"I suppose that goes for women too?" Abby pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I imagine so, though to be fair, he hasn't exactly cut a heartless swath through the county. He's usually had a girlfriend but seems to prefer them one at a time – and they seem to stay friendly with him once it's over."
"Figures." Cassie sounded disgruntled.
Abby hid a grin. "Well, he's a nice guy."
"I know. I know he is." Cassie sighed and watched her breath turn to drifting mist. It had warmed up during the afternoon and the skies had cleared somewhat, so sitting on the front steps of the Sheriff's Department was actually rather pleasant, but it was still a winter day and there was still a chill in the air.
"And not at all bad looking," Abby went on, warming to her theme. "Of course, some women don't care for dark men, and I suppose it could be argued that since he's still single at – let's see, he's Mart's age, so he must be about thirty-six or -seven – then he probably has a few intimacy issues lying about. But maybe I've seen too many talk shows."
Cassie smiled, continuing to watch the woman moving slowly toward them along the sidewalk, bending from time to time to pick up something from the pavement. "Intimacy issues, huh? Yeah, well, he isn't the only one."
"You can tell me it's none of my business if you like, but which one of you is backing away?"
"Me, at the moment."
"Ah. You don't like dark men?"
Cassie kept it light. "It's lawyers. I mean, I know he's been a judge, and now he's a prosecutor, but all those lawyer jokes just get to you after a while."
"And he's a politician too," Abby noted sympathetically.
"Worse and worse."
"I suppose you could try reforming him."
"Oh, no. Any woman who tries to reform a man deserves everything she gets."
Abby laughed.
Cassie smiled, then said, "Abby, who is that woman? The one coming toward us?"
Abby looked. "Oh. That's Lucy Shaw, poor thing."
"What is she picking up? I thought it was litter, but – "
"Nobody knows what shethinks she's picking up. Whenever she manages to escape her son's watchful eye, she ends up roaming the streets picking up invisible things until he comes looking for her."
Remembering, Cassie said, "Oh, yes, Ben told me about her. And nobody knows what did this to her?"
"Not that I've ever heard. I just assumed it was Alzheimer's, even though she couldn't have been much past forty when I first noticed her roaming the streets."
"She looks about seventy now," Cassie murmured.
"I know, but she's younger. When she was a young woman, she was famous for her needlework. Apparently she still does some in lucid moments, because her son usually sells a few pieces at the church bazaar every year." Abby paused, then added, "I should go call him now. She never seems to wander into traffic or get hurt in any way, but she isn't dressed warmly enough to be out here."
Lucy Shaw was wearing faded jeans neatly rolled up above her ankles and a cotton cardigan over a T-shirt. Untied and ancient Reeboks flapped on her sockless feet. Her mostly gray hair was untidy but not witchy, and she was almost painfully thin.
She turned up the walkway that led to the Sheriff's Department. She had been moving steadily and straight down the street, but now she moved much quicker, bending only once to pick up whatever her mind told her was so important. She held one hand cupped close to her body, as though holding small items, and her other hand curved around it protectively. She stopped near the foot of the steps, straightened, and stared at them with vacant eyes.
Gently Abby said, "Miss Lucy, you shouldn't be out on such a cold day."
Those faded blue eyes sharpened, stared at her for a moment, then shifted to Cassie. "They're all over." Her voice was paper-thin and whispery. "Scattered all over. I have to pick them up."
"Of course you do," Cassie said quietly.
"You understand?"
"Yes. Yes, of course."
"It wasn't my fault. I swear, it wasn't my fault."
"No one blames you," Abby soothed.
"You don't know." The faded eyes returned to Cassie's face. "Butyou do. You know the truth, don't you? You can see the face he hides from everybody else. His true face."
Cassie and Abby exchanged glances, and then Cassie said, "The face who hides, Miss Lucy? Who are you talking about?"
"Him." She leaned toward them and whispered fearfully, "He's the devil."
"Miss Lucy – " Abby began.
Lucy Shaw reached out suddenly, one hand gripping Cassie's knee with unexpected strength. "Stop him," she hissed. "You have to."
Cassie caught her breath and stared into the old woman's eyes.
Then, as abruptly as it had begun, Lucy Shaw's moment of lucidity was over. Her eyes seemed to film over, and her hand fell away from Cassie. She stepped back, her hands cupped protectively once again near her middle, and said fretfully, "I have to pick them up. All of them. I have to…."
Quick footsteps thudded up the walkway, and a thin man of about forty-five who bore an unmistakable resemblance to Lucy Shaw caught her arm. "Mama. Come along home, Mama."
"I have to pick them up," Lucy told him anxiously.
"Yes. We'll pick them up at home, Mama."
Abby said, "I was about to call you, Russell."
"She didn't mean to bother you." His voice was a bit rough, his tone defensive.
"We know that, Russell, we were just worried about her."
"Thanks," he said, but he was scowling. His eyes shifted away from Cassie and his grip tightened on his mother's arm. "Come along now," he said gently enough.
"They're scattered all over," she murmured sadly.
"Yes, Mama. I know."
The two reached the end of the walkway and turned back the way Lucy had come. When they reached the corner, they turned and vanished.
"Where do they live?" Cassie asked.
"Two streets back from Main. Close enough." Abby looked at Cassie curiously. "You went white when she touched you. Did you – could you see anything?"
Cassie didn't reply for a moment, and when she did her voice was abstracted. "Have you ever tried to see something in the face of a shattered mirror?"
"Is that what a broken mind looks like to you? A shattered mirror?"
"Hers does."
"Did you see anything in it?"
"No, nothing clearly enough to identify. Except – " Cassie looked at Abby, frowning. "Except kittens." "Kittens?" "Yeah. Kittens."
Abby had intended to tell Matt about the phone call she had received, but she was reluctant to hang around the Sheriff's Department, waiting for him. When he still hadn't returned by four o'clock, when the clouds began rolling in and the chill in the air deepened, she decided enough was enough.
"I'll tell him you were here," Cassie said, then eyed her in sudden realization. "Why were you here? I mean, considering how careful you two usually are to avoid attention."
"No reason."
"Uh-huh. What is it, Abby?"
"I got a call. Just some nut breathing heavily into the phone, that's all." And whispering her name. "It was probably just Gary playing games. Look, I don't want to worry Matt. I just wanted to see him."
"I'll tell him about the call," Cassie said. "Abby, this is no time to hold back when something spooky happens. Even if it isjust your ex tormenting you, Matt needs to know. In the meantime, you keep Bryce with you."
It was good advice, and Abby took it.
She drove back home, not quite as restless or uneasy as she had been earlier, but not entirely calm either. She wanted to see Matt. And she was reasonably sure she would see him that night; she knew him, and knew he would come as soon as possible after Cassie told him about the call.
Besides which, they hadn't seen each other since those tense few minutes at the mall the previous day, and Matt seldom let two nights pass without them being together.
He would be upset after the day he'd had, and he would be tired. And hungry. Abby raided her freezer for the ingredients for a stew, and within an hour had it bubbling on the stove.
When the phone rang, she didn't hesitate to pick it up.
She never got the chance to say hello.
"You bitch!"Gary snarled. "Did you think I wouldn't find out about him?"
SEVENTEEN
Cassie came downstairs and announced as she entered the living room, "I've made up the bed in that other front bedroom."
Standing by the fireplace, Ben scowled. "You shouldn't have bothered. I told you the sofa in here would be fine."
"If you insist on staying here, that's a perfectly good guest room, and you'll use it. You can't have gotten any rest at all on that sofa last night. It isn't comfortable for sleeping, and it's inches too short for you."
Ben considered telling her that since he had been unable to sleep anyway and had gone to check on her an average of once an hour all night, the comfort of the sofa had not been an issue. But she had been distant and distracted since they returned to her house, and he was wary of saying the wrong thing.
Finally he quietly said, "Thank you."
They had brought Chinese takeout food with them from town when Matt's return to the station around six had allowed Ben to leave, and he still hadn't gotten overthe fact that Cassie had not argued when he stated his intention of spending the night.
Cassie had merely nodded acceptance. She even went with him to his apartment, looking around curiously while he repacked his overnight bag.
He had no idea what she'd thought or felt about his place; she had made no comment.
Now, with the remains of their meal cleared away and sleet rattling against the dark windowpanes as a long evening stretched ahead of them, he was as uncertain of her mood as he had been all day. The only thing he was reasonably sure of was that she was far away from him.
She curled up in the armchair she seemed to favor, glanced toward Max lying in his accustomed spot and working on the nightly rawhide bone, and said idly to Ben, "I don't know how you usually spend your Saturday nights, but there are lots of books here, and movies on tape. There's even a stack of jigsaw puzzles in that front closet. All pretty tame, I guess."
Ben put another log on the fire, then sat down on the sofa a couple of feet away from her and gazed at her steadily. "I'd rather just talk. Unless you're too tired."
"Talk about what?"
"You."
She smiled. "You know all about me. You had your secretary research me, remember?"
"Tell me what she didn't find out," he invited, refusing to be discouraged.
"There's nothing to tell." Cassie looked back at the fireplace.
Ben tried to keep it casual. "I don't even know what your major was in college, or how you supported yourself in the years since."
"Double major, psychology and English lit. I had some income from Mother's estate, I told you that. It was enough to live on." She was matter-of-fact, almost indifferent. "To supplement that, I read scripts. Easy work that let me stay home and avoid people." "Except when you helped the police." "Except then." A slight frown disturbed her face. "I was never career minded. I just wanted to be left alone." "And now?"
"And now I have this." She gestured at the room around them. "Thanks to Aunt Alex. And she left me lots of books and tapes and craft kits to occupy my time. If I'm very lucky, when this killer is caught there won't be another murder in these parts for years and years."
"So you'll be left in peace."
"Is that too much to ask?"
"What about a family, Cassie? What about that psychic daughter you could have one day?"
"No. No family. No daughter. Pass this curse on?" Her smile was twisted, more with regret than with conviction, Ben thought. "I don't think so."
"Maybe she wouldn't consider it a curse."
Cassie shrugged. "Maybe. And maybe the world would be different. Maybe people wouldn't be driven to hurt each other. Maybe a cure would be found for insanity, and there'd be no more monsters cutting up teenagers. And maybe the sun would rise in the west."
"You said you couldn't see the future."
"I can't."
"Then how can you be so cynical about it?"
"Experience with the past."
Ben went back to the fireplace, to replace a log that had fallen out onto the hearth. But he remained there, gazing down into the flames.
Cassie didn't have to be psychic to read his thoughts. "I know," she said softly. "I'm such a downer. It's hard to be an optimist when you live your life with monsters."