“What is it, Estelle?” Sam intoned. “What do you want? What can we do to help you?”
She pushed him again. Lacey saw his shoulders jerk, his head flinch back slightly. The push forced him a step forward. The smoke from the smudge stick fluttered with irritation.
“What is it, Estelle? Tell us what you need.”
Another push. Sam was forced another step forward. Then another. And another.
Suddenly Lacey heard Celeste gasp, and at the same time she realized that Sam was being pushed closer to the railing of the balcony. Closer to falling.
“Estelle!” she called out in tight panic. “Were you pushed? You didn’t jump, did you? You were pushed! By Geoffrey!”
Lacey tightened her grip on the camera and hoped to hell she was right. If she wasn’t, could Sam fight the ghost? Could he dodge the spectral force that was propelling him forward?
But no more invisible hands moved him. He stood still, the smoke drifting straight up beside him. Lacey heard Celeste drag in a deep breath.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” she asked her sister softly. “He pushed you. You told me you were finally going to leave him, but I thought you’d changed your mind again. You told him, didn’t you? You told him you were leaving him. And he killed you. He pushed you over the railing… and he left you to die.” Her last words were hard with anger. Outrage.
The house was deathly quiet. No one moved; no one spoke. The smoke lifted and faded in the still air.
Soft mewings came from Celeste. She tried to hold the crying back, but quiet sobs shook her. She put a hand to her mouth, bit down on one knuckle.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Sam asked the empty air. “That’s what happened to you, Estelle. He killed you. He murdered you.”
The smoke from the smudge stick lifted and swirled, drifting around Sam, around Celeste and Paula, around Lacey and Deidre.
Celeste put her hand to her cheek and leaned into it, tears running silently down her face. As Lacey watched, she brought the palm of her hand to her mouth and kissed it tenderly. Then her fingers spread, as if releasing a captive bird. Celeste’s eyes followed the invisible line of flight up toward the ceiling, and she sighed.
The house settled into a heavy silence. The smoke drifted closer to the ground, spilling through the spindles of the balcony railing, pooling down on the floor below. Then the smudge stick winked out.
Sam turned toward Celeste.
“She’s gone,” he said.
Celeste nodded, crying softly. Paula stepped up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. Celeste patted the hand absently, wiping her tears with her other hand.
Lacey turned off the video camera with a small click. As if on cue, everyone moved.
“I’ll, uh, go fix us some iced tea,” Deidre said. She moved past Lacey toward the stairs. Sam stepped up in front of Celeste and crouched down before her. Paula backed off and moved over to stand beside Lacey.
“You did it,” Sam said in a low voice. He took one of Celeste’s hands in both of his. “You helped her. You saved her. She’s free now. Free.”
Celeste nodded, tears still streaming. She reached into a pocket of her slacks and retrieved a lace handkerchief, and she mopped her face with a shaky laugh.
“Yes,” she said, her quick smile at odds with the moist shine of her eyes, “she’s free. Free of that man. That pain.” She shook her head. “I… Thank you. I’m so grateful. Thank you.”
Sam patted her hand. “Let’s go downstairs.”
Once gathered around Deidre’s elegant dining room table, they sipped tall glasses of iced tea and nibbled small slices of pound cake. No one, it seemed, wanted to break the silence. Lacey was reminded of a close group taking communion together. It felt like that. Hallowed.
Suddenly Celeste began to cry again. Not sobbing; just tears leaking out, and a catch in her throat. Paula leaned over and held her.
After a moment, Celeste patted her granddaughter’s arm and sat up. She gave a brief, embarrassed laugh.
“Forgive an old woman,” she said.
Lacey, across the table, spoke softly. “There’s nothing to forgive. You’re grieving… again. I’m sorry you had to lose her a second time.”
Celeste pulled in a breath, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief. “At least this time I know she’s okay, and she’s… doing whatever we do on the other side.” She looked over at Sam. “Do you know? What happens to her now?”
He regarded her silently for a moment. “No,” he said, his voice kind. “I don’t. But you’re right; she’s okay. She can rest now and get ready for what comes next. Whatever that is.”
Celeste chuckled as she looked for a dry spot on her handkerchief. Deidre got up and retrieved a box of Kleenex and set it on the table.
“Thank you,” Celeste said. She looked around the table. “If anyone had ever told me… This has just been the most extraordinary experience.”
“Yes, it has,” Deidre said. She turned toward Sam. “Is it always like this? The work you do?”
Sam laughed once. “Not even close. We’ve never had a case like this.” He eyed Lacey. “If we can find out what’s holding them and get them to let go, that’s always satisfying, but this… this was something special.”
Lacey just nodded.
“Well,” Celeste said, “it’s certainly nothing I’ll ever forget.” She sighed, then looked over at Paula. “And I’m afraid it’s taken its toll. I’m very tired.”
“We’ll take you home,” Lacey said. Everyone pushed back from the table.
“Before we go,” Sam said, “let’s check that entry floor. I noticed you had another rug there.”
“Yes,” Deidre said. “I kept hoping, but…” She explained briefly to Celeste and Paula, wincing a bit as she mentioned the ghostly blood. Celeste took it in stoically.
Sam crossed the entry and pulled the large area rug aside. Kneeling down, he ran a hand over the tiles.
“I think it’s better,” he said to Deidre. “Come see what you think.”
Deidre joined him and slid a tentative foot across the tile. Lacey could see it catch on the uneven surface.
“It’s… it’s gone!” Deidre said with surprised delight. She stepped on all the tiles, one by one, but her foot refused to slide across the ceramic surface. It moved haltingly, but only at her insistence.
“Yes, it’s gone. Thank God.” She turned and beamed a smile at Sam. “And thank you.”
Lacey stepped up. “We’re still working on the other part,” she said. “But we’re making progress. We’ll figure that one out, too.”
“Oh, good,” Deidre sighed. “I’ll be so glad when this is all over.”
They filed out the door to the driveway. Celeste took Deidre’s hand. “Thank you for your hospitality. It’s been lovely to meet you, and I love what you’ve done to the home. It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you for allowing me to witness this today. It’s been amazing.”
They could all agree on that. They said their goodbyes and Lacey turned her car back toward L.A. Everyone was quiet on the ride home, but it was a good kind of quiet.
At Meadow View, Lacey and Sam offered to see the women back to the apartment, but Paula declined.
“I’ve got it from here,” she said, her voice subdued. She met both Sam’s and Lacey’s eyes with an intent frown. “I owe you two an apology. I didn’t really understand…”
Lacey shook her head. “Not necessary,” she said. “You were just looking out for Celeste. That’s commendable.”
“Well.” Paula seemed uncomfortable with the reprieve. “Thank you.”
Celeste took both their hands and pressed them warmly. “Thank you so much. You’re doing remarkable work.” She winked at them. “Keep it up.”
“We will,” Lacey promised.
When she and Sam drove away from the retirement community, she felt light, almost weightless. She cut a glance toward Sam.
“Early lunch?”
“Yeah,” he s
aid with a smile. “Lunch is good.”
They took a booth in a diner that was still half empty. It was just past eleven, not yet full-on lunch time. Lacey ordered her usual burger and fries while Sam got an omelet.
“You didn’t eat breakfast?” she queried.
“Pop Tarts. I didn’t have much in the apartment.”
“Mm, breakfast of champions,” she joked. Then she propped her chin in her hand and stared at Sam. “That was some deal.”
“Yes, it was,” he agreed. “How’d you figure it? How’d you know he killed her?”
She thought back. “I don’t know. Just the way she kept pushing you, closer and closer to the railing. It just clicked. I’m glad I figured it out. She might have just tossed your ass.”
He gave a wry smile. “I wasn’t too worried about that. I didn’t get the sense of danger from her. Just… determination. So you didn’t feel anything from her yourself?”
“No, just that little nudge.” She thought more about his question. “You mean like you get? Psychic impressions?”
“Yeah.”
“No, nothing like that. I think it was more just intuition; instinct.” She pointed a French fry at him. “Don’t worry. Your job is safe.”
“Good to know.” He cut his omelet into fork-sized bites. “And Lance?”
“Still working on him. I’m trying to track down his daughter. I’m thinking we might have enough of the broad strokes on him, but I’d feel better if we had the gory details.”
Sam nodded, still chewing.
“I won’t get much done tomorrow,” she said.
“Oh?” He didn’t look up.
“Going out to the prison in Lancaster.”
That got his attention. He laid his fork down and stared at Lacey. “How’s that going to be?” he asked.
She snorted. “Shitty. But after talking with Celeste, seeing Paula doing her best to watch out for her, I feel like I can’t ignore Derrick’s mother. If she doesn’t have anyone like that, well…”
Sam nodded and started eating again. “Yeah, I get it.” He sat back and chewed slowly, swallowed, then pointed his fork at her. “You want company?”
Lacey’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “To Lancaster? You’ll have the kids.”
He shrugged. “I could beg off for part of the day.”
She pondered that, showing up to see Derrick with Sam beside her. Wouldn’t that chap Derrick’s ass? She chuckled.
“Thanks, but I guess not. It’ll be fine. I don’t plan on staying long.”
“Okay,” he said. The refusal didn’t seem to bother him. “Just checking.”
She reached out and touched his hand. “I appreciate that. It’s nice to know you’ve got my back.”
“You sure had mine today,” he said. “Fair is fair.”
“True enough,” she said. “Fair is fair.”
~~~
FIFTEEN
The rest of Saturday was pretty much a waste. Lacey tried to dig deeper on Doreen Tynan but nothing came easily, and she really wanted to bask in the glow of their success with Estelle. Then later in the afternoon, she began to fret about Sunday. Instead of staring at her laptop, she went down to the exercise room of the complex and did her best to work out her irritation. The physical exercise tired her body but not her mind.
She didn’t sleep for crap.
Sunday morning, she took everything out of her purse she didn’t absolutely need. She knew she’d be subject to intense security measures, and she wanted to keep it all as hassle-free as possible. She could respect the corrections people; they were doing their jobs just as she had done hers on the force. There was no reason to make it more difficult for them—or her.
She felt like she was going on a road trip. She took a couple bottles of water and some snacks: energy bars and gum. Hauling her butt over eighty miles of freeway was not her idea of a good time, but she’d make it as comfortable as possible.
It’d been years since she’d been to the prison. Lancaster had grown quite a bit, but even the thriving activity of the town couldn’t soften the stark facility that squatted inside its chain link fences. The buildings were all concrete gray and square, with no architectural style whatsoever. The square, gray guard towers were reminiscent of prisoner-of-war camps. At least, she thought as she parked, seeing the inmates out on the yards playing basketball added a touch of humanity. The inmates, dressed in dark blue pants and light blue shirts, looked more like sailors on leave than hard-core criminals. But of course she knew better.
She walked to the entrance, following all the signs, making sure she obeyed all the rules. She showed her approval letter to a matron inside a cage, waited while her name was checked off a list, and followed a male guard down a hall and into a gym. The wooden floor was set with many picnic tables, the metal kind with the benches attached. Lacey noticed other visitations, some with whole families, going on at other tables as she was led to an empty one.
“It’ll be just a minute,” the guard said. He disappeared through a door and Lacey glanced around. Even with thirty or so people in the big room, it was quiet. The conversations were muted except for an occasional child’s laugh. Lacey couldn’t imagine how depressing that must be for young families.
The same door snicked open and the guard escorted Derrick in, then waved him toward her table. He ambled over, a wide grin on his handsome face. She had an urge to slap it off.
“Hey, Lace,” he said softly as he slid onto the bench opposite her. “How you doing?”
“Fine,” she said. Her eyes roved over his face, noting the changes a year of incarceration had made. He had a few more crow’s feet at the outer edges of his blue eyes, and she noticed some gray hairs in the light brown at his temples. He was only forty-three, but already looked older.
“So what do you think?” he asked with a laugh. “Do I look like every other hard ass in here?”
Lacey bit her lip. She knew this was no picnic for him. But damn it, it was his own fault.
“You look fine,” she said. “Older, but fine.”
“Well, you look great,” he said. He touched her hand; didn’t try to hold it, just brushed her fingers with one of his. She pulled her hand away.
“So tell me about your mom,” she said. “What’s going on?”
He exhaled heavily and ran a hand through his hair. “I honestly don’t know. I talked to Mom three, four months ago and she said Allison had been talking up this retirement home for her. Kept saying it would be so nice for her—no cooking, no cleaning, no yard work. But Mom wasn’t crazy about the idea. You know how she is.”
“Yes, I do,” Lacey said. Margaret was a putterer. She enjoyed baking, tending to her flowers, maybe knitting. Lacey thought the promise of fewer household chores was not a big selling point for her.
“Anyway, she agreed to go look at it. Said it wasn’t too bad. Nice rooms, friendly people. I think Allison kept leaning on her and she finally caved. She moved over about two months ago.”
He stared down at his hands for a moment, then raised them again. “Now she never calls and I can’t reach her.”
“Can’t reach her?” Lacey repeated. “Why not?”
He shrugged. “They won’t take my calls. It either goes directly to voicemail or if I do actually get a person to answer, they say they can only take a message. They won’t tell me anything, won’t let me talk to her. Allison doesn’t return my calls, either. I just feel like I’m being frozen out.”
Lacey watched him as he spoke. The downward turn of his mouth, the furrowing of his brow. The super confident wheeler-dealer was in unfamiliar territory, and it wore on him. He was so used to being in charge, being on top of everything—even in prison, she guessed—but now he was blocked out, hamstrung, sidelined. It was taking its toll on him.
“What do you think I can do?” she asked gently.
“Go see her. Talk to her. Find out what’s going on. I know Allison was furious when I screwed up, but I never thought she’d do this, just c
ut me out of the family.”
Lacey thought back to the last time she’d seen Allison. Their father’s funeral? Maybe once or twice since then. They had never been close. Allison had a tendency to look down her nose at police, as if they were common blue collar workers. Her husband was an associate V. P. in a young up-and-coming pharmaceutical firm, and Allison never failed to hint at his importance or their six-figure income. She clearly felt she was a step above most people, her mother and brother included.
“All right,” Lacey said. “I’ll go see her. Where is it?”
She pulled out her notebook and jotted down the address as he gave it to her. She was sure it wasn’t going to be anything like Meadow View.
“Thanks, Lacey. I really appreciate this.” He exhaled with relief.
She nodded as she finished writing. “Yeah, sure. Now why couldn’t you have just told me this over the phone?” When she raised her eyes to his, her direct, unblinking stare warned him not to bullshit her.
“Two reasons,” he said, sounding only slightly sheepish. “I wanted to see you, and”—he pulled a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket—“I wanted to give you this.”
He handed her the paper. She unfolded it with suspicion, smoothed it out and read the words there.
“Power of attorney?” she squeaked. “Me?”
“Yes, you. You might need that.”
“No,” she said. She shoved the paper across the table to him. “Your attorney needs that.”
“My attorney is an idiot,” he said with undisguised scorn. “He lost my case, didn’t he?”
Lacey frowned. “Well, if you hadn’t committed a whole laundry list of felonies, maybe he wouldn’t have. You provided a lot more ammunition to the prosecutor than you did to your defense.”
Derrick blew out a breath. “Yeah, I know. But still… I want you to have this. If you run into problems, people saying you don’t have the authority to help my mom, this should clear up any questions. Look, it’s all notarized and everything.” He regarded her quietly. “Now, if you were her daughter-in-law, this probably wouldn’t—”
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