I Can See You by Karen Rose Read Free Book Online Page B

Christy wasn’t Gwenivere any more than Martha had been
Desiree. But Shadowland’s motto said it all. Sometimes you want to go where
no one knows your name. “Except me.”
    Gwenivere was at Ninth Circle, the virtual club she
visited every night. Here she was a former Miss Universe, a pianist as well as
an avid dancer and witty conversationalist.
    Shadowland was truly a fantasyland. Gwenivere ,
he typed. I’ve missed you .
    Christy’s avatar smiled at him. Her avatar had one of
Pandora’s nicer faces. He also had invested in a quality face and body-builder
physique for his own avatar. Pandora’s Façades Face Emporium had good stock and
wasn’t nearly as expensive as some of the other avatar designers.
    After all, one had to look one’s best when hunting
shallow, narcissistic fantasy addicts. But one also had to save a little cash
for expenses. Like his Ninth Circle bar tab or his account at the Casino
Royale’s most elite poker table.
    Long time no see , Christy typed back. Where have you been?
    Waiting for someone to find Martha Brisbane, he
thought.
    His avatar took the bar stool Christy had saved, his
long legs easily allowing his feet to touch the floor. He’d chosen Pandora’s
tallest, most muscular model because that’s what would most easily attract his
prey. As the hunter, he had to choose the best bait, even when it sickened him.
    Off on business ,
he typed. You know, bought an island, built a resort, made a million. Can I
buy you a drink?
    Christy’s avatar smiled again. Oh, maybe just one.
    He’d chat with her awhile, get her talking. It never
took more than a few minutes for Christy to abandon her Gwenivere persona and
become herself. Once he’d “slipped,” telling her he lived near Minneapolis.
She’d been surprised, revealing that she did, too.
    Of course she did. That’s one of the reasons he’d
picked her.
    She’d suggested they meet several times, but he’d
always put her off. He’d still been waiting for Martha to be found. Tonight
he’d suggest they meet, just for coffee.
    Just to talk. They always fell for it. Every single time. So why change what worked?
    Sunday, February 21, 9:55 p.m.
    “Normally we don’t allow visitors this late,” the
nurse said.
    “We’re sorry. It took longer to find Mrs. Brisbane
than we expected,” Jack said.
    “If Mrs. Brisbane is asleep, you’ll have to come back
tomorrow. Department policy.”
    “We understand,” Noah said. Martha Brisbane had chosen
a nice place for her mother, he thought. Must’ve run Martha a pretty chunk of
change.
    Noah thought of his own mother who wintered in Arizona
because of her health. Between his dead father’s police pension and a sizable
percentage of his own salary, he’d settled her pretty comfortably. It was a
financial sacrifice, but she was his mom and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
He imagined Martha had felt the same.
    “Will getting this news about her daughter’s death
affect her heart?” Noah asked.
    “It might, if she had one,” the nurse said, then sighed.
“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.” She opened the door, revealing a woman who
nearly disappeared against the white sheets. “Mrs. Brisbane, these men are
detectives. They’re here to talk to you.”
    The old woman’s eyes narrowed. “What about?” she demanded
sharply.
    Noah had lost the toss. “I’m Detective Webster and
this is my partner, Detective Phelps,” he said, keeping his voice as gentle as
possible. “We’re here about your daughter, Martha. She’s dead, ma’am. We’re
very sorry for your loss.”
    Mrs. Brisbane’s mouth pinched as if she’d eaten
something sour. “How?”
    They’d agreed to keep Martha’s death a suicide until
the ME filed his report. That said, they were questioning witnesses assuming
Dr. Gilles would confirm a homicide.
    “It appears she killed herself,” Noah said.
    “Then she got what she deserved. The wages of sin is
death, Detective. It’s as simple as that.” And with