Chapter 33 That Damn Baseball Again
THIRTY-THREE
That Damn Baseball Again
The corner of John’s lips turned up. “She’s strong.
And she’s bigger. I’d guess a week or so bigger than when I checked a couple of days ago.
” He dropped his hand and stepped back. “She’ll arrive sooner than nine months.
Given how much she’s grown already, maybe two more months?
I’ll keep checking, though. It’s too soon for me to guess with any certainty. ”
Declan laughed and kissed me again. “Dining chairs are being put on hold for cribs and changing tables.”
“Plural?” John asked.
“We’re going to have a nursery over here too, for when I need to work in the gallery,” I told him.
“Smart,” he said. “I’ll let you get back to the detectives. Call me if you need me. Otherwise, I’ll be back again in a couple of days.”
“Perfect. Oh, wait.” I ran to the kitchen counter and pulled a plastic sleeve out of a drawer.
Hester had told us that people were buying multiple cookies at a time and she needed a proper bag to put them in.
I loaded a dozen peanut butter chocolate chip cookies into a tower of goodness for him and twisted the top closed.
“I was thinking about you after your last visit and made your favorite. Actually, these are Frank’s favorite too. Did you know you were cookie buddies?”
He stared down at the cookies a moment and blinked. “I didn’t even know that was a thing. Thank you, starfish. I haven’t had one of these in quite a while.”
“I’ll need to fix that, won’t I?” I replied, pretending I wasn’t choked up by his surprised appreciation.
We walked him out and found Osso, Hernández, and Kaknu sitting back on this side of the deck. Uncle John pulled a cookie out, took a bite, and waved as he went through the gate. Declan and I sat to find out what more they wanted from me.
“Everything all right?” Osso asked.
“Yup.” I knew Osso knew, but he refused to say anything until I officially announced it. I supposed it was time. “My Uncle John is a healer. He was here to check on me.”
Hernández was instantly on high alert, worried something was wrong.
“It’s nothing bad,” I told her. “I’m having a baby.”
“We’re having a baby,” Declan corrected.
“What he said.”
Osso relaxed and almost smiled. He finally got to stop pretending he didn’t know.
Hernández’s worry ratcheted up a notch. “Is everything okay? Are you okay?”
I nodded. “I have two healers in the family and my dad. All three say she is strong and growing quickly. It’ll be a fast pregnancy.”
Osso glanced over at Hernández. “Shifter pregnancies often mirror our other natures. Black bears in the wild gestate for about seven months. My wife was pregnant seven to eight months with our kids.” He turned to Declan. “What is it with wolves?”
“About two and a half,” he responded.
Hernández’s eyes went wide as she stared at my midsection. “Two and a half months?”
“It won’t be that fast with me,” I assured her. “Uncle John was guessing maybe two more months, but it’s still too soon for a good estimate. This is only the second time he’s checked on me. He’ll need a few more checks to chart the baby’s progress.”
“Will you go to a normal doctor?” she asked.
Osso’s brow furrowed as he clearly took exception to the normal comment, but I understood she was nervous for me and hadn’t meant to be offensive.
“Healers are normal for us,” I told her. “My Uncle Robert is a neurologist at a human hospital, but both my uncles are very skilled healers who can do more for us than human doctors can. I’m in good hands.”
“Oh.” She breathed out a sigh of relief. “Okay. Good.”
I toed off my shoes and crossed my legs under me. “I feel like I should tell you about the first two visions before you ask me to read whatever’s in Kaknu’s pocket.”
Kaknu pulled out his phone while Osso and Hernández took out their little notebooks. I stared at the phone a moment. He nodded and returned it to his pocket.
“Wait a minute,” Declan said. “We haven’t eaten and she’s already had two visions.” He looked at me. “Are you hungry?”
My stomach growled on cue, and he was up like a shot to get us food.
Hernández glanced at the open door to my studio and whispered, “Are you happy about this?”
Again, Osso looked annoyed, but I got it. Hernández was a girls’ girl. She was making sure this was my choice, and I appreciated it. “I am. Thank you for asking, but I am. Also, even if the door was closed, Declan would hear us.”
She glanced back at the door again, looking like she was preparing for the confrontation she thought was coming. Instead, Declan came back with a tall glass of juice for me and a plate of mixed muffins.
“They’re still frozen,” he told me.
I placed my hand over them, toasted them up, and grabbed my version of a rocky road muffin. It was chocolate, with a marshmallow center and chopped candied pecans on top. Declan offered some to the others. Hernández and Osso took one, but Kaknu declined.
Declan sat beside me with a muffin in his hand, the plate of two more on my other side, and looked at Hernández.
“We’re both really happy about this. Is it sooner than either of us expected?
Yes, but we’re grateful for the gift. I love Arwyn.
I’d never force her to do something she didn’t want. I’m not baby trapping her.”
“I didn’t mean—” she began.
“I understand,” he broke in. “You care about her too and want to make sure she’s safe. You’re a good friend.”
Hernández relaxed and took a bite of her muffin.
When I finished eating, I told them about the two Swan visions.
“They still think Logan is the Alpha?” Declan asked.
I nodded. “I guess no one has updated them.”
While Hernández and Osso scratched their notes, Kaknu tilted his head and asked, “Would the wicche community normally be told of a change in pack leadership?”
Declan shook his head. “Some Coreys know because of my relationship with Arwyn. Otherwise, we keep to ourselves.” He tipped his head toward Osso.
“Shifters often have the same types of careers, so friendships form and stories get passed. Wicches are separate. Her comment, though, is indicative of the arrogance of wicches—present company excepted. She clearly doesn’t know any pack members, but she believes she has an in with the Alpha and can get information from him. That is wild.”
“Logan liked to strut around town,” I told him. “He wasn’t a good pack Alpha, but he loved his celebrity, making sure everyone noticed and appreciated him.”
“Who’s Margaret?” Hernández asked.
“My grandmother’s sister,” I replied. “I need to tell Mom about that bit. I doubt she knows Margaret is in contact with Catherine Swan and passing on Corey information.”
“You’re positive,” Osso began, “about this room under the screened porch?”
I nodded. “Absolutely. You can take the candle with you. It should have Catherine and Milo’s fingerprints on it. The door to the room is behind the potting shelves. I know the rest of that brown plaid shirt is down there.”
Osso and Kaknu shared a look.
“Okay, thank you for that,” Osso said, turning a page in his notebook. “We’ll need to figure out how to get a warrant to get down there.” He gestured to Kaknu. “And, yes, we have something we want you to read.”
Kaknu took an evidence bag from his pocket. It held a filthy men’s tie. I hesitated a moment, then took it from his hand. I stared at the familiar pattern, my gloved finger brushing over the plastic. Where had I seen this before? Then I remembered the dream.
“I dreamt about him. He was one of the ones buried right past the tree line at the camp.”
Osso and Hernández shared another look.
“Tell us about your dream,” Kaknu said.
I continued staring at the tie, taking a sip of juice.
“It was night. The camp was abandoned. There was a strange sound. I followed it past the cabins to the edge of the trees. A car was parked with its trunk open and its headlights on. A man in a suit, wearing this tie, was lying on the ground in the beams of the headlights. The sound I heard was coming from outside the light. In the trees. Ghosts were gathered in the shadows, watching the killer digging a new grave. I recognized the child from the archery field, the teen from the pond, and the young man from the shelter. But there were others standing outside the light. Some were pointing in the killer’s direction.
“One was strange, though,” I continued. “She was like the man on the ground. She wore a suit and had a clipboard or portfolio or something under one arm. She pointed like the others, but then she gave me a huge smile and pantomimed something with her hand. It looked like she was shaking hands with someone, but spirits are hard to see in detail. They’re more of a hazy, transparent gray—at least to me.
My cousin is a necromancer. She probably sees them in more detail.
Anyway, the suited woman could have been showing me what she was doing when she was killed.
” I shrugged. “It looked like shaking hands.”
The three of them were staring into space, absorbing that, then Kaknu gestured to the bag in my hand. “Could you read that for us?”
I opened the bag, took off my gloves, held the pearl in one hand, and touched a finger to the tie.
“Jack, no one has seen her in weeks.” It’s the man in the suit from the camp. He looks scared. His eyes dance around the room, never landing anywhere for too long, especially not on the man behind the desk.
“I told you. She said she needed time off for a vacation. She was seeing some new man.” He moved the pen on his desk two inches to the right and straightened it, so it was exactly parallel to the edge of the blotter. “If you need more information than that, you’ll need to ask her friends.”
His weight shifts from foot to foot, clearly nervous. “I did. Her mother checked her apartment. It looks like she left for work and never came back. Her luggage is still in her closet. Her clothes are all accounted for.” He clears his throat. “There was a pregnancy test in the bathroom trash.”
“Is that so?” The man behind the desk—Jack, apparently—picks up a sharp letter opener and twirls it in his fingers.
The man—Jerome—stares over Jack’s head, his gaze fixed on red and white stripes. “In her digital calendar, it said she was having dinner with you on the last day anyone saw her.”
“Oh? What day was that again?” Jack opens his calendar on his laptop and checks the date he’s given. “No. That must be a mistake. I was at a fundraiser that night.”
Jerome clears his throat again. “Lauren hinted to one of her friends that she was seeing her boss. Her friend claims there was no one else.”
Jack drums his fingers on the desk. “And?” He chuckles. “You’re not seriously asking me if I was sleeping with my assistant, are you? My God, I’m not an idiot. Do you honestly believe I would jeopardize everything I’ve worked toward for a fuck? Hardly.”
Jerome smiles uneasily. “That’s what I thought.”
“So, who is this friend? I feel like I need to set her straight. I can’t have even a whisper of scandal surrounding me.”
Jerome’s heart races. “You know, I don’t remember. I’d have to check my notes.”
Jack sits forward, skewering Jerome with a glare. “There are notes somewhere about my possibly fathering a missing woman’s child? You’ve written this wholly unfounded accusation somewhere? Somewhere my opponent can find and read it? Tell me you’re not that stupid.”
“No. No, of course not. Just notes in my phone. She didn’t accuse you of anything. She said Lauren kind of hinted at seeing the boss.”
The man sits back in his chair. “I see. And her name is?”
Jerome holds out for as long as he can before he blurts, “Hannah.” He isn’t known for his strength under pressure.
Jack waits.
“Monk. Hannah Monk.”
“Good. Well, thank you for letting me know this is going on. I certainly hope Lauren returns soon for her mother and friends’ sakes. I’m afraid if she tries to return here, dumped and pregnant, she won’t have a job. I don’t give second chances.”
He unlocks his bottom desk drawer and opens it.
“Here,” he says. “Have a drink with me.” He drops a small white pill into one of the cut crystal glasses in the drawer, pulls out a bottle, and opens it.
“You’ve been quite informative. I’ll put in a good word for you with Hicks.
” He pours into the glass with the pill.
It dissolves instantly. He lifts it from the drawer, placing it on the edge of the desk closest to Jerome before pulling out the second glass and pouring himself some.
He holds up his glass, nodding to Jerome, whose hand shakes slightly as he picks up the cut crystal.
“I’m not much of a drinker, I’m afraid,” Jerome tells him.
“You’ll love this. It’s a twenty-seven-year-old single malt Scotch whiskey, aged in a cherry oak cask.” He stands, holding out his own glass to clink with Jerome. “This goes for hundreds a pour. Enjoy.”
Jack drinks his down in one. Jerome, deciding faster might be better, does the same, then coughs horribly. The coughing turns to gagging. His eyes bulge. He stumbles into the desk, but Jack shoves him back. He doesn’t want blood and spittle on the polished wood.
Jerome’s mouth is foaming. His nose is bleeding. He crumples to the ground, his face turning a horrible shade between red and purple.
“Do hurry up, won’t you? I have things to do tonight.”
Jerome’s gaze fixes on the baseball trapped in Lucite that’s sitting on the edge of the man’s desk.