Grim Shadows

NINE

LOWE LAUGHED IN SURPRISE. A fleeting playfulness softened the angry slant of her eyes, and this made him want to throw her behind the bushes and roll around on the grass with her.

God. He really had no business chasing after this woman. He promised her father he’d see her home when she left the party, but he frankly couldn’t give less of a damn about Dr. Bacall at the moment. He did, however, care about Dr. Bacall’s money. So he needed to tread carefully here. Think with his brain instead of his cock.

But damn if she wasn’t twice as intriguing now that she’d tried to kill him.

He suspected she had some intense kind of passion bubbling inside her. Now, what drove that passion to rip a fixture off the ceiling with her mind? Well, God only knew how she’d done it, but he’d seen it happen with his own two eyes. It was as if invisible hands from the heavens had torn the chandelier from the ceiling.

Maybe he was crazy.

But as best as he could tell, the world was filled with two kinds of things: boring and interesting. And Hadley Bacall was not boring.

He fell in step with her as they strolled down the sidewalk. “I wouldn’t say your father is bending over for me. He’s offered to pay me for goods received, nothing more.”

“I thought you were taking the night off from lying.”

“That’s not a lie.”

“It’s not the whole truth, either.”

“Are you psychic? A mind reader?”

“If I were, I would’ve steered clear of you in Salt Lake City.”

“Touché.”

Their footsteps fell together, the clop of his shoe, the click of her heel. The darkness obscured her face and the shapeless fur of her coat hid the curves and planes of her body, but her presence beside him held his attention as sharply as a half-clothed burlesque dancer’s would.

“Apparently, your father thinks I’m Howard Carter,” Lowe said. “He’s impressed by the amulet find. He wants to hire me to hunt other artifacts.”

The scent of her Siberia lily wafted his way when she glanced up at him. “He wants to fund an excavation? In Egypt?”

“Not exactly.”

“Just speak plainly.”

“Look, he made me promise not to get you involved, all right? He’s offering me a lot of money to find something for him, and he specifically warned me not to breathe a word to anyone in general, you in particular.”

“Me? Why?”

“No idea. And you probably won’t understand this, but I need the money your father’s offering. Badly. I’ve got debts you can’t imagine, and don’t say it—I can see it on your lips already. I can’t mooch off my family. And I’d just as soon saw off my other pinky finger than work for Winter. It’s a matter of pride. I need to be my own man.”

She didn’t answer for several steps. “We aren’t that different, Lowe. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, to be judged fairly. That job is everything to me. I’ve worked so hard to be worthy of it.”

“I truly didn’t ask your father for it.”

After a few seconds she said, “I believe you.”

Small miracle. The ironic thing about being a professional liar was that it was far more difficult to convince people to believe you when you were actually telling the truth.

“What does Father want you to find?”

“Hadley,” he pleaded. He thought of Adam and Stella. Thought of his debt to Monk.

A cool wind ruffled her hair as she turned to face him, clutching her coat closed. “Tell me and you have my solemn oath that I won’t run to my father and tattle. I can keep a secret.”

“Give me your word, and I also want to know how you ripped out the chandelier.”

“I can’t do that.” He almost said “no deal,” but she added, “I barely know you.”

Not an “I will never tell you” or “go to hell.” No, not that. Perhaps his translation of her words was merely wishful thinking, but in his glass-half-full mind, she was saying, “I might tell you once I get to know you better.”

Only a chance, yes, but one he wanted. Not more than her father’s money, of course. But after the stunt the old man pulled at the dinner, Lowe felt more certain he’d get it. Because no way in hell did Dr. Bacall want Lowe to have that job. He only announced it after Lowe requested something “tangible” before dinner, and Bacall wasn’t thickheaded. He damn well knew Lowe wanted money. But the job offer was a better move—for Dr. Bacall, that is. Without spending a dime, the offer kept Lowe tied to Bacall in a very public way. The old man might as well have pissed on his leg.

Bacall wanted the amulet crossbars very, very badly, and he was giving everything he had to Lowe in order to get them. Which put Lowe in the excellent position of being needed.

So, yes, Lowe felt more confident about Bacall paying out. He wasn’t too worried that telling Hadley would mess that up for him. But something else was urging Lowe to tell her.

He remembered back to when Volstead passed, and his own father had thrown every chip on the table to trade fishing for bootlegging. From the beginning, Lowe had been disinterested in helping his father, while Winter enjoyed it—was good at it. And Pappa had groomed Winter to take over. If Pappa was still alive and retiring, and if he’d handed the reigns to someone else without telling Winter first . . . well, that wouldn’t ever happen. Because Lowe’s father would never have done that to one of his children.

Never.

Thinking of all this made Lowe a little angry on Hadley’s behalf. Bacall truly had screwed her over. So because Lowe was softhearted—and maybe because he wanted to improve his chances of making his way up Hadley’s skirt—he finally relented.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you, but only on your word that you won’t tell your father.”

“I promise,” she said as they walked together into the wind. “Let’s hear it.”

“The short story is that your father knows the approximate location of the remaining pieces of the djed amulet, and he wants me to find them and sell the base to him.”

She made a low noise of surprise, but her stride didn’t falter. “And the long story?”

“The long story is this . . .”

With her gaze trained to the sidewalk in front of them, she listened intently until he got to the part about calling up her mother’s spirit. “Pardon?”

“My brother’s new wife is a spirit medium—you met her at the train station. Apparently she can call up spirits of the dead and channel them long enough for their loved ones to find out where the family jewels are hidden. Or, in this case, a treasure map. And all that’s needed to establish a connection is an object owned by the deceased.”

Hadley lifted her coat sleeve to reveal her diamond bracelet. “Like this?”

“I suppose. Were you close to your mother? Would it bother you to speak with her again, as it were?”

“I was eight when she died and never really spent a lot of time with her.” She shrugged. “I was closer to my nanny, if you want to know the truth.”

A little sad. Lowe had beautiful memories of his mother. He still missed her.

He stopped in front of his house. Winter’s red and black limousine wasn’t in the driveway. He’d mentioned running out to oversee some big delivery at a hotel. Which meant he wasn’t home, but with any luck, Aida was.

“What do you say? Are you curious?”

Hadley’s head tilted to survey the Magnussons’ gray green Queen Anne. Not the marble Flood mansion, not reputable, not society-approved, but easily the most expensive house on the block. And it must’ve been impressive enough to meet Hadley’s standards, because she turned to him with a sly little smile and said, “Lead the way.”

• • •

“Winter will bite my head off if he knows I’m channeling. He’s worried the baby will be born with multiple souls,” Aida joked as she closed the door. “So we’d better make it fast. He’ll be back in an hour. A fisherman’s day is never done.” She winked and sat down on an antique Arabian chair across from Lowe and Hadley. An enormous brindled mastiff—Aida’s dog, Sam, who was big as a small horse and blind in one eye—curled up around her feet.

The main floor parlor had been dubbed the Sheik Room by his baby sister. It was his mother’s favorite space, and she’d had most of the furniture shipped from overseas. Lowe watched Hadley’s gaze darting around the Arabian decor. She perched on the edge of the sofa with her back so straight, she might’ve been balancing an invisible book on her head. “You sure you want to do this?” he asked.

Hadley nodded. “I’m sure.”

“All I need is the object owned by your mother,” Aida said.

Hadley struggled to undo the bracelet’s clasp with one hand.

“Here,” Lowe offered, wanting an excuse to touch her. He bent over her wrist and used the edge of his fingernail to pry it open. As it fell in her lap, he ran a thumb over her pulse, greedy to feel the soft skin there. He swore she shivered, but she jerked her hand away and wouldn’t look him in the eye, just handed the bracelet to Winter’s wife.

“Very nice,” Aida remarked as she turned it over in her freckled fingers. “What’s your mother’s name?”

“Vera Murray Bacall.”

Aida shook her head. “All right. Give me a minute or so to sink into a light trance. I’ll call out to your mother’s spirit and try to pull her across the veil. Depending on her spirit’s strength, she might occupy my body for a few seconds or a few minutes. Just depends. I normally advise my clients to question the spirit about something only the two of them would know—just to validate their identity.”

“I can’t think of anything like that,” Hadley said.

“That’s okay. It’s more for your peace of mind. But if the information you need is as important as Lowe says it is, then you might want to ask your question straightaway. If you want to chitchat after, feel free. I’ll try to hold her as long as possible. Any questions?”

“Will you hear the conversation?” Hadley asked.

“I will. But I hear a lot of conversations—hundreds this past year alone. That’s a lot of secrets. What happens during a channeling is between you and the spirit. I don’t yap about it to Winter in bed before we go to sleep.” Her lips curled. “We have better things to do.”

Lowe laughed. He liked Aida more and more. Hadley wasn’t nearly as amused.

“All right. Try to remain quiet now,” Aida said. “Let’s begin.”

The spirit medium closed her eyes as she gripped the bracelet in one hand. For a moment, he listened to distant voices deep within the house, dishes clanking in the kitchen, and creaking floorboards above. Then he slouched so he could watch Hadley without her knowledge.

Her lily was wilting, and the sparkling pin that kept it anchored to her black waves had slipped. How nice it would be to straighten it for her. Or remove it altogether. Work the pin down, then sink his fingers into her bobbed hair while he leaned in and put his mouth against her throat. The skin would be as soft as it was on her pale wrist. Would she like to be kissed there, right beneath her ear? He imagined her making little pleasured noises in response.

In the middle of his wandering fantasy, his mind fixed on something she’d said outside. She was eight years old when her mother died in ’06. That meant she was twenty-nine. Four years older than him. An older woman. An educated society woman. And strong enough to rip a chandelier off the ceiling with—well, he didn’t know how. But the muse in his head conjured an image of her using that strength to pin him to a bed while she climbed on top of him wearing nothing but that peacock-feathered chemise—

Hadley made a small noise and grabbed his arm.

Shit.

Was she a mind reader?

“Vera Murray Bacall.”

Lowe sat up straight. Aida’s breath was a white cloud, as if she’d stepped outside in winter and exhaled cold air. Helvete. It was just as Astrid said. And Hadley wasn’t reading his salacious thoughts after all—she was just reacting to Aida, completely mesmerized.

And for good reason.

Aida’s breath changed. Her eyes snapped open.

Chills trickled down the back of Lowe’s neck and blanketed his arms.

“Who are you?” The voice was Aida’s, but the tone damn sure wasn’t.

“Is this it?” Hadley murmured to him. Her knee pressed firmly against his leg. She’d scooted closer? When had that happened?

“Do you see her breath?” he murmured to Hadley.

“Yes,” Hadley whispered. “Good God.”

Lowe cleared his throat. “Are we speaking to, uh, Mrs. Bacall?”

“Is Archie here? Or Noel?”

Archie must be her husband, Archibald Bacall, but who was Noel?

Hadley released his arm and straightened her shoulders. “No, but I am your daughter.”

“You couldn’t be . . . Hadley?”

“Yes.”

“You were so small. I can hardly believe it.”

If Hadley was emotional about this reunion, she didn’t show it. She delivered her words with the passion one might give placing an order at a restaurant. “I have an important question for you and little time. You hid four pieces of the mythical Backbone of Osiris amulet. I need to know where they are.”

“The amulet is dangerous.”

“I understand its purpose,” Hadley said. “Just tell me where you hid the pieces.”

“I didn’t hide them. I gave them away to keep them separated.”

Was she speaking in riddles or being difficult? Regardless, they might be going about this the wrong way. Perhaps it was best to follow Dr. Bacall’s original instructions. “Did you make a map of their locations?” he asked.

“A map?” The late Mrs. Bacall laughed with Aida’s mouth. “Yes, I made a map, if that’s what you choose to call it. A record of my great endeavor to keep Archie and Noel from killing each other, I suppose.”

Ah, Noel was the partner, then.

“Listen closely, and I’ll tell you where you can look for my map. You can find it in the Seine’s cold quays, in the fields of gazing grain, on night’s Plutonian Shore, and on a painted ship.”

More riddles.

“You’d do well to leave it be,” the spirit said before a short pause. “My darling. Your hair is blacker than pitch and impossibly thick. Just like mine.”

“Please speak plainly and tell me where you’ve hidden the map,” Hadley answered with a frustrated edge to her voice.

“Why, I have spoken plainly. Think about it a little, and you’ll figure it out. You were always so bright. Seems fitting that you’d follow my trail of bread crumbs. A bit like Isis scouring the earth to find the scattered limbs of Osiris.”

“This is a game to you?”

“Everything in life is a game. Listen, my dear, I can feel a dark presence attached to you. I hope that doesn’t mean I passed the curse along. If I could go back and make different decisions, I would.”

Hadley looked embarrassed.

Her mother’s spirit then asked, “Was the base of the amulet located?”

No one answered.

“The object’s purpose is no myth. That kind of magic is dangerous. The ancient priestesses stored the pieces in different temples for a reason, which is why I followed their example. Your father cannot be allowed near it. If you manage to find the crossbars and rejoin them to the base, under no circumstances whatsoever can you allow him to possess it.”

Unless he was waving a hundred-grand check around. No disrespect to the dead, but Lowe was still alive, and he needed that cash.

“Noel either,” she added. “I did my best to protect your father from him, but I fear what could happen if they were to compete again. Keep it away from the two of them. Please promise me.”

“Why?” Hadley asked, but a strangled sound was the only answer given. Aida jerked and gulped air. And on her next exhalation, the eerie white breath had disappeared.

The late Mrs. Bacall had left the room.

“Whew, that one made me a little dizzy,” Aida said, as if what she’d just done was no more miraculous than standing up too fast after a long nap. The mastiff never once lifted his big head. “Was anything she said helpful?”

“Not really,” Lowe said at the exact moment Hadley answered, “Extremely.”

Lowe squinted. “It was?”

“I’d say so.” She stood and collected her coat from where it was draped on a tasseled silk cushion. “I do believe I know exactly where my mother hid that map.”