I took all of five minutes to relax before working my way along a roundabout path over to Cassie’s place, much to the chagrin of the rental car’s GPS. The well-maintained garden squares in the city, which gave Savannah an old-world European flair, gave way to a short jaunt through the ghetto and eventually what most would call the ‘burbs. A few landmarks later, I cruised past her house. Aside from the grass being a little overgrown, it looked the same as it had a few weeks ago when I visited with Bridget Dinapoli.
Would Cassie be the same? I had no doubt she would. She had a seriousness about her that wasn’t always present in folks these days. Everyone’s a damn comedian. At the same time, you could see right through her. She felt the pain of those she aided. It grabbed hold of her psyche and squeezed until she settled the spirits who pestered her.
I idled in front of the house for a few moments, staring across the green stretch of wavering grass blades leading to the door. The blinds parted for a moment. White gave way to black. I couldn’t see her, but it was almost as though she spoke to me.
Quit dallying about, Detective.
I was halfway up the drive when the front door creaked open and the screen door jutted outward. Cassie stepped onto the porch. Her dark hair was pulled back, with a few dark strands hanging down and curling under her jaw, framing her face. She tucked the left side behind her ear, smiled at me.
“Surprised?” I called out.
She lowered her head a tad and shrugged.
“Of course you’re not,” I said. “Impossible to surprise a psychic.”
“You know I don’t like being called that,” she said.
I held my hands up in mock surrender. “Only messin’ with you, Cassie.”
We stood on the porch, a couple weathered boards apart. The smell coming through the door reminded me of a farmhouse. Pumpkin spice, or something like that. I guess you could achieve the same effect at Starbucks, if you were so inclined. It was that time of year, after all.
“What brings you here, Mitch?”
“So you didn’t know I was coming?”
“Didn’t say that.”
“So you did, then.”
“And I didn’t say that.” That smile played on her lips again.
I dug my fingertips into my pocket where they came to rest on the weathered edge of the postcard containing Robbie’s note. For a moment, it felt as though he was reaching out and wrapping his little hand around my index finger.
“Mitch?” Cassie shuffled forward a step and placed her hand on my arm. It felt hotter than it should have.
Reluctantly, I pulled my hand out of my pocket and gestured toward the door. “Can we go in?”
I followed Cassie through the entrance and down a dim hallway that led to the kitchen. The chair scraped across the floor as I pulled it away from the table. Cassie spent a minute at the coffeemaker. The machine started gurgling, and soon the smell of a fresh brew overtook the pumpkin spice.
She pulled a chair out and sat facing me. Her gaze traveled up and down, finally settling on mine.
“What’s in your pocket?” she asked.
I hadn’t realized my hand had traveled back to the note. I pulled it out, holding tight with both hands, and stared at the lettering on the front. My ex or another adult had obviously written the address, but Robbie had written my name. I traced the large M and T with my thumb. After a moment, I cleared my throat.
“It’s from Robbie,” I said. “Got it a few days after my last visit, after we rescued those kids.”
Cassie nodded and took a moment or two to compose her thoughts into words. She was like a therapist at times, at least when she wasn’t beseeched by the voices that demanded her help.
I interrupted her before she had a chance to speak. “I know you can’t promise anything. And it’s probably tougher than what you are used to, with him being alive.” I diverted my eyes toward the coffeemaker. Could I be so sure of that fact? “But if there’s any chance you can pick up on something, I…I need to know, Cassie. I need to know where my son is.”
Her hand fell upon mine, fingertips gliding over my knuckles. She traced the remnants of the cut I sustained from knocking out Fairchild. I fixed my stare on her delicate fingers as they slid off mine and settled on the postcard. She tugged slightly on the end nearest her. I released my grip. In that instant, her demeanor changed. Her brows furrowed, creating a crinkle that started at the bridge of her nose and traveled up to the middle of her forehead. Her breathing grew erratic, and her eyes dampened.
“Shit,” I muttered.
She looked up, shaking her head. “It’s not…It’s something else. I can’t quite...” She let go of the postcard and jolted to her feet. “Something’s wrong.”
I remained silent, watching her back up until she hit the counter next to the stainless sink. The purr of the house fan billowing down from an overhead vent drowned out a slight buzzing in my ears.
And then it sounded as though two rifle blasts echoed down the hallway. It broke whatever trance Cassie had entered. She walked past me, out of the room and toward the front door to see who had knocked.