Page 37 of The Psychic

They walked up the steps to the top floor of the seen-its-day building and along to Shana’s door. Sloan knocked and no one immediately answered. He knocked louder and longer. Ronnie held her breath, both wanting him to hurry and find Shana and wishing to turn back the way they’d come.

Sloan’s brows drew together. She should be grateful he believed her in this, she supposed, but she was sick with dread.

“Not answering,” he said.

“We need to break in.” She knew it wasn’t protocol. The police didn’t have the authority to burst into someone’s home without being invited unless they had reason to suspect there was a crime being committed—and her mental view of Shana’s dead body wouldn’t pass muster in a court of law.

“You’ve called her on her phone?”

She could feel her face heat.

“Try her,” he drawled, his belief in this rescue clearly fading.

Ronnie collected her phone and quickly pulled up Shana’s number, punching the digits, letting the phone ring and ring. No answer. And no sound of a phone ringing from inside the apartment.

“I can get a wellness check,” he suggested.

“How long will that take?”

“I’d have to get a team out here.”

“I can’t wait that long.”

“What’s your plan, then?”

She had no plan. That was the problem. “I’m going to get into that apartment.”

“Breaking in?”

“I know you don’t think what I saw was real.”

“I know you believe it.” His tone, his whole demeanor, had shifted to chilly politeness.

She was used to that. In frustration she rattled the doorknob with vigor. When the door suddenly opened beneath her hand, she didn’t hesitate, just pushed in, glancing around uneasily.

It was a studio apartment. And it was empty.

No body on the floor, no body anywhere. She immediately bent to the carpet. There was no imprint where Shana’s fingers had dug into the fibers. No tracks where a body may have been dragged. Nothing.

No! It couldn’t be. Ronnie had seen Shana. A chill whispered down her spine.

“She was here,” she said, pointing to the floor, knowing how feeble that excuse sounded, unable to come up with anything else. “Right here. I saw this carpet.”

She could tell Sloan was weighing whether to step across the threshold or slap his hand to his forehead.

He had no right to enter Shana’s home. But he must’ve won that argument with himself because he followed Ronnie in and walked through the rooms, checking every corner.

He glanced in the bathroom and used the sleeve of his jacket to open the closet door.

Empty. No Shana.

He turned to meet Ronnie’s gaze and she saw the same careful “look” she’d been gifted by all disbelievers throughout the years.

She felt sick inside, but there was no denying that she’d been wrong.

Shana Lloyd’s body was not lying on the floor.

Her face was not frozen in terrified horror.

Her fingers were not digging into the carpet.

Her phone still in her hand, Ronnie took a picture of the room.

Sloan didn’t object as he followed her out, closing the door behind him, testing to make sure it was locked, though the metal tongue didn’t engage properly and probably accounted for the way the handle had just opened beneath Ronnie’s hand.

“She was there,” Ronnie said for the umpteenth time as Sloan drove her back home. “I know she was there. I saw it. I know you don’t believe me, but she was there.”

“You’re positive this time.”

She bristled at “this time.” “It’s not an exact science. Don’t say ‘pseudo’ science. I know. Fine. But sometimes things are very clear.”

“Like this time.”

“She was there!”

“I’m not going to argue with you. I know you’ve had some success.”

She sensed he was trying to be magnanimous, which pissed her off all the more. “But a stopped clock is still right twice a day. I’ve heard all the clichés.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

She snorted, eyeing the traffic on the wet streets.

“The fact is, Quick, she wasn’t there. If you’re worried, just keep calling her. Maybe she’ll eventually pick up.”

Ronnie slowly shook her head, angry at her failure. “What about Evan Caldwell? Maybe she got through to him. Maybe he knows what happened to her.”

“You want me to call Evan?” He didn’t sound like there was an ice cube’s chance in hell he believed it would help.

“Yes. I want to know Shana’s all right. You don’t have to tell Evan I ‘saw’ her … body. Just that we’re— I’m —worried about her.”

His face was granite as he rolled that around. He was undoubtedly rethinking helping the crackpot psychic. He called her Quick instead of Ronnie, or even Veronica, which drew the line between them as something less than friends.

I’m a person of interest.

That realization dawned on her. Of course she was, but it now felt doubly depressing. Yesterday he’d at least listened to her. Today, no dice.

So, she was surprised when Sloan plucked his phone from his pocket at the next light, slid his thumb through his Favorites list, pressed Evan’s number.

Evan answered as if he’d been waiting for the call.

Sloan said, “I’m on my way to your place with Veronica Quick. That okay? She’s worried about Shana.”

“Shana? Really? What happened?” His voice was tinny but Ronnie could easily hear him.

“I’m not sure. She’s not at her apartment and … Quick’s worried about her.”

“Veronica Quick …” His tone turned lightly mocking. “Okay. Come on over. Can’t wait to hear how you two hooked up.”

Sloan clicked off as the vehicle slid into gear again, then didn’t say anything throughout the rest of the ride.

At least he wasn’t abandoning her. Yet.

Evan Caldwell lived in a building that looked like an upscale, big city hotel.

It was gray stone and rose six stories, high by River Glen standards.

The parking lot was on the side, with a levered arm.

Sloan took a ticket and they drove into an underground lot.

The surrounding vehicles were upper end: Mercedes, Lexus, BMW …

and was that a Ferrari in the corner spot?

Must do well for himself , Ronnie thought.

They walked toward a bank of two elevators.

Their car rose above the parking structure and as they traveled upward offered a windowed view of the pool area, shuttered now with chairs tucked beneath the first floor balconies.

The pool’s normally aqua water was muted to a dull slate beneath the gray clouds, but she could imagine a bustling bar scene in warm weather with waiters serving tall, cool drinks from trays to various sun worshipers draped on lounge chairs.

They got off on the fourth floor and Sloan led the way to a corner apartment that appeared to back up to the pool area.

Evan Caldwell …

Ronnie hadn’t spoken to him since she’d screamed and screamed at his evil, rising ghost at The Pond.

As Sloan knocked on the door, she thought, Here goes nothing …