CHAPTER THREE
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"I have a sense, a psychic sense, that the dead butler's daughter knew what Raul was going to do, and might even have helped him," Spencer said dramatically.
They had relocated to Karen Vick's office, where she leaned back in her chair, looking skeptical. "And your proof is?"
He shook his head (also dramatically). "The spirits are fuzzy on that."
"Well, fuzzy spirits don't perform well in court, and we do have the murderer in custody. Until you have more for us to go on, I'm afraid we'll—"
"Diary!" he shouted. "I'm seeing pages from a diary!"
"Whose diary?" Juliet asked.
Lassiter could hear the impatience in her voice; why couldn't Spencer?
"The dead butler's daughter, of course!" He frowned, then grinned. "We can call her DBD."
"Or Carrie Planes, since that's her name," Lassiter suggested testily. "When did you see her diary? And why didn't you mention this yesterday during your performance?"
"Don't question the spirits," Spencer advised him.
"I'm not questioning the spirits. I'm questioning you."
"One and the same, Lassie, one and the same."
"Only in the sense that spirits are like hot air," Lassiter muttered, "which you're full of."
"Detective," Vick warned, but when he glanced at Juliet, she was hiding a bit of a smirk. Still, he needed to be cautious. Juliet was just as likely to turn on him for dissing her idiot boyfriend, and at least half-rightfully so.
"The point is, DBD—"
"Carrie Planes," Juliet repeated firmly.
"—has a diary, and I have sensed that it contains information about the murder, and we have to go back to the house to find it."
"She doesn't live there, you know." Lassiter checked the case folder. "She lives in the cottage at the back of the property."
"Where exactly was her diary when you saw it?" Juliet's body language was interesting, Lassiter thought; almost challenging.
Spencer finally focused on her. "You know I don't understand how the spirits guide me to these things."
"Shawn, it's no secret to anyone here that you're extremely observant. Whether or not you're actually psychic is almost immaterial." Her voice was cool and matter-of-fact. "Just tell us how you know what you know, so we can be sure we have a legal path to follow if we need to bring her in."
Vick was staring at her, and frankly so was Lassiter. This speech was tantamount to Juliet saying… saying…
Saying she didn't believe Spencer was psychic.
Lassiter had a strong sense that the world was shifting somehow.
Spencer got up suddenly, not meeting Juliet's gaze, and put his hands up to his forehead. "I'm clearly seeing one of the nieces, the one with the spiky hair, not the one with the red skirt, but hang on, the one with the spiky hair was wearing a red dress, and the one with the red skirt had curly black hair, and the one with the pony tail was stealing cash from her mom's wallet, but it was the one with the pierced ears who knows that DBD kept a diary, because she told the red-skirt girl while the spiky hair girl was playing with the left-handed boy cousin's Nintendo and was also hiding the red-skirt girl's iPod." He lowered his hands, looking now only at Vick. "That's the girl to talk to, and she does live in the main house."
Silence.
"Out of the fifty people you just listed, which girl?" Vick asked dryly.
He seemed to be trying to decipher his own words now. "Um… the one with pierced ears."
"Most of them had pierced ears," Juliet pointed out. "I talked to several while they were trading earrings."
"Well… I'll know her when I see her. Can we just go?"
"Mr. Spencer, hold up a minute. O'Hara, how many people live in that house?"
Lassiter answered, since he had the case folder. "Besides Isabella and Raul, fourteen; six of them under the age of twelve. Plus there's some house staff, as well as assorted family who visit for extended periods."
Vick rubbed her temples. "So we need to identify which of them has pierced ears and knows about Carrie's diary. Not to mention talk to Carrie herself."
"Who's Carrie again?" Spencer asked curiously.
"Spencer," Lassiter growled, but left it at that.
Juliet didn't answer him either. To Vick, she said, "We'll take him to identify the girl, and go from there." She didn't even look at Spencer before she left the room.
Lassiter should have been happy, but instead he was worried. He himself did look at Spencer, whose frown suggested he sensed, 'psychically' or otherwise, that something was wrong.
About damned time, Einstein.
In the bullpen, Juliet told Lassiter coolly, "Shawn doesn't need a ride. He can drive his bike over there." In almost the same motion, she snatched the keys from Lassiter's grasp and walked out of the station, leaving him to hurry to catch up. He never had to hurry to catch up with her, having the advantage of longer legs and a faster stride, but today she was a woman on the move.
He called back to Spencer, "Meet us over there!" and raced after his partner.
Barely making it into the passenger seat before she put the car in motion, Lassiter buckled up and stared at her with some shock. "What the hell?"
"Sorry," she said tightly, "I felt like driving."
"Without Spencer," he added for her.
"Ding. Ding. Ding." Big pauses between dings. Angry pauses.
"O'Hara?"
Silence.
"O'Hara," he tried again. "You've got this backwards. I'm the one who's supposed to be angry at the wheel, not you."
She sighed deeply. "Sorry. I'm… I'm just…" She glanced at him, and he thought her eyes were especially stormy blue just now. "I'm coming to the end," she finally said, softly.
Lassiter was stunned, and at first had no idea how to respond. He wished fiercely he knew how to stop her looking so… tired, so resigned—so upset.
But he knew he could say this much: "I'll be around when you get there. If you need me."
Juliet sighed again, this time more… accepting? "Thank you, Carlton." She reached out and touched his hand briefly, then returned her focus to the drive.
His focus was all over the place. What was he supposed to do? Back off? Show support? Warn Spencer? Push Spencer into making it worse? Pretend he was oblivious? What?
It sucked to be a man sometimes. Men just didn't have the same innate awareness of The Right Thing To Say that most women did, and the fact that he was in love with her made it even harder to know which line to walk.
They made it to the Pastorino mansion in record time, with Spencer not even a speck on the horizon behind them. "Good," she muttered.
He hated to remind her that they needed him to identify the correct Pastorino cousin, if said girl was even home. "You know we—"
"I know." Short. "Knowing him, he probably stopped for a smoothie." Almost-but-not-quite bitterly, she added, "Because it's such a long ride over here, and it's not like we needed to hurry at his insistence or anything, 'spirits' be damned."
Whoa.
The engine was off. Juliet put her hands in her lap, studying the steering wheel without, he knew, seeing it.
"You no longer think he's psychic?" he asked, certain that he shouldn't but unable to stop himself.
Her downcast eyes, her posture, the way she studied her hands now; the quality of her low voice when she spoke—it all told a story which belied the evasion: "I don't know what I think."
Fortunately (as much as Lassiter could ever consciously apply the word 'fortunately' to Spencer), and without a smoothie, Spencer roared up the driveway a moment later.
Juliet immediately got out of the car and headed to the house, again not looking at her boyfriend. She was already knocking on the door when they joined her. "Don't make this difficult," she did say to him, with barely a glance over her shoulder.
"What?" Spencer seemed wounded. "Why would I do that?"
A maid came to the door. She nearly scowled at them, and muttered what sounded to Lassiter like 'you again' to Juliet specifically, which was odd, because usually 'you again' in a negative tone was aimed at him. Or Spencer. Wait, no, that was how he talked to Spencer.
"We need to speak to…" Juliet stopped, closed her eyes a moment, and turned to Spencer. "Who do we need to speak to?"
"The girl with pierced ears, a bracelet with a 'do me' charm, a tattoo of a chipmunk on her shoulder and blonde hair with a purple stripe down the left side." He looked thoughtful. "And she smells like cinnamon. If that helps."
All three of them stared at him.
"What?"
"That is Violeta," the maid said with annoyance, and allowed them to come into the house, but only as far as the foyer, while she went to find the young woman.
Silviana Nesca wandered into the foyer, concentrating on a cell phone conversation. She stopped talking when she saw them, and her great dark eyes lit up with either amusement or surprise or both—or something else entirely; Lassiter couldn't decide. She ended her call and faced them, curious.
Spencer was immediately edgy, but surprisingly he said nothing. Juliet also remained silent. Lassiter, who seldom felt the need to be polite to strangers, felt the need to be polite here. "We're waiting to speak with Violeta."
"Oh, my niece. My brother Carlo's daughter. Why do you need to speak with her?"
"We'll tell her that, if you don't mind." And even if you do.
"Tying up loose ends," Juliet said calmly. "She is over eighteen, isn't she?"
Silviana nodded, still curious. "Nineteen. But you might as well say what this is about. It's not as if you will have any real privacy in this household." As soon as she'd spoken, three of the under-twelve set ran through the foyer, and glass could be heard breaking from a distant room. "Perhaps you should at least come into the parlor."
"Or we could invite her down to the police station," Juliet countered.
Lassiter felt his eyebrows going up but he wasn't about to contradict her. Finally the girl in question sauntered down the main staircase, staring at them with undisguised annoyance.
"What do you want?"
"To have a word with you," Lassiter said before Juliet could break her arms or anything. To Silviana, he said, "I think we'll take you up on that parlor offer."
She pointed somewhat languidly to the left, following them in and effortlessly convincing the children who'd run in there to run out again without a word of protest. "Violeta, would you like me to call your father or mother?"
Violeta frowned. "No, why? I'm an adult." She unexpectedly grinned at Spencer. "Yeah. I'm legal, honey. Make a note."
Spencer said, "Uh. Okay."
Lassiter was disoriented. Juliet was being snarky and Spencer was being quiet? He had to take over. "Spencer here says you were talking about Carrie Planes keeping a diary."
The girl put her feet up on the footstool in front of her. "What of it?"
"Have you actually seen this diary?"
"Sure. We were buds."
"And do you know where it is now?"
Violeta scowled. "No, why would I? She's probably got it locked up somewhere. That's the point of a diary, you know."
Lassiter liked children, he did. He hoped, even as years passed, that he would have some one day, but he wasn't keen on anyone over, say, fifteen, and this purple-streaked girl was one reason why. His kids would not be insolent.
"We know what the point of a diary is, thanks," Juliet said with asperity. "Do you know what the term accessory means? And no, sweetheart, I don't mean earrings or shoes."
Holy crap. Lassiter stepped in, aware that Spencer was agog and Silviana was ready to step in herself if only to keep Violeta seated. "We're just trying to verify the existence of the diary. Can you tell us what it looks like?"
"Green," she said tightly. "With a lock."
Spencer finally came forward, and Lassiter thought again that he seemed edgy—maybe Silviana's commentary yesterday had really gotten to him. "Did she ever tell you what was in it, or show you?"
"Uh, yeah. Isn't that what I said two minutes ago?" She looked as if she wanted to add the words, 'I don't think you're cute anymore, either.'
Silviana inquired smoothly, "Is there a reason you are not speaking to Carrie herself? She is probably in the cottage. She has been handling her father's business affairs."
And coming to terms with the fact that her father was murdered by her lover. Yeah, she was probably busy. "We'll be talking to her momentarily," Lassiter assured her. "We're just verifying Spencer's information."
She smiled slowly. "The spirits have been talking to you, I assume?"
Spencer faced her, wary. "The spirits are always talking to me."
Sort of drifting to the window, and not really even looking at him, she said gently, "Those are probably the beans you had for lunch."
Violeta burst out laughing. "Yeah, baby." Getting to her feet, she announced, "Look, I got stuff to do. You want to see the diary, talk to Carrie. I'm outta here." No one stopped her departure, not even Spencer.
What the hell was wrong with him? Why had Juliet clammed up now after being fit to kill five minutes ago?
"That must have been very helpful," Silviana said, still smiling. "I'm so glad you could stop by."
"Listen, Elvira, we're here to do a job," Spencer started, as if showing defiance now would do any good.
She held up her hand. "Your job is finished. You found out who murdered Edward, you broke up Isabella's marriage—not that I am defending Raul by any means—and you put the entire family into a tailspin of drama from which we will not soon escape. Unless you have begun to think that Raul is innocent, I think your time here is finished."
Juliet found her voice. "We're going to the cottage. Shawn, come with me right now." She started to leave, and Spencer, torn between the rebuttal he hadn't thought of and the safety of an armed police detective, followed after a few seconds.
Lassiter was nearly to the hall when Silviana called his name, and the front door closing behind Juliet and Spencer made him feel a little like a coffin lid was closing.
He turned, skin prickling. "Yes?"
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Juliet stalked around the mansion, following the brick path leading to the vast back yard and gardens. The cottage, wherein the butler's family lived, was on the east edge, surrounded by flowers, an altogether peaceful and beautiful place to grieve the loss of a loved one.
But she stopped, mid-yard, and faced Shawn, who was giving her an I-know-you're-mad-but-I-have-no-idea-why-and-I-can't-ask-because-then-you-might-be-mad-that-I-don't-know look.
"Shawn," she said as calmly as she could. "I need you to listen to me."
"I'm listening, Jules. All ears." He cupped his ears to show her.
"This young woman's father has been murdered by her married lover, whose child she's carrying. If you're wrong about her involvement, what we're about to do is the latest of a string of injuries to someone under a huge amount of stress, and I really don't want to be part of that even if it is my job. So if you're not 100% sure she's involved, we're not taking another step."
He blinked. "I promise, the spirits are 100% sure, and—"
"Shawn." She knew her voice was sharp. "Not the spirits. You. Are you 100% sure?"
"Jules, have I ever let you down?"
She let a few calming seconds pass before she spoke. "On police work? Not usually, but you do waste a lot of time and make us look like idiots, and I'm not in the mood for that today."
He let his hands drop to his sides. "Okay, I give. You've been icing me out all day. What's up?"
Juliet was surprised. She really thought he would never have the courage to ask her, but then on the other hand, he had picked his moment well: moments from either talking to a suspect or being joined by Carlton. In truth, she wished Carlton were here already. "We can meet tonight, if you can get away."
Shawn laughed. "Get away from what?"
"Whatever TV marathon you're planning to watch with Gus," she said shortly. "I'll call you later. We need to talk."
"Uh-oh. Should I be worried?"
Juliet gazed at him; at his apparently (but never really) guileless face, his bright hazel eyes, his cautious smile. "Yes, Shawn. You should."
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