Page 39 of The Psychic

“Okay. Well. Sorry I can’t help you there. Haven’t seen her in weeks.” He swiveled to look at Sloan. “Saw Townsend on the news. You a part of that investigation?”

Sloan nodded.

“Who’s the vic? They’re going to release the name later today, so don’t give me any ‘I can’t reveal names until the next of kin has been notified’ bullshit.”

She could see Sloan think that over.

“Seriously, bro?” Evan motioned toward his computer. “I can do some digging and find out the whole story at hyper-speed.”

“Melissa Burgham McNulty.”

“ What? Oh, man.” Evan blinked a bunch of times, then added, on a whistle of surprise, “Well, fuck me.”

“You know her?” asked Ronnie.

He turned his attention back to her. “Clint’s sister Brandy’s friend? Your friend, too, right? From The Pond? Yeah, I know her. Married Hugh McNulty. She’s the vic?”

“Yes,” Sloan answered.

“Oh, man … and you’re here because of Shana?” He gave Ronnie a searching look.

She didn’t know how to tell him that she was half-convinced Shana may have suffered the same fate. Just thinking about Mel and possibly Shana made her feel ill.

Evan shook his head as if dispelling cobwebs.

“All these years … I don’t remember that day very well, when we were all there.

And now Melissa McNulty … and what about Shana?

Why do you think there’s a problem?” He seemed genuinely concerned.

His eyes bored into Ronnie’s. “Oh, wait.” He pointed a finger at her, the light dawning.

“You think you saw something. Some danger.”

“I just want to make sure Shana’s okay,” Ronnie repeated, more than a little irritated. “She’s not answering her phone.”

But his gaze narrowed and Ronnie could almost see the wheels in his mind turning backward to a time she’d rather forget.

Sure enough, he said, “I guess you were screeching that I was evil, or something, that day at The Pond. I never heard it, but I’ve heard about it for years since. That the kind of thing you’re seeing?”

“I don’t remember screeching that you were evil, but I’ve also heard a lot about it over the years as well,” said Ronnie in a tight voice as the background music switched to instrumental Christmas carols.

Evan held up a hand. “Okay. Okay. That was then, and this is now.” He threw a look at Sloan. “I’ve known Melissa for a while. Not well. Mostly through Clint. She’s his booty call, you know.”

Sloan’s brows pulled together. “Melissa McNulty was seeing Clint Mercer?”

“Seeing … like dating? More like two rabbits fucking any chance they could get behind her ex’s back.

You know about him? Hugh McNulty? Piece of shit if there ever was one.

He deserved to be cheated on, but I warned Clint to stay away from her anyway.

Never ends good. Married women always come with big trouble. ”

“She was divorced,” Ronnie put in defensively.

Evan sent her a look that told her not to be so na?ve. “Well, she is now. Not always. But …there were others … and maybe the times were a little earlier than the divorce …” He sent Ronnie a slow grin. “But I’m not one to name names.”

Ronnie held onto her tongue with an effort.

Sloan stated flatly, “You can give me those names.”

He held up a hand and said dismissively, “Sure, bro. Whatever. Or, you can ask Clint.” Lifting a brow, he changed the subject.

“So, you two finally got together. Trying to make the prediction come true? Heard about that, too. Not at the time, of course. Too busy getting saved by Clint. But it sure as shit has made a good story for years.”

“So, you haven’t heard from Shana.” Sloan cut him off. Ronnie wasn’t sure whether he’d purposely stopped Evan’s musings about that day at The Pond, or whether he just wanted to get back on track.

“Nope. Not since … a few weeks back.” To Ronnie, he said, “I saw you at Gabrielle’s funeral, but you didn’t stay.”

So, he remembered seeing her peek in the doorway that day. “I was feeling pretty raw. Didn’t want to come in.”

“It was a bad time,” he agreed soberly. “Her and her boyfriend in that accident. Can’t remember his name.”

“Gerard DeLenka,” she said.

Both men looked at Ronnie in surprise.

Evan gave her a thumbs-up. “You have one helluva memory. One would maybe think you’re psychic.” He paused for comic effect but the joke fell flat. He asked, “So how did you hook up with Shana again? She never mentioned your name before.”

“Shana Lloyd was in a car accident three nights ago,” Sloan stepped in. “The pileup on 212. She collapsed at Quick’s feet.”

“You’re not calling her by just her first name, like friends usually do?” Eyebrows slamming together, Evan looked from Sloan to Ronnie and back again. “That’s twice with the Shana Lloyd shit.” He scrutinized Sloan. “So wait. Is this an official visit?”

“We’re looking for her. That’s all.”

“Who’s the suspect in this caper? You?” He poked a finger in Ronnie’s direction.

Her heart clutched a bit. “Maybe.” She had no idea what was going on behind the scenes with Sloan’s investigation.

“Really?” Evan looked at Sloan, who remained quiet. With puckish amusement, he added, “All right, Quick . You tell me what’s going on, since Hart’s got a stick up his ass.”

Despite Evan’s attitude and crass remarks, Ronnie needed information. From him. She said, “We went to Shana’s apartment—she said you helped her move in—but she wasn’t there.”

“From this you think there’s something wrong?” he scoffed.

“The door doesn’t latch well,” Ronnie told him. “We easily pushed our way inside.”

“Was the place ‘tossed’?” Evan asked, more interested now. “In shambles?”

“No,” answered Sloan.

“But you still think there’s something wrong?

The last time I saw her … a few weeks after I gave her money to move in.

First and last month’s rent’s a bitch, isn’t it?

” He gestured to his wheelchair. “Couldn’t really move the furniture for her, but she managed somehow.

She might be just out somewhere. Meeting a friend for lunch or drinks. Something like that.”

Ronnie realized she wasn’t going to get any answers without revealing what had caused her fear for Shana in the first place, so she drew a breath and admitted, “I saw her lying on the floor. On the carpet, of her apartment … anyway I thought it was her apartment … but she’s not there now.”

“Lying on the carpet?” he repeated. “Through her window?”

“I saw her … in a vision.”

There. Make of that what you will, Evan.

He turned again to Sloan. “Ah, the truth. So, that’s what we’re doing. I’m kind of surprised you’re in on this.”

Sloan’s face was stone, so Ronnie cut in, “I just want to make sure she’s okay. I can’t reach her, that’s all. Hoped you could help.”

“I’m sure she’s fine.” Evan swatted away Ronnie’s concerns with a hand. “Shana always manages to land on her feet.”

“Got any idea how we could reach her?” asked Sloan. “Family or friends?”

“Shana’s still got her mom. Doesn’t really have a lot of friends.” He wheeled away from the desk and closer to Ronnie, who forced herself to stay put as he regarded her with close examination. “So, what did this vision look like? Did you get one for Melissa, too?”

Ronnie looked to Sloan, who was waiting for her answer as well. “Shana was lying on the carpet. On her back.” Looking terrified. Strangled.

Evan pressed, “Do you get a lot of ’em? The visions?”

Ronnie’s mind flew to the image of Mel’s body.

Her bloody wrists and bruised throat. And then she thought about the scene at the clearing itself.

The cops standing in the downpour or beneath the tarp, rain running off their hats …

the techs in white suits taking physical evidence …

the canopy holding off the rain … the shed …

the dripping trees … the icy cold ground … the maple tree helicopter whirlies …

She shot another glance at Sloan, who returned a questioning look. He broke eye contact to say to Evan, “Do you have Nadia’s address?”

“She still lives off State Street,” Evan answered, adding for Ronnie’s benefit, “Nadia’s Shana’s mom.

But if you want to know who killed Melissa?

Look no further than Hugh Mc-Nulty. Not to be confused with ‘huge,’ according to her.

” He looked half ashamed for already making jokes, but it didn’t stop him.

“She told Clint that ‘little’ story, and he told me.”

Ronnie inwardly sighed. Evan Caldwell might be highly successful, but he was still kind of a dick.

“Do you have Nadia’s address? I mean her specific street address?” asked Sloan in a cold voice. She suspected he felt something similar. “If not, can you get it?”

“What do you think?” Evan turned back to his desk, punched a few numbers, looked at the screen, then wrote down the address on a piece of paper and held it out. “Here ya go, bro.”

Sloan moved forward to take it from him.

“I could call her. See if she answers for me,” Evan offered, already pulling out his cell and clicking through his contact list. He pushed the button for her number, and they all waited, but there was no answer. Clicking off, he shrugged. “Nada.”

Sloan turned to Ronnie. She wasn’t sure if he was ready to leave, but she certainly was. They’d gotten information on Shana’s mother, and a little of Evan went a long way. “Let’s go,” she said.

“Thanks for this.” Sloan held up the piece of paper with Nadia’s information as he and Ronnie moved toward the door. Evan followed after them, his wheels nearly silent against the hardwood flooring.

“You know, I’m a little psychic myself,” he said as Sloan grabbed the door handle.

Here it comes, thought Ronnie. One more person with jokes about her extra ability.

She wasn’t disappointed.

Evan waggled his finger between the two of them. “I got this feeling that this is the beginning of something beautiful between the two of you.”

“Thanks for the warning,” muttered Ronnie.

Sloan shot her a sideways look.