Dead Suite Part 3

After fifteen minutes mostly spent with the two of them singing along to raunchy seventies rock, Maeva gave Sadie more driving instructions until they were turning from Twenty-Eighth Avenue onto West Halladay Street in the hilly Magnolia neighborhood. Halfway up the block Maeva announced they'd arrived, and Sadie steered to the curb and parked in front of a turn-of-the century home that was eerily lit from the overhead streetlights.

"Wow, she's a beaut." Sadie whistled and nodded to indicate the house. "The place has to be a hundred years old."

"Give or take," Maeva agreed, glancing out the pa.s.senger window. "Do you recognize it?"

"The house?" Sadie asked. "Don't think I've ever been here before."

"It was in the news a few years ago, so I thought you might remember it."

"In the news?"

"Yeah. A mother believed her fourteen-year-old daughter, Iris, was possessed by demons and she tried to perform an exorcism."

"Oh yeah," Sadie said, nodding slowly as she remembered the wild story. "The papers had a field day. They called it the Halladay Horror. The mother poisoned her, right?"

Maeva's face grew dark as they both stared at the house. "Good ol' mom tied her daughter to her bed, then fed her poison to scare away the devil inside her. The next morning when mom saw the poison had killed Iris, instead of just exorcising a demon, the she ran around the neighborhood screaming the devil had killed her kid."

Sadie remembered reading that the mother had killed herself while locked up awaiting a psychological examination. It was just one of those sad tales of mental illness that ended tragically. Sadie shivered in spite of herself.

Sadie and Maeva got out of the car and began walking up the staggered stone walkway toward the front of the old-style, storybook Tudor home. The ma.s.sive oak front door showed the wear of battling the howling winds and Seattle rains.

"Has the house stood empty since then?" Sadie asked.

"The mom left it to a friend, and he sold it recently. The new owners hired Rosemary because they weren't having any luck getting renovations done. All the workers they hired claim the house is haunted." She turned to Sadie. "And that's where Madam Maeva's Psychic Cafe comes in."

"Why do I feel like I've been bamboozled?" Sadie asked dryly.

Maeva just smiled and pounded her fist a couple times on the solid front door before opening it and stepping inside.

"We're here!" she shouted.

Sadie followed her inside.

"Come to the kitchen!" The reply came from the back of the house.

Maeva kicked off her shoes and walked ahead up a long, narrow hall. Sadie held back. The air in the house felt heavy and thick. Although old houses might be considered beautiful because of their dark wood and quality craftsmanship, Sadie preferred new construction-where there was a lesser chance of running into ghosts. Sure she enjoyed helping recently departed spirits like May Lathrop, but those who'd hung around long enough to claim a location like this house tended to be territorial and harder to get rid of than c.o.c.kroaches.

Finally Sadie slipped out of her shoes and followed Maeva down the long hardwood hallway. Her footsteps echoed in the empty house and she found herself looking over her shoulder. The hallway opened onto a large eat-in kitchen, where Rosemary and Rick Thingvold were waiting, seated at a small card table and folding chairs. Their cue-ball shaven heads and jewelry piercings glistened in the pale overhead light. They'd each added a few new tattoos since Sadie had seen them last and, in some locations, it was hard to tell where metal and ink stopped and their own skin began.

"Great to see you," Rosemary exclaimed, offering Sadie enthusiastic waves and air kisses as if they were old friends instead of occasional ghost busters together. If Rosemary hadn't been touch-sensitive and p.r.o.ne to feeling ill at Sadie's touch, like Maeva used to be, it probably would've been a bear hug.

Rick nodded h.e.l.lo.

"We put some water bottles in the fridge. Help yourself." To Sadie he said, "I'm glad Maeva convinced you to take the job."

Sadie turned to Maeva, her eyebrows raising. "Job? What job?"

"I hadn't gotten to that part yet," Maeva said, scolding Rick. She turned to Sadie. "The new owners have been trying to renovate the house. As I told you in the car, they got it for a good price and would like to renovate it and then flip it for a profit."

"And what's stopping them?" Sadie asked, already fearing the answer.

"The workers they hired all quit because they were tired of dealing with what they call angry spirits." Maeva drew air quotes around angry spirits and smiled as if this were the silliest thing she ever heard, even though spirits were her bread and b.u.t.ter. "The drywaller got a concussion from a flying paint can. Then they all walked off the job."

"So they called the ghost busters at Madam Maeva's? Why wouldn't they just hire different tradesmen?"

"One of the partners who bought the house attended that Wiccan conference where I was a guest speaker. Apparently I made an impression. She's convinced we can solve the problem before the house gets a bad reputation among contractors and n.o.body is willing to work here."

"But what does all this have to do with me?" Sadie was getting an uneasy feeling.

"We came, we saw, and we smudged the h.e.l.l out of the place," Rosemary explained, then broke out into a fit of giggles. "But, well . . ."

"What she means to say," Rick said, "is that although we tried to contact the spirit who resides here and encourage her to move on, she wasn't exactly receptive to the idea. As a matter of fact, she tried to scare us off by throwing things at us. Lucky for us there isn't much inside the house."

"We had flying paint brushes and a drop cloth tossed our way," Rosemary added with a laugh.

Maeva joined the Thingvolds and the three had a good laugh over a ghost tossing around painting supplies, but the hairs on the back of Sadie's neck stood up and she began to feel distinctly unwell.

"You referred to the ghost as a she," Sadie said. "How do you know the ghost is female?"

"We are a.s.suming that the spiritual ent.i.ty is Iris, the fourteen-year-old who was killed here," Rosemary said matter-of-factly. "Of course, it could also be Della, her crazy mother, although she didn't die inside the house."

"Or someone else entirely. This house is a hundred years old. The spirit could be that old too," Sadie pointed out.

"True, but that would mean it's been haunted all along," Maeva put in.

"That's my point," Sadie said. "Maybe it was haunted. Maybe that's why Della Prior thought it had to do with her daughter, and maybe-"

"That's a lot of maybes. You look beat." Rosemary opened the fridge and tossed Sadie a water bottle. "Whoever the spirit is, we've tried to have a sit-down chat with them to find out what we could do to help them move on, but that only got us more angry tossing of items around the house. We were at a loss, but then it hit us." She smacked the palm of her hand against her forehead. "Sadie Novak could do this because this is exactly the kind of stuff she does every day!"

"Um. No, it's not." Sadie took a gulp of water and then looked pointedly at Rosemary. "This is nothing like what I do every day. I clean up crime scenes, unattended deaths, meth labs, and occasional h.o.a.rding or squalor residences. I am certified by the American BioRecovery a.s.sociation. I have blood-borne-pathogens training as well as certifications in meth lab decon and environmental disinfection."

"And then you talk to the dead," Rosemary said.

"And help them move on from this dimension," Rick added.

"Well, sure, sometimes I do that," Sadie admitted. "But the ghost thing happens only when a spirit has been left behind. It's not an everyday experience and I certainly don't go looking for ghosts. And I don't think I can emphasize that enough."

"Don't be a stick-in-the-mud," Maeva chided. "Besides, business for Scene-2-Clean is slow. You've complained about that yourself, right? The Thingvolds are willing to pay you a third of their take here, and-"

"So that's what this is all about?" Sadie asked indignantly. "This is a mercy job? I don't need your pity. As a matter of fact, I was just telling Osbert this morning how murders are picking up in Seattle. There was another prost.i.tute killed in a hotel downtown and I'll probably get the call to clean it up. I told Ozzie, the way business is booming I'd be getting him a Tickle Me Elmo."

"You were discussing murders with my four-month-old son?"

"He didn't seem to mind." Sadie turned to the Thingvolds. "So you can keep one hundred percent of your take on this job, because I'm really not interested in doing . . . whatever it is that you plan on doing here." She put fingers to her temples and rubbed. "Besides, I'm getting a headache."

"That's an interesting necklace," Rick said. He got up from his chair and walked toward Sadie. He pulled the pendant away from her chest and rubbed the smooth, round disc in his fingers. "It's old too." Turning it over, he squinted. "What's the Latin on the back mean?"

"I got it from a client who couldn't afford to pay." Sadie tucked the necklace inside her shirt. "He said the words were some kind of good-luck thing. It's a rabbit's foot and four-leaf clover rolled into one."

"Well, a little good luck is always a good thing." Rick nodded but frowned when he said it, like he didn't believe it himself.

"Well, you guys have fun. I'm out of here." Sadie turned on her heel and began to walk back down the hall.

"But you were specially requested. Invited even," Rosemary called out to her back.

Sadie stopped and looked over her shoulder. "What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?"

"It's probably best that we just show her," Maeva said. "Besides, I'd like to see it too."

The Thingvolds shared a look and then agreed.

"We didn't want to scare you away but since you're determined to leave anyway. . . ." Rosemary shrugged. "It's upstairs."

Rosemary led the way up the stairs to the second level of the old house. Everyone followed and, at the end of the hall, they opened a bedroom door and stepped inside.

The room was so cold they could see their breath, but that wasn't what caught Sadie's attention. In huge letters, each two feet high, were two words scrawled in a red paint that looked like blood.

Chapter 3.

Sadie became aware that her head was spinning. She braced herself against a wall but it didn't help. The room tilted and swayed before going to black.

Seconds later, she opened her eyes to a frantic wailing of "Psychic down! Psychic down!"

Sadie was on the floor looking up at Rosemary and Rick while Maeva bounced around the room shrieking hysterically and sounding much like a squirrel on crack.

"Shut up," Sadie growled.

"Give her room," Rosemary said.

"Are you okay?" Maeva asked.

"Wha . . . what happened?" Sadie asked, lifting herself up on her elbows.

"You fainted." The reply came from a deep baritone voice and Sadie's gaze searched the group for the source. She fixed her eyes on an extremely s.e.xy man standing in the doorway. "It was quite dramatic. Very Scarlett O'Hara of you."

Sadie struggled to her feet, blushing from her scalp to her sock-clad feet.

"I'm glad to entertain you." Sadie scrambled to her feet. "Who are you?"

"This is Owen Sorkin. He's one of the owners of the house who hired us," Rosemary said. "Owen, I'd like you to meet-"

"Let me guess." He offered a crooked smile and pointed his thumb behind him toward the bedroom wall. "You must be Sadie. When Rosemary said she and Rick knew who this graffitied mess was talking about and said they were going to deal with it tonight, I just had to stop by and see for myself." He stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and chuckled. "I figured they'd catch a couple teenagers with spray paint. I didn't expect to find a pretty woman dramatically fainting on the bedroom floor."

Sadie blushed to an even deeper shade and smoothed the front of her T-shirt.

"Are you okay? Your color isn't good," Maeva said to Sadie. Then she pointed a finger at Rosemary and growled, "Put down your phone. We don't need you tweeting every G.o.dd.a.m.ned catastrophe and event!"

"It's good for business," Rosemary said, but she reluctantly pocketed her phone.

"I need to go," Sadie said. She took long, determined strides. Owen Sorkin stepped aside to allow her through the bedroom door and she kept right on going down the stairs to the front door.

"Hold on a second!" Rick shouted after her. "We need your help with this situation!"

Sadie paused to stuff her feet into her Nikes. The rest of the gang followed down the stairs and watched her.

"Well, are you coming, or do you want to get a ride with Rick and Rosemary?" she asked Maeva.

"But it's not even eleven." She pouted. "I've got another hour before I have to go home."

Owen Sorkin remained a few steps up on the stairs and leaned casually against the wall. He seemed to be regarding the entire situation-purple flamboyant Maeva, tattooed and pierced Thingvolds, and fainting Sadie-with complete amus.e.m.e.nt.

"I don't care if it's only eleven," Sadie said. "I'm not sticking around just for everyone's entertainment."

She directed the last part at Owen's smarmy grin, which, at her comment, broke into a beaming movie-star smile boasting perfect teeth.

"Don't leave on my account," he said. "I'm just here as a curious observer."

Sadie stormed out the front door and strode angrily down the stone steps toward her car. A light drizzle had fallen and coated the dimly lit path with a fine, slick mist. When Sadie reached the last step her feet went out from under her and she landed with a painful thud on her a.s.s.

"Are you okay?" Owen asked. Much to her dismay, Owen Sorkin had exited the door after her and witnessed the entire thing. He rushed to her side as she was struggling to her feet and, with hands under her armpits, he hoisted her effortlessly to her feet. "Do you always have this much trouble standing upright?" he joked, offering a steadying grip on her shoulders.

Sadie pushed his hands off her and turned to face him. "Do. Not. Touch. Me," she said in a seething hiss between her teeth.

"Sorry." His hands went up in a motion of surrender. "Thought I was helping."

She stomped over to her car and pressed the key fob to unlock the door, but Owen was right there and opened the door for her. Sadie glared at him.

"Sorry again," he said but didn't look the least bit apologetic. "My mother raised me to open doors for ladies."

When she climbed behind the wheel and tried to close the door he still had it in his grip and it didn't budge.

"Look, obviously we've gotten off on the wrong foot. Let's start over." He stuck out his hand. "I'm Owen Sorkin. Owner of haunted real estate and apparent a.s.shat and jerk."

Sadie felt some of her anger dissipate.

"I'm Sadie Novak. Friend of Madam Maeva's psychic friends and apparent overreactor." She took his hand for a quick shake, but his grip lingered and she felt herself begin to blush again.

"I'm sorry I offended you," he said. His voice was low and s.e.xy and he still had her hand in his. "I have a hard time believing everything going on inside this house is somehow ghost-related, and I keep feeling like I'm the b.u.t.t of some elaborate joke." He released her hand and used his fingers to comb through his spiky blond hair in a sheepish look.

"I'm sure if it is about ghosts, then you've got the right people. Madam Maeva is very qualified. Now, if you don't mind . . ." She pointed to his other hand that still held her door, but he pretended not to notice.