyes and sucked in a weary breath. “Please, go now. I’d rather you didn’t see me cry.”

Gabe did as she wanted. That Dora had asked him to leave didn’t make him feel less a coward.

Delia

The dressmaker’s shop was warmer than the last time I’d visited with Sadie. Dressing suites in the back were as overheated and airless as the sun-drenched waiting area in front. I’d learned after our first visit and dressed lightly. Even so, I wasn’t prepared to swelter in temperatures that would do the Southern California deserts proud.

Mademoiselle’s apple-cheeked assistant bustled around in her heavy waist-shirt and skirts, pinning hems and marking tucks at Sadie’s bust and waist, and taking no notice of the heat. The smell of lavender and face powder wafted behind her in an oppressive, floral cloud. She chattered nonstop as well, asking Sadie endless questions about the wedding ceremony and honeymoon plans. Each time the assistant pulled a grudging answer from Sadie, she cooed and positively glowed with triumph.

The frown on Sadie’s face went entirely unnoticed by the inquisitive shopgirl. Any other time I’d have laughed. Not today. That Sadie had held her temper in check this long made me proud.

Aileen’s ghost stood near the door, watching the fitting with all her intense attention. I thought I understood why Aileen focused on Sadie. The desire and the need to watch over Jack’s bride must be near as strong as her need to protect him. That the ghost turned from Sadie and gave me imploring looks confused and frightened me.

I’d told Dora we were all at risk, something I believed with all my heart. In the light of day, with Aileen haunting Sadie as much as me, I feared the risks weren’t equal.

Mademoiselle’s assistant tugged Sadie’s arms up to shoulder height and slipped more pins into the lace and silk bodice. “Now stand just like this, Miss Larkin. If you lower your arms I’m afraid you’ll get stuck. Mademoiselle needs to come have a look and make sure these adjustments are correct before I baste them in place.” She hurried to the door, walking through Aileen’s ghost without flinching. “Keep still now! Mademoiselle is with another client, but we’ll be back to you as quick as we can.”

The door opened and closed again so swiftly behind the assistant, not a breath of cooler air had a chance to sneak in. I’d begun to wonder if there was money to be made in suffocating brides and their maids of honor.

“Keep still she says.” A low growl rumbled in Sadie’s throat. “She leaves me strung up like a rose tied to a trellis and I’m supposed to wait cheerfully. I’m sorely tempted to let her have a turn at being the pincushion.”

I didn’t blame her in the slightest, but we’d be released faster if she didn’t make a scene. “Try and be patient a bit longer, Sadie. They might almost be finished tormenting you.”

“I certainly hope you’re right. I’m wilting in the heat and I don’t know how much more chatter I can stand.” Sadie forgot and lowered her arms, but the pins gave her a sharp reminder. She grimaced and jerked them right back into position. “You’d think a girl working in a shop like this would show a bit more sensitivity to customer’s moods.”

“I imagine most brides are slightly more chipper and welcome a chance to gush about their wedding.” A pitcher of water and two glasses sat on a small table in the corner, given to us grudgingly by the clerk in front when I insisted. I poured a glass for Sadie and put it in her right hand. “Be fair. You can’t really blame her for your foul mood.”

She sighed and sipped more water, her arm held at an odd angle to avoid the pins. “No, I can’t blame her, but she’s not helping, either. I can’t get Jack out of my mind or stop worrying about him. I’ve never seen him so upset and angry, Dee. Jack wanted to go straight to Katherine’s house last night and confront her about his father’s lies. I finally convinced him to wait, but it was a near thing.”

I sipped my own water and gazed into Aileen’s placid green eyes. Her appearance of serenity was a lie. She held more secrets, not just about the man who took her life, but about Patrick Fitzgerald as well. I was certain of that, my belief rooted deep in a manner that came from the ghost. In very personal ways, those secrets had as much power to harm Jack as the killer stalking the city.

Aileen didn’t want to hurt her son, I was sure of that as well. This was partly my fault and Dora’s, but if anyone was truly to blame for Jack’s upset, his late father carried the burden. “I never knew Jack’s father and I know I shouldn’t judge. But lying about how Aileen died and who Jack’s real mother is—well, it’s cruel. I can’t fathom a sane reason to do something that heartless to his son. Does Jack have any idea why his father kept so much from him?”