by S. E. Harmon
He snorted as he opened his door. “I’m sure that’s it. The dog was probably on PCP.”
“The owner was, wasn’t he?” I demanded. I knew a dog hopped up on angel dust when I saw one.
Even the wind seemed to still as we got out of the car. It was hard to see much, but I could hear Danny’s sure footfall close behind me as we trooped around the unlit area. I’d never been gladder that he was an overprotective light sleeper.
“Do you really think we’re going to find a body out here?” he asked. “It may not have a swing set and a slide, but it’s still a park. Judging from all this trash, it’s been plenty busy.”
“Let me get this straight. You actually want to find a body?”
“I want some evidence, yes, and for once, it would be nice for a ghost to be interested in our convenience.”
“Every time I think you’ve gotten as strange as possible, you surprise me.” I smiled in genuine amusement. “Maybe I’ll get lucky and find you a head or something.”
Danny’s eyes glowed. “You think?”
“Sick bastard,” I said fondly.
After an hour of searching, I had to face facts. We weren’t going to be so lucky. All we’d found was a copious amount of smelly refuse. Oh, and enough used condoms to make me wonder just what the hell people were doing in parks. I’d had some horny moments in my life, but I’d never let Danny fuck me behind a bush. In the backseat of his cruiser maybe, but never a park bush. I’ve got class, you know.
We soldiered on, covering a good distance before we wound up in front of the water. Lake Willow glittered in the moonlight, a study in dark, dangerous beauty.
Mason broke the silence first. “I’m sorry you didn’t find anything.”
I looked at his profile, cast equal parts in moonlight and shadow. “Was there anything left to find?”
He didn’t look away from the water. “I would tell you if I knew. I just know that this is the place. The place where things went wrong.”
“Went wrong with who?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember, or you don’t want to remember?”
“What’s the difference? If I don’t remember, I don’t remember. It doesn’t matter why.” He shrugged. “It’s all very confusing.”
I bit my lip so hard, I nearly broke through the skin. Jesus-tapdancing-Christ, he had to give me something. I was used to dealing with cryptic ghosts by now, but it never failed to make me want to yank my hair out by the roots.
Mason watched me warily, as if expecting me to lose my temper. When I didn’t, he blew out an uneasy breath. “Look, what do you want from me?”
“I want to know why you brought me here. Were you killed here? Dumped here? Is your body in the woods? Give me something for crying out loud.”
“I don’t know!” He was suddenly in my face, aggressive and challenging. “If I could do this on my own, I wouldn’t need you.”
His bravado was all for show. I could hear the low thrum of anxiety in his voice. I could see it in his enlarged pupils. I waited patiently as he gathered himself.
“I’m sorry. I know you’re just trying to help.” He edged closer to me—even more so when I didn’t move away. “I’m just… I’m just so tired of being confused and alone.”
“You’re not alone,” I said tiredly. I had no idea how I was going to unravel his puzzle, but I could promise him that much.
He stared at me for a moment, eyes glittering with unspoken emotion, dark and unfathomable as the lake itself. I wasn’t expecting the contact that followed, as he threw his arms around me and squeezed tight. He was slightly shorter and smaller than me, and his head fit under my chin neatly.
“Thank you. That seems like the only real feeling I have now—loneliness.” He felt so substantial in my arms, it was hard to believe he wasn’t alive. His voice was muffled in my shirt. “I didn’t know I needed to hear it, but I did.”
“You’re welcome,” I said quietly into his suddenly dampened hair.
It was strange—I knew he couldn’t be solid, shouldn’t be solid, but I could feel him. Smell him. I took a discreet whiff. I wrinkled my nose. His pleasant scent had changed, and he smelled… earthy. Almost like sulfur. And suddenly I knew why he’d brought us here.
“You say you’re not the right person for this medium job. A lot.” Before I could even open my mouth to defend myself, Mason let go and stepped back. He smiled a little. “I think you’re wrong.”
He disappeared before I could even open my mouth for a smart response, which was unfortunate, because I had a humdinger ready. Frankly, he’d stayed longer than I thought he would. I glanced over at Danny and shook my head. “He’s gone.”
He didn’t look all that surprised. “So? What’s next?”
“I think he’s in the water.” It certainly explained the strange pull I felt toward the lake—I had to learn to listen to that feeling. “He never really confirmed it, but his hair started to get wet as he let himself think about the incident.”
Danny raised a brow, but he didn’t speak. Sometimes I forgot how hard the ghosting business had to be on him too—he was as practical and levelheaded as I ever was. The fact that he didn’t shoot me down buoyed my confidence.
“He’s down there,” I insisted. “I’d bet my life on it.”
“You very well might be. Because if I ask Tate to authorize a dive team, I need to come back with a body.” He gave me a meaningful look. “One way or another.”
I scowled. “Thanks.”
He pulled out his phone. “I should give the rest of the team a call, too. If I’m not sleeping, I’m certainly not going to let….”
I sent him a puzzled look. “Let what?”
He ran the beam of the flashlight up and down my body, getting me in the eyes again.
“Really?” I demanded. Forget a seeing eye dog, I was going to need a cornea transplant before the night was over.
“Sorry,” he said, lowering the flashlight sheepishly. “I just noticed some blood on your shirt. I was trying to see if it was yours or… someone else’s.”
I looked down at myself, a little flummoxed to see the bloody handprint on my sleeve. There was another smear across my front where Mason’s head had been. “It must’ve happened when he hugged me,” I said.
Danny’s voice was quiet, his expression inscrutable. “I didn’t know they could do that.”
Neither did I. I didn’t think admitting that would make him any less worried. I was a little worried myself. I wasn’t sure if the ghosts’ powers were increasing, or mine were, but I knew neither option was a good thing.
My voice was surprisingly even when I spoke. “I have it under control.”
“I know.” His tone said he very much didn’t know, but there was nothing else to be said. “I think I have an old shirt in my trunk. You should probably change before anyone gets here.”
So we won’t have to explain the workings of the creepy ghost whisperer?
We headed back to the car, both lost in our own thoughts. The PTU was getting better as a team every day, but our unit was still experimental. Lieutenant Tate warned me that we were under a microscope, and the magnification increased by the day.
Unfortunately, there was no manual for incorporating the supernatural into police work—at least not outside of the fiction section of the library. Missteps were unavoidable. For Danny, the decorated detective known for his good instincts, and me, the Bureau’s former golden boy, that was a bitter pill to swallow.
This case didn’t seem like the type to break our unlucky streak. A random guy killed by God knows who, resting on the bottom of a lake—maybe—for no reason I could discern?
Not exactly the cakewalk I’d hoped for.
Chapter 4
After we turned Lake Willow into an active dive site, sleep was no longer on the docket. Kevin ran the name Mason through the missing persons database and came up with more results than I imagined. When we narrowed it by appr
oximate age, hair color, and eye color, he came up with fourteen matches. I took a stab at the location, which brought the number down to four. A quick glance at the pictures Kevin forwarded took care of the rest.
Mason Paige.
My fingers itched for my whiteboard. I had a name. I had a crime. I had a body—almost. I floated the idea of heading to HQ four times until Danny was finally irritated enough to tell me to go. The words “beat it” may have been used. He elected to stay behind at the lake, just in case a watched pot does boil.
My first order of business was, of course, coffee. I followed that up with a trip to the storage room, where I found two boxes labeled PAIGE, M. I toted them back to my office, a cup of coffee balanced on top. Down the narrow hallway, I nearly bumped into Tabitha. After a few moments of “you go first, no you go first,” she hugged the wall to let me squeeze by with my bounty.
Short, with a lot of red hair and large brown eyes, Tabitha Wright was the most electronic savvy member of our team. She could usually be counted on to smooth out our rough edges—not because she was a woman, or even remotely nurturing, but because she didn’t tolerate much shit. She also wasn’t afraid to whack someone across the noggin to restore the peace. My forehead throbbed at the memory.
She glanced at the boxes curiously as I passed. “Do you need any help?”
“No, thanks.”
“I’m good at organizing old case notes,” she reminded me.
She was selling herself a little short; no one had a better eye for separating important detail from minutia. That still didn’t change my answer. At the start of a case, I liked to be alone with my thoughts and create my own impressions. Start theories spinning in my head. I couldn’t do that in a collaborative atmosphere, no matter how hard I tried.
“Maybe later,” I tossed over my shoulder.
When I got to my office, I dropped the boxes on my desk. A cloud of dust rose around them, sending me into a coughing fit. I didn’t need the near asthma attack to know no one had touched or thought about those boxes in a long time. Or the spider that woke up and had a “what the fuck” moment as he realized he was no longer in the storage room.
I swatted at him as he scrambled for safety, which apparently in spider world was my desk drawer. I missed by a mile and spent three minutes convincing myself that I actually did get him... despite the complete lack of evidence. Satisfied that I was an efficient spider assassin and the body had most likely vaporized—seemed legit—I gingerly pulled up my chair and got started.
Mason Paige had been missing for over ten years. No suspects. No real clues. He was a thirty-three year old baker, born and raised in Florida, and didn’t travel all that much. Law-abiding citizen was putting it mildly because he didn’t have so much as a traffic ticket.
His personal life was a bit messier, seeing how he’d been divorced three times. First up was Laura, the serious-looking doctor with a sleek pageboy and pink-framed glasses. Then there was Becca, the limber yoga instructor with a head full of wild curls and a wide, sweet smile. The last ex Mrs. Paige was Melanie, an accomplished pastry chef who’d worked at his bakery. None of the marriages lasted over three years. Strangely enough, none of them ended badly, either.
As for family, Mason’s father was deceased. His mother, Sue, lived in a nursing home in Boca. He had a younger brother named Luke, who’d moved in with Mason after a financial crisis. Luke appeared to have taken over the bakery after his brother’s death. He was also one of the last people to see Mason alive. I raised an eyebrow. And he received insurance money, Mason’s car, and his house—a newly renovated, moderately-sized place that Luke promptly sold.
Despite a six-year age gap, Luke looked like the older sibling. He was taller and more muscular than his slight brother, but just as handsome with the same dark hair and green eyes. The red-flannel shirt and thick beard he sported in his driver’s license photo only added to his overall lumberjack vibe. It would’ve been a simple matter for him to overpower the slighter built Mason. Needless to say, there was a spot of honor for Luke on my murder board. I tacked his picture up neatly and eyed my timeline for Mason’s last known movements.
Frankly, it was the epitome of incomplete. He was last seen on a windy day in October. He left the bakery around noon and told a coworker he was headed out for lunch. At some point, he’d stopped at the bank and made a withdrawal of eight grand—maybe business related, maybe not, but I made a note to track it down. There was no trace of Mason after that bank withdrawal, and his car was found abandoned in a plaza two weeks later.
It took several days for the family to acknowledge Mason was actually missing. Another day before his mother—worried but sure there was an explanation—contacted the police, which was more common than not. A victim’s mother once told me that calling the police made things feel too real, like she was giving up hope for a positive resolution. It was actively admitting that her daughter hadn’t just lost track of time and forgot to come home.
So maybe Mason went missing Tuesday, or maybe he went missing the next day. Maybe he withdrew money from his account for personal reasons, or maybe he withdrew it for business reasons. Maybe he’d driven his car to that plaza, or maybe his killer had left it there to throw investigators off his trail. That was a few too many maybes for my taste.
I let out a frustrated sigh. Case 34852MP wasn’t just cold—it was layered in permafrost.
By the time I decided to call it a day, dusk was creeping up the single window in my office. I couldn’t be bothered to turn on a light in the darkening room. Instead, I leaned back in my chair, arms folded, eyes closed, mentally indexing everything I’d cobbled together so far.
“Should we go in?” I cracked one eye open a slit, just wide enough to see Tabitha hoovering in my doorway. “Do you think it would disturb… his process?”
Kevin peered over her high ponytail. “I think he’s in some sort of trance. Maybe one of us should slap him.”
“Dibs,” another voice said quickly.
I scowled. Nick Gonzalez was the last member of our merry little band. His shades were pushed up in his dark, spiky hair, revealing brown eyes that were a little red. He looked a bit like a hungover rock star, sipping from a cup that I hoped just held coffee. In his midtwenties, he was still in that stage of life where he enjoyed burning the candle on both ends. He was a loveable asshole who’d I’d originally had a lot of friction with, but he was growing on me slowly, just like any good fungus.
“Maybe he’s channeling,” Tabitha said quietly.
Yet another downside to people knowing I communicated with ghosts. If I looked strange for even a second, they assumed I was ‘doing my creepy thing,’ as Nick helpfully put it.
Right on time, he shivered. “God, I hate it when he does that. You think there’s a ghost in there?”
“I’d be surprised if there wasn’t,” Kevin said sagely. “There’s always a ghost when Christiansen is around.”
“You think they find him or does he… summon them?” Tabitha asked, still staring at me. “Maybe he can do a reading for my god-uncle.”
Nick snorted. “Maybe. And then maybe he can tell us just what the hell a god-uncle is.”
"Do you all mind?" I finally asked.
They nearly knocked their heads together, which really helped. Tabitha cleared her throat as they crowded into my office. “Sorry. We were just trying to respect your process. Are you making… you know, contact?”
Yes, with the Starship Enterprise. I bit down on the inside of my cheek to keep in any smartass comments. They were trying—they really were—and it was certainly better than the rest of the police department who tried to avoid the PTU like the plague. A more vindictive man might spread the very true rumor that there were ghosts all over this building, but I persevered. Barely.
“Well, I talked to Mason earlier, but he wasn’t all that helpful,” I said. “I’m hoping once he gets to trust me more, he’ll… he’ll….”
I lost my train of thought as I watc
hed them get comfortable in my tiny space. Tabitha and Kevin took the only other chairs in the room, bumping into one another as they tried to move them farther apart. Nick wasn’t deterred by the lack of seating. I barely managed to snatch my phone off the corner of my desk a split second before he plopped his jean-clad butt on it.
He moved a small sculpture on my desk and held it to the light, turning it about in his hands. My niece had made that… that thing for me in my mother’s Art for Kids class.
“What is this supposed to be?” he finally asked.
“A dinosaur,” I said, coolly, as if that was perfectly obvious. Hell, we didn’t know that it wasn’t a dinosaur. I might not be able to identify the lump, but I didn’t want it broken.
“What the hell kind of dinosaur is this?”
Or touched. I reached over and plucked it from his hands. “A Mind Your Own Business-osaur. descendent of the What’s It To Ya’ Rex,” I informed him tartly. “And perhaps we’d all be more comfortable in the briefing room.”
“No need. It’s a little tight in here, but it’s fine.” Tabitha crossed her legs, nearly knocking over my ficus. It was my third, and my last effort at keeping something green alive.
Kevin laced his fingers behind his head. “I’m fine.”
I looked at Nick, holding in a sigh. “Let me guess. You’re also fine?”
He smiled. “You got it.”
As if my office wasn’t three people over capacity already, Danny bustled in a few moments later, carrying a tray of coffees in one hand and a file in the other. “Are we having a damn séance?” he asked as he passed out coffees. “Can someone hit the lights?”
Because he brought coffee, I resisted the urge to flip him the finger and flipped on my desk lamp instead. Then I took a sip of the coffee as a reward for my restraint… and almost spat it out. Green fucking tea. Danny watched me over the rim of his cup. My family had expressed concern about my coffee consumption, but this… this was betrayal. Didn’t Danny know the rules? You always side with the guy who warms up the lube before he jams it in your ass.
