St. Joseph’s Hospital on the north side of Chicago was quiet and orderly in the later afternoon. Mina lay on a bed in a room on the 11th floor. She had an IV in her arm and a bandage on her head, the standard hospital gown tied around the back of her neck. Vivian Vogel sat next to her.
Mina glared at me as I entered, as if I’d interrupted something. Then she shot angry eyes at Vivian. “If I could sue you, I would. Both of you. Maybe I can still sue you, Vivian. For the house.”
Vivian sighed. “I didn’t want the house, Mina. It’s not my fault she left it to me, but that doesn’t give you the right to let yourself in and just take whatever you want. Look what it’s done to you.”
“What happened?” I asked, hoping to deflect the argument—or at least not get caught in the middle of it.
Mina folded her hands on top of her covers. “He called me almost as soon as you left. Jonah. First he said he didn’t have the book, then he admitted it but said he needed it more than me. No, he deserved it more than me. I told him that was ridiculous. We argued, and he hung up. Or maybe I hung up first, I don’t know. Then I had to meet a friend of mine for lunch.”
Lunch. That made me hungry again. Did the hospital have a decent cafeteria? “Then what?”
“Well, I changed and went downstairs, and I was walking down the street—I was only a few steps away from my building, and I just—fell. Like someone pushed me, or like the wind shoved me, but there was nobody around me. I just fell over.”
She rubbed her hip and winced. “I felt it crack.” Then she tapped her scalp. “I don’t remember hitting my head, but then I was looking up at the sky, and there were people, and then there was a paramedic and I was in an ambulance, and then I was—here.” She pointed at the door. “I called Vivian to warn her.”
We were silent for a moment. Eventually I said, “I watched his apartment for an hour. I didn’t see him. I could go back, but sitting and waiting won’t get us anywhere. Even if he shows up, we’ll have to confront him.”
Vivian bit her lip. She glanced at Mina, wanting to say something angry, but forced herself to look away. Finally she settled on me. “It’s my house. The book belongs to me. The will says the house and everything in it, so—yeah, I suppose I have to talk to him.”
“That might make you a target,” I said.
She looked out the window. Mina’s room faced a park. People strolled or jogged along paths between the trees, with Lake Michigan beyond, boats drifting in the waves. She sighed. “I can’t ask you to do it. He won’t listen to you if you just show up, will he? I’ll have to do it. Goddamn it.” She stood up. “Can you come with me?”
“Of course.” She was my client.
Mina groaned. “I suppose you think this is all my fault,” she said bitterly.
Vivian opened her mouth, but then took a breath and said nothing. She stalked out of the room, her shoulders tense.
Mina gripped the side of her bed as if she wanted to yell something after her. But then she closed her mouth and shook her head, muttering under her breath.
“Hope you feel better,” I said.
”Go away,” she snapped.
I left to catch up with Vivian.
The vestibule of Jonah’s building had a camera in the ceiling. I looked away from it as Vivian jabbed at the buzzer, pressing it over and over until a male voice demanded, “What?”
“I’m Vivian Vogel, I’m Mina Hamilton’s niece, and you have something of mine.” She leaned in toward the speaker. “I’ll stay here all day until you let me in.”
No answer. She started pressing the buzzer again, until the door clicked. I pulled it open for her.
Jonah lived on the third floor. The elevator was out of order, and Vivian was out of breath as we reached the landing. Yeah, I was breathing a little hard too. We caught our breath before finding the apartment, and Vivian knocked on the door.
Jonah—his last name was Lansing, Vivian had told me on the drive here—looked like his picture: black hair retreating back over his scalp, a thick chin, and heavy shoulders. In his late 40s, maybe a few years older than me, but in better shape.
He crossed his arms in the doorway, blocking us. “Yes? What is it, Vivian? Who’s your friend?” He smirked at me.
“I want the book you stole from Mina’s house.” Vivian planted her feet firmly in the entrance. “She’s in the hospital.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “That’s too bad.”
“The book.”
Jonah looked at me. “And you are?”
“Tom Jurgen. I’m a private detective, working for Ms. Vogel.” I tried my best to look at least a little menacing.
“Private eye?” He glanced at my jacket. “Are you carrying a gun? A .44 magnum?”
I own a Glock, but I mostly keep it locked in a closet. “Not right now.”
“Jonah, who’s there?” A voice from inside the apartment. I peered around his shoulder.
A woman, blond, twentysomething, in green shorts and a white blouse. Barefoot, an apple in her hand. She had a tattoo of an apple on her right shoulder, too. Maybe she liked apples.
She stared at Vivian, then at me, then at Jonah, then took a bite of the apple. “Who’s this?”
“Nobody.” He sighed, annoyed. “Look, I’m sorry Mina’s in the hospital, but to tell you the truth, we’re done.” He glanced over his shoulder at the girl. “Can you leave now?”
Vivian took a step forward. “You made her take it, and now you took it. And you used it to put her in the hospital. A 72-year-old woman! A fall could have killed her. Are you going to use the book like my other aunt did? To get money from people, or just injure anyone you don’t like?”
“What’s she talking about, Jonah?” The younger woman seemed amused, as if she’d come in on the middle of a sitcom.
“Don’t worry, Bree, she’s cracked.” He put a hand on the door. “There’s no book. Some old lady falls on the street and it’s my fault? Get out of here before I call the police.”
“You might not like that if we tell them you’ve got stolen property in here,” I said. “They’ll have to ask questions.” Actually, they didn’t, but I was hoping the prospect would spook Jonah a little.
It did, but not the way I expected. Jonah took a step back, but before Vivian or I could move he slammed the door in our face. She jumped back, rubbing her nose. “Son of a bitch!”
“We could knock again,” I said. “We might wear him down.”
I didn’t really think so, but it had happened to me a few times. Mostly I just didn’t want my client to think I gave up easily.
But Vivian shook her head. “I can’t stand here all day arguing with him. Do you think he really has the book?”
“He knew your aunt fell in the street. We didn’t tell him that.” Maybe the curse was really specific. Or he was watching her when he cast it. Or maybe he’d just gotten lucky.
Her eyes went wide. “I guess that’s right. He must have it. What do we do now?”
I led her to the elevator, and we went down. I used the ride to think. I wished Rachel were here—she’d have been able to tell me for sure if the book was in Jonah’s apartment. Right now all I had were my own P.I. instincts.
“I want to watch this place for a while,” I told her finally as we stood on the street outside. Cars crept up and down the street slowly, and pedestrians were making their way to the subway, the bus stop, or home. “If he’s carrying the book around, with him I might have a chance to grab it. Or if he’s keeping it somewhere else, he might take me to it. We can set a time limit on it, a few hours if you want, so I don’t add too much to your bill.”
She looked up at the building. “I suppose so. It’s, what, 4:30?” She looked at her wrist. “Almost five. Let’s say 7:30. Call me before you leave. Let me know if you see anything.”
“Right.” I looked up and down the block and spotted a Starbucks. Coffee would be good, and I wanted to use a bathroom before I started a stakeout. “I’ll be in touch.”
I used the restroom, snagged a coffee, and got as comfortable as I could in my car across the street from Jonah’s building. I texted Rachel to let her know what was going on. She texted back: This is how you get out of making dinner? With a frowny-face emoji. I let it go.
So I sat back and waited, watching the front door. He didn’t show, of course. This was a long shot, but it was the only tactic I could think of right now. Maybe tomorrow I’d have a better idea.
By 6:30 I was looking forward to quitting in half an hour and going home, but then the door opened and the girl came out. Bree, Jonah’s girlfriend. She was at least a little more age appropriate. I watched her for a moment, then, on impulse, I jumped out of my car and followed her.
She walked two blocks to a Chinese restaurant. A cheerful woman handed some plastic bags to her over the counter, and she gave her a handful of cash. Then she turned and saw me.
“Oh. You.” The bags dangled in her arms. “What do you want?”
“Does Jonah have the book?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. What’s the big deal about it?”
“It could be dangerous to have around.”
Her face wrinkled. “Dangerous how?”
“The—the information in it. He could use it to hurt people.” I didn’t want to get into the curses right now. Not everyone believes in the supernatural until it whacks them between the eyes.
Bree set the bags on an empty table and wiped a hand on her shorts. “Let me ask you something—is Jonah really screwing a 70-year-old woman?”
“I don’t have pictures of them, or anything like that. But—yes.”
Bree laughed. “That asshole. I mean, I expect it, but a senior citizen? Damn.”
“What about the book?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. He brought some book home a few days ago. Very secret. Hid out in the bedroom for hours, and I was stuck watching TV all day. When I saw him the next day, though, he had a pocket full of cash. Wouldn’t say where it came from. I saw the book in the bedroom when we—you know—and then he kicked me out. Said he had some kind of work to do. And the next day, more money.” She picked up her bags. “Is that it? This is going to get cold, and you don’t want me telling Jonah why I took so long.”
She had a point, but I had one big question. “What happened today? Did he disappear into the bedroom today to do something?”
She looked past me to the door. “Yeah. He got a text, and then he went into the bedroom and I heard him talking, and then it was quiet and I heard him talking again, only this time he wasn’t talking to anybody. It was like he was talking to himself. Can I go now? I’m hungry.”
Me too.I hadn’t eaten lunch, and the aroma of Chinese food was getting to me. I handed her a card. “The book is important. We might be able to pay you if you can help us get it back.”
Bree slipped the card into her back pocket and grinned. “Don’t hold your breath.”
“Can I have your number? In case I have to talk to you again?”
She hesitated, suspicious, but after a moment she ripped a few inches of paper from her receipt, borrowed a pen, and wrote down her number for me. “This doesn’t mean I’ll answer you.”
“Understood. Thanks.”
“Whatever.” She walked around me to the door. I watched her go.
My stomach felt suddenly empty, so I bought an eggroll and carried it back to the car.
Now what? Jonah definitely had the book, and it looked like he was using it already, casting some low-level curses to get cash. Getting it back, though, was going to be complicated. Maybe a TV private eye could break into the apartment and steal it, but I didn’t even know how to pick a lock. And I couldn’t count on Bree to help me.
I called my client to report. Vivian listened without saying much. She seemed tired, not just worn out physically but sick of the whole situation. “I don’t know,” she said when I finished. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Fine.” We hung up, and I called Rachel. “Want me to bring home Chinese food?”
“It’s either that, or crackers and cheese again. Go crazy.”
“Coming soon.” We hung up and I headed back to the restaurant.
We ate dinner in front of the TV, watching the newest season of Black Mirror until 11:30. I dozed off, but Rachel woke me up, and we moved from the sofa to the bedroom. I woke up to my alarm at 7:15.
I fumbled in the darkness to snooze the alarm before it woke Rachel, and sat up. I rubbed my eyes, stretched, and reached out for my phone. It fell on the floor, and I leaned down to look for it, but I couldn’t see it. I blinked and rubbed my eyes again. Why was it so dark?
I stood up, then sat back down on the bed again. Reached for the lamp and found the switch. I turned the switch. Nothing. Just a faint glow in the corner of my eye. I ran my hand up the stem of the lamp to the bulb. It was working—I could feel the heat. I turned the light off and on again. I couldn’t see the light.
I held my hand up in front of my face. A dim shadow, nothing more. I blinked a bunch of times, rubbed my eyes again, and searched the floor until I found my phone. I flicked the screen. Again, I could see only a mild, distant shard of light. What the hell?
“Rachel?” I leaned back to pat her. “Rach?”
“Wha?” Her voice was muffled and sleepy.
“I need help.” My heart started to pound.
“Huh? You know how to make coffee and pour cereal. What kind of help do you need?”
One more time I blinked and rubbed my eyes. But it was no use. I had to admit it. “I can’t see.”
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