Part 19 (1/2)

The woman answered on the first ring. Using her most businesslike yet compa.s.sionate voice, Sadie made arrangements to meet her at her daughter's home in the Bellevue area. The address was only a couple blocks from the suicide she'd cleaned a week ago for Hugh Pacheo. Her hand went to the pendant nestled in her cleavage, and she played distractedly with the worn gold disc warming her chest.

The only drawback was that she didn't have her company van. She'd have to cram all her supplies into her car and, depending on the scene, it might take a few trips.

Sadie was bolstered by the idea of having a job that didn't involve a serial killer. Work that would be fulfilling because it served her original purpose in the bio-clean business, which was to prevent families from being traumatized a second time by having to clean up after their loved ones. The spiritual aspect of Scene-2-Clean could take a backseat for once.

Dressed comfortably in jeans and a b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt, Sadie was headed to Bellevue. On her way she dialed Rosemary Thingvold, wanting someone to talk to about Marlene's unnerving visit. Rosemary reiterated some of what Maeva said.

”She's moving outside of the hotel and the Halladay Street house to be with you now,” Rosemary said after hearing the story. ”She's adhered to you and is able to follow where you are. That makes her stronger than most spirits I've dealt with.”

Not long ago Sadie dealt with the spirit of a friend who could travel beyond her place of death because she'd attached strongly to Sadie.

”In my limited experience, I've found that once they can start going here, there, and everywhere to be with a specific person, they've been dead a long time,” Sadie said.

”That could be why she sounds so far away when she talks,” Rosemary said. ”I don't like her threats. She's obviously a danger to you and we should look at doing a circle of protection on your house.”

”I don't think she's the danger,” Sadie said. ”She's warning me. According to your video, she tried to pull the demon off me at Halladay Street, remember? And obviously, if she wanted to hurt me in my own house, she could have easily done that while I was asleep. Alone. In my own bed. Alone. n.o.body else was with me.” Sadie cleared her throat. ”Because I was alone and Zack moved out.”

Rosemary paused. ”Okaaay. I got it. You were alone.”

Sadie sighed and then blurted, ”I wasn't alone. I just don't want word getting out everywhere that I sleep around-”

”I've apologized about the video. Your personal life is your own and I would never include that in company business.”

”Even if the person I slept with was Owen Sorkin?”

”Oh. My. G.o.ddess!” Rosemary shrieked. ”He has one fine a.s.s. I knew he had the hots for you!” She paused. ”I don't know how wise it is sleeping with a client, but-”

”He's not my client,” Sadie corrected. But then she remembered that, in fact, she was being paid by Gayla and Owen to help Madam Maeva's. ”Well, not really.”

”Hey, what you do in your personal time is your choice.”

”I need to bounce some information off you and get your feedback.”

Sadie told her everything she knew about Marlene, the fingers, the blogger releasing information about killings in Albuquerque, and Owen's connection to the New Mexico area.

”Are you asking if I believe Owen Sorkin is a serial killer?” Rosemary asked.

”I just gave you a slew of facts and want your gut reaction.”

”Well, my gut says that there are too many points connecting Halladay House to those killings. It could all be coincidence, or it could be that the connecting factor isn't Owen, but you,” Rosemary pointed out. ”This ghost, Marlene, might be following you around . . . following you to Halladay Street and to the Hotel Pacifica. We need to get together with this spirit and find out what your connection is.”

On one hand Sadie really did not want to summon the eerie ghost of Marlene, but on the other, she knew that might be the only way to get the answers she needed.

She was almost in Bellevue now so she told Rosemary she had to go and agreed that they could talk again later to discuss the idea of making contact with Marlene and then putting a circle of protection on Sadie's house and, perhaps, on her entire life.

She met her client promptly at one o'clock at the tidy town house on Bellefield Park Lane. The woman was a no-nonsense lady with dark skin who carried an extra twenty pounds effortlessly around her middle, but her shoulders hung heavy with the weight of grief. She asked Sadie into the town house and made tea. Although Sadie cringed, she sipped the black hot liquid politely. Almost as bad as the tea was the distinct coppery smell of blood that permeated the small house.

Sadie let the woman tell her story in her own time. She talked about the weather and appeared oblivious to the smell of blood. Halfway through her second cup of tea she began softly speaking about the beautiful young woman who was her daughter. She explained to Sadie that her daughter's cancer had been in remission for years, but recently they'd discovered it had returned and was inoperable. They'd taken a trip to Hawaii and the night they got back the daughter had been exhausted. She thanked her mom for the trip and told her she loved her. Once she'd left her daughter alone, the young woman had gone into her bathroom and used a gun to remove cancer's own deadline.

”She left a note saying she couldn't stand the thought of me sitting by her bedside in some hospital room for months,” she said.

”I'm so sorry for your loss. I went through a similar situation with my own brother. He didn't have cancer, but he was troubled and took his life in the same way,” Sadie replied.

Their eyes met across the table and held in mutual grief. Sadie took out a pamphlet from her purse and gave it to the woman.

”This is a great support group for families affected by suicide,” Sadie told her. ”They were a big help to me.”

The client thanked her and then slid a key across the Formica table to Sadie.

”I'll leave you to do what you need to do. Call me when you're finished up here.”

Sadie promised she would. Then Sadie waited until after her client was gone before she went to her car, got her hazmat gear and camera, and returned to the house to take pictures of the scene for her records. Before she even opened the door to the en suite bathroom, Sadie knew the horrific scene that waited for her. She took a deep breath, steeled herself, and opened the door.

The bathroom was an explosion of red that had dried in long streaks and drips down the walls, cabinetry, and mirror. Sadie snapped pictures matter-of-factly. It was exactly what she expected and she could finish the job in eight to ten hours.

She'd brought a number of bins and supplies with her from home, so she carried in what she had. She then locked up the tidy townhome and headed to her storage unit, where she kept additional supplies. Within half an hour, Sadie had loaded up her vehicle and was on the road back to Bellevue.

She was only a couple blocks away when Petrovich pa.s.sed by her in his unmarked car. Sadie watched curiously as the detective turned onto 112th Avenue. This was the same street on which she'd cleaned up the garage for Hugh Pacheo. Curious, Sadie followed Petrovich down the road and was shocked to see him stop in front of the same house. She was even more stunned that the garage she'd cleaned was covered in crime-scene tape.

A feeling of dread filled her stomach as she pulled to the curb behind Petrovich and hopped out to approach the detective.

”What's up?” Sadie called to him.

Petrovich approached Sadie with his eyebrows raised in question. ”What's up with you? What are you doing here?” he asked her.

”I'm working a suicide clean a block away and was returning with supplies when I saw you pull up to Mr. Pacheo's place.”

”Whose?” His eyes darkened as he closed the gap between them. ”You know who lives here?”

”Well, sure.” Sadie swallowed nervously. ”I was hired to do a suicide cleanup just a few days ago.” Sadie's fingers went automatically to the necklace around her throat.

”Who hired you?” Petrovich reached out and clamped a hand on Sadie's wrist.

”Hugh Pacheo,” Sadie said, yanking her arm out of his grip. ”I thought it was clear, Dean. There was no tape across the place. Fluids from a hanging in the garage. It looked routine to me.”

Dean Petrovich's eyes had dark circles under them and he wearily rubbed the stubble on his chin. He looked pained.

”No wonder we're getting no trace whatsoever from that garage,” he growled. ”You sterilized the place within an inch of its life.”

”Well, yeah,” Sadie said, nervously. ”That's what I do. It was a suicide and-”

”Not a suicide,” Petrovich hissed at her. Looking around, he nodded to his car. ”Wait here.”

She climbed into the pa.s.senger seat of his unmarked and waited.

Not a suicide?