Shadow Notes by Laurel Peterson (cool books to read txt) 📗

I almost couldn’t breathe. She had me? That hadn’t seemed to matter to her one iota all these years. But now, it almost felt as if she cared. In that moment, I would have given her anything.

Abruptly, she changed the subject. “How is your meditation training going with Paul?”

“My, uh, meditation training?”

She snapped, “You went a couple of days ago. Don’t play with me, Clara. I don’t have time for it.”

So much for our moment of connection.

“Fine. Thanks for asking.” She was going to have to pry it out of me.

“Did you see anything?”

Her look was feral, as if she would dissect my soul to get what she wanted. Rage welled up, like tears. “Nothing but a bunch of wolves,” I snapped. “I don’t know why you’re interested. You never listened when I needed you, when I was too young to understand the dreams and visions.” I took a shaky breath. I wasn’t ready to confront this. “When it mattered, you didn’t care at all.” Hot tears formed behind my eyelids and I blinked to keep them in place. “It’s my fault that Father died, but you’re culpable too.”

“Wolves,” she muttered to herself, as if she hadn’t heard the rest. “That’s very good.”

“Mother.” My voice sharpened with years of pent-up resentment.

She looked up from her meditation on the table. “I heard you, Clara, but I can’t explain it now. Not here in jail with all these cameras and listeners. Persuade Kyle to let me out, since he won’t listen to me, then we’ll talk. I promise. Meanwhile, the wolves will protect you.”

I shook my head, my body raging with pain and dizziness. I tried one last time. “Nat sent you a message. He says it’s time to tell your story, or, and I quote, ‘you’re creating a monster.’”

She paled, but I saw her resolve harden. “You tell Nat I know what I’m doing.”

On that cryptic note, she dismissed me, but not without one parting shot. She stopped the guard as he turned to lead her down the corridor, the harsh institutional light graying her face and etching lines in her skin: “I mean it, Clara. Stay away from the Winters. If you don’t, you’re risking everything.”

On the way out, I ran into Chief DuPont. Well, okay, I took three deliberate wrong turns, climbed a set of stairs, and asked four people before I ended up casually outside his office. Mother had derailed me from asking about the photographs, but the chief might know something by now. I looked into his office, “Oh, hey. How are you? I seem to be lost.”

He looked up from a stack of paperwork. “Ms. Montague, I’ve had three phone calls letting me know you were on the way.”

I slumped against the door and laughed. “So much for subtlety.”

“Perhaps you’ve come to explain those photographs you sent me?” His tone was cold, the warmth and humor I’d come to expect from him absent.

I sat on the edge of one of the faux-leather chairs, pulling my purse into my lap like a little old lady. “I was visiting my mother, thought I’d say hello.”

“That woman is driving me insane.”

“Welcome to my world.” I grinned at him.

He glared at me. “I mean it. She’s got my officers running errands for her. They’ve brought her a reading lamp, pillows, a duvet, take-out meals from the country club, and they’ve checked up on you in their off-hours. If I could catch them at it, I’d put a stop to it, but truthfully, there’s not much I can do about their off-duty activity.” He threw his pen down on the desk in disgust. “Not,” he added, addressing his blotter, “that I think that keeping an eye on you is a bad idea, since apparently you’ve gotten yourself into trouble again.”

“I thought the photographs would be helpful.”

He pressed three fingers into the middle of his forehead as if locating the source of a headache. “Hetty is welcome to do whatever she likes in her own home. I haven’t had a complaint from any of the people in the pictures. And I can’t barge onto private property without reasonable suspicion or probable cause—and a warrant. You didn’t even know she was taking pictures of you until you saw that wall. Catch her in the act of stalking you—if, in fact, that’s what she’s doing. She could be exercising her right to take a few long-distance photos of beautiful people.”

At first, I thought it was a compliment, then he lifted his head, and I looked into the eyes of a bull just released into the Plaza del Toros.

“She took the photos on the voodoo dolls!”

“How am I going to prove that? There’s a similar photograph on the memory card, but did Hetty take the picture? You can’t prove the camera or the memory card belong to her. And if I had a good reason to question her, she’ll want to know who broke into her house. Is that what you want?”

“Obviously not,” I said, roundly chastised. “And anyway, I didn’t break into her house.” I crossed my fingers under my purse. “That memory card was in her garbage, and the garbage was sitting outside on her steps. Fair game. Can’t you investigate? Check her out?” I leaned forward and the edge of the chair dug into my thighs.

“With what resources?” He waved his arm at the nearly empty squad room outside his door. “I’m up to my neck in Christmas mayhem. Some idiot decided it would be fun to break into houses and steal Christmas presents. Our good citizens are crashing into each other or the curb trying to fit into parking spaces too small for their SUVs. Yesterday, some guy ripped off The Open Toybox, stole a vanload of gift toys meant for the kids at the women’s shelter. I think one of my officers is dirty, and then, I have your mother in my jail, creating havoc. What a nightmare.”

I looked at his utilitarian office