Page 11 of Bad Medicine
As he was talking to Max, Icalled Zach. He didn’t answer, probably because he couldn’t, so I called Jared.The murdered woman, unhappy with being ignored, got louder and more irate untilfinally, I pulled off the highway, asked Jared to hang on, and yanked a spirittrap from my bag.
“If you don’t shut the fuckup,” I told her, “I will suck you into this trap and keep you there until I’vefigured out your shit. You got it?”
She shoved herself back againstthe seat, glared out the window, and kept her mouth shut. And finally, Iclimbed out of the car and leaned against the hood to have my conversation withJared in private.
“Everything okay?” Jared asked.
“Yeah, just dealing with amouthy ghost. Joe just told me that Zach’s having some trouble. You gave him acabin in the woods?”
“Yes.”
“And? Is he okay?”
“I’ll take care of him, Kait.He doesn’t want you to worry.”
I snorted. “When I’m finishedhere, I want to visit him.”
“I’ll see you tonight,” hesaid, and disconnected the call.
I sighed and got back into thecar, taking my worried mind off Zach and putting it back on Tammy and herpredicament. There was still a lot of daylight to get through before I couldrun through the woods of Shadowfield and check on a tortured soul who had fastbecome my friend.
Chapter Six
“There it is,” Tammy said.“That’s the house.”
I unbuckled my seatbelt andopened my door. “Stay put, Joe. The old lady will refuse to let me in if shesees you.” I leaned over to fish my laminated ID badge out of the glovebox. Iwas going to need a real badge to flash. The council had offered me one, but itwas for showing to the nonhumans, not little old ladies in the Pocket.
Even though it was daylight,the day guards patrolling the Pocket would soon drive by, and I didn’t wantthem spying Joe and getting suspicious. They weren’t above shooting a man andhiding the body. The Pocket was a rough place.
Still, it was better during theday, and hopefully we’d be in and out quickly. If I found the body, I’d have tocall Rick. He’d kick my ass if I did something stupid to mess with a crimescene, but I needed to have a look.
Most of the time, just findingthe body was enough to send the spirit of a murdered person over. I hoped itwas enough to get rid of poor Tammy, because she was a big pain in the ass.
I stood with my back to the oldlady’s front door after ringing the bell, raking the relatively quiet streetswith a cautious stare. I was hoping she’d let me in before one of the rovingneighborhood gangs stopped to have a chat. I was worried about leaving Joealone in the car, but he could honk the horn if company arrived. And he couldkeep jerks from trashing my car. Or stealing it.
Tammy didn’t shut up once. Shemade me long for the days when I couldn’t hear the ghosts. “Didn’t you say youhad a kid?” I asked, interrupting her tirade about how her last boyfriendshould have been the one the killer went after, because he was a mean-ass fuck.
“I had four of the littlebastards,” she said. “Only one of them didn’t give me shit, and that wasbecause she was a toddler.”
“Seems like you love children,”I said. “I can totally understand why you kept having them. Who will take careof them now?”
She glared at me for a fewseconds, then shrugged. “Who knows? Probably my sister Anita. I’m sure she’llbe happy to take custody. She was as judgy as you.”
Finally, the elderly womanopened the door. “Yes?”
“I’m with the Clinton CountySheriff’s Department,” I told her, lifting my badge from where it dangledaround my neck. “Can I speak with you?”
“Well you’re speaking, so Iguess you can.”
Tammy laughed.
“Is it okay if I come in?” Iasked, not terribly amused. I figured she really was desperate for company,because she shoved open the screen door and let me in.
The door opened into a smallliving room, crowded with heavy furniture, many family pictures on the wall,and shelves full of trinkets and figurines. “What do the police want with me?”she asked, sitting down on a recliner and motioning me to the sofa across thedoily-covered coffee table. “Don’t see police in the Pocket very much.”
“I’m here about your grandson,Robby. Can you tell me where he lives and when you might see him again?”
“Robby?” She squinted at me,then reached for the glasses on the end table beside her chair. She didn’tanswer me until she’d put them on. “What did he do? He’s a good boy. The onlyone of my grandchildren who come by to take care of the place. I can’t do itmyself, you know. Arthritis. And I’m old.” Her eyes were owlish behind theglasses, and there was a spark of worry in her suddenly hostile stare.
