Nightwalker (Harrison Investigation #8)

Nightwalker (Harrison Investigation #8) Page 15

She gave him a big hug, thrilled with how fully in control of his thoughts he was.

“Sure. A day trip. We’ll plan something fun.”

Suddenly he frowned and wagged a finger at her. “You be careful.”

“What? Why?” she asked, frowning back at him.

“The ghosts,” he said seriously. “The ghost dancers.”

She stared at him, unnerved. “Timothy, I don’t think any ghost dancers can hurt me, I really don’t.”

Timothy shook his head. “They don’t want to hurt you, they want to help you. The ghost dancers saw their ancestors and spoke with the dead because the dead brought important messages, to those who listened.”

She sighed. “Timothy, listen to me. You know I have tremendous respect for your father’s people and their traditions, but the ghost dancers are a thing of the past, so I wouldn’t suggest putting a lot of faith in them now.”

She was surprised when he smiled patiently at her, as if she were a child again. “Faith is the most important thing in the world, Jessy. Faith in oneself, faith in the world, in God, in the Great Spirit. We don’t see everything that happens, but the ghost dancers do.”

She walked over and kissed him on the forehead, trying not to let him see how much he was upsetting her. “Believe me, I’m grateful for my heritage and very proud of it. For now, though, I have to live in the real world and get to work. I love you, and if I get any messages, I know you’ll help me understand them.”

He looked up at her, his expression grave. “There’s danger when the ghost dancers speak, granddaughter, that’s why you have to listen.”

“Of course, Timothy, of course,” she assured him.

And then she fled.

Dillon arrived at the executive penthouse at the Big Easy at ten, after calling to make an appointment with Emil Landon. He never slept late, but today, for some inexplicable reason, he had. He’d barely had time to feed the dog and let her out before he had to leave the house.

And he didn’t know where the hell Ringo was, other than nowhere nearby, because Ringo definitely would have woken him up.

He’d been having strange dreams of the maiden again, and he wasn’t sure why. Long ago, when he had first seen her, he’d been convinced that she had come to save his life. He’d been so bitter in those days. Ready for any fight that came along, aching at the loss of his parents—a jailbird about to happen.

He had no idea what she was trying to tell him now. His dreams were just bits and pieces of confusion, adding up to nothing. Traditionally, the maiden appeared when the tribe had need of her, or when a Native American was in trouble. But Tanner Green had been a Euro-mutt, without a trace of Indian blood.

Whatever the cause—assuming there even was one—his restless night had imbued the morning with a strange groggy fog of hurrying. He never turned on the television, didn’t even check his e-mail, before he left the house.

When he was shown into the office promptly at ten, he told Landon he wanted to speak with him alone, then waited patiently while the man made a show of protesting, then gave in and asked his retinue of leggy beauties, along with Hugo Blythe, to wait outside.

“I think you have a big problem, and I think it’s someone close to you,” Dillon told him bluntly when they were alone at last. There were undoubtedly hidden cameras in the room, and for all he knew it was bugged, as well, but that was a risk he had to take. The cameras were Landon’s choice, and if the man didn’t sweep for bugs…well, there was only so far he could go in getting information to the man.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Landon demanded. It was ten o’clock, but he was still in a dressing gown—cheetah-print silk. He was fit and tanned, a man who had a gym in his penthouse, along with the time to sit out in the sun just the right amount of time to acquire just the right amount of color. His hair was dark—aided by an expensive dye job, Dillon thought—but his face, despite expensive work, was showing signs of wear and tear. He could don the aura of a rich and attractive man, but time and stress were taking their toll.

“I’ve been questioning the valets, and I’ve interviewed the bellmen and anyone else I could find who was outside when it happened. I’ll start on the inside staff next. Meanwhile, I’ve ID’d the car as a current model white Cadillac limo, and there are only two casinos that use those right now—yours and the Sun. None of the rental companies in the area have one. That suggests to me that you need to watch your associates and employees,” Dillon told him.

Landon stared at him. “That’s it? For what I’m paying you, you come back to me with something like that? A fifty percent possibility at best?”

“As I said before, feel free to stop paying for my services at any time,” Dillon told him.

“I need results. I need to know what the hell got Tanner Green killed. Especially if he found out something about who’s after me. Hell, I need to know anything. Someone out there knows something, and I want you to find out what it is,” Landon said angrily.

“Be careful in your own house, that’s what I’ve got for you so far. What you do with that is your concern,” Dillon told him, standing. “If you want more, then you damn well need to give me more.”

“What the hell more can I give you? Someone is after me. I know it. I don’t know who, but I know I’ve been followed. And now Green is dead. That’s what I’ve got, and if I had more, I’d damn well give it to you, because this is my life I’m trying to preserve,” Emil Landon growled. “Find out what happened to Tanner Green and why, then maybe we’ll know where to look and what the hell is happening. Now get out of here and go do something useful.”

“Fine,” Dillon snapped. “I’d like to get your limo to the crime lab.”

“My limo!” Emil Landon exploded. “You’re working for me, remember? Go to the Sun. Check out their fucking limo!”

“I find that very curious, Mr. Landon. I’d think you’d want to know what was happening in your own backyard,” Dillon commented dryly.

“You know what? You’re fired. Your sorry ass is fired,” Landon screeched. “Get out! Get out of my office now!”

“As you wish,” Dillon told him, and turned to leave.

“Wait!” Landon called to him.

Dillon turned.

“Just check out their damn limo first, will you?” Landon demanded. “Then…come back to me.”

“I’ll need a warrant for that.”

“Get one.”

“I’m not a cop. I’m a P.I.”

“Hell, you can get whatever you want, and you damn well know it.” Landon waved a hand in the air in dismissal.

Had Landon hired him with a hidden agenda? To help him in setting up someone else?

Dillon walked over to the desk and leaned on it, staring Landon in the eyes. For a moment the casino owner looked afraid. “I’ll do my best,” Dillon said. “But don’t let me find out that you’re jerking me around. Because when—not if—I find out the truth, if you’re guilty in any way, I’ll make sure you pay the price.”

He left before Emil Landon could respond to his threat.

Jessy loved kids. They were so quick to suspend disbelief, and they were delighted with simple things, like chocolates wrapped in gold foil. The pirate show was probably her favorite of all the shows she’d ever done. It never felt old or routine to her.

But today, while she was once again in the midst of a battle of words, she found herself looking out and seeing the man. Tanner Green.

Staring at her through the glass.

She turned away, insisting to herself that he wasn’t there. He couldn’t be there. Tanner Green was dead.

She focused on her lines and on her fellow actors. She avoided looking past the audience to where she had seen him.

But she could still feel him watching her.

She tried hard not to look, but in the end she couldn’t stop herself. Being careful not to lose a beat, she turned to look and was relieved to see that he was gone. So maybe that was the answer. Ignore him. Pretend that she didn’t see him, because, of course, she couldn’t be seeing him.

Ghosts weren’t real. And if they weren’t real, they couldn’t walk around in human form, staring through glass with a melancholy expression.

Anyone who thought they saw ghosts was crazy.

And she was completely and totally sane.

Completely.

And totally.

She forced herself to concentrate on the children’s reactions, on the story she and the rest of the cast were telling, and on the ad-libbing that was so much a part of the show.

And she didn’t look toward the glass.

A little girl in the front row held a foil-wrapped chocolate coin, one of the “pieces of eight” the cast gave out. Now Jessy strode toward the girl, saying, “I see treasure, and there’s more to be had!”

The little girl offered her the chocolate. “Ah, no, lassie! That’s your treasure. I be wanting me own!” The kids all laughed, and Jessy smiled and returned to the stage, determined to keep her eyes on the kids and nowhere else.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Jim Martin asked, sliding into the booth across from Dillon at the coffee shop just off Paiute land. Like Dillon, he had Paiute in his background; in fact, his brother was an officer with the local tribal police.

“Good, thanks, and thanks for coming.”

“Not a problem. I don’t work today. Actually, I had to drag myself out of bed to get here.”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I needed to get moving. And I’m happy to help out—if I can.”

“You were working, overseeing the croupiers, when Tanner Green died,” Dillon said.

“Yeah, I was.” Jim shook his head. “I was there, and I didn’t see a damn thing.”

“Nothing at all?”

“I probably should have seen him stumbling through the crowd. It was weird, though. I mean, wouldn’t you think he’d have been trying to get help? I don’t know why he didn’t grab someone outside, or in the crowd. But he made it all the way over to the table. The thing is, I had just come on.”