“Why didn’t you tell a cop what you saw?”
“Cops think I’m just a crazy old lady. If I told ’em what I saw they’d take me to some clinic where they would shoot me full of drugs and make me go numb again.”
“The cops think I’m a crazy lady, too,” Catalina said.
And maybe she would be in Marge’s place now, she thought, if her parents hadn’t raised her in Fogg Lake and instilled in her the importance of gaining control of her second sight so that she could pass for normal.
“Nah, the cops don’t think you’re crazy,” Marge said. She winked. “They just think you’re a fake psychic. Pretty good disguise, by the way. Wish I’d thought of it a few years back. If I’d played my cards right, I coulda made some real money.”
“Why didn’t you tell me what happened to Olivia before now?” Catalina asked. “I’ve lost so much time.”
Marge chugged more soda and lowered the can. “I don’t know where you live.”
“What do you mean? I live in the apartment building right behind you. Surely you knew that?”
“Can’t go around the corner. That’s Riverview territory. Had to wait for you to come find me. Knew you would. What took you so long?”
Catalina reminded herself that Marge lived in a strange landscape that only she could see. There was no point berating the poor woman. She was doing her best to survive.
“Do you have any idea where the clones in the big black car took Olivia?” Catalina asked.
“Expect they took her to hell. That’s where they took me. I’ll bet they’ve got her locked up in hell right now. You’re gonna look for her, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Catalina said.
“That’s good. But you’re gonna need help. You can’t walk into hell unless you’ve got someone to watch your back.”
Catalina went very still.
“Who will help me, Marge?” she asked.
Marge concentrated hard for a moment and then gave a short, brusque nod.
“Someone who knows about the clones. They’re a tough crowd. You’re gonna need someone who can deal with that bunch.”
The disheartening news was that Marge was right. It would be infuriating to have to make the call to Victor Arganbright to ask for help, but given what she had just learned, she didn’t have much choice. She needed professional assistance from someone who would take her fears seriously, someone who wouldn’t make her waste time filling out forms.
Catalina rose to her feet. “You may be right, Marge. But shit.”
Marge started to raise the soda can but she paused and squinted up at Catalina.
“Watch out for the needle,” she said.
“What needle?”
“The clones slapped something over Olivia’s face and then they stuck a needle into her shoulder when she tried to get out of the car. Just like they did to me when they took me away.”
A hypodermic syringe, Catalina thought, the same type of weapon that had been used to murder a stranger fifteen years earlier in the Fogg Lake caves. It had to be a coincidence. Drugs were obviously an easy way to subdue a captive. There couldn’t possibly be a connection to the murder in the caves.
“Marge,” she whispered, bracing herself for the worst possible answer to her next question, “I know you can see auras. Do you think those people in the black car murdered Olivia?”
“I could see her energy through the car window when they drove off. She was still alive, but …”
“What, Marge?”
“It looked like she was going to sleep,” Marge said. “She’ll wake up in hell. Just like I did.”
CHAPTER 6
Catalina was halfway back to the office, walking fast, when her phone vibrated. She yanked it out of the pocket of her coat and glanced at the screen. Daniel.
“Please tell me you’ve got a lead on Olivia,” she said.
“Nothing yet, but you need to get back here now.”
“Almost there. Why? What happened?”
“There’s someone here to see you. Says it’s urgent. Says it’s about Olivia.”
“Put him on the phone,” Catalina said.
“Hang on,” Daniel said.
The voice that came on the line was masculine, eerily calm, cool and controlled. It was, she concluded, the kind of voice that could lead you out of a burning building. It was also a voice that, under the right circumstances, could scare the living daylights out of you.
“My name is Slater Arganbright,” he said.
“Oh, shit,” Catalina whispered.
“I realize you’ve got some history with my uncle. We can talk about that later. Right now we’ve got other priorities. I understand your business partner, Olivia LeClair, is missing.”
Okay, so she had been on the verge of calling Victor Arganbright. It was one thing to put in a call for help. It was something else entirely to discover that someone from the Foundation was already on the scene. That information left two gut-wrenching possibilities: either Victor Arganbright had known that Olivia was in danger and had failed to warn her in advance, or his so-called Foundation was behind the kidnapping.
“Did Victor Arganbright’s thugs take Olivia?” she said. It was all she could do not to scream into the phone. “Because I swear, if you harm her, I will find a way to destroy your Foundation, even if it takes me the rest of my life.”
“No, we didn’t take your friend,” Slater said. “And for the record, my uncle doesn’t employ thugs. Just people like me.”
It wasn’t the denial that brought her to a stunned halt in the middle of the sidewalk. She had been prepared for that. It was highly unlikely that anyone in his right mind would admit to a serious crime like kidnapping, especially not while he was speaking on the phone. For all Slater Arganbright knew, she was recording his words.
It was the incredibly unemotional way he spoke that stopped her cold. His voice sounded far too flat, unnaturally so. There should have been some heat in the denial; a hint of outrage, at the very least. After all, she had just pulled out a verbal jackknife by virtually accusing him, or at least his uncle, of a major federal crime.
“How did you know Olivia was kidnapped?” she said. She still sounded fierce and accusatory. She did not give a damn. She was dealing with an Arganbright.
Whose help she might need.
Damn, damn, damn. Shit.
That was the third time she had used the word shit in the past few minutes. Her language was deteriorating rapidly. That was probably not a good sign. Control, Catalina. You must exercise control.
“When I walked into your office a few minutes ago your receptionist said you were out looking for your friend,” Slater explained in his eerily uninflected voice. “I was told no one appears to have seen or heard from Ms. LeClair since late yesterday. Considering that I came to Seattle to ask you and Olivia for some professional assistance, it’s unlikely that her disappearance today is a coincidence.”
Still no emotion in the words. Just flat statements of facts. Or flat-out lies. There was no way to be sure. It was as if she was talking to a robot.
Two could play that game.
“What do you want, Arganbright?” she asked, trying to channel her inner Philip Marlowe. She was a private investigator, after all. She even had a trench coat, and she was wearing it today. It was a very stylish trench. Olivia had given it to her when they embarked on their new business venture.