Arrest, Search and Séance : Book 1 of the Fringe Society, R.D. Hunter [good english books to read txt] 📗

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I wanted to charge right down to the massive office building of Mason Industries and speak to their CEO, but Bill cautioned me against it. He was right. I had to do this delicately, so I phoned ahead.

The first girl I talked to sounded put out that she had to deal with the regular populace, and politely but firmly said that Mr. Mason was not available to meet with the public until sometime next year. It wasn’t until I identified myself as a detective with the Atlanta P.D. that she seemed to pull her head out of her ass and transferred me up the line.

The next guy I talked to was Rob Tillory, Vice-President of Public Relations. And he sounded so pleased to talk to me I thought he might propose before the conversation was over.

“Of course, Mr. Mason always has time for the fine men and women of the Atlanta Police department,” he gushed. “And what is this is in reference to?”

“It’s possible your boss has some relevant information regarding an ongoing investigation,” I said as diplomatically as possible.

“I see. And may I ask the nature of this investigation?”

“You can ask but it won’t get you anywhere.” Beside me, Bill coughed and looked at me pointedly. “I mean…I’m unable to discuss the details of the investigation with anyone but Mr. Mason.” See, I can be nice.

“Of course,” Tillory said a bit stiffly. “Unfortunately, Mr. Mason is out of town on business until late tonight. Would tomorrow at 10:00 am be quite convenient.”

“Yes, quite convenient. Thank you,” I said, matching his syrupy sweet tone. I hung up and met Bill’s disapproving gaze. “What?”

I didn’t get home until after eight that evening. Between cataloging the evidence from Charley and his crew (which wasn’t much, admittedly), filling out reports and writing a press release, I was stuck at my desk for the rest of the day.

That’s how investigative work usually goes. Following leads and chasing down suspects is only a small part of it. In fact, most of it happens right there in the office; looking up information, making phone calls and having witnesses and victims come to you to give statements. There’s something to be said for having the home court advantage.

Home was an old farmhouse I’d lived in when I was a little girl. There was an overgrown garden in the back yard, complete with a gazebo and even a small pond. The forest had encroached on most of the cropland, leaving me with only a small pasture and barn, just big enough for a horse or two if I ever wanted one. The house itself was two stories, white, with a wrap-around porch and large front deck.

I’d like to say it was a beautiful, rustic structure, but the truth was I’d kind of let it go the past couple of years. The paint was peeling, the fence was broken in several places, and the lawn was wild and unkempt. I loved the place, I really did. It conjured familiar feelings of home and safety every time I pulled in the winding driveway. I’d just been so focused on my career lately that everything else had taken a backseat, just like Jack. Gramps would call that “being out of balance.” He wasn’t wrong.

Tilly met me at the front door as I came on the porch. She was a dark, brown barn cat that had adopted me when I moved back here. I figured she’d been here longer than me, by that time, so it would be unfair to make her leave. Turns out, she was good company and we’d spent many comfy evenings since, curled up on the couch by the fire with her in my lap. She never complained when I came home late, as long as her food bowl was filled and earned her keep by keeping mice and other rodents at bay.

Inside, the downstairs consisted of a large living area, dining area that I’d converted into an office, and a kitchen. Ahhh, my kitchen. It was the one major improvement I’d made to the place upon moving back in and I was supremely proud of it. Stainless steel appliances, custom built cabinets and a granite counter top made it a beauty to behold. After all, who ever heard of a witch, practicing or not, without a good kitchen?

I kept the upstairs sealed off entirely to save on heat, and slept in a small bedroom directly off the living room. The bathroom, also, was smaller in size, but completely adequate for my needs.

It was there that I headed now, bypassing the waiting fireplace after making sure Tilly had food, and ran a hot bath. I threw a couple hand-fulls of Epsom salt, dried eucalyptus and peppermint oil in the steaming water, then lit several blue candles and placed them at the four cardinal points. I even found a few amethyst crystals with some charge to them and positioned them around the edge of the tub. Sinking into that water was the closest thing I’d ever experienced to heaven.

In the past twenty-four hours I’d been the victim of a psychic attack from a confused and pissed off ghost, beaten nearly to a pulp by Trisha and the Things, and clotheslined while running at full speed. And even though Beth and my grandpa had done a terrific job restoring both my energy and my body, suffering those kinds of injuries took a tremendous toll. Every cell felt drained and empty, like I was one shriveled up husk who kept going only through sheer will and stubbornness. Fortunately, I had plenty of both.

I don’t know how long I saturated in the tub, drinking in the restorative energies from the herbs, candles and crystals. I felt a bit like a prune, being restored to full plum status, and it was amazing.