Play Dead

Chapter 27

"How are you feeling?" David asked.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, where he and Elise had spent the predawn hours brainstorming, his laptop open in front of him.

With her back to the porcelain sink, Elise put her coffee mug down on the blue-tiled countertop and gave him a determined smile he suspected was to head off any protests he might be inclined to make. Because honestly, she looked like hell. Not hell in a bad way. More of a Virginia Woolf way.

He'd always had a thing for women with dark circles under their eyes.

Before Elise could answer, David's cell phone rang.

"I just heard," Major Hoffman said, concern in her voice. "How's Detective Sandburg?"

"Here, I'll let you talk to her yourself." David passed the phone to Elise.

David eavesdropped while Elise assured the major she was fine and that she didn't need any time off. After a lengthy silence followed by a rolling of eyes, she hung up.

"Problem?"

"It seems the Savannah Morning News wants to do an interview this a.m. with the detective in charge of the TTX case."

"Why can't the press liaison handle that? It's her job."

She handed the phone back. "I don't mind. Plus this way I can be in control of the information we need to get out to the public."

David closed his computer. "Nothing like an encounter with the press to start the day."

Elise went upstairs to change while David made a feeble attempt to tidy himself in the first-floor bathroom.

Water splashed on his face. Washcloth to the armpits.

He needed a shower. He needed to shave.

He longingly and suspiciously eyed the two toothbrushes in the cup on the sink. One was red. The other had a plastic alligator for a handle. After a moment's consideration, he opened the bathroom door. He was filling his lungs to shout a toothbrush question at Elise when she appeared in front of him.

"You have a spare toothbrush?" he asked within normal voice level.

She squeezed past him, opened a drawer, and presented him with a new toothbrush, package and all.

"I'm eternally in your debt."

"Absolutely."

Two minutes later they were heading out, planning to swing by David's apartment so he could grab some fresh clothes and Elise could pick up her car.

Or at least they appeared to be heading out until Elise pulled open the front door. If she'd made any tracks, she would have frozen in them.

David bumped into her, halted, and peered over the top of her head.

Standing on the step was a tidy man in khaki pants and a white polo shirt. Next to him was a girl of about thirteen, headphones around her neck, a panda backpack, a stuffed elephant tucked under one arm, and a portable CD player in her hand.

Audrey. Elise's daughter. David had met her once. No, twice. The biggest resemblance between mother and daughter was a certain air of suspicion.

In direct contrast to David's wrinkled T-shirt, old jeans, and unshaved face, the people before them looked as if they'd stepped out of a department store ad. Their clothes were fresh and crisp and new. Audrey's strategically scuffed jeans were expensive, and her sparkling white jogging shoes had never been jogging-

Elise let out a little gasp, sounding like someone who'd just remembered she'd left a burner going after the plane had taken off.

"Audrey!" She inhaled. "Thomas."

The man's gaze shifted from Elise to David. And locked there. "Did you forget Audrey was coming today?" he asked, his voice vague and perplexed, his brows drawn together in puzzlement as, with reluctance, he forced himself to break away from David to focus on Elise.

David was fascinated. So this was Elise's ex-husband. God. No wonder she'd left him. Which brought up the question, what had she ever seen in him in the first place?

David couldn't quit staring.

The guy was almost pretty, but Elise didn't seem the type to be taken in by a pretty face.

And then there was Audrey…

Thirteen. David did some quick mental math. Elise would have had her when she was about seventeen or eighteen. A vulnerable age. A foolish age. He knew about such things.

"I didn't forget," Elise said quickly. "Of course I didn't forget."

As she talked, Thomas' gaze kept drifting back to David.

He thinks Elise and I are having sex, David realized.

That was funny as hell. If Elise's daughter hadn't been standing there, David would have played it up a little. Instead, he laid everything out, plain and concisely. "This-" David pointed a finger at himself, then at Elise, then back again. "Strictly business."

Elise had been so flustered over forgetting her daughter's visit that she hadn't caught Thomas' reaction to David. Now she jumped in to add her own version, introducing her partner.

"But it's not even seven o'clock," Thomas pointed out, clearly still suspicious. "And where's your car? I didn't see your car when we pulled up. It hasn't been stolen, has it? I told you this neighborhood was rough. Every time I see the crime map in the Savannah Morning News, the Historic District is loaded with burglaries and assaults."

"My car is fine."

Would she tell them what had happened? David wondered. Would she explain why he was there and why her car was at his place?

"We've been working on this case…," Elise said.

Thomas frowned, studying her face. "You look exhausted. I thought you were going to slow down."

"I know, I know. It's just that we have this… situation-"

"There's always a case. Always a situation."

The disapproval was gone. The suspicion was gone. The only thing left was concern.

Why, the guy still loves her, David realized. He doesn't get her, but he loves her. David's opinion of Thomas did an about-face.

"What happened to your hand?" Thomas asked.

"I cut it." Elise tucked the hand behind her. "It's nothing."

"Is the case the voodoo, zombie thing?" Audrey asked. Her eyes were huge.

"It's not voodoo," Elise said. "And there are no zombies."

"Kids at school said somebody is turning people into zombies." "That's not true."

David jumped in, hoping to back her up. "Absolutely not true," he said, shaking his head.

"Yesterday, a girl fainted in PE class, and everybody freaked out. They said she was a zombie. And now boys are going around putting fingers to their wrists, screaming, 'I have no pulse! I have no pulse!'"

"That's enough, Audrey," Thomas broke in. "You know what I told you earlier."

Audrey's brief moment of animation ended. "Sorry, Dad," she said, her shoulders slumping.

"Where are you off to now?" Thomas asked Elise.

"Headquarters."

Audrey let out a low, I'm-already-bored groan.

"You can come too," Elise told her daughter with that kind of mock enthusiasm mothers used when they knew the kid wanted nothing to do with what was being offered. "We'll pick up some Krispy Kremes on the way. You love those. We'll have a breakfast picnic in the cemetery."

As they stood on the porch, the vile stench of the pulp mill wafted in their direction, the stink permeating David's sinuses. He'd heard that years ago the fumes had actually eaten paint off cars. Just another one of those lovely Savannah rumors nobody could seem to substantiate.

"I don't want to go to the police station." Audrey looked up at her father with pleading eyes. "Do I have to?"

"Audrey-"

"Dad." She twisted her feet to stand on the sides of her shoes. "Please?"

She stared at him, as if trying to communicate tele-pathically. When that failed to get any response, she was forced to say the words aloud, whispered through gritted teeth. "Remember what you told me at the house?"

It was suddenly embarrassingly obvious that the child hadn't wanted to visit her mother in the first place. That she'd come only because her father had made her.

David stood just behind Elise and to her right. He couldn't see her face, but he could feel her stillness.

He put a hand to her shoulder. Thomas followed the movement with his eyes and stared. David dropped his hand.

"Another time would be better," Thomas said. "When things are slower."

Audrey's body relaxed, and her face lit up. She shot her father a look of gratitude.

"You're probably right," Elise said woodenly. "When things are slower."

"I'll call you." Thomas reached for Audrey. "Let's go, honey. So your mom can get to work."

Audrey spun around and began to walk away, her panda bear backpack bobbing. They were halfway up the sidewalk when Thomas bent his head toward her and said something. Audrey turned and gave a big wave. "Bye, Mom." And then to David, "Bye, Mr. Gould!"

She turned and caught up with her dad, then passed him, galloping to the white SUV parked at the curb.

Elise stared at the vehicle as it pulled away. "A stay of execution."

"She probably wanted to do something with friends," David said, searching for a fragment of truth that might make her feel better. "Friends are more important than family at her age. Family doesn't even count."

Elise didn't answer. Instead, she turned and locked the door behind them.

He hoped she wasn't going to cry.

He hated it when women cried. It made him feel useless. And it hurt. He didn't like to hurt.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!" he shouted as soon as he reached the street and saw his car.

The driver's window was broken.

He looked inside.

The CD player was gone.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

He stomped around in a circle, finally coming back to the car.

Nope. He hadn't just imagined the broken window.

"What the hell is it with the burglaries in this town? Thomas was right. You people have a problem. A real problem. And right in front of a cop's house. How blatant is that?"

"Do what I do," Elise said calmly, as if this kind of thing happened every morning. Maybe it did.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Don't get the CD player replaced, and quit locking your car. It keeps them from breaking the window."

"So you adjust your life to accommodate criminals? That's insane."

"Insane but effective."

"I'm calling my insurance company today. I'm getting a new window and CD player. And a car alarm."

She looked at him with skepticism.

"Oh, I suppose the sound of a car alarm is like a lullaby around here."

"I was going to say like the chirping of crickets."

He dug a towel from the trunk, took a few swipes at the crumbled glass, then tossed the towel over the front seat. Two minutes later, they were heading for his apartment. David reached for the radio, then clenched his fist at the black hole staring at him from the dash. He liked to listen to the local station on the way to work in order to keep up on the hysteria level of the city.

"You had to get married, didn't you?" David asked, giving Elise's profile a quick glance as he fought morning traffic.

"Had to get married? What time period did you transport here from? Nobody has to get married anymore."

"You know what I mean."

"Do you find that amusing?"

"I'm surprised, not amused. You come across as someone who knows exactly what she wants, who doesn't make mistakes."

"Audrey wasn't a mistake."

"I'm not talking about Audrey. I'm talking about Thomas."

"Don't trivialize my life."

"I'm not."

"You are."

He stopped at a red light. "How long were you married?"

"A year."

"Did you ever love him? Or was it just a teenager crush kind of thing?"

"That's none of your business."

"I think it is. You're my partner."

"When did that finally occur to you?" she asked, secretly glad he'd finally noticed. This was good. Things were progressing. He'd spilled his guts last night; she was more than ready to share. "I thought I loved him," she admitted. "I was confused."

"You were a kid yourself."

"Seventeen."

"A confusing age."

Not that life was any less confusing now.

The light turned green. He checked for traffic and pulled through the intersection. "I've heard some interesting things about you," he said casually. Too casually.

"Like what?"

"That you're some kind of voodoo priestess or something."

She let out a strangled laugh. "Who told you that?'

"People talk."

"Well, they talk shit. What you should know is that the Savannah Police Department is like an eccentric aunt with a multitude of stories to tell, most of them lies."

"That's just a romantic way of saying the place is infested with gossips," David said.

"You Yankees are so blunt. What would Savannah be without romanticism? Just another port city."

"Do you know that some people are actually a little afraid of you?" he asked.

"Are you afraid of me?"

"No."

"Were you? At the beginning?"

"Of course not."

Time to tell all. "I'm surprised you haven't heard the whole story." She suspected he had by now, or at least some variation of it. But with any departmental gossip, it was always best to go to the subject.

"I heard you were abandoned as a baby. In a cemetery. That you're the daughter of some famous witch doctor."

"Root doctor is the accurate term, but most people say conjurer or witch doctor. No one really knows exactly where I was found. In a cemetery? Yes. On a grave? Maybe. Whose grave? Nobody knows."

"That's very cool."

"Cool? I've never had anybody say that before. Weird. Creepy. Scary. That's what I usually get."

"So then you were adopted?" he asked, prodding for more information.

"The story quickly grows boring," she confessed. "I was adopted by a nice religious family and raised in a traditional household. My father worked as an accountant until he retired, and my mother was a stay-at-home mom."

What she didn't tell David was that people were freaked out by her. Her family had adopted her because nobody else would take her and they'd thought it was the Christian thing to do, not because they'd wanted another child. And even though her parents were kind and tolerant, she was still a charity case, never a real part of the family.

"Brothers? Sisters?" He hit Whitaker and took a left.

"Two sisters, and a much older brother. All of them are married now and have moved out of the area. My parents retired, sold their home, and moved to Tucson." They stayed in contact. Christmas cards. The occasional phone call. "But we're not extremely close."

Another left and he was circling Forsyth Park. "Never felt like you fit in?"

"Exactly. My adoption wasn't a secret, but I never knew the details. When I was seven, my sister Maddie and I had a fight and she told me I'd been found in a cemetery, on a grave. At first I didn't believe her, but she didn't have much imagination and it was a pretty wild story, so eventually I asked my mother and she said it was true."

He turned into the lot next to Mary of the Angels, slid into a spot near Elise's car, and shut off the engine. "And the conjurer?"

"His name was Jackson Sweet. When I heard that he might be my father, I became obsessed with finding out everything I could about him. I suddenly had a history, and a damn interesting one. By the time I was in high school, I'd learned a lot of incantations from an old woman who lived down the street."

While her sisters occupied themselves with after-school projects, Elise pursued what at the time she'd decided was her life calling. The old woman didn't have any living relatives, so she was glad to teach Elise everything she knew. In bad health, she'd been looking for an apprentice in order to pass the mantle.

She lived in a shanty with the doors and window trim painted blue to repel evil spirits. Elise had never known the woman's real name. Everybody just called her Peppermint, because of the peppermint sticks she always had in her mouth.

The ability to perform spells, whether they worked or not, became Elise's best line of defense when it came to her siblings. All she had to do was gather a few ingredients together, and they became loving and well behaved.

"I used a Barbie-well actually Skipper, Barbie's little sister-to cast my first real spell."

He laughed.

"Spells are a serious thing. Spells are real. Or at least some are."

He turned to face her, his left arm draped over the steering wheel. "How can you say that? You're a cop.

A detective. Your daily performance is based on logic."

"Not everything in the world makes sense. Not everything can be explained. Our eyes and our memories constantly deceive us. A good detective knows that."

"Did you ever cast a spell that worked?" he asked, still smiling. Still a nonbeliever. That was the big difference between a Northerner and a Southerner. A Southerner would believe.

Elise had been a seventeen-year-old lovesick girl just playing around. Thomas had passed her again and again with unseeing eyes. But once she cast the spell, he had looked her way… and kept looking, as if unable to help himself, as if his eyes were locked on her.

After entrapping Thomas and getting them both tangled up in a disastrous marriage that should never have happened, Elise got rid of every notebook, every herb, every scrap of paper that spoke of any kind of conjuring, no matter how innocent. At the time, she tried to convince herself that there wasn't such a thing as root doctoring and spell casting. Thomas had noticed her because she'd been staring at him with the fever and intensity of a passionate crush.

"I'm not talking about something vague, like making someone's headache go away," David said. "Come on. You can't honestly tell me that you ever cast a spell that actually worked. Something you could be a hundred percent sure of."

"Oh, but I did. On a person."

"Who?"

"Thomas."

"What'd you do to the poor guy?"

"Made him fall in love with me."