The Dead Man

Chapter Twenty-four

Nancy flagged me as I passed the front desk.

"You leaving already?" she asked.

"Hell, I'm lucky they haven't fired me yet."

She laughed. "I don't think luck's got anything to do with it."

"Are you a religious person?"

"I know that Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior, if that's what you mean," she said.

"I heard you reciting the Twenty-third Psalm this morning. I couldn't tell whether that was a prayer or a warning."

"A little of both."

"Should I be worried?"

"I'd worry if people who come in here keep on dying. I heard about the mailman on the news. He's the third one in a month. People better wake up and pray."

Lucy was waiting in the circle drive. I slid into the passenger seat. Before I could buckle the seat belt, I was shaking and grunting, my back arched and rigid, my neck wrapped around the headrest. Concentrated activity, like the day I'd put in, held the tics at bay but when I took a break, they swarmed. The guerrilla attack didn't last long, maybe ten seconds, but it made time stand still.

"How about if I drive?" Lucy asked when order had been restored.

I appreciated her pragmatic response. It took me a long time before I was able to shake off the shakes like water off a duck's back, but Lucy got it right, acknowledging my condition without dramatizing it.

"Great idea. So, how was your day? Did you find a car?"

"Drove past some dealerships," she said, pulling into traffic.

Though not yet dark, drivers crept along, leading with their headlights, wary of slick spots on the pavement though much of the snow had been pushed to the curb. We got caught in the aftermath of a six-car chain reaction rear-end collision that turned a ten-minute drive from the institute to our house into a thirty-minute crawl.

"Didn't see anything you liked?"

"Didn't look."

"What did you do all day?"

"I took a tour."

"What kind of tour."

"The dead man tour. It was great. No waiting. I started at Walter Enoch's house, then swung by Tom Delaney's apartment, and finished up at Regina Blair's parking garage."

I should have been surprised but I wasn't. She'd told me that she had read Delaney's and Blair's incident reports. I could yell at her, tell her to mind her own business. I could make her pull over, give me the keys, get out, and call a cab. I could move out of her house, stay at Joy's while she was out of town, and look for a new place if that's what it took to get rid of Lucy. But I didn't do any of that because she had done what needed to be done, knowing that I couldn't and that I was too bullheaded to ask for her help.

"How'd that work out?"

She flashed me a grin that showed her molars. "Fair to middling. I'll show you what I've got when we get home."

While we were stuck in traffic, I called Kate Scranton.

"You busy tonight?" I asked her.

"Nothing too important. Catching up on paperwork."

"Come on over and bring your laptop."

"What about my toothbrush?"

"Absolutely. And dinner for four wouldn't hurt either."

"You're having a party, I'm bringing dinner, and lap-tops are included?"

"It will be good for your bottom line. And don't scrimp on dinner. I've got an expense account."

"Who was that?" Lucy asked.

"Kate Scranton. She's a jury consultant and a psychologist and she's an expert in reading facial expressions."

"I'm no expert, but from the 'cat-that-ate-thecanary' look on your face, she's more than that," she said, the flush I felt in my face egging her on. "She's the one, isn't she? Your friend from Saturday night."

I nodded. "Am I that easy?"

"Make it tougher on me next time, keep your tongue in your mouth."

"I'll try to remember that."

My next call was to Simon Alexander.

"It's payback time," I told him.

"What did I do?"

"Hooked me up with Milo Harper. I need you at my house. Bring your laptop, a couple of printers, and a lot of paper. Kate's bringing dinner."

"What's the name of the game we're playing?"

"The dead man."