Living with the Dead

FINN

Ms. Adams? It's Detective Findlay. Could you please call me back as soon as you get this message?"

Finn rattled off the number, then went to put the cell phone in his pocket, thought better of it and set it on his desk, on the remote chance that Hope Adams called back.

The detective room was empty. At ten on a Sunday morning, it often was. Anyone working was out on the street. Which is where he should be, and where he would be, as soon as he could haul himself to his feet again.

He'd called Hope Adams three times since last night, leaving three messages. He'd started with the simple call me back. Then he'd moved to the mysterious there's been a change in the case I need to discuss with you. Finally, urgent: I have reason to believe Robyn Peltier is in danger. No response.

At 8 a.m., he'd called True News, getting a sleepy editor who'd been there all night and offered to leave a message on Adams's cell phone – the same number Finn already had. At eight-thirty, he'd even borrowed another detective's cell phone, hoping the unfamiliar number might entice her to answer.

"Still nothing?" Damon said as he returned from eavesdropping on conversations pertaining to last night and the case.

Finn shook his head.

"I hope she's okay."

Finn tried to look concerned. He had no doubt Hope Adams was okay. Just ignoring him, listening to each message and rolling her eyes. If that detective thinks I'm dumb enough to help him put my friend in jail, he can think again.

He knew Robyn Peltier wasn't responsible for the deaths and he was quite certain he'd met the young woman who was, but he couldn't leave that on voice mail or it could come back to haunt him in court.

Last night he'd rounded up a few witnesses who'd said they got a good look at the girl who'd killed Margie Damascus – the victim.

"We've got three similar sketches, Finn," his lieutenant had said. "And none of them could possibly be your girl in the photo." He'd laid a hand on Finn's shoulder, his fingers damp enough to leave a stain. "It's a common phenomenon. You saw the photograph. You were working through its significance as you followed Peltier to the fair. You saw this young woman acting suspiciously, and the three events merged into one – the girl on the phone was the girl in the photo, who was this girl at the fair." Lieutenant Balough had squeezed his shoulder. "I didn't get a degree in psychology for nothing. The mind is an amazing thing. Sometimes, though, it takes a few shortcuts."

To his credit, Balough had put a rush on the ballistic. But the technician had taken one look at the recovered bullet, which had slammed into a stone monument after passing through Margie Damascus, and doubted he could make a viable comparison.

Finn pulled up the photo on his computer and studied it.

"So she's walking with an older guy." Damon moved behind Finn's shoulder. "Looks like he has money."

Finn glanced back at him.

"That suit." Damon pointed. "Top drawer."

Finn wouldn't know, but he could tell that the suit fit the man better than his own fit him, so he supposed that was a good sign it was expensive.

"Top-drawer suit means a top-drawer executive," Damon continued. "I bet he'd be a lot easier to identify than the girl."

Finn agreed.

The smallest sniffle stopped him midthought. Adele still lay on her side, her back pressed against him. She was quiet, asleep it seemed.

Another sniff. He scrambled up as she sat, wiping her eyes.

"You're crying," he said.

"No, I just – "

"Did I hurt you? Gods, Adele, if I did, I'm so sorry. I tried to be gentle – "

"You were." She smiled through her tears. "You were perfect, Colm. It didn't hurt at all." The smile twisted. "Well, maybe just a little, at first, but it was worth it. That's not why I'm crying."

"You regret it. You wanted to wait and now – "

She took his hands and pulled him to sit beside her. "Never," she said fiercely. "I love you. I don't care if this isn't right, if you're too young. I can't wait anymore. I love you so much. If I can't be your wife yet, I want to be your lover. If that's okay…"

"S-sure."

She kissed him, still clasping his hands. Then she lowered her gaze and a fresh tear slid down her pale cheek. He freed one hand and wiped it away, then leaned down, trying to meet her eyes.

"What's wrong, Adele?"

She shook her head.

"Please tell me."

She nibbled her lower lip, then lifted reddened eyes to his. "I understand why you didn't want to help me last night."

"What?"

"With Robyn Peltier. I needed your help catching her, so I called and left that message – " She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. You're right. This is my problem."

"I never said that. If you left a message, I didn't get it."

She looked away. "That's okay, Colm. You don't need to lie – "

"Lie?" His voice cracked as he got to his feet. "I'd never lie to you, Adele."

She reached for him, but he sidestepped her grasp.

"That's not fair, Adele. I've never lied. Not to you."

"I'm sorry."

He looked away, but let her catch his hand, pulling him back to her.

"I'm sorry. I just thought – " She squeezed his hand. "I wouldn't blame you. I've gotten you into this mess enough already."

"You didn't get me into anything. I offered. You were in trouble and it wasn't your fault. I was happy to help, and I would have been happy to help last night if I got the message."

"Your mother must have forgotten to tell you."

His mother took the message? That explained it then. She hadn't forgotten, but Colm was happy to let Adele think that, and shield her from the truth – that his mother hated her. She'd been trying to discourage friendship between them for years. Then, last fall, when she'd caught them kissing behind the communal building, she'd exploded and gone to Niko. Colm had crept after her and listened.

His mother had wanted Niko to cancel Colm and Adele's betrothal. She'd said it wasn't right, a nineteen-year-old girl making out with a fourteen-year-old boy, and that only proved what she'd suspected for years – that there was something not quite right about Adele, something sneaky, manipulative, wrong.

Niko had laughed it off. She was just having trouble seeing her baby grow up and let another woman into his life. After that, his mother had worked on Colm directly, trying to convince him Adele couldn't be trusted.

Colm loved his mother. His father had left the kumpania when he was two, but he'd never felt the lack. His mother had made sure of that. He knew that she was just looking out for him, but he wasn't a child anymore and he wished she'd see that and let him lead his own life.

As angry as he was, though, he trusted his mother would come around, and he wasn't going to say anything to turn Adele against her, so he nodded and said, "Yeah, she must have forgotten. But if you still need my help…"

Adele chewed her lip again, hands clasped, gaze down.

"Adele, I'm here for you. Just tell me what you need."

She did.