Dead Suite (7 page)

Sadie glanced through the articles for pictures of Iris but there was only one blurry
shot of her, looking much younger and with a mass of curls covering most of her face.
As she read through the various reports, most of the journalists stated the same facts:
Della Prior was a single mom and a deeply religious woman. She worked nights as a
nurse and homeschooled her daughter. Neighbors described both mother and daughter
as quiet, and a neighbor was quoted as saying that Iris’s father, Eddie Prior, walked
out when the child was only a couple years old.

Sadie felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe she should’ve at least tried to help Iris’s spirit
move on? She shook her head. Sadie didn’t like to deal with angry ghosts who threw
things. In her experience, that only led to trouble and she had more than enough other
problems right now. She clicked out of the newspaper sites and played a couple games
on the computer before heading back to bed.

It felt as though she’d just fallen back asleep when she was woken again, this time
by sound of her office phone ringing persistently in the den down the hall. When she
reached the phone, she quickly answered while glancing at the clock on her computer;
it was after nine. Time to sound business. She cleared her throat.

“Scene-2-Clean. How may I help you?”

“Is this Sadie Novak?” asked a woman’s voice.

“Yes.”

“My name is Gayla Woods. You met my partner, Owen Sorkin, last night at the house
we own on West Halladay Street.” Her words were simple but her tone was formal, causing
Sadie to sit up a little straighter.

“Yes, I remember.” Sadie couldn’t think of anything else to add so she waited for
Gayla to speak, which resulted in a somewhat uncomfortable silence for a few seconds.

“Anyway, as you may have deduced from meeting Owen, he’s not much of a believer in
the paranormal. As a matter of fact, he thinks the very idea that I hired Madam Maeva’s
company to deal with the goings-on at the house is a ridiculous expense.”

She chuckled but the laughter was forced. Gayla Woods sounded like a woman wound a
little too tight.

“If it’s a spiritual problem, you can’t go wrong hiring Madam Maeva.”

“Oh, I agree. I heard her speak at a convention a few months ago and the stories she
described were positively hair-raising. That’s why I was convinced she’d help with
our situation. Of course, I’d like to do it in a cost-effective manner. This house
was a bargain but it’ll only be a great deal if we can flip it for substantially more
in the near future. Owen doesn’t mind the cost of Madam Maeva’s, provided we both
get what we want, which is to have the renovations completed as soon as possible.
The main thing we want is for the workers to be safe in the house, and something is
obviously keeping that from happening.”

“I’m not exactly sure how I can help. I explained to Mr. Sorkin last night that I
do trauma cleaning. I’m merely friends with the people who run Madam Maeva’s.”

“Yes, but Rosemary Thingvold seemed insistent that whatever is going on in the house
may be connected to you and . . .”

Sadie was furious. Gayla continued to speak but all Sadie heard was the voice inside
her head that said she wanted to
kill
Rosemary, or at least have a serious discussion with her that involved the threat
of bodily harm and possibly pummeling her bald little head.

She became aware that Gayla had paused expectantly.

“Sorry, I was momentarily distracted,” Sadie stated without adding,
by my need to get off this phone and kill someone.

“I was just asking if you’d reconsider helping out at the house if I offered to pay
you your usual rate.”

“I don’t have a usual rate for cleansing a house of ghosts,” Sadie replied, trying
desperately to keep her voice even. “My usual cleaning involves mopping up after a
murder, suicide, or an unattended death.”

“Oh. And what do you charge for that?”

“A lot.” Sadie rubbed the back of her neck. “You can’t seriously be thinking of hiring
a trauma-clean company to work with psychics?”

“Let me explain how this was supposed to work,” Gayla began. “I make my living buying
homes in various cities, fixing them up and selling them for quick profit. Sometimes
I secure a partner to lower my cash up front. In this case, Owen and I were both bidding
on the house. We decided to partner up to lower our expenses and split the profit.
This is what I do as a main source of income. I’m sure you can appreciate how tough
my business must have it during this housing crash and these difficult economic times.”

“Sure. Times are hard for everyone,” Sadie agreed. She picked up a stack of unopened
bills and shuffled the envelopes in her hands.

“Right. Well, we bought the house on Halladay because it was undervalued. We got it
for a song and stand to make an easy profit. That’s provided that we can get the renovations
done in a timely fashion. The market is falling rather quickly in Seattle and time
is of the essence. So, as you can see, I’m desperate. We’re four months behind on
the renovations. My fiancé and I actually delayed our wedding until this job is completed.
That’s how serious I’m taking this.”

“I understand this is rough on you, but I truly think that you’re barking up the wrong
tree here,” Sadie replied. She toyed with the necklace around her neck as she talked.

“When we bought the house we got it for a deal because it stood empty for years after
the murder. If word gets around it’s haunted, then we’ll be stuck with it, or end
up selling at a loss. Your name was written by ghosts on the bedroom wall, and—”

“We don’t know that,” Sadie cut in. “A name was painted on the wall but we don’t know
that I’m the Sadie it refers to, and we sure as hell don’t know that it was written
by ghosts.”

Sadie’s fingers released the pendant and allowed it to rest warmly against her chest.

“Well, if you believe that, then it’s my loss if things don’t work out, right? How
about we meet for dinner tonight to discuss an arrangement? You choose the place.
My treat.”

“I don’t know. . . .”

“You have nothing to lose. At the end of the meal, if you still feel like you can’t
help, we’ll part company with no hard feelings.”

Sadie had a sudden hankering for some fish stew that she’d not been able to afford
on her beer budget.

“Fine. Etta’s on Western Avenue, seven o’clock,” she blurted before she could stop
herself.

“Good choice. See you then,” Gayla stated and quickly ended the call before Sadie
could change her mind.

After she hung up Sadie grumbled angrily to herself. She was ticked off that she’d
gotten mixed up in the whole Halladay mess. Then again, she had to reluctantly admit
that she needed the money, and helping the ghost of poor Iris Prior wouldn’t be entirely
a bad thing. Deciding she needed to get out and clear her head, Sadie slipped on shorts
and a T-shirt and headed out for a two-mile jog. She tried to run at least three times
a week. It was cheaper than joining a gym.

***

When she returned home she went around the back of the house and examined last night’s
damage. A heavy branch had split the doorjamb. There was a very large tree in her
neighbor’s yard overlooking her house. It must’ve been some gust of wind that forced
it through her back door.

She wasn’t exactly a carpenter, but she managed to use a drill and long screws to
hold the jamb together enough that the door would lock again. After that workout,
she headed for the shower, pausing only to text Zack good morning.

After she dressed she fed Hairy and took a toasted bagel with cream cheese to her
den to eat while she checked e-mails. There’d been no reply to the message sent to
Hugh Pacheo telling him that she’d completed the job. She tried the phone number she
had for him but, once again, the call went to an automated message saying the number
was not in service. Sadie wasn’t worried. People dealt with grief differently. Mr.
Pacheo could’ve suddenly taken off on a trip to visit family, or he could just be
hunkering down in a depressive state and not returning messages.

After lunch Sadie glared at her cell phone, willing it to chime with a text from Zack,
but the device remained sullen and unresponsive. Sometimes technology sucked. Twice
she started to dial his phone number and both times she put the phone back down.

Instead she decided to busy herself with work. She put a call in to the Hotel Pacifica,
the site of the second prostitute murder, to see if she could offer her cleanup services.
She had Googled the number for the hotel and discovered the name of the manager, then
punched in the main number and asked for Ms. Bev Hummel.

Although she answered the phone and politely listened to Sadie discuss the nature
of her call, the woman was understandably reluctant to talk about the recent murder
at her hotel.

“The comfort and security of the patrons here at Hotel Pacifica is my first and foremost
concern,” Bev Hummel said calmly. “At this time we are, of course, allowing investigators
free rein in the hotel to do whatever is necessary to solve this crime.”

“I appreciate that,” Sadie replied with an equally calm voice, intentionally leaving
out the desperation for work that penny-pinching can create. “This is merely a courtesy
call to let you know that my company is available to assist you in cleanup once the
police have done their job. Scene-2-Clean will work with your insurance company and,
also, you have my word that there will be no disruption or inconvenience to the patrons
of the Pacifica.”

“Did your company also assist at the recent unfortunate incident at the Bay Eminence?”

Sadie smiled because she had been hoping that Bev Hummel would ask precisely that
exact question.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to reveal my clientele,” Sadie stated smoothly.

“I think you just did, but I appreciate your discretion.”

Bingo.

“You’re welcome to ask Seattle Police Detective Dean Petrovich for a reference. I’ve
worked closely with Seattle PD many times.”

“I’ll be sure to do that. Let me get your contact information.”

Sadie gave the manager the Scene-2-Clean office phone number, her personal cell phone
number, and the company e-mail address. She would’ve offered her blood type and bra
size if it would help her get the job.

After ending the call Sadie caught up on paperwork. She checked and double-checked
to see if there were any outstanding accounts that had yet to pay for her services.
Unfortunately she would’ve had more luck searching her sofa cushions for loose change.
She did that later and found almost enough to cover the cost for parking for her dinner
meeting later.

By the time she’d watched an old movie on TV and checked her phone a dozen times to
see if Zack had texted back, it was time to get ready for her dinner date with Gayla
Woods.

Maeva called just after Sadie finished applying some mascara. She was surprised to
hear Sadie was meeting the co-owner of the Halladay Street house for dinner.

“After last night I was sure you wanted nothing to do with the place.”

“And don’t think that I’m not still pissed at you for not telling me up front about
it,” Sadie snipped. “But it’s no big deal. Gayla Woods convinced me to hear her out
on the subject of working with the Thingvolds, and she’s buying me dinner at Etta’s
with no strings attached, so I agreed.”

“You said yes because money’s tight and this way you get dinner out at one of your
favorite restaurants,” Maeva chided.

“That’s a definite bonus.” Sadie had the phone under her chin while she tugged on
her black jeans and a deep purple sweater to ward off the evening chill. “Do you think
I’ll luck out with parking midweek on Western Avenue?”

“Probably not on Western,” Maeva said. “There’s a parking garage up on Lenore, and
that’s not too far.”

“It’s too far if I decide to wear my knee-high black suede boots with the three-inch
heels.”

“Wow you’re getting gussied up to go out for dinner with a woman you’ve never met?”
Maeva smiled. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been out.”

“I’ve had to make a lot of hard choices since business dropped off. I’m buying single-ply
toilet paper and no-name kibble for Hairy. Dining out isn’t a priority, but yes, it’s
nice to have an excuse to wear heels.” Sadie went into the bathroom to touch up her
lipstick and brush her hair.

“At least Zack is trying to be responsible here. Going all the way to Portland just
to work as a crappy security guard and part-time private investigator. I’m sure all
the counselors at Whispering Groves told him he needed to keep busy so he didn’t relapse.
At least he’s doing what he’s told.”

“Did they tell him not to text me regularly? And do you think the counselors also
told him to avoid performing his boyfriendly duties around the house?”

“Sex? I doubt they’d advise against it, but it’s a definite possibility they told
him to take a hard look at all his relationships.”

“Well, he’s not looking very hard at ours.” Sadie walked to the living room and sank
heavily onto the sofa. “Or maybe he is and he’s just not liking what he sees.”

“You need to talk to him. Ask him flat out where his head’s at.”

“You’re right.” Sadie worried her bottom lip. “Next time we talk I’m going to demand
to know what’s up.”

“No, you’re not going to
demand
anything. You’re going to share how you feel and ask how he feels.” Maeva laughed.
“Look at it this way. You guys were strong once, right? Sure, an accident caused by
a crazy ghost hurt him and he fell back into the Vicodin addiction that caused him
to lose his job as a cop. That doesn’t mean he stopped loving you.”

Why does it feel like it?

Osbert’s shrill cry in the background saved her from having to tell her best friend
that she was afraid Zack would choose to say
adios
instead of
I love you
.