The Seance (17 page)

She rose, then hesitated, shaking her head. “Actually, I don't think I'm heading home after all. I think I'll go down the street and see a movie. But thanks. And thank you so much for agreeing to see me. Please, after you've been to see Larry Atkins, will you give me a call and tell me how it went?”

“Yes,” he promised her.

“You'll call no matter what?” she asked, her tone afraid and hopeful all at once.

“No matter what,” he promised.

With a wave, she was gone.

 

Beau Kidd was back. He sat on the floor with her, going through clippings, while Killer dozed on the couch. “There just has to be an answer,” he said.

She gazed up at him, gritting her teeth. He hadn't been there…then he was. “You were the lead detective on the case,” she reminded him.

He shook his head. “Yeah, and as soon as I wanted to keep an eye on a girl…she died.”

“Beau, did you draw your weapon on Larry Atkins?” she demanded.

He paused, staring blankly out across the parlor. “I drew my weapon. But not on Larry.”

“What do you mean?”

“The killer was there.”

“The killer was there? Who was it?”

“Obviously, I don't know.”

She stared at him as if he had taken leave of his senses. “But you said—”

“It was night. Dark. Someone had called in a tip about shadows moving by the highway, so I called Larry and told him to meet me there, but I reached the location first. I thought…” He paused, and ghost or not, the look that flashed across his face was one of pure agony. “I saw her, and I thought she was still alive, so I ran over to her. But then I heard something, so I drew my weapon. I thought that the killer was still there. She was…she was still warm, you see,” he said very softly.

Killer suddenly stood up and barked once, his tail wagging.

The doorbell rang.

Christina leapt up as Killer barked again, excited, anxious to go to the door with her. “It has to be someone I know,” she explained, starting for the hallway. But when she turned back to see if Beau had heard her, he was gone.

Killer barked again. “And they make fun of you,” she told him affectionately as they reached the front hall. “You are a good guard dog.”

She hesitated at the door. Somehow, she knew it was Jed, maybe because Killer was already so pleased. Her heart thundered as she looked through the peephole.

It was Jed.

“Hey,” she said as she opened the door, trying to sound casual.

“Hey, yourself,” he replied as she stepped back to give him room to enter. He hunkered down immediately to pet Killer, who seemed positively ecstatic.

Then again, Killer seemed to like her ghost just fine, too. She turned, anxiously looking down the hallway. Was Beau Kidd still there somewhere, just keeping out of the way?

She suddenly felt very awkward, and just a little worried. She sure as hell couldn't tell a man like Jed Braden that she had a ghost in her house. No need to give him any more reason to think she was seeing things. And yet…

The ghost was real. He wasn't just in her mind. He wasn't.

But she didn't like the idea of the ghost listening in on their personal conversation. Or their personal…other communication.

“So what's up?” she asked, leading the way into the parlor. Might as well see if Beau had reappeared, she thought. “I was actually going to call you later. I promised Dan that I'd go see him doing his Grim Reader thing. I was going to get hold of Ana and ask her to go with me tomorrow, and I was hoping you would come along.”

“You're going to the new park?” he asked, his voice fierce, and he was frowning.

“I told you, I promised Dan I'd go.”

He followed her into the parlor and looked around at the multitude of boxes. “I guess they're still doing all the Halloween stuff—despite the danger,” he said, and it wasn't a question.

“Everyone has to make a living,” she said.

He took a seat on the piano bench, looking around some more. He froze when he spotted an old article on the Interstate Killer. “What have you been doing?”

“Just going through stuff,” she said.

“Tell me you're not getting involved in this case,” he demanded.

“I'm just sorting out some old clippings.”

“What you need to do is stay as far away from this case as you can,” he said harshly.

Surprised by his tone, she shook her head. “You seem to be getting involved,” she pointed out.

“I used to be a cop.”

“So you should know that cops are grateful for any help they can get. If someone could figure out—”

“They might be in a lot of danger,” he said.

She hesitated, and in the silence she could have sworn she heard some of the clippings rustling around.

“Everyone is in danger until this killer is caught,” she said.

He leaned forward. “Christie, you write advertising jingles for a living.”

“And I'm a redhead,” she said coolly. “I'd like to see this solved.”

He stood, agitated. “Look—”

“Beau Kidd didn't do it,” she heard herself say.

“And how the hell do you know that?”

“I just…I just…Well, look at what's happening now. I just know he's innocent,” she said stubbornly. When he didn't deny her words, she whispered softly, “You agree, don't you?”

“Agree?” he demanded.

“That Beau Kidd was innocent,” she said more loudly.

He stared at her as if puzzled by her vehemence. “In my opinion? Beau Kidd was not guilty.”

She smiled. “And the cops have to know that, too, right? So they must be looking for someone who was here then and is still here now.”

“That would be logical, yes,” he said.

“Maybe you could figure out the relationship between the victims then and the victims now,” she said.

He groaned. “Great. All the law enforcement officials on this case, and you think that hasn't occurred to anyone yet?”

She flushed.

“Christina…why is it you suddenly seem to feel as if you have to personally make sure someone solves this and exonerates Beau Kidd?”

Not knowing how to answer that without sounding as if she needed to be locked up in a padded room, she changed the subject and asked, “Hey, how about some dinner? We could call out for pizza, or I could throw some eggs on the frying pan….” She paused. “You look kind of worn-out,” she told him. “Like you need a good meal.”

He shrugged, clearly not about to tell her what was really on his mind. Then he let out a sigh. “I just had coffee with Katherine Kidd,” he told her.

“Katherine Kidd?” she said.

“Beau Kidd had a sister,” he said.

“I remember. She was about my age. You know, he was buried the same day as my grandfather. I remember…I didn't know whose grave it was, but I saw his parents there. His mother was sobbing. I didn't see his sister there, though.”

“Maybe they wouldn't let her go,” he said. “There was so much hatred for Beau at the time, so many people who believed he was a killer.”

“So has she hired you to work the case?” Christina asked.

“No one needed to hire me for this case,” he told her, then straightened his shoulders. “So, did I hear something about dinner?”

“Want eggs and toast?” she suggested.

“Sure.”

She turned and walked to the kitchen, leaving him standing there.

A minute later, she felt hands on her shoulders and froze.

Beau or Jed?

She spun around. It was Jed, pitch-dark eyes meeting hers. “I don't want to talk about this all the time,” he said. “I don't want it to become an obsession, do you understand?”

“Right,” she murmured. “Um…do you want wine with your eggs?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Do you mind running down to the basement?” she asked him.

“Sure.” He turned away and headed for the stairs. She reached for a spatula, then jerked when she felt a touch on her arm.

This time it was Beau Kidd.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, irritated.

He looked hurt, but all he said was, “Thanks.”

She shook her head. “You didn't need to haunt me. He's on it already.”

He was quiet, looking perplexed. “I can't help it. The flower on my grave, the Ouija board…there's a connection between us, though I have to admit, I don't get it, either.”

“Well, I've got company, so there's no time to figure it out. Would you just go somewhere else?”

They could both hear Jed's footsteps on the stairs.

“Got a thing for him, huh?” Beau teased.

“Go away. Please?”

He let out a sigh. “I sure would love to see Kitty…my folks.”

“Try wafting over there, why don't you?”

He grinned.

“Who are you talking to?” Jed called.

“I was just talking to the dog,” she returned, glaring at Beau.

Jed reentered, and when she looked back to where Beau had been, he was gone. Jed poured the wine while she finished the eggs. “I saw an old acquaintance of yours tonight,” he told her.

“Oh?”

“Mike's ex-wife.”

“Really?” Christina felt herself stiffen. She couldn't help it. Angie had hurt Mike. She'd cheated on him and hadn't particularly cared that he'd found out, or that she'd hurt him. He'd been head over heels in love with her, and she'd used that to her advantage. They hadn't had any kids, but Mike was still stuck paying alimony.

“What did she have to say for herself?”

“She wanted me to suck up to you,” he said flatly.

Christina stared at him, curious. “Suck up to me? Why?”

“Because you're going to be looking for singers.”

Christina laughed suddenly. “Wow. I don't think of myself as being particularly vengeful, but…well, she could suck up to me from now to eternity, and I still wouldn't use her.”

“So I figured.”

“I do think Mike is finally over her,” Christie said as she dished out the eggs, saving some in the pan to give Killer later. As she set their plates out on the dining-room table, she realized that she was nervous.

Just what had last night been? A moment's insanity? The natural result of so many years of pent-up attraction, at least on her part?

Or was he here now because this was the beginning of something new, something different, for both of them?

She saw that she still had the Harrison Investigations home page up on the screen. Embarrassed, she closed it and got ready to shut down the computer, but just then a breaking news alert suddenly flashed on, and she gasped.

“What?” Jed demanded, just as his cell phone began to ring. “Another body?” he asked, staring at the screen while he flipped his phone open.

She shook her head. “No, no…not a body. A missing woman.”

A woman she knew.

“Yeah, Jerry, thanks. I just heard about it,” she heard Jed saying, though she couldn't seem to pull her eyes away from the screen. Then Jed strode into the living room and turned on the television. Immediately, the missing woman's face popped into view.

She was pretty. She was young.

She had long red hair.

And a voice like a lark.

“I know her,” she told Jed as he snapped his phone closed. “Her name is Allison Chesney. I was supposed to record with her on Monday.”

“She won't be going anywhere on Monday,” Jed told her.

“But the computer only said that she was missing.”

“She's been found,” he said grimly.

H
e watched. Waited. Analyzed their body language.

They were both young, attractive, the man obviously in a hurry, the woman just as obviously anxious. The man was talking, his expression firm. He was clearly the kind who tended to speak with authority. When she responded, he could see that she was the type to defy authority. But pretty, so very pretty…

And then they kissed. Not the kind of peck a husband gave his wife when he was in a hurry. Not the kind of halfhearted kiss a man gave a woman when he was already long gone mentally. It was a kiss like a promise, brief, but filled with the future. Then the man left, and from his vantage point, he heard the lock snap.

He drew a deep breath and smiled. She was alone.

But this wasn't the time. Not yet. It would come soon enough.

He left his hiding place and walked down the street, waving to the occasional passerby as he headed for the house, for the woman who knew him.

He felt as if his patience was paying off and things were finally going his way. All these years…He felt gleeful, like laughing. If they only knew.

Oh, if they only knew….

 

All the victims looked so much alike when they were laid out on an autopsy table. But it wasn't the resemblance in death that drove the killer. Jed was certain of that. The sex, the power he wielded and the humiliation of his victims before death…those were what mattered to their murderer. And then, after death, they were left naked. And posed. But this murder was different.

This one felt far too close.

“Come on, Doc, tell us something,” Jerry pleaded.

Doc Martin shook his head. In sadness? Frustration? Jed couldn't tell. Then Doc spoke. “Bruising…there, on the arms. And ligature marks on the wrists and ankles—see? That's a change in MO. Maybe she refused to cooperate or almost escaped or something. She was gagged, too. You can see the marks, here. She lost a hunk of hair, too. Probably pulled out while she was being dragged around. Cause of death…just the same. Manual strangulation. Nothing found near her. She was killed elsewhere and dumped by the highway.”

“She didn't reach home two nights ago,” Mal O'Donnell read from his notes. “But her sister thought she was with her boyfriend. The missing persons report was filed yesterday afternoon, and—”

“She was found by a family who pulled over because they didn't think their four-year-old would make it to the next rest stop,” Jerry finished. “God…the uniforms said the little boy couldn't stop screaming. There's a kid who's going to be in therapy.”

“What is that?” Jed asked when he saw Doc Martin frown and pick up a pair of tweezers. Then he saw what Doc had seen: something in the girl's hair.

“Grass. A long blade of grass,” Doc Martin said.

Mal O'Donnell produced an evidence bag. “We'll get it analyzed,” he said glumly.

“Who knows? Maybe someone will figure something out,” Doc Martin said.

“Yeah. That it's grass. Ever seen a grassier frigging state?” Jerry demanded morosely.

“She was lying in the grass when she was found, but…was it that grass?” Mal O'Donnell wondered aloud, looking at Jed.

“This is the third young woman—this is getting very bad,” Doc Martin said, then began to recite the details into a tape recorder.

It was like déjà vu, Jed thought. They had heard it all before, but each time, it seemed to cut more deeply into the soul.

 

Killer had to go out.

Christina had stayed inside after Jed left, reading everything she could find on Harrison Investigations, but eventually Killer's whining got to her.

At least he was housebroken, a fact she could appreciate.

“Okay, boy. I'll wait on the porch,” she said as she opened the door, then stood outside, and let him race up and down the front lawn. October could be such a strange month, she thought. During the day it could actually feel hot, but at night the breeze swept through, cooling everything down to the point that it could actually feel cold. She felt that chill now as she stood there waiting for Killer to do his business.

Suddenly the chill grew even worse, almost unnatural.

“Killer!” she called. “Let's go!”

She saw that the dog had gone dead still, standing with his nose in the air, sniffing. He was as rigid as if he were a lawn statue.

“Killer?” she repeated, a little less firmly. She looked around, trying to see what had caught the dog's attention, but she saw nothing. Despite that, she felt deeply chilled and had an uncomfortable sense that she was being stalked. “Killer, now!” she snapped.

When he still didn't move, she ran up behind him and scooped him into her arms, then ran toward the house as if she were being chased. She slammed the door closed behind her, and her fingers trembled as she slid the bolt home.

She turned, looking around to see if Beau Kidd was there. Maybe his presence was what was making her so uneasy. But no sooner had she walked through the downstairs and assured herself that he wasn't in sight than the doorbell rang. Somehow she kept from screaming as she hurried to the door and looked through the peephole.

Michael.

She exhaled in relief and opened the door. “Are you all right?” he asked, a smile fading from his lips, a frown furrowing his brow as soon as he saw her.

“I'm fine.”

“You're not fine. You look…white.”

“Um…have you heard the news?” she asked him.

“No, why? What's up?”

“They found another victim of the Interstate Killer,” she said.

“Oh, God. That's awful.”

As she stepped back to let him in, Killer barked. “Killer, this is Michael.”

“Killer?” Michael said, arching a brow.

“Oh, shut up and come in. That was the name he had when I adopted him. Can I get you something? Did you just leave work?”

“Just a few minutes ago, yeah. I was working late. I talked to Dan earlier, and he said you promised to go see him as the Grim Reader tomorrow. I figured I'd just stop by now and make sure you were all right, and ask if I can crash the festivities. Is it okay if I go with you guys?”

“Of course. If it's still open.”

“Still open?” Mike said.

“Didn't you hear me? They found another dead woman.”

“Did she work at Dan's park?” he asked.

“No, in fact…she was going to work for me,” she told him.

“Oh, Christie!” He took a step closer and threw his arms around her, pulling her close. “I'm so sorry. I mean, someone you knew…”

She accepted his hug for a minute, then pulled away when Killer gave a nervous bark. “It's okay, boy,” she chided him. “This is your cousin Mike.”

“I am not a dog's cousin,” Mike said indignantly.

“Be quiet. You'll hurt his feelings,” she said lightly, then turned to lead the way down the hallway. Once again she felt that eerie sensation and paused.

She nearly jumped a mile when her cell phone rang.

It was in the dining room, she realized. “Hang on,” she called over her shoulder to Mike as she hurried into the dining room. Mike followed, and she noticed absently that he was wearing a trench coat. He looked like such an executive, she thought as she flipped open her phone and said, “Hello.”

“Hey, you all right?”

It was Dan.

“I'm fine.”

Killer started to bark, and the doorbell rang again. She frowned. What was going on tonight?

Mike shrugged. “I'll get it.”

She smiled her thanks and returned her attention to the phone.

“I saw that they found another dead woman, Christie. Another redhead,” Dan said. “I'm worried about you.”

“I'm fine.”

“Because you have Killer?” Dan said doubtfully over the line.

She looked up. Mike was returning, and Ilona Nelson was with him. Christina smiled at her while still listening to Dan. She mouthed the words, Where's Tony?

“Tony is still next door,” Ilona said cheerfully.

“You have a houseful?” Dan asked over the line.

“Your big bro is here, and now Ilona.”

“Tell them hi,” Dan said.

“Dan says hi,” Christina repeated. “Mike says he's going to come with us tomorrow night,” she explained to Dan.

“Yeah? Cool.”

“Where are you going?” Ilona asked.

“To see Dan as the Grim Reader,” Mike explained.

“Tony and I will come, too. If that's all right?”

“Of course they can come,” Dan said, apparently having heard the entire exchange.

“Dan says of course you guys can come.” She frowned and turned to Ilona. “Neither of you has to work?”

Tony owned a bar and restaurant on International Drive, where he worked most nights, and Ilona helped out.

Ilona shook her head. “Nope, we're off tomorrow.”

“We're all coming, Dan,” she said into the phone, feeling a sudden desire to scream.

The Interstate Killer had claimed another victim, someone Christina had known, and they were talking about the next evening's social events.

At least she wasn't alone, waiting for Jed to come back from seeing Jerry. Before he left, he'd told her to lock herself in and not to open the door for anyone. But Killer had needed to go out, and she could hardly have refused, could she? And Mike and Ilona weren't exactly strangers.

Mike took the phone from her. “Hey, Dan. Christie isn't having a great night. Have you seen the news? She knew that last girl who was killed.”

She took the phone back. “I'm okay, Dan.”

“Christie, I'm so sorry. I know how you feel. I was friends with Patti Jo. This is getting…scary.”

“I'm okay, honest. We'll all see you tomorrow night, okay?”

“Okay. Love ya, cuz.”

“You, too,” she said, and hung up.

Ilona offered Christina a sympathetic smile. “I'm so sorry,” she said softly.

“Thanks.”

“Well, I guess I'd better get back. Tony will be waiting, and…”

“And?” Christina said.

Ilona glanced at Michael. “Well, your cousin is here now, and you have that little cutie,” she said, indicating Killer. “Tony worries about you, that's all. I hope you know we're both next door anytime you need us.”

“Thanks,” Christina said. At the moment her head was pounding and she wanted everyone to leave. “Mike, will you walk Ilona home?” she asked. “I think I'd just like to be alone for a while.”

“Sure,” Mike said. “Meet you here tomorrow night?”

“Sounds good,” she said.

As soon as they left, Christina locked the door behind them, then got the feeling that someone was behind her. She spun around and stared at Beau.

“Stop that,” she snapped. “I mean it.”

“Stop what?”

“Showing up out of the blue like that,” she told him.

“But…”

“Knock. Rattle chains. Do something,” she said.

Christina heard a car door slam and looked out the peephole.

Jed was back.

She watched him get out of his car. She could almost feel Beau wince behind her.

“He…he went to see the body,” he whispered softly.

“How do you know?”

“I was a cop. I know how a guy looks when he's seen what a killer has done…and he can't stop him.”

“You have to get out of here.”

“I don't think he can see me.”

“But I'll forget and talk to you, and he'll think I'm insane,” she said, and turned slightly.

He was smiling, but his expression was pained. “You've accepted it, haven't you? You have a gift. You can see ghosts. You can talk to them.”

“Go away, please.”

“I'm gone.”

She believed him and swung the door open as Jed approached the house. He walked in, but when she would have touched him, he lifted a hand. “Can I use your shower?” he asked.

“Of course.”

He knew the way, so when he headed upstairs, she went into the kitchen, where she hesitated, then poured a large whiskey.

Irish medicine, she taunted herself.

And maybe it was, in a way. If so, this was certainly the right time for it.

She walked up the stairs to the bedroom. She could hear the water running as she walked into the bathroom. He was sitting on the shower floor, the water cascading over him.

“Jed?”

He didn't seem to hear her.