Spell Bound - Kelley Armstrong [31]
“Can’t say I blame him,” I said.
“Well, I do. The minute she killed his pet, he should have seen where it was going and gotten help.”
“He probably figured he could handle it. I know what that’s like.”
“But would you let her hurt your family? Would you eventually give in and zap a psychopath ghost into a body, then wash your hands of it, be glad the bitch was someone else’s problem? He got his wife badly hurt, and got a lot of people killed. He almost got you killed. Now he wants to talk to say he’s sorry? Piss on him.”
Schmidt did want to talk. He said it was a “matter of urgency” and “something I needed to know.” But with Leah back in her hell dimension, what could he need to tell me? Like Adam said, he was just feeling guilty.
I still called. If he only wanted to apologize, I’d let him know what I thought of that. And I’d let him know exactly what Leah had done. The number rang through to an answering machine. I hung up without leaving a message.
eleven
A my Lynn Tucker was dead. That would be a lot more comforting if my witch-hunter actually was Amy Lynn Tucker.
As we sat at a picnic table in Arizona outside a dorm, the dead girl’s roommate gave us the news that Amy had died a few months earlier.
“We had no idea,” Adam said. “The DMV still has this address.”
“I doubt her parents have told them. Under the circumstances . . .” She chewed her lip. “Well, I don’t think they’d want to talk about it much. It was suicide. She hung herself up there—” She gestured over our heads and I looked up at the tree, but she shook her head. “In our room. I’ve been trying to get a new one ever since, but they say I can’t switch until next term.”
As Adam talked to the girl, I gazed out at the campus. It was picture-perfect—a small, private Baptist college, which explained why classes were running so late in the term.
I leaned across the table. “Are you sure Amy died in March?”
“Of course, she’s sure.” Adam faked a whisper. “Someone made a mistake, okay? Case closed.”
“Mistake?” the girl said. “What kind of mistake?”
Adam looked uncomfortable.
I barreled ahead. “Like we said, we’re private investigators. Amy was the subject of a case we’re working. Only, according to our case”—I set down my picture of the witch-hunter—“Amy here was seen only last month.”
“That’s not Amy,” the roommate said. “It’s her sister. I mean, cousin. Amy called Roni her sister, because her parents raised her, but she’s really a cousin . . . I think.”
“Roni?”
“Veronica. She went to school here, too. She dropped out after Amy died.”
We sat in our rental car outside the Tucker residence. It didn’t look like the home of trained assassins. More like the home of trained preschool teachers. A pretty little suburban ranch with bright blue shutters, a red VW Beetle in the drive, and a swing on the porch. Even had a picket fence, painted yellow.
“Clearly the abode of evil,” I said.
“Creeps me out, too,” Adam said. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”
He was opening his door when my phone sounded. The ring tone was The Doors, like all of mine. In this case, “Take It as It Comes.”
“I thought you confiscated Paige’s cell phone before she left?” Adam said.
“I did.”
I answered with a cautious “Hello,” wondering—and fearing—who might have broken into our house and stolen Paige’s phone.
“Good, you’re there. Did you get my message?”
The husky voice was unmistakable. “Paige?”
“Um, yes. Who else would be using my phone? I know, we were due back tomorrow, but we caught an earlier flight. I’d ask why my Prius is missing, and Adam’s Jeep is parked in its place, but I’m a lot more concerned about the fact that his vehicle was obviously in an accident. And your bike isn’t looking any better.”
“I can explain.”
“Are you okay?” Her voice dropped an octave. “That’s what I’m worried about, Savannah. You didn’t seem okay when we talked yesterday morning. That’s why we came home early. Seeing that bike and Jeep, I’m more worried