After Dark

Chapter 12

Shortly after five that afternoon, Emmett eased the Slider into a loading zone on the street a short distance from the entrance to Shrimpton's House of Ancient Horrors. He got out, leaned against the fender, and folded his arms. Waiting for Lydia.

After the small funeral that morning he had dropped her off at Shrimpton's and told her that he would pick her up after work. He had spent the rest of the day plotting a new strategy for finding Quinn. At least that's what he had told himself he was doing.

He had been reasonably successful in focusing his attention on the mess he had come to Cadence to resolve. The problem was that Lydia was part of that mess, and every time he thought about her things got a lot messier.

Her words from last night reverberated dissonantly in his brain, disrupting the rest of his orderly thoughts. Every type of psi talent produces certain eccentricities… Don't worry. I'm sure you'll be back to normal in the morning.

Damn. Did she really think the passion that had resonated between them was the result of a peculiar para-rez eccentricity that affected only ghost-hunters?

He forced his mind away from that line of thought and studied the outrageous, over-the-top imitation Dead City facade of the structure that housed Shrimpton's. In his opinion, the building itself, with its garish domes, phony spires, and fake arches, qualified as a horror, architecturally speaking. It was supposed to be a replica of a ruin, but the only thing vaguely authentic about it was the green paint on the walls. It lacked the characteristic grace and Harmonic proportions of the aboveground Dead City structures.

As he watched, Lydia walked out through the front gate, spotted the Slider, and hurried toward him.

How the hell had she ended up working in a place like this? he wondered. Then he reflected on what he knew of her personal history. He thought about how and why she had formed a bond with a character like Chester Brady and knew he had already answered his own question. She was alone in the world. When disaster had struck six months ago, she'd had no family and very few resources to cushion the fall.

Ryan Kelso had certainly not rushed to her aid. Emmett found that interesting. He knew from the hastily assembled background report his people had prepared that Lydia and Kelso had worked on the same team together for nearly a year. They had coauthored several papers on Harmonic excavations. Apparently after the Lost Weekend, Kelso had concluded that she would be of no further professional use to him. What was it Martinez had said? Priorities.

Sonofabitch.

"Something wrong, Emmett?" Lydia came to a halt in front of him, frowning in concern. "Did you get a ticket for parking in a loading zone?"

"No." He shook off the ambient hostility that he felt toward Kelso, straightened, and opened the door for her. "My record as an upstanding pillar of the community is still clean."

He closed the door behind her and went around to the other side of the Slider. She looked better than she had that morning, he decided. The worrisome shadows had retreated from her eyes. He had the feeling that they were still there, somewhere, but the familiar look of determination had returned. Definitely a fighter.

"How did things go at work?" he asked as he pulled away from the curb.

"Quiet." She made a face. "Shrimp is whining because the little flurry of business we had following Chester's murder has faded. I almost slugged him. Probably would have if Melanie hadn't stopped me."

"Good way to lose a job."

"I know." She fell silent for a while. "I've been thinking about Chester all day."

"What about him?"

"I want his killer found, Emmett."

"Martinez is doing her best."

"Martinez as much as admitted that she's got nothing. I've been thinking about hiring a private detective. How much do you think it would cost?"

"A lot more than you can afford," he said gently. "We've got other problems at the moment, Lydia. Stay focused."

"Yeah. Focused. Maybe it's all connected, Emmett. Maybe when we find your nephew and your cabinet we'll find Chester's killer."

"Maybe," he said cautiously.

"I'd like that." She flexed her hand. "I'd really like that."

He did not want her to start obsessing on that aspect of the case, he thought. According to the reports he had read, she was inclined to take risks in pursuit of a goal.

"With luck I'll get some information out of Wyatt tonight that may give us a lead," he said.

Her head came around very quickly. "Are you nervous about the dinner with Mercer Wyatt?"

"No. But I'm not exactly looking forward to it."

"I don't blame you. I can think of a thousand other things I'd rather do, including go to the dentist."

"What makes you say that?"

"Mercer Wyatt is very powerful in this town. That means he's dangerous."

"All of the heads of the Guilds wield a lot of economic and political influence in their cities."

"Wyatt runs the Cadence Guild as if it were a private fiefdom. Everyone knows it. He's grown enormously wealthy off Guild income. Politicians jump through hoops when he suggests that they do so."

"So he's a man with a lot of clout. Every community has its movers and shakers." He was in no mood for this. "No offense, Lydia, but your anti-hunter paranoia is showing."

Her mouth tightened in an annoyed line. For a couple of seconds he thought she was going to tell him that he was free to fire her after all.

Instead, she said, "I've changed my mind. I'm going with you."

He was so surprised that he nearly missed the turn into the Dead City View Apartments parking lot.

"Not necessary," he said brusquely.

"No, it's okay. You're my client, after all. And this is a sort of business dinner, isn't it?"

He thought about just how complicated this dinner was going to be. "Sort of."

He slid his vehicle into a slot beside an aging Float, de-rezzed the engine and opened the door. Lydia got out on her side. Together they walked toward the security door.

Lydia stopped and stared in astonishment. "It's fixed."

"Zane and I took care of it today while you were at work," Emmett explained. "Unfortunately, I don't know much about elevator repair." He de-rezzed the lock.

"Hey, Lydia, Mr. London." Zane waved to them from the third-floor landing.

"Hi, Zane. Nice job on the security gate."

"Mr. London helped," Zane said proudly. "Guess what?"

"What?" she asked.

"A letter came for you. A guy from Resonance Relay Messenger Service brought it. He wanted someone to sign for it, so I did."

"Wow." She gave him a wry grin. "Probably my invitation to the Restoration Ball. I've been wondering what happened to it. Dang, I just hope it isn't too late for me to get a decent ball gown. The good ones are probably all gone by now."

Zane guffawed. "No, no, this is for real. I'll get it." He whirled and ran off down the hall.

Emmett looked at Lydia as they started up the stairwell. "Restoration Ball?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Big society shindig at the end of the year. Seventy-five years ago it started out as part of the annual festivities staged to celebrate the end of the Era of Discord, but somewhere along the way it became the social event here in Cadence. Everyone who matters in local politics and business will be there."

He nodded. "Got it. Do you usually attend?"

She gave him an amused look. "Don't be ridiculous. I was just joking. Of course I don't go to the Restoration Ball. What do I look like? Ameberella? Fairy godmothers don't hang out in this neighborhood after dark."

Zane popped into the stairwell waving a brown envelope, saving Emmett from having to respond to what he was pretty sure was one of those awkward rhetorical questions.

"Who's it from?" Lydia asked.

"Don't know." Zane handed it to her. "The return address is one of those box numbers they use at those private mail service operations."

Lydia eyed him as she took the envelope. "Already checked, did you?"

"Sure. We don't get a lot of deliveries from outfits like Resonance Relay. I think the guy was a little nervous about being in this neighborhood. That's why he made me sign for it. He didn't want to have to make a return trip."

"Wimp." Lydia tore open the envelope. A key fell out. It clattered on the step.

"I'll get it." Emmett scooped up the amber-and-steel key.

"Thanks." She opened the single-page letter that she had withdrawn from the envelope. The amusement evaporated from her eyes. "My God, it's from Chester."

"Brady?" Emmett closed his fingers around the key. "When was it written?"

She scanned the note. "His writing is terrible. I don't see a date. Oh, yes, here it is. Last Monday."

Emmett calculated quickly. "The day before he was killed. Wonder why you didn't get it until today?"

Lydia scanned the note quickly. "He says he left instructions for it to be delivered after his funeral."

Emmett propped one shoulder against the stairwell wall. "Let's hear what he has to say."

Lydia took a breath and started to read the note aloud.

Dear Lydia:

If you're reading this letter, it means I've gone back through the Curtain the hard way. You can consider this my last Will and Testament. I know we've had a few run-ins, but that was just business.

I never told you this, but sometimes when we talked about stuff over drinks at the Surreal, I used to pretend that we were out on a real date together. Sometimes I went back to my place and thought about how things could have been if you weren't so nice and I wasn't so screwed up.

I always told you that you're too good for your own good. I still say being honest and loyal and hardworking and all that shit won't get you far. But, I got to admit that it was kind of nice to know that there actually are people like you out there in the world—and I'm not saying that just because I made a lot of easy money off folks like you.

Anyhow, what all this is leading up to is that if anything happens to me I want you to have the assets in my retirement plan. It's at the Bank of Rose. Use the key to get into it.

Good-bye, Lydia. And thanks for everything.

Love, Chester

P.S. I still say you're better off without that son of a bitch Kelso hanging around. You'll see. He's a user, Lydia. I know his kind. Maybe it's because I'm one of them.

Lydia stopped reading suddenly. There was a short pause during which Emmett watched her dig out the handkerchief he had given her at the funeral. Zane looked alarmed when she brushed away the fresh tears. He opened his mouth to say something but subsided when Emmett caught his attention and shook his head.

After a while Lydia stuffed the handkerchief back into her purse and took the key from Emmett.

"Well," she said, "this should be interesting. I wonder what kind of assets Chester would keep in a retirement plan?"

He glanced at his watch. "Too late to find out tonight. The banks are closed."

"Not the Bank of Rose," she assured him. "It never closes."