1
At the risk of
sounding way too full of myself, I’ll admit it right now—I’m
used to guys checking me out. It comes with the territory when
you’re five-foot-eleven, boast a cascade of carroty-colored hair,
and have a sense of fashion that’s cutting-edge but never crosses
the line.
A 38C bust doesn’t
hurt, either.
That’s why when
Doctor Hilton Gerard’s gaze slipped from my face to the peachy
cashmere sweater I was wearing with black pants and Miu Miu booties
with four-inch heels, I never even flinched. Big points for me,
because used to it or not, that took a lot of guts.
Why?
Well for one thing,
from the moment I walked into his office and saw the way Doctor
Gerard ogled me, I knew he was a dirty old man. And for another . .
. well, there’s no getting around the truth, even when it isn’t
so easy to admit, and the truth is simply this: the reason I was
sitting across from the doctor’s desk at the Gerard Clinic was
because a dead woman who used to work there had flimflammed me into
getting embroiled in another investigation. Her name was Madeline
Tremayne and yes, I did say she was dead. In fact, I’d met her at
her grave.
But that, as they
say, is another story. Or at least it’s another part of this
story, and not something I had time to worry about. Right then and
there, the only thing I had the luxury of thinking about was what
Madeline had told me about Doctor Gerard. He was a successful
psychiatrist from a wealthy and socially prominent family who had
devoted his life to making sure Chicago’s homeless and indigent
had dignified, state-of-the-art, and (most importantly) free mental
health services. He’d built this clinic with his own money, and
for more than twenty years, he’d kept it open because he was
smart and economical and he worked like a dynamo at fundraising and
grant writing. Some days, he was down in the trenches with his
employees getting his hands dirty. Others, he was schmoozing on the
Gold Coast, convincing the city’s movers and shakers to open
their hearts—and their checkbooks—for the sake of the poor and
mentally ill.
Oh yeah, Doctor
Gerard, he was Mother Teresa in a tweed suit, all
right.
But remember what I
said about Madeline? Talking to the dead can be a big ol’ pain in
the ass. Believe me when I say this. But thanks to Madeline, I had
the inside track, and I knew what the society pages and the news
stories didn’t report, and what they didn’t report was what
brought me to the Gerard Clinic in the first place. Not the bit
about how Doctor Gerard had a secret set of books and siphoned
money from the clinic to build a sweet little bungalow for himself
in the Bahamas. Hey, I might not condone it, but I had a felonious
gene or two in my own family; I understood.
No, what brought me
to the clinic on that frosty winter afternoon was something else
Madeline had told me. She was Doctor Gerard’s assistant. At least
while she was alive, anyway. She knew a whole lot about what was up
around there. Like that the doc was conducting a special study with
some of his homeless patients, and that this special study of his
was looking more and more like it wasn’t on the
up-and-up.
Why would I
care?
Honestly, I
wouldn’t. Not usually, anyway.
Except for three
things. Or I should say three people: Dan and Ernie. And Stella, of
course.
Really, there’s no
time to explain about them. For the record, let me say that I
barely knew Ernie or Stella, and we had just about nothing in
common, what with them being homeless and all, but I felt a weird
connection to them, anyway, and an obligation, too, seeing that I
was the one who was responsible for Ernie’s disappearance, and
Stella’s murder.
I guess I owed Dan,
too, on account of how he’d once saved my life and how another
time, he’d provided me with a key piece of evidence that helped
me solve not one, but two murder investigations. I first met Dan in
a hospital ER where he said he worked only I found out later he
didn’t. He claims to be a brain researcher, and I knew for a fact
that he was mixed up in the whole Doctor Gerard/clinic thing. Dan
is the only guy I know who shows up out of nowhere to issue dire
warnings about how dangerous it is to talk to ghosts and disappears
just as quickly. (Oh yeah, and by the way and not incidentally, he
is also one of the best kissers I’ve ever had the pleasure of
meeting lip to lip.)
“So, Miss
Martin...†The good doctor’s voice snapped me back to the
matter at hand. He was a thin man with high cheekbones, a long nose
and dark, wavy hair shot through with silver. In spite of—or
maybe in defiance of—the fact that his office was nothing more
than a fifteen-by-fifteen square with utilitarian metal furniture,
a pitted linoleum floor, and cinder-block walls, he was wearing a
tailor-made suit, a crisp white shirt, and a tie I recognized as
Italian silk and expensive. Joel—my ex-fiancé—had one just
like it.
The doctor thumbed
through the forms I’d filled out as I sat in the waiting room,
side by side and way too close for comfort with what seemed like
the entire homeless population of Chicago.
“You’ll have to
forgive me for being so forward,†he said, “but you don’t
look like one of our usual clients. You say you were referred
here?â€
“That’s
right.â€
I knew what was
coming and reminded myself that this was no time to lose my nerve.
Or spill my guts. Not if I intended to find out what was really up
at the Gerard Clinic and in the bargain, keep Dan from joining my
dad in the federal pen.
“May I ask who
recommended you talk to me?â€
Yes, I had every
intention of stringing the good doctor along, so no, this wasn’t
the time to tell him about Madeline. For now, I needed to sound
helpless and just a little needy. That wasn’t too much of a leap.
If I was going to help Ernie, Stella, and Dan, I needed to get
accepted into Doctor Gerard’s study.
Yeah, yeah, I know,
this wasn’t the smartest plan. It was harebrained, and if what
happened to Ernie and Stella was any indication, it might be
dangerous, too. But that wasn’t going to stop me. I guess the
stubbornness goes along with the red hair. It also serves me well
as the world’s one and only private investigator to the
dead.
Like I was
embarrassed, I giggled when I answered. “It’s that whole
doctor-patient confidentiality thing. You know, all those
complicated new laws that say no one can know what goes on between
a doctor who’s conducting a brain study and his test subjects.
Oh!†If years of dating had taught me nothing else, it was how to
blush on command. I put one hand to my flaming cheek. “I guess
I’ve already told you more than I intended. Now you know I’ve
been part of a study.â€
Doctor Gerard
nodded. “That’s very interesting. A study. But your forms say
you’re not in therapy at the moment. That you never have been.
You’re a little old for a schizophrenia diagnosis.†He looked
me up and down, and good thing I was trying to get on the
doctor’s good side, or I might have pointed out that I’d just
had my twenty-sixth birthday and that hardly qualified as
a little old. “How did this
researcher find you?â€
“Head injury.†I
pointed to my skull and instantly felt like an idiot. As if a guy
with that many diplomas on his wall needed help finding my head.
“I guess my brain scans were a little weird.â€
He looked at me over
the frames of his tortoiseshell glasses. “A little weird? Or a
lot weird?â€
I wrinkled my nose.
“There was some talk about occipital lobes. And aberrant
behavior.â€
“Which manifests
itself as . . .â€
“Voices.†I
shrugged. “People who talk to me. And sometimes . . .†I looked
away like I was embarrassed and this wasn’t a complete put-on.
I’d never actually come right out and explained the whole thing
to anyone. Not anyone who was alive, anyway. “I see the people,
too. You know, the ones who talk to me.â€
Doctor Gerard’s
eyes lit with interest. “You didn’t mention that on your intake
form.â€
I didn’t have to
fake an anxious smile. “There really isn’t a place to put
it.â€
“Well, this is
quite unusual.†He rose from his chair and came around to the
other side of the desk. He perched himself on the edge, my file
folder still in his hands. I suspected he didn’t forget much of
what he saw, but even so, Doctor Gerard paged through the papers in
front of him. “So, Penelope—â€
“It’s Pepper,
please.†I knew we had to get that out of the way, or I’d be so
fixated on the whole Penelope thing, I’d get all turned around.
Whenever someone uses my real name, I always figure we’re talking
about somebody else.
“Pepper.†I
could tell by the spark in his eyes that he wasn’t a man who
liked to be corrected. “Are you hearing any voices now or seeing
anyone who isn’t really here?â€
“Not unless
you’re not really here.†I tried for a smile that hit the wall
of Doctor Gerard’s stodgy expression. When it fell flat, I shook
my head. “No voices.â€
“And you’re not
taking any medication for your condition.â€
I got out of my
chair, too, and stationed myself behind it, my fingers clutched
against the back. “It all just started, you see, and when it did
. . .†This time, I didn’t have to go far to look convincing.
I’d been living with my special “Gift†for just about a year
and even I didn’t understand it. My shoulders slumped. “When it
first happened, I thought I was crazy.â€
“Of course you
did.†He nodded in a way designed to comfort the glassy-eyed,
blank-expressioned people out in the waiting room. “Would you
like to tell me about it?â€
I didn’t, but I
reminded myself that if I chickened out and kept my mouth shut, I
wouldn’t find out what I wanted to know. “It started back in
Cleveland,†I said. “That’s where I live. I hit my head on
the step of a mausoleum.†And because I knew this was already
sounding crazy, I added, “I work at a cemetery.â€
Doctor Gerard
nodded. “Garden View Cemetery. I remember seeing that on your
intake form. What happened to you at the cemetery,
Pepper?â€
I had never said the
words out loud. Not to Ella, my boss who was also my friend. Or to
Quinn Harrison, the cop who had saved my life a couple times and
who I had nothing in common with except that he wanted my body and
I wanted his. I hadn’t even told Dan the whole story, and Dan
was, after all, the main reason I was there.
“The guy buried in
that mausoleum was Gus Scarpetti,†I explained. “You’ve
probably never heard of him here in Chicago, but in Cleveland,
he’s a legend. He was a mobster back in the 1970s, and after I
hit my head on his tomb . . . well . . . I’ve seen Gus
Scarpetti,†I told the doctor. “I’ve talked to him. Plenty of
times. And after he went away—â€
“He disappeared?
Just like that?â€
Of course it
wasn’t that easy, but I didn’t think this was the time to go
into details. I got down to business, leaving out the part about
how Gus didn’t disappear until after I’d solved his murder.
“The same thing happened with Didi Bowman. You may have heard of
her. Her sister took credit for writing a famous book, but Didi
really wrote it.â€
“And you talked to
this Didi, too?â€
“Sure.†I
dismissed this information as inconsequential. “And Damon Curtis,
too.â€
“The rock star.â€
Doctor Gerard made a note of this on the legal pad that sat out on
his desk. “It’s interesting, isn’t it, that you’ve only
seen and talked to famous people. What do you suppose it
means?â€
I didn’t suppose
anything. I knew what it meant: famous
wasn’t what mattered; victim, on the
other hand, was. All three of them—Gus and Didi and Damon—had
been murdered, and they couldn’t rest in peace until someone
brought their killers to justice. Since I’m the only one with
this Gift mojo, the burden naturally falls on me. Did I want to get
into this with Doctor Gerard? No way. He didn’t need to know that
I was a private investigator. All I wanted to do was make him
believe I was crazy.
“I wish I knew
what it meant.†I tried to sound thoughtful, like it was
something I spent a whole lot of time wondering about. “All I
know is that I’d really like it to stop. That researcher, he says
I’ve got issues.â€
“And do
you?â€
“Have issues?†I
had to laugh. “Well, there’s my father. He’s in prison for
Medicare fraud. And my mother. She took off for Florida to get away
from all the bad publicity about my father. There’s my ex-fiancé
who’s moved on with his life. He’s getting married. And then of
course . . .â€
The of course part was all about Quinn and Dan—who
did I want, who didn’t I want, and why. I might not always be in
touch with my logical self, but when it comes to the subject of my
love life, I know even a seasoned mental health professional
isn’t qualified to deal. And I wasn’t ready to talk about it.
My sigh was genuine. “Do you know anyone who doesn’t have
issues?â€
“I don’t know
many people who openly admit to seeing and talking to people no one
else can see or hear. It takes a lot of courage to do what you’re
doing.â€
If he only
knew!
On my way over to
the clinic, I’d peered into the rear-view mirror of the taxi
while I practiced the trembling lower lip I hoped to use to gain
the doctor’s trust. I used it now and watched him melt. He was
either a compassionate man or a sucker for vulnerable
women.
“It isn’t
courage,†I said. “It’s desperation. Things have gotten worse
since I came here to Chicago. When I heard about this place . . .
When I heard about you and all the wonderful work you’re doing .
. .†I hiccuped over a sob that sounded like the real thing. “I
knew you were the only one who could help me.â€
Doctor Gerard tipped
his head and studied me. “So you’re seeing and hearing people
here, too? Tell me, did this happen right away, as soon as you
arrived in town? Or maybe . . .†He eased off the desk and edged
closer. I stepped back. “Or did it happen after you’d visited
someplace special. A church, for instance? Or a hospital? A
cemetery?â€
Like this never
would have occurred to me without him pointing it out, I let my
mouth drop open. “A cemetery! How did you know? I mean, you’ve
just met me and you already have that much of my psyche figured
out. That’s amazing. Really. Everything he said about you is
true. And here I thought that Dan Callahan was—â€
One blush gets a
guy’s attention. The second one reels him in. Anxious to gauge
his reaction and while Doctor Gerard was still hooked, I stammered,
“I guess I’ve let the cat out of the bag, huh? Do you . . .
Have you ever heard of a researcher named Dan
Callahan?â€
He pretended to
consider my question, but I knew a stall when I saw one. Doctor
Gerard knew Dan Callahan, all right. This wasn’t news, and I
didn’t need him to confirm or deny it. What was interesting,
though, was the spark of anger that flashed in the doctor’s eyes.
He was pissed, and maybe this whole being psychic thing was
beginning to sink in, because I knew exactly why. I’d witnessed a
meeting between Dan and the doctor there in Chicago. It looked as
if Pepper Martin’s aberrant behavior had never been on the
agenda. Otherwise Doctor Gerard wouldn’t have been so miffed at
finding out that Dan and I shared a connection.
The only question I
had left was why he cared so much.
Still wondering what
was up, I watched Doctor Gerard nod, chuckle, and play it cool.
“Scruffy kid with bad taste in clothes? So, you’ve run into the
famous Dan Callahan. I should have known as soon as you mentioned
brain scans. As it turns out, I know Dan well. He was a student of
mine at one time, and we’ve just gotten in touch again. He’s
helping me conduct some research here at the clinic. Dan is a
brilliant man, but he believes that science—and only
science—can find the answers to life’s mysteries. That’s too
bad. He has yet to learn that he has to trust his gut, not his
instruments. He tries to rely on science when he should rely on
instinct.†Doctor Gerard paused for a moment, thinking. “What
did Dan tell you after he conducted those brain scan tests?†he
finally asked. “About the voices you hear? And the people you
see?â€
“Well, that’s
the thing about Dan, isn’t it? He pretty much doesn’t tell
anybody anything.†This was one of the few true things I’d said
since I walked in; my courage bolstered by it, I went on.
“Dan’s always lurking and watching and saying weird things that
don’t make any sense.â€
“Things about your
aberrant behavior?â€
I think Doctor
Gerard was going for funny. I was so not in the mood. “Things
about how dangerous the unknown is,†I said. “Things about how
I need to be careful and watch my back. It doesn’t make any
sense, and it worries me, Doctor. I’m scared.†For effect, I
wrapped my arms around myself. “Maybe Dan saw more on those brain
scans than he’s willing to tell me. Do you think . . .†I
swallowed hard. “Do you think I’m crazy?â€
My question spurred
the doctor into action. He headed for the door, and on his way
past, he patted my arm. “I don’t know what to think. And I
can’t know what to think. Neither can you. Not until we do some
tests of our own.â€
“But you said
science doesn’t have the answers. You said we can’t rely on
tests and—â€
His hand on the
office door, Doctor Gerard paused. “I said my old friend, Dan
Callahan, relies too heavily on tests. That doesn’t mean there
aren’t some tests that are legitimate. And appropriate. With your
permission, I’ll run some brain scans of my own. The data we
collect will give us a good idea of where you are, and a baseline
to work from. You wait here. I’ll be right back.â€
He stepped into the
hallway, and when the door snapped closed behind him, I let go of
the breath I was holding. It caught again in a gasp of surprise
when I heard a voice right behind me.
“That’s your
idea of acting crazy enough to get accepted into Hilton’s
study?â€
I didn’t have to
turn around to know that I’d been joined by the aforementioned
Madeline Tremayne, but since I didn’t like the tone of her voice,
I spun to face her anyway. Except for the whole tripping over her
spirit in a cemetery thing and getting talked into taking on this
case because she’d convinced me that Dan was in trouble, Madeline
and I hardly knew each other. That was close enough for
me.
Madeline was one of
those stiff-assed academic types, and like brainiacs everywhere,
she thought she was better—and smarter—than everyone else. Most
particularly, me. Apparently, she also thought she knew more about
investigating than I did.
I stepped back, my
weight on one foot and my hands on my hips. “News flash,
girlfriend. I’m the detective here. I know what I’m doing.
Besides, it worked, didn’t it?â€
“Hilton’s a
sucker.†With a little no-holds-barred fashion analysis and an
afternoon spent with the latest issue of Cosmo and the determination to follow through on
the beauty advice found in its pages, Madeline might actually have
been pretty. She had filmy blue eyes and a cloud of blond hair that
framed the face of an angel. Her nose was tiny and upturned, her
chin was well shaped without being too masculine, and her lips
bowed just enough to make her look pouty but not petulant. Too bad
the effect was spoiled by her choice of clothing. That afternoon
Madeline was dressed—as she had been every time I’d seen
her—in a shapeless black skirt that skimmed the tops of her black
loafers, a utilitarian cotton blouse, and a white lab coat that
made her skin look as pale as death.
Pun
intended.
Her hair was pulled
back into a severe bun (a style that added years to the thirty
she’d lived here on earth), and her reading glasses hung around
her neck on a black cord.
She strolled over
and sat on the arm of the chair I’d just gotten out of. “Just
because he’s going to do some scans doesn’t mean Hilton
believes you. You can’t trust your luck on this, Pepper. You’ve
got to find some concrete evidence against him before he gets
back.â€
The angel face and
nicely curved body may have been enough for her to get her own way
when she was alive, but I wasn’t about to be pushed around. Not
by a dead woman who needed my help to begin with.
“It’s too soon
to panic,†I told her. “Everything’s going to be all right.
You heard him. He’s already interested in what I had to say. You
said—â€
“I said I thought
Hilton was singling out certain patients and I think whatever
he’s doing with them, it’s nothing good. You should have played
up the whole fact that you’re crazy. You should have tried to get
him to talk about Dan some more.â€
“Number one, I’m
not crazy. So there really was no reason for me to play that up. As
for Dan . . .†I heard a noise out in the hallway and looked over
my shoulder toward the door, but whoever it was, the person passed
by. “I’m being subtle.â€
“You’re wasting
a perfectly good opportunity.†She glanced toward the door, too,
and outside in the hallway, I heard Doctor Gerard instruct his
receptionist to tell the folks in the waiting room that he would be
busy for at least thirty more minutes. “He’s got to get all the
equipment ready,†Madeline said. “You’ve got a couple minutes
to look through his things.â€
I shot her a look
that pretty much told her what I thought of this idea.
“Come on,
Pepper.†If she could have, she would have dragged me closer to
Doctor Gerard’s desk. As it is, ghosts are incorporeal and
can’t touch anyone or anything of this world. That’s why so
many of them need my help. Because they can’t touch or feel or
move things, they need someone who’s alive to accomplish all that
for them. This, of course, includes solving murders and explains
how I got mixed up in the whole investigating-for-the-dead sideline
in the first place. “There’s a safe in his credenza. That’s
where he keeps his research results. I know the combination. Come
on, before he gets back.â€
Just in case
Madeline got the crazy idea to reach out a hand and grab me, I
backed away. When a ghost comes in contact with a living person,
that person gets chilled to the bone.
“Listen up,†I
told her. “I’m in charge of this investigation. And I’m not
about to blow it by doing something stupid. If he walks in here and
finds me looking through his stuff, Doctor Gerard will know I’m
up to something.â€
“If he walks in
here and tests you and finds out you’re lying, he’s going to
know you’re up to something anyway.â€
“Except that I’m
not lying.†I shouldn’t have had to point out the obvious.
“Since I’m talking to you, that pretty much proves I talk to
people no one else sees, doesn’t it?â€
“It doesn’t
prove you know what you’re doing. I could—â€
“What?†I
didn’t usually taunt the dead. It’s bad form. But this was one
dead chick who had spent the last couple days getting on my nerves.
“What are you going to do if I don’t cooperate, Madeline? Open
the safe yourself?â€
She flinched as if
I’d slapped her. “You don’t have to rub it
in.â€
“Or maybe I do,
because you seem to keep forgetting that without me, you’re
nowhere. Literally.†I heard footsteps and the squeaking sounds
of a rolling cart out in the hallway. I lowered my voice. “I’m
going to handle this my own way. You’ll see. He’ll believe me.
He’ll ask me to be in his study. Then I can take a closer look
around and talk to his other subjects. I can find out what happened
to Ernie and I can see how deep Dan is into this whole
thing.â€
Madeline crossed her
arms over her chest. “I can’t believe you’ve got the brains
to pull this off.â€
I was about to point
out that I had brains to spare, and most importantly, I had the
corporeal body she no longer owned, when the door opened and Doctor
Gerard walked in. He pushed a rolling cart ahead of him. There was
a piece of medical equipment on it that looked like one of those
lie detectors on the TV crime shows.
“Sit down,
Pepper.†Of course, he couldn’t see Madeline roosting on the
arm of the chair. He waved me toward it. “We’ll get some
electrodes hooked up, and in a couple minutes, we’ll know a lot
more about that occipital lobe of yours.â€
I motioned to
Madeline to get lost and strode over to the chair. Once I was
settled, Doctor Gerard stuck electrodes on my forehead. When he was
done, he had me place my arms on the arms of the chair. I
remembered the day Dan had done the brain scan test on me, and I
knew that next, Doctor Gerard would hook up electrodes on my
wrists.
Which explains why I
was surprised when instead of electrodes, he pulled a leather strap
out of his back pocket and tied my arm to the chair.
“Hey!†I
squirmed, but with one arm already immobile, it was hard to keep
him from tying my other arm, too. “What are you doing? I don’t
remember this from when I had my first scans done.â€
“I think we’re
going to be able to dispense with the scans.†Doctor Gerard
opened the drawer on the side of the rolling cart. He pulled out a
syringe as long as a banana. The needle pricked my skin, and the
next second, a sensation like fire rushed into my arm and spread up
into my chest and down my spine. My breath caught. My head
throbbed. My tongue felt huge and heavy. I couldn’t close my
eyes.
“Doctor—†My
voice was thick. My words were slow. “What . . . are . . . you .
. .â€
Behind Doctor
Gerard, I saw Madeline click her tongue and shake her head. “I
knew you were too stupid to handle this,†she said.
“Not . . .
stupid.†The voice was mine, but it sounded like it came from a
million miles away. “Told you . . . told you he’d believe me. I
told you he’d . . . put me in his . . . study.â€
Â
So how did I get
into this mess?
It was exactly what
I was asking myself as I watched Doctor Gerard give me a satisfied
smile, then turn to leave the room. Trouble is, try as I might, I
couldn’t answer my own question. My head spun, and when I saw
tight-lipped, sneering Madeline fade and wink out, I wasn’t sure
if it was for real or if I was hallucinating. I knew for certain
that my stomach flipped, because there was a sour taste in my
mouth. I tried to swallow it down, but it was a losing cause. My
mouth was parched, my tongue felt as if it had been blown up with a
tire pump, and my limbs were as numb as if I’d taken a dip in the
icy waters of Lake Michigan.
Which explains why I
couldn’t say a word when the doctor came back with a wheelchair.
Or why I didn’t even try to fight when he untied my arms, lifted
me, and dumped me into it. My head rolled back, and I had the
horrifying realization that I actually might be drooling. It was so
not pretty, and rather than consider it, I let my mind
wander.
Was it any surprise
that when it did, it landed right back in Cleveland on the day all
this started?