More Than an Echo (Echo Branson Series) (22 page)

Franklin held out a memo. “A friend of mine kyped this from the mayor’s office.”

Reading it, I lowered it and looked at the boys. “This might do it.”

“Everyone will read a not-in-my-backyard story. If the mayor opens up a soup kitchen or flophouse anywhere in the city, the people are going to be rabid. So far, that memo is hush-hush. Only his inner circle knows so far.”

“Don’t ask how we got it. We don’t want to have to kill you.”

Hugging each one in turn, I left with a glimmer of hope.

After I got home, I made a timeline of Rusty’s and Donnie’s disappearances on a map of San Francisco and taped it to the wall. Then, I made a few phone calls. The morgue was a big zero, which was a good thing, I suppose. They hadn’t had any homeless people in over a month, and no one of Rusty’s description had been in. The hospitals were also a big blank, and the lady on the phone practically laughed at me when I told her who I was looking for.

The homeless shelters were no better. They couldn’t tell me anything.

I was poring over my paperwork for a third time when the phone rang. Officer Finn. “Why, hello there, my new friend, Officer Finn. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Hi there wanna-be-reporter. I spoke to the chief about your missing homeless guy. Apparently, he’s not the first to have been reported missing, but we have nothing to go on.”

“Yeah, I got that much.”

“See? What do you need me for?”

Loaded question. I let it slide.

“Two or three days ago, some drunk guy stumbled in with the same story you told. I guess his buddy was missing, but we blew it off because of how drunk he was. Nobody thought much about it until I brought it up. One missing homeless guy is nothing to write home about, but two or more could mean we have a serial killer on our hands. Wouldn’t be the first time killers used the homeless for target practice.”

I shook my head in frustration. “How come everyone is so cavalier about this? These are people we are talking about.”

“Look, I understand your frustration, but this is San Francisco, and the majority of the population thinks the fewer homeless the better. We’re not bleeding heart liberals, Echo. We just want cleaner streets.”

“It’s three now. I saw my friend Bob this morning. The missing guy’s name is either Donnie Jack or Jack Donnie.”

“You sure?”

“Bob’s a pretty reliable source. He doesn’t exaggerate or engage in melodrama. He has nothing to gain by being dishonest.”

“You’d stake your as-of-yet unknown reputation on this Bob?”

I nodded. “Yes I would. He’s no liar.”

“Let me see what I can do. I can’t promise anything, mind you, but I’ll do my best to see if we can’t get some kind of investigation opened here. We could have a serial killer of some psycho running around. Hard to say yet.”

“I appreciate that, Finn, really, and not because it’s a possible story for me. Bob is really scared of whatever is going on out there. I don’t know how much you know about the homeless culture in this city, but it takes a lot to frighten them.”

“It sure does. I make no promises. I just wanted you to know that I gave it my best shot.” Her voice had softened a bit, as if earlier, someone else had been in the room. “If I can do more, Lois Lane, I’ll call you.”

Yep. She had me at Lois.

I had been running on fumes since Wes gave me the job. I searched the Internet, the local newspapers, anything that might give me the lead to a story. When I felt my energy waning, I did what most women do when they need a shot in the arm: I called the only mother I knew.

“Hi, Mel. It’s me.”

“Echo! How are you, dear girl? You’ve been creeping into my thoughts a lot this past week. Are you all right?”

“I’m good. It’s just...well...I have the chance to get this investigator’s job and I’m having a hard time finding a story that will grab the readers and my boss.”

“Ah. Well then, that explains the confusion I’m getting from you. You cannot see anything clearly through a haze of confusion, my dear. The first thing you need to do is clear yourself of the fog surrounding you. Your spirit cannot see clearly those things you’re feeling from others. You know as well as I do that it is not the presence of facts that quells confusion, but the willingness to see all of the possibilities. Take a deep breath and close your eyes. Tell me what all you think you know.”

So I did. When I finished, I felt a huge weight lift off my shoulders. “I think I’m operating out of fear and not logic or reason.”

“And where does that usually lead us?” Melika asked when I finished my tale.

“Lost.”

“Exactly.  What do
you
believe might make a great story?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Don’t let your mind convince you of something your spirit knows to be a fact. If you believe something is amiss...then consider yourself correct.”

“But I don’t even know which way to turn. This is my big chance, Mel, and I’m afraid I’ve really put myself on the short stick with this stupid bet.”

“No, you haven’t. My dear, you spent four years with me constantly wanting me to clear the way for you and give you answers you already had.” Mel chuckled. “Some things never change, child.”

I watched as Tripod rolled around on his back in yet another catnip stupor. “They need to change, though, don’t they?”

“Growing up is never easy...even for us.”

“Is that what this is? A growing pain?”

“I am quite sure it feels that way. You need to meditate on
what
you know. Open your mind and see what comes to you.”

“Meditate.”

“Yes. Your skills allow you to pick up energies you may not have been searching for. Remember my dear, keep your mind open to all possibilities. If you do that, the answers will come like fish to a light.”

I grinned. Melika was the wisest person I’d ever met; not just as an empath of incredible abilities, but as a person.  I had learned more from her in four years than I had the rest of my life put together.

“I’ll do that, Mel. Thanks.”

“It’s what I’m here for. Have you spoken to that son of mine lately?”

“Last week. Big George said he’s doing a lot of overtime because of the nurses’ strike.”

“Next time you see him, tell him to come home soon. His grandmother thinks she’s not going to be around much longer and wants to spend some time with him.”

I felt something seize my heart. “Is there something wrong with Bishop?”

“Wrong? Oh no, there’s nothing to be concerned about yet. She’s just been playing with a necromancer who has her convinced that she’d like it better on the other side. She’s doing something she’s unwilling to talk to me about, and that is always worrisome.”

I sighed with relief. Bishop was the most colorful woman I had ever met. Born in Haiti, she was brought to New Orleans by a wealthy landowner when she predicted he would suffer a great fall if he attempted to sail to the United States within the next month. He did anyway, nearly dying in the process. His ship sunk off the Haitian coast, but his servants managed to drag him to shore with not one but two broken legs. He spent the next three months searching for “that little dark girl with the big yellow eyes,” in the hopes of bringing her to the United States with him. When he finally found her, he offered to bring her entire family to the new plantation he was having built, but no one except Bishop wanted to go. After considerable dickering and haggling, Bishop boarded a ship bound for America.

“Why are necros so incredibly bizarre?”

Melika chuckled softly into the phone. “I reckon being able to talk to those who have passed would tend to make one a tad batty, don’t you? I keep telling her to stay away from that one, but you know how Bishop can be; nobody can tell her a damn thing.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Big George the next time I see him. You don’t think she—”

“Hon, I never know what to think where that old woman is concerned. This could just be another ploy to see her grandson. Who knows?”

“I appreciate your wisdom, as usual, Mel. Thank you.”

“Perhaps, in the future, you won’t shoot your mouth off and put yourself in such a bind.” Her words may have been harsh, but her voice was warm.

“I know.  I got cocky. I guess I just wanted to show this turd up.”

“That’s never been our way, child. Whenever we step onto a path that is not true to our calling, our way becomes hazy, as yours is now. You need to remedy that, and you know how. Once you do, your way will become clear. Now...who’s the young woman?”

“Young woman?”

Melika’s soft laughter floated through the airwaves. “Oh child, we empaths spend so much time guarding against other people’s emotions we forget to both feel and examine our own. There’s a woman you’ve got a soft spot for. The sooner you admit it to yourself, the better.”

“There’s no woman.” I knew better than to lie to her, but it wouldn’t be any fun for her if I gave in so quickly. It was a silly game we had been playing for years.

She chuckled again. “Oh...I think there is. But never mind. You’ve got plenty on your plate. It’s no wonder I was thinking of you so much. You remember what I told you. You’ll find your answers once you have clarity. Seek clarity always.”

“Please tell Bishop she has to stay on this side until I have a chance to say goodbye to her.”

She laughed.

I hung up feeling better than I had in days. Closing my eyes, I started one of the many meditation techniques Melika had shown me over my four-year stay in the Bayou. Breathing deeply now, I felt my entire body relax completely. No facts, no data, no printouts, no forms, nothing in my mind but calm waters. I saw it now; confirmation of what had been plainly sitting in front of my face and was, indeed, the only story I wanted to write about. The story nobody cared about.

Scanning the map of the city, I wondered if maybe there weren’t more missing when there came three hard pounds at my door.

I answered the door to a whirlwind who blew right by me. “Be straight with me, Clark. I’m going to have to go out with that dick head, aren’t I? I would rather eat a turd.”

Closing the door, I marveled at Danica’s gorgeous silk Dior pantsuit. Her shoes were Jimmy Cho and the light lavender color matched perfectly. Long ago Danica had tried to groom me, but soon determined I wasn’t built for designer anything. I would always be a fashion don’t. I was a woman in comfortable shoes.

“Hold onto that turd thought. I’m not out of this game yet.”

She turned on me, eyes ablaze. “Don’t toy with me. Ellsworth called to let me know he had a great story on the table. That jerk-off was practically orgasmic.”

I could imagine. “Hold on...”

“Which is the only orgasm he’ll ever have around me! I swear to God, Clark—”

“Down girl. We’re not done yet.”

“No? Do you have
any story?
Anything at all?”

“I think I do.” I told her about my discussion with the boys.

“Looks like my boys have been busy helping you. I think they fear my wrath if I have to go out with that pinhead. If anyone can make people care, it’s you.”

“They have. Of course, for them, it takes one-tenth the time to gather information that would take me days.”

She bent over and scratched Tripod. “Okay, human interest is a good way to go, I’ll give you that, but what if there is no story? What if they just migrated to a warmer climate?”

Shrugging, I sighed. “Then I guess I walk to work and you go out with Carter.”

“On no no no. That will never do. You come by tomorrow and put my boys to work with what you have. They’re bound to come up with something.”

Nodding, I stuck my hand out for an M&M. “My gut tells me there’s a good story here, Dani.”

She handed me two yellow candies. “Then go with it, Clark. It’s been a really long time since your gut was wrong. Besides, even if there isn’t a scoop here, a story about the homeless would still be worth it, right?”

I nodded, both of us knowing the only story worth writing was the one that saved my job.

“I’ve got your pink slip all filled out for you,” Carter said from his computer when I walked in. That meant he had the germ of a good story happening.

“Game’s not over yet.”

“Come on, Branson, don’t be pathetic. You don’t have squat. I, on the other hand, have bigger fish to fry. I’m going after Mayor Lee. Word has it he’s hired illegal aliens to work for him.”

“Oohh,
that’s
your hard-hitting story. I think I hear the
Enquirer
calling. Or is that the
Globe
?”

“That’s not all of the story, Branson. When I finish with him, he’ll be lucky go get a job as a greeter at Wal-Mart.”

“You really think it’s wise to go after a beloved mayor?”

He practically snarled at me. “That right there is why you don’t have the chops for this job. Nobody is beyond reproach and everybody loves to see the top dogs fall. I’m going to take Mayor Lee down.”

“Not with a lame story on illegal aliens you aren’t.”