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Stopped at a light, I picked up my car phone and checked my messages. There
were several from Garrett. His tone was urgent, I dialed him immediately. He
answered on the first ring.
"This is Garrett."
"This is Jean Rodrigues. I'm sorry about missing our appointment. I was tied
up."
"I heard about why you were tied up. Roger Teller was with you when the
young man died?"
"Yes. Bob tried to kill Roger and me."
"Really?" Garrett said sarcastically.
"You sound doubtful. I was there, I know what happened."
"You sound doubtful yourself. It doesn't matter. I have to meet with you
tonight."
"You found out something about Roger?"
There was an odd note in his voice. "Yes. Among other things."
"I see," I replied, although I didn't really.
"Where would you like to meet?"
"Where are you now?"
"In my car, in Newport Beach."
"That's perfect. I'm in Orange County as well. Let's meet at the entrance to the
Huntington Beach Pier."
My old stomping ground. "Why there?"
That odd tone again. "Is there something wrong with it?"
"No. I can come. I'll be there in twenty minutes."
"I'll be waiting," Garrett said as he hung up.
Peter had a car phone as well, a necessity because of his handicap. I called
him, and after explaining that I had to meet with Garrett about Roger, I told
him to go on home and take care of Jacob. I'd catch up with him soon. But
Peter insisted on accompanying me. I believe he was curious to see Garrett.
Together, we drove to Huntington Beach Pier, which was only two miles south
of where I had died as Shari Cooper.
"Why there?"
Garrett had sounded like he had a lot on his mind.
He was standing at the pier entrance as we arrived. We just pulled over to the
side of the road, staying on the Coast Highway. Garrett walked over to my Jag,
and I rolled down the window. He nodded to the van behind me.
"Who's your friend?" he asked.
"My boyfriend." I looked around. "Do you want us to park and maybe talk in a
coffee shop or something?"
"No, and I don't want to talk here. Can I just get in?"
I hesitated. "Sure. You want to go somewhere else?"
"Yes," he said. "It's not far."
"Fine. Get in."
As Garrett climbed into the passenger seat, I called Peter and told him to follow
us. Everything was cool. But maybe cool was the wrong word.
Garrett, as he glanced over at me, looked like he had just seen a ghost. Or was
seeing a ghost. His skin was pale with a sheen of fine perspiration, yet his eyes
were as sharp as ever.
"Where do you want to go?" I asked.
"Don't you know?"
Damn! "No."
He noticed my discomfort. "It's just down the road a bit."
"What is?"
"A certain condominium. You're sure you're not familiar with it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Would you have any objection to going to this condo? I've already been there
this afternoon. It's unoccupied a bunch of empty rooms. Even the carpet's
gone. The manager, Rita Wilde, said I could drop by it whenever I wished." He
paused.
"Do you know Rita?"
"No," I lied.
He nodded to himself as he studied my reaction.
"I know her from a few years back. I met her when I was investigating a death
at the condo."
I shuddered. "We don't have to go there."
"But I want to. I think it's the right place to talk."
He reached over and put his hand on my arm.
"What do you think?"
My voice was shaky. "I told you what I think."
"Are you afraid?"
"No."
"Are you concerned that the place might be haunted?"
"No."
"Then let's go. We're blocking traffic. It's only two miles north of here."
"OK." I put my Jag in gear.
Peter must have known our destination because he fell back a bit as if he
didn't want to follow. Yet he did not drive away.
Garret was, of course, right. For me the condo was as haunted as a cemetery. I
hadn't been back to it since the day I reacquainted myself with Jimmy. With
my badly disguised uneasiness, I wasn't fooling Garrett one bit. Clearly he had
read Remember Me; nevertheless, I decided to let him wonder and admit to
nothing.
The whole way there, I forced him to give me directions. We parked outside the
condo, I believe, exactly where my friends and I had parked the night I died.
Peter rolled out the van's side door in his wheelchair as we walked over to him.
He wasn't happy about our meeting place.
"Why are we here?" he demanded.
"Garrett wants to talk to us here," I said. "Detective Garrett, this is my
boyfriend Lenny. Lenny, meet Garrett."
Garrett shook Peter's hand. "How did you two meet?" he asked.
"It's a long story," I muttered.
He gave me a knowing look. "I'm sure it is."
We went upstairs, took the elevator. To the fourth floor. When you fall off a
fourth floor if you're into such things, which I don't recommend the police
speak of your falling three stories to your death. Because you fall only three
stories since you begin such a plunge from the floor of the fourth floor. The
details don't really matter. If you land on your head on concrete as I had you
die.
Garrett led us to what had once been the Palmone residence. The door was
unlocked. We went inside. Turned on the lights. It was dark now. A cool ocean
breeze blew in from the open balcony door.
I tried but couldn't stop trembling. I ran from the room then, through the
kitchen and out onto the balcony and into the night. I remember standing by
the rail, feeling the smooth wood beneath my shaking fingers. I remember
seeing the flat black ocean and thinking how nice it would be if I could only
exercise my magical powers and fly over to it and disappear beneath its surface
for ages to come. I remember time passing.
Then things went bad.
"Are you cold?" Garrett asked.
I lowered my head. "Yes," I whispered.
"Have you been here before?" he asked.
I shook my head.
"Did you know that someone died here?"
"You just told me."
"Shari Cooper died here. Did you know her?"
"No."
"Why did you choose that name for your pen name?"
His gaze was steady and bored into me, but his will wavered. He didn't really
want the truth from me. When all was said and done, the truth was terrifying.
Especially when we needed to hang on to our limited ideas of selves and the
universe. Truly, as the Rishi had said, modern religion's attempt to define with
words the ultimate reality was the ultimate blasphemy.
Garrett looked at me as if he couldn't decide to swear at me or plead with me.
"It's just a name," I said. "It means nothing."
Garrett shook his head. "I read your book."
I sighed. "Did you enjoy it?"
"How could you write that book? How could you know those things? You put
me in your book!"
"I had never met you until two days ago."
"You put my daughter in your book!" He took a step toward me, roughly
grabbed my shoulder.
"She went into hysterics when she read your epilogue!"
Peter started to intervene but I motioned him to stay back. I continued to hold [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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