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.Every once in a while her glance strayed to the open Newsweek still on her desk, but she refused to ask Stan whether he'd put it there.No doubt Stan thought she was the one behind the paranormal rumors.Maybe even Lee Alden thought it -- was that why he'd canceled? Still, the truth was it could have been anybody, from Jim Whitewood (an opportunist if ever there was one) to the chatty Mrs.Lividus, Kimberly's mentor.After work, on a hunch, Emily went back to the Something Old shop on Newbury Street.She was in luck.The Coco Chanel saleswoman was just closing up.Reluctantly the woman let Emily in, but only just inside the door.Emily apologized profusely and then said, "Do you remember my buying this necklace a couple of weeks ago?"She'd asked merely as a formality and was astonished when the saleswoman acted unsure."That isn't at all the kind of thing we carry," the woman said with a sniff."I don't have my VISA slip with me," Emily answered, becoming annoyed, "but I assure you it's from here.What I'd like to know, if I can--"The saleswoman glanced at her watch and then at her red fingernails.She was obviously on her way out for the evening, and Emily was holding her up."What I'd like to know," Emily repeated with a patient smile, "is where this came from.Who owned it before."Emily might just as well have accused the shop of fencing hot jewelry."Well, really.Every transaction is perfectly legitimate.But it's impossible to know individual owners.Terri buys from all over the world, usually in odd lots from auctions, estate sales, open markets, whatever.The pieces are itemized, of course, but, well -- really."Emily bit back a retort, asked for Terri's business phone, thanked the woman, and left.When she got back home the television was on, but Fergus was nowhere in sight.Emily turned off Wheel of Fortune and said aloud to the empty room, "Fergus, I said to turn off the TV if you're not watching it." She was halfway to the bedroom when she heard Pat Sajak's voice.She came back to the television and turned it off again.It came back on."How do you do that? I suppose you have a built-in remote." She turned the set off again.It came back on."Dammit, Fergus, I like it quiet after work.I need to wind down.And I've got to use the phone.If you insist on watching, turn it down a little.And put on PBS or something.What is it about men and Vanna anyway?" she muttered to herself as she went off to the bedroom to change.The volume went up.After she'd changed and eaten a quick meal, she tried calling Terri Simmer on the offhand chance that an independent businesswoman was always available for calls.She was right; Ms.Simmer, who sounded bright, hard, and urban, took the call in her car."Yes.I remember the item very well.No, I didn't buy it as part of a lot.I happened to be weekending on the Vineyard and found it at a white elephant sale at the Oak Bluffs Home for the Aged.I doubt that they gave me a receipt.That's all I can tell you."She probably paid forty-five cents for it, Emily thought as she laid the Princess phone in its cradle.The Yankee in her cringed at the thought of a five-hundred-dollar charge rolling in on next month's VISA statement.Still, she had a promising lead to follow up on, and for now that was all that mattered.The good lead reminded her of the bad one; she'd forgotten all about the photograph that was still in the pocket of the skirt she'd worn at Talbot Manor.It was still in the skirt, lying in a pile bound for the dry cleaners.She pulled out the photo, more crumpled than ever, and took it into the living room.She turned off the set in the middle of a lurid account of a triple murder being covered on Hard Copy and said, "Please show yourself, Fergus.I don't have time to play little games with you." She stepped in front of the television so that the ghost's remote-control power wouldn't work.But the television behind her came back on anyway, madly flipping through its channel selection.Emily jumped out of the way."Hey! Don't do that! I want to have children someday!"Fergus materialized, sprawled on the sofa like any other couch potato.He glanced at the TV, muting it, but he continued to divide his attention between her and the flickering images as he said, "Yeah? What's up?""My God," she murmured."Look at you.Listen to you.You're turning into Bart Simpson.""Don't have a cow over it," he said in a dead-on mimic that left her speechless.Then he grinned, got the TV to turn itself off, and sat up straight."Ye'd rather I were Fergus.Fergus it is, then.What's on yer mind?"His grin was roguish, but there was something dangerous in it, too, and Emily realized that she still had no idea who or even what Fergus O'Malley really was.He had power, undeniably.But whether it was good or evil or some kind of neutral energy, she couldn't say [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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