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"That was nice of her."
Savannah gave me a look. "You think I bought that shit? She just wanted to make contact with Eve Levine's daughter before her competition did. That's one thing my mom did teach me. Someone like that always wants something."
"So you didn't meet with her."
She smiled. "Never said that. The corollary lesson from Mom? People like this might want something from me, but I can use that--turn it around and get something from them." She glanced over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. "We've been in e-mail contact, and met a couple of times. She's useful. Paige and Lucas can't get information from someone like this. But me? I just pull some 'confused teenager' bullshit and she's putty in my hands. She'd tell me anything in hopes of winning Eve Levine's daughter as an ally. An idiot, but a useful idiot."
The look in her eyes chilled me.
"So, yeah, I've used her," Savannah continued. "Just to get stuff for Paige and Lucas. Without them knowing, of course. If they found out I was even talking to someone like this, they'd shit bricks...then use them to wall me up in my room for life."
"In that case, I'd better not wave your name around to get access to this woman."
Savannah hesitated. "You're right. But you can use Mom's. Tell Molly you'll grant her an exclusive audience with Eve Levine and she'll give you anything you want."
I shook my head. "Not without asking your mom first, and she's out of contact right now."
"Huh." Savannah fingered her BlackBerry, toying with it as she thought. Then she smiled. "Molly's boyfriend died last winter. Half-demon. They'd lived together for years and when I saw her this summer, she was still really broken up. Let's say you offer to put her in touch with him..."
I hesitated.
"You can offer to try. She'll still have some of his belongings and can even take you to his grave, so that gives you, what, about a ninety percent chance of success?"
"Eighty...maybe."
"Good enough. Don't promise, but say if you can't, you'll arrange a backup session with some other dearly departed." She flipped her BlackBerry around, tapping on an address. "She's just across the border in Vancouver."
VANCOUVER, WASHINGTON, was a cab ride from Portland. I checked my watch. Jeremy would be here in about two hours. As much as I wanted to meet him at the airport, I wanted to impress him even more, which I could do if I'd found and scoped out Molly Crane's house before he arrived to help interview her.
I called Elena and asked whether Jeremy had her cell phone with him--the only one in the family.
"I tried giving it to him, but he wouldn't take it. You know how he is. God forbid I should drive home without an emergency line. I told him to buy a prepaid phone. He had no idea what I was talking about, but of course he wouldn't admit it. You'll have to help him. Might have to show him how to use it too."
I laughed, remembering the first time I'd met Jeremy. When Paige introduced us, I'd been hoping, really hoping, for that "Oh, my God, the Jaime Vegas?" reaction...and had gotten only a polite hello, prompting Savannah to inform him that I was on TV sometimes--which hadn't changed his expression one whit. Elena had teased Jeremy about his lack of technological savvy, kidding that he didn't know what a TV was. And, perhaps for the first time in my life, I'd realized I was glad. I could make my own impression.
When I told Elena that I'd hoped to get a message to him about meeting elsewhere, she said, "If you don't mind me relaying that message, I can give it to him. He'll find a pay phone as soon as he arrives, to check on the kids."
Of course he would. Perfect. I found a coffee shop near Molly's address as a meeting place, then called Elena back.
NOW, TO prepare for the interview. As hard as the other council members worked to keep the celebrity necro away from anything that might break her manicured nails--or leave her death on their conscience--I'd been taking notes, and I understood enough about interviewing a hostile witness to know one does not blindly walk up to a potential dark-magic contact and say, "Hi, my name's Jaime and I'd like to ask you a few questions about ritual sacrifice." Before it even reached the point of introductions, I should determine the best method of approach, map out escape routes. Be prepared.
Molly Crane lived at 52 Hawthorne Lane. Coming into the area by cab, I'd had a feeling this was going to be the second time today I was surprised by where I ended up.
I was savvy enough to know that even if Molly was a dark witch, I was unlikely to find myself in a dingy alley outside an unmarked black-market spell shop. Such a shop might exist, but only in the back rooms of an otherwise
normal business. Yet, except for the plaza where I'd found the coffee house, the neighborhood was residential, with row after row of matching houses, all with minivans and basketball hoops, the lawns pristine, kids' toys on the drives. I had the driver drop me off at the coffee shop, then I walked down three streets: Hemlock, Cedar and Hawthorne. Suburbia: a place where they cut down trees and name streets in their memory.
The house at 52 Hawthorne was a tidy bungalow on a street of tidy bungalows. The small house wasn't anything fancy, but in the drive stood a gleaming Mercedes SUV, as if Molly couldn't resist indulging herself a little. The basketball hoop over the garage suggested kids, but there were no toys to be seen. Maybe they were too old for pedal cars. Maybe they preferred spell practice to hoop practice. Or maybe she had no kids, and the net just came with the house--a standard feature like a paved driveway.
I started with a very slow walk past. Noted that the backyard was enclosed by a privacy fence. Noted a calico cat, but no sign of a guard dog...though anything could be behind that fence. Noted a light shining from a window overlooking the drive, a window with kitchenlike curtains.
It seemed safe enough--I was just a nicely dressed forty-something walking down a suburban street. And yet, when the door to Molly's house opened and a woman's figure darkened the doorway, I realized I had a problem.
If I came back later with Jeremy, she'd recognize me and know I'd been checking out her house, which would start the interview off badly. Yet I wasn't ready to question her. So I made a split-second plan. I'd look her way and if she wasn't watching me I'd take a chance and keep walking.
I looked. Our eyes met.
As I headed up her sidewalk, I got my first good look at the woman. She was probably in her late thirties. Short blond hair worn in an easy-maintenance but stylish tousle. An elfin face with bright green eyes. Small and compact, she was dressed in a designer sweat suit, maybe heading to the gym, maybe just wanting to look as if she were.
