The Yanti Page 6

  Ali still had no idea why Ms. Smith—the human part of the Shaktra—felt the need to own a software company. It couldn’t be for monetary reasons. Using her fairy powers, Ali could walk into any Vegas casino and make millions in an hour—that is, if the pit bosses would let her play.

  Ali spoke carefully. “The last time we spoke, in your office, you did not come out and say it, but you hinted at what a slave driver Ms. Smith was. You said nothing could stop her from getting what she wanted—once she’d made up her mind.” Ali paused. “Doesn’t that sound like a ruthless person to you?”

  Mike Havor did not answer her question directly, which she took to be a yes. But he did alter the direction of his head, and soon he had narrowed his hidden eyes upon her.

  Nevertheless, his expression remained troubled.

  “This whole situation is very confusing,” he said.

  Ali nodded. “I agree with that.”

  Sheriff Terry Mackey and Officer Mike Garten arrived a minute later and let them inside the station. Sheriff Mackey had brought a large box of assorted doughnuts, scones, and muffins—he had a bulging gut that testified this was a typical breakfast for him—and two pots of steaming coffee. No doubt he had swung by the local pastry shop that Steve had been addicted to . . . when he had been alive . . .

  Seeing the pastries and thinking of Steve made Ali lose her appetite. The room they were put in was depressing. It was the station’s conference center, but it looked like a classroom that had been swiped from a rundown elementary school. There was a plastic desk at the center, surrounded by a dozen cheap folding metal chairs. At the far end was a chalkboard where someone—it was probably Garten, the handwriting was lousy—had sketched a crude schematic of the bottom floor of Sheri Smith’s mansion.

  The room’s only window stared out at a dismal parking lot, bordered by the back wall of a bankrupt tire store. Economically, Breakwater was not thriving, not like Toule was—what with all the taxes it must collect from its money factory, Omega Overtures. Ali suspected Sheri Smith could treat Toule’s authorities like dogs and they would just smile and lick it up.

  Sheri Smith would probably not personally defend herself. Money didn’t talk—it didn’t have to. She had the team of lawyers Garten had mentioned to do her fighting for her.

  Odd, though, how the woman had not offered to give Mike Havor a ride to the station. She had left the blind man to fend for himself with public transportation. He must know she was rotten, Ali told herself.

  The two mayors arrived next: Breakwater’s Clyde Banner and Toule’s James Plier. The latter was young, twenty-five, and well-groomed. His nicely cut gray suit looked as if billionaire Sheri Smith had purchased it for him while shopping in Manhattan.

  After shaking hands with everyone, Mayor Plier sat beside Mayor Banner, whose plain attire could at best be described as unclean. Ali smelled the alcohol on his breath, and wondered if she was the only one. As a fairy, her senses were exceptionally keen. Banner had already had a couple of whiskeys. He blinked and rubbed his eyes as he scanned the room, probably trying to remember what the meeting was about.

  Ali knew Mayor Banner would not stand up for her and Cindy’s rights. He was a well-known alcoholic—it was hard for him just to stand this early in the day.

  Banner frowned as his bloodshot gaze rolled over her.

  He had heard bad things about her.

  Cindy and her mother arrived next, and the woman would not even look at Ali. And here Cindy’s mom had been like a second mother to her, since her own mother had supposedly died in a car accident a year ago. But blood was clearly thicker than right or wrong, and Ali could see the woman blamed her for getting her daughter into this mess.

  Cindy sat beside her and reached over and squeezed Ali’s hand. Ali had her old pal on her right, Mike Havor on her left. Cindy flashed her a warm smile, and for the first time all day asked how she was holding up.

  “Fine,” Ali said, trying to sound stronger than she felt.

  “Things good at home?” Cindy asked, concerned about Nira.

  “They couldn’t be better.”

  Steve’s parents arrived next. Both looked as if they had been crying. They would look at Cindy, but not Ali. It appeared it was her turn to be the black sheep today. Yet their grief only heightened her own.

  Four male lawyers came soon after. They looked as if they had been ordered from a catalog. They wore black suits, red ties, carried brown leather briefcases, did not smile, and did not look as if they had much fun after their batteries wore down at the end of the day. There was definitely something mechanical about their behavior, but Ali felt as if she was the only one who noticed it.

  Before Sheri Smith appeared, several others entered the now crowded room. The first were Mr. and Mrs. Tanner, and they did not mind staring at Ali. Their eyes blazed at her as if she had broken their son’s neck in front of them. Ali did not feel hostility toward them; she felt, in fact, sympathy for the loss of their son. But they were not nice people, never had been, even before the disappearance of Karl. They used their money to use people.

  Ali couldn’t help notice the way Garten and the Tanners exchanged knowing looks. It was as if they thought, finally, we’ve got the little snot. Now all we need is a stiff rope and a building tall enough to hang her from.

  The next person to arrive was Judge Harp Lincoln, whose name had appeared on the legal document that had ordered her to appear at the police station. He did not have on his black robes; nevertheless, he carried himself with authority. He was tall and black, dignified, in his sixties, and had a sparkle in his eyes that did not vanish when he shook Ali’s hand. There was really no physical evidence against her—perhaps he would be the one to point that out.

  Judge Lincoln had brought with him a female lawyer he introduced her to, Ms. Betty Savor. Apparently someone had given the judge the heads-up that she would be coming to the meeting alone, and without representation. Before taking a seat, Judge Lincoln asked her a series of questions.

  “Where is your mother?”

  “She died a year ago.”

  “Where is your father?”

  “He is a long-distance truck driver. He is on his way back to town right now, but won’t get here for a few hours.”

  “Is he aware you are attending this meeting right now?”

  “Yes, sir.” A partial lie. Ali had left word with Hector to tell her father about the meeting, should he get home before her.

  Judge Lincoln scowled at Officer Garten. “Why didn’t we at least postpone this meeting until her father could be here?”

  “Your Honor, this was the only time I could arrange for everyone else to be here.” The deputy added, “I did not think it wise to make an exception for just one of the people involved.”

  “But you have to admit she is a very important person in this case.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. I did the best I could to accommodate everyone’s schedules.”

  Ali knew Officer Garten was lying. He had wanted her father out of town so he could jump all over her.

  Judge Lincoln looked on the verge of postponing the meeting when both the mayors suggested he go ahead. “It’s just an informal meeting to gather some kind of understanding of what’s going on here,” Toule’s James Plier pointed out.

  Judge Lincoln continued to act uneasy. He told Ali to speak with the lawyer he had brought, Ms. Savor, outside. The two of them stepped into the hallway. Savor was young and pretty, although she wore far too much makeup and the size of her lush lips had been helped along with plastic surgeon injections.

  “Do you know what’s going on here?” Ms. Savor asked Ali.

  “Basically. The one cop, Garten, thinks I kidnapped and killed Karl Tanner.”

  “He isn’t alone. Judge Lincoln filled me in on the ride here. The missing boy’s parents also think you and your friend, Cindy, are guilty. My advice, Ali, since I know only the barest of facts of this case, is that you invoke the right to remain silent. Even though they are ac
ting like this is an informal meeting, everything you say can and will be used against you later in court—should you end up there.”

  “But I’m innocent. I’ve nothing to hide.”

  “Nowadays, being innocent is not necessarily the most important thing. It’s the level of legal help you can hire.” Ms. Savor nodded toward the room. “And there are some pretty high-priced attorneys inside there.”

  Ali shook her head. “I’m not afraid to talk. Honestly, I can defend myself.”

  With a sigh and a shake of her head, Ms. Savor led her back inside the conference room. There the lawyer leaned over and whispered in Judge Lincoln’s ear that Ali Warner had waived her right to remain silent. Of course, with her fairy hearing, Ali heard the words loud and clear.

  The last person to arrive, before Sheri Smith, was Officer Jed Broach, the thirty-year-old deputy who supposedly had seen her entering and exiting the Smith residence during the night. Ali saw that he was badly cross-eyed, perhaps from lack of sleep, perhaps from something more sinister. Garten stood to welcome him, patted him on the back, but the guy slumped in a seat and stared off into space. If Ali had to pick one person in the room who’d had their brain psychically rewired, it would have been Broach. He looked like a man who had a headache so bad it made his hair hurt.

  Then, in a single heartbeat, Sheri Smith appeared.

  In her mind, Ali dropped her last name.

  Sheri was right in front of her. Sheri was a real person now.

  She was beautiful, with her long blond hair, her seductive curls, her flowing green dress. Of course, she could be whoever she wanted to be. Her gown complimented her eye color so well, they must have been matched at the tailor. The green also acted as a counterpoint to Ali’s own eyes; and she thought, surely someone else in the room must notice.

  For a moment Ali felt as if she was staring at an older sister, who had left home long ago, raped and pillaged a dozen villages to amuse herself, then returned home for Christmas dinner—like she had done nothing wrong in the meantime. For Sheri entered with a calm smile on her red lips. If she was nervous, even if she was ready to kill, she hid it perfectly. But studying her face across the table, Ali felt as if she were gazing at a living mask. There was no reality in the woman’s expression. It could be changed in an instant, to fit any occasion.

  As Sheri sat beside Judge Lincoln, close to her lawyers, Ali allowed her own gaze to deepen, to probe beyond the layers of Sheri’s façade. Simultaneously, she felt the Yanti beneath her blouse begin to warm. As the heat grew, Sheri allowed her gaze to fall on Ali. Ali felt a sudden pressure in her head and heart, but it was not unbearable. Sheri knew she was being examined, and was sending back the message that she did not like it. However, she was not truly trying to stop her. It was almost as if she said aloud, Fine, have a look, if you can.

  Then the façade suddenly crumbled, as the Yanti’s heat swelled, actually blistered Ali’s skin. For several seconds she was given a clear vision of the woman.

  Sheri was hideous. She was scars. She was burnt flesh. She had one eye, the right, but it was almost buried beneath a mound of seared skin. It was still green, though, and there was a dull light to it; a power that hinted at something inhuman.

  Pain smoldered in its depths, and Ali recalled the many things Hector Wells had told her before the meeting, and thought she understood why.

  The horrific vision wavered like a computer screen crackling in an electrical storm, then it settled back to the blond loveliness Sheri normally presented to the world. The heat of the Yanti halted, but the memory of what it had revealed stayed with Ali. Sheri was neither blond nor redheaded. Her bald skull was a pitted moon that had traveled too near a flaming sun. Thirteen years ago—at last Ali was convinced—the fire of Hector’s car accident had burned away all her beauty.

  Ali no longer questioned whether Sheri Smith had been Lucy Pillar.

  However, the feeling swept over her that she was missing something obvious.

  The way Sheri grinned at her, it was as if the woman were thinking to herself: Yes, Alison Warner, baby sister, childish foe, you see my face, you may even know a piece of my past, but you do not know me. You will never know me. Because I am beyond you.

  That was her subtle message. Her greeting.

  Ali was disappointed when Judge Lincoln let Garten start the meeting. The cop was a nightmare from the word go. He acted as if he were presenting facts, but he put such a spin on them, Ali felt as if she were listening to a well-rehearsed speech that had been created by a committee of everyone who hated her.

  Officer Garten began five weeks ago, with Karl Tanner coming home and telling his parents he was going on a camping trip with Alison Warner, Cindy Franken, and Steve Fender. Garten listed the dates and times, described the equipment Karl brought with him—making it clear that he brought a warm coat and an extra sleeping bag, for one or more of the others.

  Garten played the drama king. Jumping three days forward in time, he leapt from his chair and boldly paced the room.

  “Then Ali, Steve, and Cindy returned to Breakwater, without Karl!” he cried. “That’s a simple fact, ladies and gentlemen. The three kids reappeared, went back to their daily lives, like nothing wrong had happened. They acted like they had not a clue where Karl was. Worse, they acted like they didn’t care. I remember those days well. At the behest of Mr. and Mrs. Tanner, I questioned the three of them many times. They refused to admit they’d even gone hiking with Karl. But it was clear they were lying. How could I be sure? For one thing, they initially denied they had even gone hiking during the time I described. Then, when they were confronted with the proof, that yes, they had been up on the mountain, they started to mouth the same lies over and over again. They just decided to go camping, they said. They hiked partway up the peak, stayed out two or three nights. They couldn’t remember for sure how long it had been, but they had lots of fun. No, they didn’t see Karl. No, they never invited him on the trip. No, they didn’t know why he’d gone camping at the same time as them.”

  Garten paused for effect. “All three repeated the identical lines to me. I’m sure you can guess why. Because they’d agreed ahead of time what they needed to say to stay out of trouble.” Garten added, “The smoothest liar of them all was Ali.”

  Garten pointed at her. “That’s Ali sitting there. She looks harmless, doesn’t she? With her long red hair and cute smile. I admit, I used to think she was one of the nicest kids in town. I know her dad, he’s a fine man, an honest man, a hard worker. I knew her mother, as well, when she was alive. One of the kindest souls you could hope to meet. Always had a kind word for everyone. But I swear to you that Ali doesn’t take after either of them. Let me give an example. Intellectually, according to her schoolteachers, the girl’s a genius. Without picking up a book, she always gets straight A’s. Many of the teachers at school are intimidated by her. I’ve talked to several, and the questions she asks—most of the time they haven’t a clue what the answers should be. I’m embarrassed to admit she can dance circles around me. Every time I’ve stopped by her house to talk, I’ve left feeling more confused than when I arrived.”

  “Excuse me,” Judge Lincoln interrupted. “What does Ali’s intellectual prowess have to do with Karl’s disappearance?”

  “Your Honor, I’m just trying to establish that even though she looks innocent, we mustn’t be fooled. We have no idea what goes on inside that girl’s mind.”

  Ali almost thanked him but decided to keep her mouth shut.

  He was exaggerating about school. Only one teacher was intimidated by her—Mr. Sims, their biology teacher, and it was because he had a crush on her. The affection was totally innocent. He gave her the biggest frogs to dissect, stuttered when she smiled at him. He was far from a pervert.

  On the other hand, it was true, she did get straight A’s. Algebra and creative writing were not particularly challenging when you were queen of all the fairies.

  Garten continued to pace. “Now I have to make
two leaps—in time and in the nature of the crime we are discussing. These are crucial leaps—I’m hoping you can make them with me. Just keep an open mind, listen to the facts, let them speak for themselves. The most dangerous mistake right now would be to focus on Ali and Cindy’s age. Like I said, they look like innocent kids but they’re—”

  “Please get to the point,” Judge Lincoln said, more than a hint of impatience in his voice. He did not like being lectured to, Ali thought. That was good, he would make up his own mind. Shifting his bulk in his chair, he reached out and picked up a doughnut. He already had a cup of coffee in hand.

  Garten looked insulted, but tried to hide it. “Four days ago Ali disappeared from sight. The following day, Steve and Cindy disappeared. No one knows where they went to, not their friends, not even their parents. But just before they vanished, they were seen in Toule. Specifically, Ali was seen at a software company, Omega Overtures, where she introduced herself as Lisa Morgan, and snooped around questioning several of the firm’s employees about Sheri Smith. We have a witness here, Mr. Havor, one of Ms. Smith’s employees, who can verify Ali came to the firm and used a false name.” Garten paused. “Is that true, Mr. Havor?”

  Judge Lincoln interrupted, turned to Havor. “Excuse me, Mr. Havor, are you blind?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  The judge turned to her. “Ali, please say your full name.”

  “Alison Warner,” she said.

  Judge Lincoln spoke to Havor. “You recognize the voice?”

  “Yes.”

  “This was the young lady you met at your firm a few days ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “She introduced herself as Lisa Morgan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did she say she was at the firm?”

  “She said she was writing a paper on our software company, and that she was a fan of our games, and played them regularly.”

  Judge Lincoln nodded to Garten. “You may continue.”

  “These three kids were in Toule, and the next day, Cindy and Steve were back in Toule. But Ali had disappeared. I know because I swung by her house and she wasn’t home. I called her father, who was out of state, and he didn’t know where she was. He thought she was staying at Cindy’s house, but that afternoon Cindy was with Steve in Toule. Like she had four weeks earlier, Ali had once again disappeared.” Garten paused. “Then, the next day, the other two kids also vanished from sight.”