by Sheila Lowe
No. I gave him the message. I’m done being your carrier pigeon. Find someone else.
Jessica, ignoring the woman in her head who was still begging for her help, spoke aloud. “Forget it, Zach. I’ve told you what she wanted you to know. Do what you want with the information.”
“This is crazy, Jess. You never told me you saw ghosts.”
“And I’ve never had a ghost make such a pest of herself that I needed to.”
Days passed and no useful evidence developed, no clues to the missing woman’s whereabouts. Eventually, when he ran out of investigative options, Zach showed up at the cottage, sheepishly asking about the woman who had visited her dreams.
The details Jessica delivered led to the discovery of Hailey Martin’s decaying corpse. Her certainty that Hailey had been strangled and dumped on a deserted stretch of road between the towns of Ventura and Ojai never wavered. In fact, her information had been so specific and so accurate that had her brother-in-law, Roland Sparks, not been the supervising agent on the case, she might have been arrested as an accessory to murder.
“I know you want to hear what happened,” Zach said again, draining his beer and going for another slice of pizza. “How we knew it was the grieving husband?”
Jessica got up, keeping her eyes averted from him, and dumped the rest of her food in the trash. He was wrong. She did not want to know.
“Jess?”
“Randy Martin,” she said at last, knowing there was nothing she could do to stop him telling her anyway. “The husband.”
Hailey had shown her the driver of the car she was riding in. The one piece of information she never shared was his name, or that the man, whose features Jessica had enumerated for Zach, was her husband.
“Randy’s been banging one of the women who works at his car dealership,” he said. “The minute we got her into the interview room, she started blabbing―and blubbering. She’s just a dumbshit who made a stupid choice in boyfriends. She wasn’t involved in the murder.”
“Didn’t this guy ever hear of divorce?”
“Millions at stake. Planned to keep all the money, greedy bastard. Now he’ll have nothing. And get this―there was a life insurance policy that he claimed Hailey took out on herself six months before she was killed.”
“And?”
“We had your handwriting expert friend take a look at it. Faster than the lab.”
“You called Claudia?”
Zach nodded. “She says the signature on the policy is a forgery. She’s prepared to testify that Hailey didn’t write it, Randy did.”
“Claudia’s the best in the field.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” he agreed, then snickered. “We won’t be calling you to the witness stand. Think of how that would play—psychic chick leads FBI to—”
Jessica spun on him, her cheeks burning with indignation. “Not a joke, Zach. Do you think I wanted to watch her get strangled and not be able to do anything to help? Well, no, I didn’t. And I definitely didn’t want to feel it.”
Zach raised his hands in defense. “Hey, chill. Nothing about this case is funny. Two kids got left without a mom and they’re about to lose their dad, too. He’s facing a nice long sentence, no parole. C’mon Jess, you know I’m grateful you helped us out. There’s no way we would have found the body if it wasn’t for you, but we can’t let the public know. We’ll call it an anonymous tip.”
“Don’t you get it, Zach? I don’t want the public to know. You have no clue what Hailey went through. I do—his hands around her throat, squeezing the life out of that poor woman. I never want to experience that again. Ever.”
Hearing her voice pitching higher, Jessica caught hold of herself. Zach would never understand if she told him that ever since the discovery of Hailey Martin’s body, a portal had opened to another realm and she had been unable to close it.
Up until now, she had been able to pretty much ignore the whispers, but that had changed. As if her cooperating with Hailey had given them permission, they crowded around her day and night, the spirit people—it seemed like dozens of them—whispering, whispering, whispering inside her head, chasing her wherever she went, wanting something from her. There were nights when she awoke to a shadowy presence hovering near her bed. Sometimes, she kept her eyes squeezed shut, just in case. And there were times, like now, when they were trying to get her attention, she could have clapped her hands over her ears and screamed at the top of her lungs to drown them out.
“Jess, you’re shaking.” Zach ambled over and folded her in his arms. For once, she let him. In this moment, all she wanted was to be taken care of and not listen to anonymous voices.
In her amnesia days, Zach had come close to losing his life, saving her and Jenna. The scar of a bullet wound on his throat was the permanent souvenir he carried of that time. For a short while, they had confused the emotion and drama for love. It was Jessica who had recognized that they made better friends than lovers, and ended the intimate relationship.
For the space of a few breaths, she leaned into his chest, allowing him to stroke her hair. His hands slid down her back, resting low on her hips. The next move would be to the futon bed.
“I’m pretty tired,” she said, breaking the embrace. “Do you mind if we call it a night?”
She saw his disappointment, but she had worked hard to paint a strict line of demarcation separating what they’d had from the friendship that remained. She would have been a fool to believe they could return to where they once were. Not that she wanted to.
THREE
For once, Jessica was allowed to sleep uninterrupted. Or maybe she was so exhausted by the previous day’s events that the spirits’ entreaties did not reach deep enough to disturb her.
She awoke from the most vivid dream she had ever experienced. Justin, his seven-year-old self, was sitting cross-legged on the end of her bed, his face aglow as he chattered on about a friend named Mason. It was so real that her heart leapt with joy. Her eyes popped open, looking for him.
But there was no Justin. She would never see her boy in physical form again, bouncing happily on her bed.
After the beautiful dream, the gloomy early morning light depressed her. She wanted to bury her head under the pillow and throw herself a pity party, but self-indulgence of that kind was out of the question today. Jenna was picking her up in a half-hour.
Her sister had found two estate sales in Westlake Village. “No telling what treasures you might find if you get there early enough to beat the crowds,” was Jenna’s mantra. She was always on the lookout for bargain toys and little girl clothes—they outgrew them so fast, there was no point in buying expensive new ones. And most of the time there were bits and pieces for Jessica to use in her miniatures and shadowboxes.
With a wide yawn of resignation, she rolled out of bed. Her fee on the cold tile floor tempted her to dive back under the covers. She pulled on a pair of thick socks and shuffled to the kitchenette hugging the comforter around her shoulders. Spooned coffee into the pot and waited, bleary-eyed, for the dark liquid to bubble into the carafe.
The dream image of Justin stayed with her, so intensely, undeniably real. Gazing out at the patio, she knew she would never stop longing for him, nor forgive herself for his death. Rain splattered against the window and rolled down the glass like tears.
Jessica moved around the small cottage, picking up clothes she had worn the day before, not much interested in what she wore to the estate sales. Since her preoccupation with the spirits, food had lost its appeal. The Levis she pulled on were loose enough that she had to buckle the belt in the last hole or risk them sliding right off her hips.
She picked at her neglected hair, which had grown wild and bushy. Dreadlocks could not be far away. Staring into the bathroom mirror, she thought of the kind man who had stopped his bike ride to offer help yesterday. Someone else with disorderly, “mad professor” hair. He had seemed truly worried about her. Strangers rarely took that much interest in someone they’d
never met.
Taking care not to disturb Imelda in the Victorian, Jessica tiptoed past the front house at seven-thirty. Her peppery Castilian landlady would have plenty to say if her beauty sleep was interrupted by the toot of a horn before ten.
Jenna could always be counted on to be right on time. She was out front, idling in her Mazda when Jessica ran through the rain and climbed in.
“When did you get that coat?” she asked before Jessica had pulled the door shut.
Their teal blue hooded jackets were a perfect match, down to the gold-colored buttons.
“I bought it last weekend,” said Jessica with a frown.
“Me, too. Shoot. I should have checked what you were wearing.”
It was the twin thing. They were born mirror-images of each other. Despite growing up with personalities that were not at all alike, and having two widely divergent sets of opinions on most things, in some ways, they remained two halves of the same person. Coincidences, like buying the same jacket, were a commonplace occurrence.
You look anorexic,” Jenna started in. “Have you been sick? Is that why you’ve been avoiding me for the past two months? Your face is so thin.”
Jessica buckled herself in. “Good morning to you, too.”
“You weren’t all skinny like this at Christmas. What happened?”
Christmas. Before Hailey Martin and her entourage moved in.
“Nothing happened. I’m not sick. Weren’t we going out to have fun?”
“We are going to have fun.” Jenna kept her eyes on the road ahead, but Jessica sensed her probing like a scalpel-wielding surgeon slicing into her brain. While her twin prattled on, she was careful to keep her mind blank so there would be nothing for Jenna to pick up.
“You know how it is, Jess. You’re my other half. If something’s going on with you, I can’t help but feel it.”
“Of course I know, and everything’s fine. I’d much rather hear what my nieces have been up to than have you give me the third degree.”
Jenna huffed an exaggerated sigh of defeat. “Roland has the day off. It’s father-daughter bonding day.” At the stop sign on the corner, making sure there were no other drivers in sight, she plucked her phone from the dash and thumbed to a video of identical twin toddlers. They had inherited their father’s rust-colored hair and green eyes, and their mother’s pert nose and shy grin.
Jessica smiled at the screen. her heart swelling with love for her nieces. If she had a way to surround them with a big layer of protective padding, she would do it in a heartbeat. the sight of the two little girls perched on high kitchen stools side-by-side made her laugh. Wearing too-large aprons, sharing a mixing bowl, they mugged for the camera. One of them had chocolate cake batter smeared all over her face and held aloft a wooden spoon in a joyful salute.
“They still make Easy-Bake Ovens? Remember when we had one? Adventures in cooking.”
Jenna grinned. “Omigod, did we make a mess. That’s their favorite toy right now. Fritz the cat is getting tired of eating mini cupcakes.”
“I bet Emma’s the one with the chocolate mouth.”
“Ha ha, how did you guess?”
“She’s messy like me. Sophie’s all prissy like you. She’d never let chocolate get on her face.”
“You’re such a mean girl.” Jenna ended the video and returned the phone to its cradle.
“Were we that adorable when we were three?”
“We still are, doofus. Those two wear me out, but I wouldn’t miss a minute. Well, maybe I would be okay with missing the cleanup after they bake.”
“I miss them.”
“You can come and see them anytime, Jess, you know that. Every time I’ve asked you over lately, you’ve been too busy.”
Busy fending off dead people wanting my help.
It was time to stop letting the spirits push her around and arrange her life for her. “How about Sunday?” Jessica said with sudden inspiration. “I’ll bring lunch.”
Jenna’s face brightened with anticipation. “It’s been so long since Roland and I have gone anywhere. You could stay with the girls, we could go out for brunch. A win-win-win. I like it.”
“You’re gonna let me stay with them? You never let me babysit.”
“I’ve been trying to protect you from those two little monsters.”
“Duh. They can’t be worse than we were. Remember the pranks you and I used to get up to?”
“Truth, sistah. Now, on to the first sale.”
As they drove toward the 101, Jessica, after reciting the address, quoted from the Craigslist ad on her phone screen. “‘Elderly woman, downsizing and moving to independent living facility. Collectible toys. Everything must go!’ It’s so pitiful, having to invite a pack of strangers over to paw through your mementoes and keepsakes. None of it means anything to anyone else. We’re vultures, Jen.”
“Except we almost always find stuff we can use, and whatever money we spend there will be helping the old lady. So, we’re actually doing a good deed.”
Thinking it over, Jessica grinned. “I like the way you think. The pragmatic twin.”
The first sale took them to a World War II Craftsman house. A grandmother had passed on, leaving the kids to dispose of a wall covered in hand-painted plates, a cabinet that was more ornate than its collection of fake Fabergé eggs, an Encyclopedia Britannica set from the 1940s and 50s, a Lucille Ball figurine, and a kitchen filled with useless old pots and pans and mismatched dishes.
Grandma might have passed, but her annoying energy still loitered, nagging Jessica about the family’s handling of her estate. With no intention of letting the heirs in on Grandma’s disapproval, she hunted down Jenna, who was checking out Lucille Ball.
“There’s nothing for us here,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Jenna looked at her in surprise. “Can’t you make a miniature out of some of those eggs?”
“No. They’re junk. Can we leave now?”
“What’s the big hurry, Jess? I think this Lucy is kinda cute, don’t you? No? Okay, fine, let’s go, then.”
Jessica had been a little worried that Grandma would follow them, but to her relief, when they left the premises the spirit stayed behind. One less voice to add to the general background pandemonium.
The second sale, held in a five-thousand square foot mini-mansion, had more to interest them. Jenna wandered off on her own, leaving Jessica to pick through a basketful of sewing supplies and a pile of quilting squares that she could use for upholstery and clothing for her miniatures.
The rooms on the second floor were crammed with shelves and cabinets. It could have been turned into a Christmas store with its painted ceramic houses, reindeer and bears, little fir trees and snow globes. Jessica picked out some of the smallest trees, which she was visualizing in a winter scene.
Two of the six bedrooms were dedicated to dolls and their paraphernalia—hundreds of them—antique dolls, some dressed in national costumes from around the world. A Raggedy Ann and Andy sat together in a child-sized rocking chair. There were teddy bears of every size and type.
Jenna, a pair of gently-used Barbie dolls clutched to her chest, was in a room consumed by a village of dollhouses.
“Looks like Santa’s workshop threw up,” Jessica said, coming up behind her.
“I’d love to buy one of these old dollhouses but Roland would kill me if I came home with another one.”
“Yeah, because your girls don’t have enough toys, right?”
“I get the feeling those sly smiles are hiding some nasty secret vice,” said Jenna at a shelf of vintage Kewpie dolls. “They’re creeping me out. How about we pay up, then blow this joint?”
Jessica gave her a meaningful glance. “I thought you’d never ask.”
They stopped for lunch at the local Mimi’s Café.
The hostess at the lectern in the foyer did a double take when they walked in. The second looks and stares that followed them to their booth were nothing new. Both of them had answered
the same questions countless times: What’s it like to be around someone who looks exactly like you? Do you always know what the other person is thinking? Have you ever switched places? They had learned to overlook the glances, or give a pat comeback where one was warranted.
After the grey, drizzly day outside, the French restaurant was warm and redolent with the scent of freshly baked bread. They each ordered a bowl of corn chowder, then chatted about friends and movies and current events, nibbling on madeleines and buttered baguettes while waiting for their lunch to arrive.
There was no extended family to discuss. After graduating college, the twins had returned home long enough to pack up their belongings and say: “Thanks for raising us.” Their adoptive parents’ attitudes at the final farewell let them know that the relief to be done with each other was mutual. The girls were never abused. They viewed their upbringing as more a case of benign neglect. The last time they saw their parents was at Justin’s funeral. Jessica was surprised they had showed up. Jenna must have let them know. To her great relief, they had begged off attending the reception afterwards. Some Very Important Function that was already scheduled blah blah blah.
Watching her sister talk animatedly about a bathroom remodel that she and Roland were planning, her cheeks pink with contentment, Jessica was glad she had kept their date.
When it was time to pay, she pulled out some bills to cover the check. Jenna pushed them back and placed her debit card on the money tray. “This one’s on me.”
“But you drove.”
“And you’re bringing lunch and babysitting on Sunday. Remember?” Jenna’s left eyebrow twitched. “Think you can handle those two imps on your own?”
A flood of unexpected resentment took Jessica’s breath away. She knew that anger had flashed on her face, but it was better than shouting, do you think I don’t know how to handle children? I was a mother long before you were.
As if reading her thoughts, Jenna gave a small gasp. She reached over and grabbed Jessica’s hand. “I didn’t mean it like that; you were a great mom. And I didn’t forget Justin’s birthday yesterday. I called, but you didn’t pick up.”
