Living with the Dead - By Kelley Armstrong Page 0,71
said finally. “She’ll have a lot on her mind and that would just freak her out.”
“I need her to trust me—and telling her I see ghosts, even yours, isn’t going to help.”
A tight laugh. “Yeah.”
“Later, though, we could . . . figure something out.”
Damon nodded. After a few seconds of silence he said, “Sure. If it works out. That would be good.”
FIVE MINUTES LATER, Finn was flashing his badge at the ticket girl and stepping inside the fairgrounds. The backup team hadn’t arrived, but Damon was still at his side.
“Maybe whatever power decided to let you help me is going to let you see her,” Finn said.
“Or maybe it means she isn’t here.” Damon shook his head. “Damn, I’m a regular ray of sunshine tonight, aren’t I?”
But as they walked to the midway, Damon’s mood did grow sunnier. The bounce returned to his step. He started singing along to a song playing at the rides. His gaze scoured the crowd, hope sparking in his eyes every time he caught sight of a blond head.
“So where are you supposed to meet her?” Damon asked.
“Here.”
“I meant where here.”
“She didn’t specify.”
Damon stopped walking. Finn slowed, waiting for him to catch up. He didn’t.
“Either you think I’m a complete idiot or you’re hoping I’m too worried to think straight. This is my wife we’re talking about, Finn. She’d never hang up without giving you a meeting place, complete with a description, the nearest entrance and optimal parking. Hell, the fact she didn’t offer to send MapQuest directions to your cell phone already told me she’s worse off than she’s letting on.”
Finn had resumed walking, scanning faces. “We got disconnected.”
“What?” Damon strode up beside him.
“I was having trouble hearing her, then we were disconnected. I thought I heard a woman in the background. Maybe Adams. I couldn’t make out what she said.”
A passing boy turned to stare up at Finn. “Who’s that man talking—?”
His mother shushed him, then tugged him closer, arm going around him as she cast a nervous glance at Finn, stopping well short of making eye contact. At a place like this, people talking to themselves wouldn’t be that uncommon. Still, he should be more careful or he’d find himself explaining the situation to security.
“Did she call back?” Damon asked.
Finn shook his head.
“Did you call her?”
He nodded.
“And?” Damon prompted.
“Her phone’s turned off.”
“When’s the last time you tried?”
Finn motioned for Damon to keep looking as he took out his cell. This time, he didn’t get the message that the customer was “unavailable.” It just rang and rang.
“So?” Damon said when Finn hung up.
“Nothing.”
Damon nodded, presuming that meant the phone was still turned off. Finn started to pocket it.
“Shouldn’t you keep that out?” Damon said. “You can use it when you’re talking to me instead of scaring the kiddies.”
Finn wasn’t comfortable with the subterfuge—which explained why he kept forgetting to do it—but it had to be better than talking to himself in public.
Still scouring the crowds, they passed a row of games.
“Hey,” Damon said. “Ring toss. I remember Bobby . . .”
He let the sentence fade.
The cell phone rang. He checked the caller ID.
“It’s her,” he said.
He retreated into a quieter spot between two booths, then answered. For a moment, he heard only the noise of the fair through the phone, a tinny stereo to the commotion around him.
“Hello?” she said, her voice tentative, as if he’d called her.
“Robyn?”
“Yes. You called?”
“It’s Detective Findlay. I’m at the fair. Where are you?”
A longer pause now. Damon had climbed onto a game booth and was scanning the crowd.
“Robyn?” Finn said.
“Sorry, I . . .” Another pause. Then, “He’s here, Detective. I’m—”a sharp breath. “I—I’m just so scared. I thought I was safe, calling you, and then he was right there, coming for me, so I had to hang up and run, and then I tried phoning back but my phone wasn’t working and—”
“Slow down, Robyn.”
Hearing that, Damon glanced over.
“He’s here, Detective. He’s here, somewhere, and I can’t see him and I—”
“Slow down, Robyn. Who’s there? Who’s following you?”
Damon jumped off the counter, the alarm in his eyes tempered by confusion.
“I-I need to get out of here, Detective. I can’t stay. He’ll find me and then he’ll kill me. I know he will. Just like he killed that poor cop and—”
“Robyn, I need you to take a deep breath and calm down.”
Damon stepped close enough to listen in.
Finn continued, “The man who’s following you. He’s the one who shot Officer Kendall?”