by S. K. Grice
My hands trembled, but even after learning that Mrs. Nichols had seen someone on the road the night we’d buried Mike, I’d coped without the Xanax. I had to stay focused and learn what the psychic knew about Mike. What she could foresee about Jackson.
Inside, the front room was arranged with a pillow-adorned sofa and two mismatched side chairs. I sat in a red velvet high-back. The sound of crashing waves came from a speaker hidden somewhere. On a coffee table was a fresh bunch of blue irises.
I picked up a magazine. Celestial Connections. I didn’t believe in talking to the dead but did believe in the possibility of something more than just this life, and that some people were truly more intuitive than others. If this psychic really could tap into the spirit world, what could she see? The face of Mike Morton? An electrical jolt touched my nerves. I twitched and tossed the magazine back onto the table.
This was scary shit, but I’d come prepared to deal with anything. I had to find out if this psychic was the real deal, or one of many frauds.
“Jolene?” Madame Celeste waltzed into the room wearing a flowing green kaftan with the eye of a peacock feather design on the front.
I stood, not certain how to address her. ‘Madame’ sounded so phony. “Hello.”
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” Madame’s voice was as soothing as a lullaby. “Please. Come in.” She stepped aside and gestured toward the dark hallway leading to the back of the house.
A white light streamed through an open door. Light at the end of a dark tunnel. Was this an intentional metaphor? I took a deep breath and proceeded down the hallway smelling of musk and patchouli oils. Burning sage. I passed two closed doors and had an itch to leave, but I went into the purple-hued room and sat at the round table for two. Stones and crystals lined the surrounding bookshelves.
Madame put her hands on the table, palms up. “Miss Jolene, please give me your hands. I’d like to feel your energy.”
I put my rough palms against hers, all soft and smooth. She clutched me harder and closed her eyes, then took a few deep and even breaths. Was she conjuring long-lost ghosts or a bullshit scheme? I stayed on high alert for either.
She flattened my palms on the table and placed her hands atop mine. “You’re nervous.” Compassion colored her tone. “Have you seen a psychic before?”
Her palms were warm and mushy against my skin. I wanted to slide my hands back to my lap but kept still to let her do her thing. “No. You’re my first.”
“Mmm.” Her eyes squinted. “You’re holding in a great deal of pain.”
Who wasn’t? “It’s been a tough year.”
“You’ve lost someone close to you….” Her eyes glazed over, and she continued in her monotone. “A woman. Older. Maybe your mother. Pam… Patty.”
My pulse ticked, and I knew she could feel the imperceptible change on my skin. I probably should have let her figure it out, but I wanted to cut to the chase. If she could talk to the dead, then I wanted a warning from beyond. “Patsy.”
“Ahhh.” Madame smiled and her shoulders relaxed. “She wasn’t your biological mother, though.”
My heart lurched, but I kept a straight face and let her continue.
Madame patted my hand. “She was happy in life and is happy in spirit—I can feel that.” She tilted her head like someone was talking into her ear. “She’s showing me someone next to her. A younger woman.”
Had she really made contact with Patsy and Annette? My stomach fluttered with hope, but I said nothing.
Madame shook her head, her face tightening. “I don’t know. The younger spirit is fading. All I hear is Patty repeating that they are both safe.”
“Patsy.”
“I feel another presence.” Celeste was writing on a notepad now. “A darkness from beyond. Something looming.” She looked into my eyes. “Does this make sense to you?”
My body stiffened. My stalker. The leaves. I could tell her all about what was happening, but it was her job to reveal something to me. “Uh, I’m facing some challenging situations right now.”
She wagged the glittery pen at me. “There is darkness looming over you.”
“Oh-kay. Can you illuminate?” If I came across as a smartass, she didn’t seem to notice.
“I have a special mix of herbs which I put into a sachet for the purpose of warding off the negativity.” She turned in her chair and reached into a small drawer, then handed me what looked like a basket full of bouquet garni—a mix of herbs wrapped in fabric and tied with twine for use in cooking—except these bundles weren’t made with white cheese cloth, but brightly colored fabrics. “If you carry one with you at all times, and repeat daily positive affirmations, the negativity will soon leave. You may purchase one at the end of our session.”
I wanted to scream into her face: CHARLATAN. Instead, I smiled. “I’m feeling a sense of peace. Maybe it’s because now I know Patsy and—” I hesitated because I didn’t want to give away too much information. “Anyway. I’m feeling better and I have a busy day ahead.” I stood.
Madame’s face wrinkled with disappointment. “But we’ve just gotten started.”
“Thank you for your time.” I walked out of her room and down the hallway. The glare of a computer screen through a cracked door caught my eye. A pot-bellied old man with long stringy hair and wearing headphones sat at the keyboard with his back to the door.
This psychic received her messages the same way the rest of us did, from the holder of almost all human knowledge: the Internet.
The psychic was a dead-end, but she wasn’t my only lead.
Chapter Seventeen
Later that day, I sat in my car three houses down from Nancy and Richard’s ranch home. I was desperate for any information or clue that would lead me to Jackson’s killer. Desperate enough to confront a possible murderer. Melissa had said that Jackson and Richard were not friends. Nancy having a tryst with Jackson could’ve been all the motivation Richard needed to get rid of Jackson. Or maybe not. I hoped meeting with Richard would give me a feel for how, or if, he was involved.
I tapped my thumbs on the steering wheel. Any minute now, Richard would turn the corner with the boys from their after-school pick up. I only had a short window of time to talk to him alone before Nancy came home from work.
What if he had killed Jackson in a fit of jealous rage, and planting the tree had been a random act? My pulse pounded in my neck. Any whiff of danger and I’d high-tail it out of there. Then, I’d go to the police.
Maybe.
A white van turned onto the street. Blood pumped through my veins as I watched a Good Guys Heating and Air Conditioning van roll into Richard and Nancy’s driveway. Brandon and Clay, their two prepubescent boys, hopped out and ran to the front door. I was familiar with the hectic after-school routine and gave Richard a few minutes to get inside and the boys settled.
I drove forward and parked directly across the street. I ambled up to the single-story ranch home. A Halloween welcome mat with a jack-o-lantern imprint greeted me. I rang the doorbell.
The inside door whished open and Richard’s mouth slackened, a puzzled look on his face. “Yeah,” he said.
A dark-screened security door separated us. “Sorry to drop by unannounced, but my phone went flat, or else I would’ve called.” I held up my turned-off phone. I kept my tone friendly. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
Richard crossed his arms. “Talk about what?”
Behind him, the boys craned their necks to see who was at the door. I waved and used a chirpy tone. “Hi, guys.” They both looked at me with deadbeat expressions.
“Go on, now.” Richard shooed them away. “Go to your rooms and do your homework.”
The younger boy gave me a quick smile as the older one pulled him toward the back of the house.
Richard leaned his squirrelly face closer to the screen. “What d’ya want?” He sucked on a tooth.
I swallowed dry air. For a flicker of a second, I considered ending this now. No. Do it.
I’d come this far; I couldn’t back out now. I spoke in a whisper so his sons wouldn’t hear me, “I want to ask what you know about Jackson’s murder.”
He opened the screened door and stepped out onto the front porch. “I don’t want the neighbors to see us, and we can’t talk in the house with the boys around,” he said. He nudged his chin toward the side of the house. “We’ll use the side gate and talk in the backyard.”
Following his directions, I opened the latch on the gate of the high privacy fence. A small greenhouse was at the corner of the yard. Richard moved to the front of the greenhouse and lit a cigarette.
Unease rolled through my stomach, and I stumbled on my feet. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. What if he’s the murderer? Richard had a sour face, but I needed to stay focused and friendly.
He flicked his cigarette ashes on the ground. “So, what d’ya want?”
The greenhouse door was wide open, and two bags of organic soil slumped on the countertop. The pungent smell of compost crept into my nostrils and down my throat. “How’s Nancy doing?”
A slow sneer crossed his lips. “I thought you came to talk about Jackson.”
I dug my feet into the ground. “Nancy and I are both suspects. I’m well aware of that.” And so are you, you little weasel. “But I didn’t kill Jackson.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You were at his house around the time he was killed.”
“The police have the autopsy report. They know he was killed after the time I left his place.”
Richard snorted and his mouth twisted into a snarl. “What were you doing at his house anyway?”
Irritating prickles covered my skin like an itchy wool sweater. I straightened my stance. “Watching a movie. We were friends.”
“Dude had lots of friends. Especially lady friends.” He squinted one eye, took another drag, and exhaled smoke through the side of his mouth.
Keep cool. “Yeah. He was the kind of guy people liked. That’s why I don’t understand. This is so weird—”
“What’s weird is how Jackson got murdered when Psycho Girl moved back to this part of town.” He sniffed. “You ain’t changed a bit. Always keeping to yourself. Doin’ wacky shit.”
His words cut deep. He’d been one of the school bullies who’d hurled cruel names at me after I’d been released from the psychiatric hospital. I swallowed my pride and let his comment slide. “Look, I wanted to talk to you because I’m worried about Nancy. I want to make sure things are okay. I mean—the police see us both as suspects, and I know neither one of us did it.”
“Well, I know Nancy didn’t.” Richard scrutinized me.
I crossed my arms and fixed my stare into his dark eyes. The silence between us stretched taut and tense as a rubber band pulled to its limit. I wouldn’t snap. “I believe she’s innocent, too. But since neither Nancy nor I killed him, who did? Do you have any ideas? Have the police told you anything?”
“You’re assuming I don’t think it was you. I mean, you and Jackson was close, right?”
“Look, I don’t know what you’re getting at, but I’ve lived on the bay side of town for the past fifteen years. I hadn’t seen Jackson in—”
“Well, whoo-whee. Ain’t you special?” Richard spat on the ground.
My jaw ached. This wasn’t going as I’d planned. “I think we’ve gotten off on a bad start here—”
A door slammed.
“Ahh shit.” Richard looked over my shoulder. His mouth slackened.
I followed his startled gaze to the back of the house. Nancy stomped through the backyard toward us, her hair so stiff and spikey that she could have used her head as a medieval battering ram.
Fuck. My stomach hardened. I’d thought there’d be at least another forty-five minutes before she came home. I put on a warm smile, hoping it might buffer her temper. “Hi, Nancy.”
She stepped within inches of me, and I swore I saw steam rising off of her red-hot face. “I thought that was your car out front.” Her tone wasn’t friendly. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
I backed up, the pounding in my chest growing stronger and louder. I couldn’t let her see my fear, but all I could offer was a weak smile. “I-I wanted to see how you’re doing.”
Her jaw muscles flexed. “Next time send a text.”
“Nancy, I’m on your side.” I threw a glance at Richard, his arms crossed as he aimed a death glare straight at me. I had no back-up here.
“We’re not friends.” Nancy’s expression shifted from hate to disgust. “And the police are asking me all kinds of questions about you.”
My breath hitched. “What kind of questions?”
Nancy inched forward and closed the gap between us. “I have a lawyer, and he advised me against talking to you. So, get the fuck off my property.”
Richard picked up a shovel off the ground and held it out like a baseball bat. “Go on, now. Get.”
I held up both hands and walked backwards, my heart racing. This crazy couple was capable of anything. “Fine. I’m leaving.”
Adrenaline sent me racing out the gate with Richard yelling loud enough to rattle the neighbor’s windows. “And don’t you ever harass anyone in my family again, ya hear?”
Back in the safety of my car, I locked the door and released a breath. What a fucking disaster. I’d only stirred up Nancy and Richard and made myself look desperate. But I was desperate. Desperate for answers.
Driving away, my mind whirled with unanswered questions. I still had no clue if Richard had killed Jackson, but the visit had made me realize one thing: if Nancy had hired an attorney, I was right to think I needed one too.
After I’d left the psychic that morning, I done a search for the top criminal attorneys in the area and narrowed it down to a couple of options. Either of which could wipe out my entire bank savings. But I had no choice. Unless the police found the killer soon, I’d have to fork out the cash. I needed someone on my side. I also needed a friend. A good friend. The obvious person was Melissa. She’d understand why I’d talked to Nancy and Richard.
I’d kept my worries and secrets so close I’d forgotten how to share deep feelings and fears with a friend. It shouldn’t be hard, though. Melissa never backed away from a chin wag, and with any luck, she’d help me see how I could clear myself of being a suspect in Jackson’s murder. I had to allow myself to become vulnerable. I had to open up.
Melissa had proven to be my most supportive friend. She understood how much I’d lost recently, and how the suspicion the police have toward me regarding Jackson’s murder was unnecessary stress. How I needed answers.
She worked until late tonight, but I’d agreed to look at apartments with her in the morning. That would be my chance.
Chapter Eighteen
“Going to Nancy’s house wasn’t the smartest thing to do,” Melissa said, clenching both hands on the steering wheel of her Volvo and driving along Crab Creek Road toward home.
I sat in the passenger seat, frustrated. I’d spent the whole morning with Melissa, looking all over town at apartments while she rambled on about how furious Nancy was that I’d gone to her house and talked to Richard about Jackson.
Nancy had gotten to Melissa before I’d had a chance to explain. Now, I was in the position of defending what I’d done. “But I need to know what the police are asking them. I’m a suspect in this too.”
“She wanted to call the police and say you were harassing her—”
“That’s bullshit, and she knows it.”
“I talked her out of it, don’t worry. But Nancy has always been fickle. Her mood is more unpredictable than the weather.”
“But why won’t she talk to me? Does she seriously believe there was something romantic going on between me and Jackson, or that I would have killed him?”
“She doesn’t trust people so easily, that’s just who she is.” Melissa exhaled a long breath. “Look, being a suspect in Jackson’s murder is bullshit, I get that. The detectives are just doing their job, though. I
don’t think you killed Jackson. And I don’t think Nancy did, either. And Richard? Ha! He’s more cowardly than Scooby Doo.”
I picked at my fingernails. Melissa didn’t understand the full scope of what I was up against. “He knew Nancy and Jackson were having an affair. Isn’t that at least motivation? Crimes of passion happen all the time.”
“Seriously, look at yourself. You’re a nervous wreck. You need to relax and let the police do their jobs. They’ll investigate everyone. They’ll find Jackson’s killer.”
The knot in my chest tightened. This wasn’t nerves. This was obsession. “Do you think the killer is someone we know?”
Deep lines formed on Melissa’s forehead. “I sure as hell hope not.”
“What about the band? Did he have a beef with any of the guys?”
“Nooo, Jolene.” Melissa rolled her eyes. “They all loved Jackson.”
Releasing a breath, I looked out the window as we passed open farmland with neat rows of green lettuce shoots. “What am I going to tell Aaron?” I asked. “He comes home with the kids in six days. I don’t even want to think about how he’s going to react once he hears I’m a suspect in a murder investigation.”
“Get real.” She turned left onto Willow Road. “Aaron won’t believe you killed Jackson. He’ll understand that it’s all just police procedure.”
“Let’s hope so. But he certainly won’t want the kids staying with me while all this is going down.”
“You’re overthinking again. It may never get to that point. The police could be arresting Jackson’s murderer at this very moment.”
My shoulders relaxed. Melissa was right. Overthinking was a killer of time and focus. “That’s what I hope.”
Ahead, a police car was parked across from my house. My heart pounded. A forensics van was parked on the vacant McDougal property, too, and about a dozen people in teal- colored T-shirts were congregated in a circle. My eyes stayed glued to the commotion. Cadaver dogs sniffed the dirt. “What the hell are they doing over there?”
