Edited for Death (24 page)

Just as I feel myself being drawn into a vortex of violence, my eyes snap open. I gasp, realizing that it was a vision, and take a deep breath.

“Are you OK?” Phil is watching me closely. “It looked for a minute that you might faint.”

“I’m fine. I’m not a fainter, but it was a strange, weird sensation. Now I know what people who claim to have physic powers are talking about; it felt as thought I was really there.”

“Sit down and have a sip of the Port,” Phil says. “Or maybe the coffee? Can I get you some water?”

“No, no, I’m really fine, just let me sit here for a second,” I say, lying back in the armchair.

I’ve pushed the threats out of my mind until the vision wrenches them back, and I know that I have to share them. I tell him that I’ve gotten one in the office and one on my car’s windshield and his reaction is predictable.

“Goddamn it Amy! Why didn’t you tell me before?” his face is beginning to blotch.

“Because I thought you might respond like this,” I murmur. “I really don’t think there’s anything there, it’s just another weird thing happened. I told Sheriff Dodson.

“Besides,” I add, bolstered with memories, “you’re beginning to sound like Vinnie and those are not good memories.”

Phil logs off, closes the laptop then comes over to me and strokes my hair.

“I don’t like the way this is going,” he says more calmly. “It was an interesting little hunt, trying to tie things together. But now, the conversation you overheard, the missing gloves, the note from Robert, the threats. Remember, three people have been killed and they might be tied to whatever this is.”

“You’re sounding like Clarice, now.”

“You can make fun of her, she’s on your staff. But I’ve got a personal interest in this and I’m concerned that we, or you, may have uncovered a hornet’s nest.”

“I haven’t really uncovered anything,” I sigh. “I don’t know much more than when I started. I can’t have enough knowledge that I’d be a danger to anybody. I really don’t know anything.”

“Maybe not, but they don’t know that you don’t know and that’s a dangerous position to be in. You’re complaisant because you don’t have an answer and they believe you do have the answer. That makes you vulnerable.”

“I appreciate that you’re worried about me. I mean I
really appreciate
it. But I’m perfectly fine.”

“You are fine. Really fine. But tomorrow morning we go to visit your new best friend, Sheriff Dodge.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

I’m awake. I don’t remember why or when I woke, it’s just a flash from asleep to awake. I lie there, going over what I can remember. Phil and I made love and I shiver at the memory of his hands on my body. This is looking tricky. I don’t want to assume that we’re an item. I don’t want him to think it’s just casual sex. Hell, I don’t even know what I want it to be, I just know I’d like it to continue. I haven’t felt this response to a man in years, not since the beginning of Brandon.

Then, as I drift toward sleep again, I have sensations of running; running away from something that I can’t see and can’t name and can’t escape. I am running toward something; something I can’t see and can’t name and can’t remember. I need to get out of this state. I reach over to the nightstand and feel for my cell to check the time. It isn’t there.

“Oh, my God,” I whisper to myself. “Was that what woke me?”

I have a flash of my cell phone, taken out of my purse in the bar to check for messages, lying on the table.

I carefully roll away from Phil’s warm body and quietly slide out of bed. The room is dark. I know it must be in the small hours, because even the moon has set, but I can’t see the face of my watch. The town’s ambient light, which was enough to snuff out the stars earlier, isn’t enough to see now. I feel my way around the room and find the lacy pair of panties and a pair of running shorts. There’s no way I can grope enough to get totally dressed, but Phil’s shirt is across the back of a chair and I grab it.

It’s going to be hard explaining why I’m dressed in running shorts and my friend’s shirt, sneaking around the hotel in the middle of the night, but I’m pretty sure I can quietly get to the bar, retrieve my phone and get back to the room without disturbing any one. Besides, I rationalize, if anybody is around, they don’t want to be seen any more than I do.

I find the room key, silently let myself out and stand in the hall, listening. I don’t hear a thing so I head for the stairs. On the way down to the bar I hug the wall, trying to remember all the creaky spots and I get to the door of the bar without breaking my neck or, best I can tell, making any noise.

Maybe if the newspaper business folds, I’ll become a cat burglar.

At the door, I can suddenly see, then I realize there’s light in the bar. More accurately, light behind the bar, coming from a drop light behind the plastic sheet.

“Maybe the construction guys left it on,” I tell myself.

This is too eerie, tiptoeing around a 150-year-old building, reputed to be haunted, in the dead of night. Is my cell phone worth it?

Yes. I’d be lost without my phone. Besides, the unknown voice this afternoon said that his searching the attics at night gave rise to the haunted house stories.

There it is. I chose one with a white case and spot it right on the table where I’d left it.

I head toward it, still on tiptoe when my knees wobble. The light’s shifted and is wavering. It spreads in circles, like the ripple of a stone tossed in a pond. I crouch down behind one of the ridiculously small cocktail tables. Now I can see that the waver is because the drop light is swinging slightly on its cord. When it swings away from the back of the bar, my absurd hiding place is pretty much in darkness, so I wait for the next swing then move another table closer.

I still haven’t seen anyone. Maybe there’s a draft behind the bar and that’s what started the light swinging. Or maybe not. I can hear movement back there.

It’s a soft scraping noise like something being dragged.

I’m at the table where I left my phone when a head starts to rise behind the sheet. The head is followed by a torso, distorted because the light is still swinging. This isn’t a ghost, but it sure as hell is not someone I want to meet. I stand up, grab my phone and trip over a chair So much for stealth.

I’m saying, “Shit, and “Ouch,” and “Damn” as the shadow comes rushing around the edge of the sheet. Now it’s worse because the shadow is carrying a large flashlight and shining it directly in my eyes so I can’t even see as I slowly stand up.

“My guy told me that some one had been pawing through Stew’s things when he was up there this afternoon. I thought it was just him being jumpy.”

“Well, I was up there,” I say with as much bravado as I can. “And I was also in the bathroom and heard him talking on his cell phone. Now I know it was you he was talking to.”

“You bitch. Well you were wrong, it wasn’t me he was talking to, it was the boss. How much did you hear?”

“Enough to know that you’re looking for something that Robert brought home from the war and hid in the hotel,” I say, stringing together some of my wilder assumptions.

“I also know you haven’t found it yet and you’re about to call off the hunt.”

“Well, you’re wrong on a couple of counts,” Harmony says and flips on the bar lights.

It’s better now that I can see and don’t have that glaring light piercing me. I can also see a duffle bag that Harmony is holding.

“We were looking for something. I found it.” he says holding the bag up with one hand. “You were right about some things. Old Calvert did bring something home from the war. Not a lot of people knew about his reputation when he was a kid, but I did. My family always talked about the Calverts and over the years did work for them on this old wreck.” Harmony waves his flashlight around the bar.

“If it wasn’t for some of my family, I bet this place would have crumbled down around their ears. We kept it going for them, but do you think the
Senator
cared? My Dad said he was a sneak thief when he was a kid and as far as I’m concerned he just kept it up. Except when he became a Senator he just used his office to steal.”

“What are you talking about?” I had a flash that if I kept him talking I could reason with him.

“He used his friends and his influence to steal legally. He would have people donate to his campaigns then he’d do favors for them and take kickbacks. It wasn’t so much money as things. Trips. Private jets. Vacation homes.”

I’d never heard a hint of scandal about the Senator and I say so.

“That could have meant he was careful,” says Harmony. “I know from the boss that he and his political supporters weren’t above a little blackmail. This doesn’t matter now, though. I’ve got what we were looking for. My crew will finish up in here and we’ll be out of this crummy town in a week.”

“But your family is from here, you guys have a lot of history here. Why would you want to leave?”

“Hah, sounds like some one from somewhere else,” Harmony says. “This town has gone, it’s been taken over by the frou-frou Bed and Breakfast crowd and the developers. An honest guy can’t make a living here any more. With the money from this find,” Harmony holds up the duffle bag, “I’ll have enough to retire to some place in Central America. Sit on the beach and watch the surfers.”

“OK,” I say. “I hope your plans work out.” I start to turn, thinking that maybe I can make it to the door but Harmony says, “Not so fast, toots. You think I’ll let you just leave?”

What’s going on? My body is mushed up against Harmony and his forearm is holding me there. And feeling like it’s choking me. He starts to sidle around Blomberg, being careful to keep me between them, and now I see the old man has a gun

Blomberg is the boss! Whatever is in the duffle bag, it was stolen from his family’s house. His stays at the hotel have only been cover for his search. He and Harmony are in this together in some way. The contents of the duffle are worth a lot for them to go to all this trouble. It must be more than a keepsake; it must be something valuable in its own right.

By now, we’re at the door opening into the hall. Harmony steps backwards toward the hotel’s front door, takes his arm away from my throat and gives me a shove toward Blomberg and the gun. I stumble from the sudden release, my head explodes with light and pain and I can feel my knees giving out. Just before I hit the floor I hear another voice saying “Drop it, you asshole.”

Pain radiates from the back of my skull in waves. This is not like

any headache I’ve ever known. This is no ordinary hangover. What in hell did I have to drink?

I’m aware there are people around me. Voices, male voices. Why are there men in my bedroom? Or am I in my bedroom?

One of the voices right next to my ear says, “Let’s call the paramedics and have her checked out.”

“Wait a minute,” I yell. At least I try to yell, but the sound is closer to one that reminds me of Mac when he’s hurt his paw — a mixture of bark, groan and gurgle.

“The Sheriff is right, Phil. She wasn’t out for more than a few seconds but she may have a concussion. Those can be dangerous.” This time the voice is Henry Blomberg.

Why am I lying on the floor with the worst headache of my life making me nauseated while the Three Stooges routine is going on? Oh, wait, now I remember.

“Once we get the whole story from him, you and Nevell,. we’ll add the rest of the charges,” Dodson says. “Robbery and murder at least.”

“Well, what happened here? The last thing I remember was somebody yelling. What’s Nevell got to do with it. You need to arrest Blomberg, too. He’s the one who’s behind all this.”

“You have a few things mixed up,” says Dodson with a grin. Henry Blomberg is actually chuckling.

“I’m on your side,” Blomberg says. “I came in from the Sheriff’s office and heard you and Harmony in the bar. When he saw me, he grabbed you and used you like a shield. As he pushed you toward me, he whacked you with that damn heavy flashlight.”

“You weren’t out for more than a couple of minutes,” Phil says.

“How did you get here?”

“I heard you get out of bed,” he says. “At first I just thought you were going to the bathroom, then I realized you were putting clothes on. I waited for a few seconds after you left the room and followed you.”

“You followed me? What, you didn’t trust me?”

“I told you that I thought you were in over your head. I told you I thought this was getting dangerous. I followed you to make sure you were safe.”