Deadworld by J. N. Duncan

I’ve told a thousand times. “From what I read about it, the method does bare some similarities.”
    “You never talked to your father about what happened?”
    “My father left just before my fourth birthday. I never saw him again.” His hearing picked up the nearly silent snort of air from Shelby. He gave her a quick, hard stare, but she only sat there with her arms folded across her chest, one eyebrow arched up at him. It was a necessary lie. The feds would not handle the truth very well and would likely throw his ass in jail.
    “Anyone told you, Mr. Anderson, that you are the spitting image of your father?”
    “On occasion.” This time Shelby’s noise of annoyance was clearly audible, and Agent Rutledge whirled around on her.
    “Something here bothering you, Ms. Fontaine?”
    “Nothing a swift kick in the head won’t solve,” she said, her ruby lips spreading into a large, not-so-amused grin. “Sorry. I have my own issues with the cowboy here.”
    Agent Rutledge said nothing for a moment, looking first at Nick and then back at Shelby. He could tell the agent was stifling some angry reply. He got the impression the fuse on this woman was a bit on the short side.
    “Why do I get the feeling I’m getting the shit end of the stick here?”
    “Beg your pardon?” Nick said.
    “Something’s missing here,” she said, voice lowered. “I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful with me, Mr. Anderson. My partner here throws up because she senses something is off . . . way off in this place, and yet you act like it’s just any other day, like ghosts are just a usual occurrence with you.”
    “They are, Agent Rutledge.”
    “Damn—” She cut herself off and snatched up the article from the desk. “I don’t buy it. You know, it might be to your advantage to cooperate just a little more. The situation here is serious.”
    Nick nodded. He felt a little sorry for her, but the truth would just unravel that knot of anger, and nothing would get solved now. She would be back. It was just a matter of time.
    “I understand your concern. The murder of a child is about as serious as it gets, and under the circumstances, I would’ve been checking me out as well, but I assure you, I had nothing to do with that boy’s murder.”
    The hands came out of their pockets and perched on her hips now. “Why do I find no reassurance in that, Mr. Anderson?”
    Shelby chuckled, and when Agent Rutledge faced her again, Agent Carpenter finally stood up. “You know, Jackie, it might behoove us to interview Ms. Fontaine and the secretary separately now. Their perspectives on things might even it all out.”
    Ah, cooler heads at last. Nick smiled. He decided he liked the medium. The stable one of the group. They did the good-cop–bad-cop thing pretty well, he had to admit. He managed to wipe off the smile before Agent Rutledge turned back to face him.
    “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Mr. Anderson, would you mind leaving us with Ms. Fontaine and your secretary for a few minutes? It won’t take long. I promise.” The last word dripped acid on the floor.
    Nick got to his feet, all too happy to dissipate some of the tension coiled in the air. “I’ll get Cynthia and let you have at them. I’m sure they’ll cooperate to their fullest abilities.” He nodded slightly and stepped around the desk, walking out of the room without looking back.
    “Mr. Anderson?” Laurel said, stopping him in the doorway. “I have one more question first.”
    He gave her the friendly smile, hoping she would not come much closer than she already was. “Sure.”
    “You said you help people with ghost problems, more or less.”
    He nodded. “Yes, I did.”
    “How is it exactly that you do that?” She moved over next to Agent Rutledge now, who visibly relaxed when she stopped next to her.
    “Difficult to say,” Nick answered. “Being a medium, you should understand the complexities involved in trying to define any sort of psychic