my way out of the office when I heard it again. That voice, that hint of a voice. So soft it had to be nearby.
My footsteps sounded loud on the hardwood floor, and I fought the urge to run. I was upstairs already. Clearly trespassing. Better to act cool and keep my head. If there was someone here, so be it.
There—what was that? A little voice, young and vulnerable, and I was struck by a new thought. I was sensitive to animals. Could I also be hearing ghosts? A year ago, this would have all seemed impossible, and I’m no sucker for supernatural mumbo jumbo. Knowing what I now knew, it was all I could do to step out into the hall.
The voice was getting louder. I was closer. I could feel the sweat on my back and hear every squeak my sneakers made. I was almost at the stairwell.
“
Mama?”
What? I envisioned an infantile ghost, the spirit of some child locked in a closet here a hundred years ago.
“
Mama?”
A baby, hidden in the wall, centuries past. I already had what I’d come for. I quickened my pace and was almost down the stairs, when it hit me.
“
Mama?”
Not only was I being a wimp, I was missing out on a great source of information. What was out there that could really hurt me, I mean, anymore? And besides, there was something sweet about that voice.
“Mama! Help…”
I took a deep breath and went back up the stairs, reminding myself with each step that I was the badass in the room. That voice sounded—
A scratch, a scramble. Back in that top hallway stood a tall, vented linen cabinet. I saw no lock, and at my touch, the latch popped open with a click. Just then the humming started up again, and as much as I’d like to think that was coincidence, I found myself breathing faster. I opened the door and looked inside. Instead of towels, something glowed, small and green. Components. The whole damned place was probably wired. Was that what I had heard? But there was something else in that closet. Something alive.
“
Mama.”
Down on the bottom, pressed into the back, a tiny orange kitten was huddled, eyes shut tight. I’m not a softy, far from it. But this would’ve made steel melt.
“Mama.”
“And how did you get here?” I squatted, the better to consider the kitten, and heard my knees crack. So much for country living. Then I heard it, for sure. The soft “snick” of a door closing. Someone else had come into the house; someone else with a key.
“Come on, kitten.” I scooped the fuzzy bundle up as the downstairs lights switched on. “We’re outta here.”
Chapter Seven
He’d kept me waiting. I’d known he would. Tom had taught me that. A homicide detective, Tom had given me my knife during the six months we’d been together. Got it off some street punk, he said. Switchblades aren’t legal, but he liked me having it. He had told me a lot about police procedure, as well as showing me the gritty underside of the city I’d come to consider home. In retrospect, he’d enjoyed the underbelly too much, which was why Stevie, with the hands, had seemed such a breath of fresh air.
But I loved my knife, and information is always useful, no matter what the source. And if I’d learned a bit more about the cops than an honest woman should, well, I’d paid for my education in kind. Now I had the advantage of some inside knowledge. The unwritten rules of the game. Officer Creighton, the blue-eyed wonder, was keeping me in the fancy new waiting room of Beauville’s fancy new police headquarters in order to up my anxiety level. A neat trick, but not one I wanted to play. I’d considered dropping in on Albert on the way. The folder I’d found did indeed have Lily’s complete veterinary history—at least since Charles had adopted her. The vaccine certificate couldn’t get Lily off, but they could save her from a grisly test, and the two offices shared the same building. But as I’d walked up to the awkwardly geometric pile of bricks—the material chosen to fit with our quaint New England
My footsteps sounded loud on the hardwood floor, and I fought the urge to run. I was upstairs already. Clearly trespassing. Better to act cool and keep my head. If there was someone here, so be it.
There—what was that? A little voice, young and vulnerable, and I was struck by a new thought. I was sensitive to animals. Could I also be hearing ghosts? A year ago, this would have all seemed impossible, and I’m no sucker for supernatural mumbo jumbo. Knowing what I now knew, it was all I could do to step out into the hall.
The voice was getting louder. I was closer. I could feel the sweat on my back and hear every squeak my sneakers made. I was almost at the stairwell.
“
Mama?”
What? I envisioned an infantile ghost, the spirit of some child locked in a closet here a hundred years ago.
“
Mama?”
A baby, hidden in the wall, centuries past. I already had what I’d come for. I quickened my pace and was almost down the stairs, when it hit me.
“
Mama?”
Not only was I being a wimp, I was missing out on a great source of information. What was out there that could really hurt me, I mean, anymore? And besides, there was something sweet about that voice.
“Mama! Help…”
I took a deep breath and went back up the stairs, reminding myself with each step that I was the badass in the room. That voice sounded—
A scratch, a scramble. Back in that top hallway stood a tall, vented linen cabinet. I saw no lock, and at my touch, the latch popped open with a click. Just then the humming started up again, and as much as I’d like to think that was coincidence, I found myself breathing faster. I opened the door and looked inside. Instead of towels, something glowed, small and green. Components. The whole damned place was probably wired. Was that what I had heard? But there was something else in that closet. Something alive.
“
Mama.”
Down on the bottom, pressed into the back, a tiny orange kitten was huddled, eyes shut tight. I’m not a softy, far from it. But this would’ve made steel melt.
“Mama.”
“And how did you get here?” I squatted, the better to consider the kitten, and heard my knees crack. So much for country living. Then I heard it, for sure. The soft “snick” of a door closing. Someone else had come into the house; someone else with a key.
“Come on, kitten.” I scooped the fuzzy bundle up as the downstairs lights switched on. “We’re outta here.”
Chapter Seven
He’d kept me waiting. I’d known he would. Tom had taught me that. A homicide detective, Tom had given me my knife during the six months we’d been together. Got it off some street punk, he said. Switchblades aren’t legal, but he liked me having it. He had told me a lot about police procedure, as well as showing me the gritty underside of the city I’d come to consider home. In retrospect, he’d enjoyed the underbelly too much, which was why Stevie, with the hands, had seemed such a breath of fresh air.
But I loved my knife, and information is always useful, no matter what the source. And if I’d learned a bit more about the cops than an honest woman should, well, I’d paid for my education in kind. Now I had the advantage of some inside knowledge. The unwritten rules of the game. Officer Creighton, the blue-eyed wonder, was keeping me in the fancy new waiting room of Beauville’s fancy new police headquarters in order to up my anxiety level. A neat trick, but not one I wanted to play. I’d considered dropping in on Albert on the way. The folder I’d found did indeed have Lily’s complete veterinary history—at least since Charles had adopted her. The vaccine certificate couldn’t get Lily off, but they could save her from a grisly test, and the two offices shared the same building. But as I’d walked up to the awkwardly geometric pile of bricks—the material chosen to fit with our quaint New England
Similar Books
