Tiffany Robbins had bushy blonde hair and a red minivan. “You Tom Jurgen?”
“That’s me.” I reached into my jacket for the envelope.
“This is kind of crazy.” She handed a brown paper shopping bag over. I gave her the envelope. She counted while I looked inside the box.
A fork, all right. Gleaming in the afternoon sun, a little tarnish on the handle. I closed the box as she stuffed the envelope into her jeans. “Okay,” she said, looking as if she regretted not asking for more money. But it was just a fork, as far as she knew. “Thanks.”
We got in our cars. I sat while she drove off.
I decided not to go right back to Estrella’s house to deliver the fork. I probably had a little time before she expected me to find it. If nothing else, Rachel could take a look at. She’s psychic, and she can pick things up. Especially dangerous magic.
I was just a few blocks from the grocery store when I noticed it—a gray Nissan in my rearview mirror. Private detectives in movies get tailed all the time, but it almost never happens to me, so for a few blocks I wasn’t really sure what was going on. Then I tried some of the tactics you read about in novels—a sudden turn just before a red light, circling the block twice, speeding through the intersection with one last burst of speed before the light changed.
I thought I’d lost them, or what I was just imagining trouble, when I got on the highway. But then I spotted the Nissan again, about three lengths behind me. What the hell? I’m no stunt driver, so I wasn’t going to try to race them. I stayed in the right lane for several exits, hitting my blinker each time and then speeding past without exiting, hoping that would make them lazy.
It seemed to work when I finally lurched right just before I passed the exit, and saw the gray car hurtling past on the highway. My heart was pounding, but I felt very pleased with myself for losing them.
When I got to my apartment building, the Nissan was parked across the street.
Damn it. They knew where I lived. Why did they bother following me then? And, oh yeah—who the hell were they?
I pulled into the parking garage and left the bag in the trunk. After catching my breath and making sure I could stay calm—fighting the impulse to rush upstairs and hide under my bed—I walked up the ramp out of the garage.
I crossed the street, not making any effort to hide. I took a picture of the license plate and immediately sent it to Rachel. Then I cautiously approach the driver’s window and peered inside.
The driver was a young man, dark hair tied back in a ponytail, wearing dark glasses and a denim jacket. He stared at me as I took his picture, then looked away, ignoring me.
With a deep breath I wished for courage and then knocked on the window. “Hey!” I called, loud enough that I hoped he could hear. “What’s the deal?”
He glanced at me, then looked away.
I knocked again. “Why are you following me?”
The guy lit a cigarette, looking straight out the windshield.
I decided I didn’t want to stand in the street until he used up all his air and cracked a window. I took another picture of him, just to show him I could, and went back to my building.
I got the box from the car and went up. In my office, I looked at the fork, but didn’t touch it. Even if I didn’t have Rachel’s psychic powers, I thought I could feel something emanating from it, although it could have just been my nerves going haywire.
My phone buzzed. Rachel. “What’s going on? Are you all right? What’s with those pictures?”
I told her about being followed. “I don’t know who the guy is, but he obviously knows where I live.”
“But he picked you up after you got the fork, though. So he knew where it was even before you had it. That’s what he’s really after, maybe.”
“So how did he know to come here after I lost him? Why bother to follow me?”
“To make sure you got the fork, maybe. Okay, don’t worry about that right now. What are you going to do now? Focus on that.”
“Gee, it’s like you’re a shrink or something.” I thought for a moment. “I’ll have to call her and find out what’s going on. If there’s someone else after this mystery table setting, I’d rather know now, before they start breaking into the house.”
“Okay, good. Are you going to give it to her?”
“Not until you take a look at it. You do put the ‘psychic’ in ‘psychiatrist,’ after all.”
Rachel groaned. “They’re not even spelled the same. Call me when you know anything.” She hung up.
I made more coffee and went back to my desk. On my phone I looked up the number Niki’s father had called me from two days ago, and made the call.
The pickup came after two rings. “Hello?”
“Alexander? This is Tom Jurgen. I need to talk to Estrella.”
“Just one moment.”
It was almost five minutes before her voice came on. “Tom? This is Estrella.”
I cleared my throat. “I can deliver the fork to you tonight. But I have to tell you that someone is following me, and they’re parked right outside my building. Do you know anything about that?”
I heard a short sharp hiss of breath. “There are people who would like to draw me out of my house, out of my prison. I’m trapped, but safe. Some want to change that. Don’t worry about them. Do you have the fork now?”
Would she be able to tell if I lied? “I’ll bring it to you tonight.”
A moment passed. “All right. Tonight.” She hung up.
Estrella hadn’t mentioned Niki’s father. Maybe she’d forgotten all about that part of it. What would happen to Valdez once Estrella didn’t need him anymore?
More things to worry about. I had to focus on what I could do, not on what I couldn’t control, like Rachel said. Right now I was hungry, and I could do something about that, so I took my coffee into the kitchen to make a sandwich.
Rachel got home at 6:15. “Let me change,” she said, dropping her briefcase inside the door. “Then I’ll look at your fork. Speaking of forks, is there dinner?”
“Ravioli and salad,” I said after kissing her. “No rush.”
“Maybe for you. I’m starving.” She disappeared into the bedroom.
Ten minutes later she was in the office, in jeans and a sweater. “Okay, where is this thing?”
I had the box on a corner of my desk, so I opened it. “Right here.”
She leaned over and peered down at the fork. Usually she has to touch an object to feel its energy, but this time she seemed to feel it instantly. “Wow,” she whispered. She held her hand over the box, as if an invisible flame was rising up from it and threatening to burn her. After a moment she slammed the box shut and backed away.
“That’s maybe the strongest magical artifact I’ve ever been close to.” She shivered.
“Is that good or bad?”
“Depends on who’s using it. Did Carrie get back to you about this Estrella chick?”
“Yeah.” I told her what Carrie had told me. “I’d bet she wants the fork to complete the set so she can get out of her house. Overpower whatever’s holding here there so she can escape.”
“And then what?” Rachel crossed her arms.
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know. Disneyland? The White House? World domination? What would you do?”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Vengeance, maybe.”
Oh, yeah. Great. “Was the car still there when you came home?” We moved to the kitchen.
“I didn’t see it. But I didn’t look too hard.” She sat down and I opened the refrigerator for beers. “What time are we going to see this witch?”
“We?” I’d been hoping she’d want to stay home and watch whatever reality show she was binging lately. Hoping, but not really expecting it.
“I want to see her up close and personal.” She jabbed a finger at me “And I’m not letting you go alone so you get turned into a turtle or something.”
I’ve never won the argument that follows me asking her to stay home and safe. “Fine. Do you think Donald will do any good?”
Donald Duck is our name for the Glock handgun I bought a few years ago. I don’t like carrying it, and I’ve never actually had to shoot anyone—nothing human, anyway—but it has come in handy from time to time.
Rachel shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt. She might have minions or something.”
I nodded. “After dinner, then. Your turn to clean up.”
Rachel scowled. “Fine.”
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