Part 6 (1/2)

”You probably should,” Ex said. ”Good news is he went shopping first. Bacon and eggs?”

”Oh, Jesus, please,” I said. ”And tell me that's not just coffee incense or something s.a.d.i.s.tic like that.”

Ex grinned and found a cup, rinsing the dust out of it before he poured. My laptop was still in the living room. I'd left it turned on, and the battery was empty. I strung the power cord to an outlet in the kitchen and waited for the operating system to finish b.i.t.c.hing at me while I drank my coffee. After a year together, we all knew one another's taste, and Ex made my coffee with just enough sugar and no milk.

”No word from Kim yet,” he said. I felt a wash of confused emotion: pleasure that Kim wasn't there, shame at being pleased, and resentment for being made to feel shame. I knew I was being petty and stupid, but that didn't stop it from happening. I covered by taking another drink of coffee before I answered.

”Were we expecting her?” I asked.

”Not particularly. I'm a little concerned about her going back into the hospital alone, though. After what happened.”

”Whatever it was, I don't think it was after her,” I said.

”Yesterday, it wasn't. Today's a whole new ball game.”

”Always is, feels like. She'll do the right thing. She's a big girl.”

There was e-mail waiting from my lawyer. She had called an acquaintance who ran an image and video enhancement service for the State Department and who would be happy to spend a couple hours on my project. She gave me his e-mail address and a link he'd provided for uploading the data files to him. As I started the transfer-about twenty minutes remaining, even with the high-speed connection-the pop and sizzle of frying bacon brought me back to the room. I sighed and stretched. Ex was reading through a thick file of papers even as he cooked. I recognized the study logs Oonis.h.i.+ had brought us.

”Anything interesting?” I asked.

”Some background on the subjects. We should think about contacting them directly.”

”If we need to,” I said.

He looked over at me. Half silhouetted by a wide stretch of water and sky, he looked softer than usual.

”It might upset the client,” he said.

”That would suck,” I said casually.

”Might upset Kim. This is her colleague we're working for, after all.”

”Then we won't do it unless we need to,” I said. ”But if it's p.i.s.s someone off or don't figure this out, there's some feelings going to get bruised.”

Ex grinned and turned back to the bacon. I spooled through my other e-mail. Spam. A note from Trevor in Montana about processing a refund for the extra, unused training time. A note from my little brother, Curtis. I opened my brother's e-mail. He was back for his senior year in high school, which made me feel old all by itself. He had a girlfriend that Mom and Dad were doing their best to ignore. Jay, my older brother, was living in Orlando, and had just gotten engaged. Curtis speculated irreverently about whether Jay had gotten her knocked up. I wouldn't have said it to anyone, but that was my guess too. I started to reply to him, then dropped the message into the drafts folder. I needed to think a little before I wrote back. Maybe after I'd gotten a little more blood sugar.

I had never told the rest of the family what happened after I'd left ASU. As far as they knew, I was still the standard college dropout, wandering the face of the earth in search of permanent employment. Or possibly whoring myself out for drug money. My parents didn't have a good opinion of anyone's moral character unless they went to our church. I'd always thought of them as prudish, self-righteous, and narrow. Only the stories Eric had told Aubrey about my mother's affair gave evidence of clay feet, and I wasn't about to tell Curtis any of that. Maybe once he was safely out of the house too. Until then, I was playing everything close to the vest with the family, even the ones I liked. I didn't know what any of them would have made of my traveling companions, my chosen work, or my million-dollar view of the lake. If it really was a million-dollar view.

I connected to our private wiki and looked for the list of properties. I found the condo easily. It was actually a seven-million-dollar view with an entry that read like a real estate ad: North Lake Drive, 5bdrm, 3bth, and the obscure notations Eric had made, YNTH and DC1. I lingered over the notations as Ex put a plate in front of me. The Los Angeles DC1 house had held some of the most useful, interesting doc.u.ments we'd found so far. But this place was so free from occult anything, it was like a rental. There wasn't even a copy of Fortean Times in the bathroom. I scooped up my fork and took a bite of the eggs.

”Mmm,” I said. ”Nice.”

”Thanks,” Ex said.

”You know,” I said around a mouthful of breakfast. ”I understand in my head how much money Eric left me, but it makes me a little dizzy sometimes.”

Ex sat down across from me with his own plate and cup of coffee. He ate with a seriousness that made it seem like a ch.o.r.e.

”It surprises me too,” he said. ”The things we don't know about Eric would . . . Jayne? What's the matter?”

A small tapping sound caught my attention. It was me, my left hand fidgeting at the keyboard. Something s.h.i.+fted in the back of my head, an idea I hadn't quite had yet. Aubrey yawned in the bedroom, and Chogyi Jake walked into the kitchen behind me with catlike near silence. The penny dropped.

I said something obscene.

”Did something happen?” Chogyi Jake said. Ex stared at me. The bedroom door opened, but I didn't look back. I was pointing at the wiki page.

”You were right,” I said. ”You kept saying it, but I didn't snap until just now. The place is too small.”

”What's going on?” Aubrey said behind me.

”Eric's condo has five bedrooms,” I said. ”We're in the wrong place.”

IT TOOK me five minutes to find the manila envelope Harlan Jeffers had given me the day before; it was under the couch, and his card was still in it. An hour later, we all headed down to the building management offices. Chogyi Jake had his point-man suit on, and the rest of us were also dressed to intimidate. Walking across the lobby, I felt like the opening sequence of Reservoir Dogs, only with wider ties. Harlan stood in the office doorway, face pale and eyes a little too round. I could see white all the way around his irises.

”S-so,” he said, as he waved us in. ”Is there something-”

”I'm having my lawyer fax you a copy of the paperwork from when my uncle bought this property,” I said. ”I have some questions.”

”I don't think this is something that I can-” he began, then lost himself and started over. ”Without having, um, counsel present, I'm not sure-”

Chogyi Jake put a hand on the man's arm and smiled.

”It may be a little early to build a legal defense,” Chogyi Jake said. ”Why don't we go in and talk.”

Harlan's gaze s.h.i.+fted from him to me and back. His nod was a sharp, small movement. Tiny drops of sweat beaded his upper lip.

The office smelled like burned coffee. A low black slate desk held the center of the room, trying to look expensive. On the walls, clean-lined modernistic frames held doc.u.ments outlining Harlan's rise through business schools and professional societies, the times he'd shaken hands with important people or famous ones. There was one with a tired-looking Stephen King letting Harlan put an arm around him. On the desk, a smaller frame showed a chubby-cheeked three-year-old of uncertain gender that couldn't have looked more like Harlan if it had worn his clothes.

”All right,” I said once the door was closed behind us. ”Let's just go over the problem here so we're all on the same page. The place my uncle bought had five bedrooms. The one I'm in right now has three. So. What the f.u.c.k?”

Harlan sat down, his chair hissing as it took his weight.

”I understand your anger. And your confusion. We should have . . . I should have addressed this issue directly, but it was only after Mr. h.e.l.ler pa.s.sed that I became aware of it.”

Ex crossed his arms, scowling down at the man like the instrument of an angry G.o.d. He was good at that.

”Why did you put us in the wrong condominium?” Ex said. ”And where is Eric's real place?”

”What? No, 1904 is Mr. h.e.l.ler's property. It's the one he bought.”

”It doesn't match the description we have of it,” Chogyi Jake said.

”It doesn't,” Harlan said. ”Look, I came on here three years ago. I never met Mr. h.e.l.ler. I don't even know for certain that he ever came here. I mean, maybe he did. I don't know. We had very strict instructions not to go into his condominium. If there was a problem, I could call him or his lawyer, and that was it. A water line broke on the floor above? We couldn't even go in to repair the damage to his kitchen. I called, and he sent his own people. Until he died, I swear I never went in there once.”

”But after he died, you did?” Aubrey said. I sat down. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton ticking, like I was wrestling an idea that wasn't ready to be thought.