Page 47 of The Diamond in the Rough

“Yes, Rayn?” he replied.

“Mr. Buckley is here,” I informed him. Buckley was about twenty minutes early.

“Are you going to be able to keep him out there?” Ward asked me. I had explained about his pushiness, so he was asking with good reason.

“I’ll send him back in fifteen, then,” I replied, loud enough for Buckley to hear. I knew he had, because his face turned a funny shade of red. I turned a smile on Buckley—I was hoping it looked friendly over the top of the mask, but I wasn’t sure I was succeeding at that. “Mr. Campion will be with you in about fifteen minutes,” I told him. “So you should be able to get started a little early,” I added, unable to resist including a reminder that he was the one who was inconveniencing us, and not the other way around.

Buckley turned slightly purple, then checked his watch. I could see the thought process cross his face as he tried to decide whether or not to complain about the fact that he wasn’t being seen immediately, weighing it against the fact that his appointment wasn’t for another nineteen minutes. I could tell that he very much wanted to insist that Ward meet with him right away, but I could also see him trying to decide whether or not respecting the medium’s timewould get him the outcome that he wanted from the séance.

I’m not usually very good at reading people’s thoughts or emotions on their faces—just on the objects they touch—so the fact that he was that transparent to me should tell you just how belligerent and entitled he was.

He then proceeded to sit on the couch—which was there for clients to use while they were waiting—and sigh audibly approximately every three minutes.

I was actually impressed with the fact that I hadn’t fantasized about killing him more than twice during the fourteen minutes he sat there before Ward rolled himself out to the lobby.

“Mr. Buckey,” the medium said, his eyes tilting up at the corners over his black mask patterned with stars, although I could tell that the smile was more reflexive than genuine. “I’m glad we were able to get you set up with an appointment.” Ward is quite good at passive aggression—to the point where most people he uses it on aren’t even aware that he’s doing it. I sometimes wondered how much people assumed he couldn’t possibly be sarcastic or mean because he was in a wheelchair. The two things had nothing to do with each other, of course, but people’s thought processes often don’t make sense.

“I need you to summon my brother,” he said, not bothering with any sort of greeting whatsoever. “And make him tell me what he did with the money that should have been mine.”

I saw the twitch of muscle at the corner of Ward’s jaw that told me he was not going to enjoy this—and that he probably wasn’t going to go out of his way to get Buckley the results he wanted, if they were even possible. “Come back tomy office,” is what he said out loud. “And we’ll get started.” Efficient, businesslike. Very not-Ward.

I set a timer on my phone for five minutes after the appointment was supposed to end, then tried to figure out a good excuse I could use to interrupt if Buckley was still there.

“Excuse me,”I said, pushing open the door to Ward’s office after he’d called out that I should come in. “I’m sorry to interrupt”—I wasn’t.—“but I’m afraid Mr. Campion has another appointment he needs to prepare for.” He didn’t. Well, okay, he did have other appointments… the next day. And he didn’t really need to prepare for them, either, but the alarm on my phone had gone off, so I was providing Ward with an excuse to end the session with Buckley if he wanted one.

Thank you, sunshine, Sylvia breathed, sounding exasperated. She was in the corner of the office, arms crossed over her chest.This could not possibly have ended soon enough.

I swallowed reflexively as the ghost in the center of the room—who could only have been Buckley’s brother, given the close family resemblance—turned to glare at me.Get out, he snarled at me.

Ward’s eyes narrowed, presumably saying something to the ghost that he didn’t like, since Other-Buckley turned his attention back to the medium, his nostrils flaring.You don’t tell me what to do, he snapped.

Oh, boy.

Indeed, came Sylvia’s thought, and that one sounded more amused.

Other-Buckley’s face puffed out, empty eyes widening as Ward exerted whatever kind of metaphysical pressure he needed to in order to force the ghost’s obedience. I had the feeling that if he’d been alive, like his brother, his face would have been just as purple and blotchy.

“Thank you,” Ward said, turning to me, his voice mild despite the effort I could see in the veins at his temples. Then he turned to the still-living Buckley. “We’ll have to conclude there, Mr. Buckley,” he said. “Since not only are we out of time, but I believe you have secured answers to your questions.”

I wondered why Buckley was still here if he’d gotten what he wanted.

Buckley’s face took on a stubborn cast. “The hell I have,” he snapped.

Ward’s silver eyes flashed. “Mr. Buckley,” he said firmly. “Just because you don’tlikethe answers does not mean you do not have them.” He made a sharp gesture with one hand, and a still-protesting Other-Buckley dissipated.

Oh.

Pompous ass number two had an extensive gambling problem in addition to the alcoholism that destroyed his liver,Sylvia reported to me.And the missing inheritance is therefore less ‘missing’ and more ‘gambled away.’

And I assume the living Buckley is not happy about that.

To put it mildly,she replied.He keeps trying to get names of bookies, et cetera, out of his idiot brother so that he can reclaim the funds.

And that’s not working?

My vote was to just tell him and give him enough rope to hang himself with, she remarked wryly.But Nancy doesn’t like sending people to the mob for some reason.

I had to struggle not to make a choking noise at that.