Page 31 of The Psychic

Ronnie’s cell phone rang as she was entering her apartment.

Gave it a glance. Dear Old Dad, once more.

She let it go to voice mail as she was taking off her shoes and putting them behind the front door.

She would deal with their mud later. Then she headed for the shower, stripping off her raincoat and throwing it over the couch on her way.

Twenty minutes later she was towel drying her hair and hearing the phone ring again.

Her father. There were still a few hours of work left and she was on her way back; she just wanted to deal with him when she got there, not before.

She finished getting dressed again in black slacks and blazer over a cream collarless blouse and headed out.

When the phone rang in the car, from where she’d set it in the cup holder, she finally answered.

“Where’ve you been?” he demanded as a form of greeting.

“Crime scene.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll explain later,” she said, feeling the weight of Mel’s death overcome her again.

He made a sound of annoyance in his throat. “Veronica, I don’t try to tell you what to do.”

“Since when?”

“I don’t try to force you to make every meeting, but today we had the annual budget meeting and there were questions over some of your expenses.”

She’d forgotten about the budget meeting. Mainly because it rarely had much to do with her. It was Albert Tormelle’s and her dad’s issues, and maybe some of the other lawyers—Galen had sure known how to spend company funds while wining and dining prospective clients. “What are my expenses?”

“I don’t want to get into the details over the phone, but you are—”

“Get into the details.”

“—coming back to the office, right?”

“On my way, even though the workday’s almost done. What are the details?” she demanded as she slowed for a stoplight.

“Just come to my office when you get here.”

Yeah, like that was going to go well. It wasn’t about her expenses.

She didn’t have any. He was just pissed she wasn’t there when he and Albert tsk-tsked the others, who accepted the reprimands with varying degrees of equanimity or fury.

The furious ones left. The ones who stayed either argued that they weren’t to blame, or let it roll off their shoulders.

As the light changed and she eased onto the gas again, Ronnie thought it was counterproductive and unnecessary to bring up costs incurred by individuals at the main budget meeting.

Put it in a syllabus. Write it in an email.

But don’t embarrass good attorneys just because you’re old-school.

Sometimes it felt like her father was deliberately trying to run his business into the ground.

Or, his nihilism comes from being frustrated at trying to bend your career his way, no matter what.

How narcissistic. She was almost embarrassed for having the thought. Except it was true.

At the office building she parked in the open as the sheltered lot beneath the upper offices was full.

But it wasn’t raining anyway, though the air felt poised, just waiting, catching its breath.

And for reasons that probably had a lot to do with her recent meeting with Sloan Hart, the day at The Pond flashed across her mind again.

She could practically hear those faint figures from her dream whispering about her.

See Evan Caldwell’s wide-open eyes, remember his words from a mouth that didn’t move.

It should’ve been you, not me …

What had that meant? She’d gotten over his evil laugh, putting it down to her ten-year-old fears and reaction, but where had that statement come from?

She’d never had an opportunity to talk to Evan about their co-near-death-experiences.

Probably wouldn’t if given the chance. Didn’t mean she wasn’t curious if he’d experienced some kind of unconscious episode like she had.

Dawn was on the phone as Ronnie appeared, but hitched her chin toward the right-hand corridor behind her, indicating she was to go directly to her father’s office. Fine.

She saw that his door was ajar, not the usual circumstance for Jonas. She rapped softly, then stuck her head inside. “Okay. I’m here.”

“Come in.”

Jonas was seated behind his desk, a medium-height man who looked more imposing while seated. His gray hair was a tad longish currently. A fight to hang on to his youth? His hazel eyes were penetrating.

“I’ll get right to it. It’s game time. No more indecision.”

“About my legal career?” Ronnie let just the hint of disbelief enter her voice as she walked to his desk, preferring to stand rather than take a seat in one of the leather side chairs.

“What are you waiting for?” he said, leaning back in his chair, his eyebrows knitting. “I need you to zero in on your future and that starts with going back to law school.”

“I don’t think that’s what I want.”

“I don’t care what you want!” He slapped his palms on his desk, shocking her. Jonas never displayed out-and-out anger.

“ What? ”

“Albert is getting divorced and half of this company goes to his wife. I need you to be my successor and I want you to have a law degree because he’s planning on hiring his son as soon as he’s fresh out of law school. Your capriciousness isn’t helping our cause.”

Ronnie stared at her father. He’d finally made it abundantly clear that it was really about the company, not her. Had always been. “You encouraged my relationship with Galen because you wanted an heir.”

“I want you, Veronica. You . In charge. I’ve always wanted you. You know that.”

What she knew was that she was right about Galen, no matter what her father did or didn’t say, but she also knew he was right about her.

She’d never wanted what he was throwing at her with both hands.

When she’d first dated Galen, he’d encouraged the relationship because it had been a sideways attempt to rope her in.

“I can’t make myself want something just because you want it.”

“We’re going to lose everything unless you get in the game.”

“You own half of this firm. They can’t take that away from you.”

“And what happens when I’m gone? Hmm? What happens then?”

Her flesh prickled. “Are you okay?”

He held up a hand, fighting for a calmness he clearly didn’t feel. “I’m fine. I want your future settled. Galen was a mistake, I think we both can admit that, but leaning into your mother’s … side. That’s reputation suicide.”

“Jonas … Dad … My reputation—”

“You can’t meet with Marian Langdorf. You have to stop that. Can’t give the Tormelles more fodder against you. That’s all I’m asking.”

Ronnie thought back to the clearing … Mel’s body … Sloan Hart, Detective Sloan Hart … “My reputation is going to take another hit,” she said, and then told him about the events of the afternoon.

Sloan strode toward the sliding entry doors of Glen Gen to see Brandy Mercer.

She had been nice enough to call him back and agree to speak with him, but said she was filling in, working an overtime shift, a result of the hospital being chronically understaffed and also to make up for her abrupt departure in the middle of the workday with Veronica Quick.

He was guided to her floor by the front desk and then had to wait in an alcove that sported two chairs and some artwork until Brandy had a break.

His eye had just snagged on a picture when Brandy was there in blue scrubs, white-faced and sober, which could either be from some serious situation at the hospital or the fact that she’d earlier seen her friend’s dead body.

“I can’t believe she’s gone,” she said, sinking into one of the chairs with a heavy sigh.

That answered that question.

“I can’t believe someone hurt her!” she added with more spunk.

“We’re going to get to the truth.”

Her gaze flicked up to the watercolor picture on the wall. Quick had mentioned the artwork.

“Mel painted that,” Brandy clarified. “Ronnie recognized it.”

“It’s … the crime site?”

“Yeah … now. Mel gave it to me and said it reminded her of our Three Musketeers days.” Sloan almost asked the obvious question, but she went on before he had to.

“That’s what Ronnie called us. I brought the picture here for times when things get hard and hectic, like today.

It’s, um, it’s calming. At least for me.

” She swallowed. “It was anyway.” She cleared her throat and glanced away, obviously emotional.

“You were the Three Musketeers?” he asked.

“Once upon a time.”

“Can you give me some background on Melissa McNulty … Mel?”

She laced her fingers together. “Whatever you think, Clint didn’t do this. My brother thought he loved her … he did love her. The only one who would hurt her was Hugh, her ex-husband.”

Clint Mercer was involved with Melissa McNulty?

Romantically? Sexually? What? It was clear Brandy Mercer was already protecting Clint and that meant she was worried about her brother.

Sloan, too, wanted to strike Clint as a suspect, but he was bound to carry out a thorough investigation and Clint’s entanglement with the dead woman didn’t look good.

“Let’s start with Hugh,” said Sloan.

Brandy let out a sigh. “The irony is, Clint introduced them …”

Cooper sat on the living room couch and read through the cold case files he’d taken home before his administrative leave had commenced.

His mind wasn’t on them. He probably shouldn’t have them anyway, but he’d been looking for a distraction.

One of them wasn’t even a case, more a question from the family about the nature of their child’s death.

He’d come home ready to tell Jamie what he’d learned, but her ob-gyn had been with her when he’d returned, which had given him pause.

When he’d entered the bedroom, she’d been ebullient about how things were going with her pregnancy and he didn’t want to bring her down, so he’d told her he had a line on Mary Jo and left it at that.

She’d immediately wanted every bit of news, but he’d managed to stave her off.