5 The Ghosts in the Audience

by SUE FINEMAN

  “Interesting.” Did he know anyone who hunted? Such a barbaric sport, if you could call it a sport. He could understand someone hunting to feed his family, but he couldn’t understand killing for fun.

  Changing the subject, Steffen asked, “Ginny, how would you like to go to Florida with me to check out a house there?”

  “Your house?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure you want me along, Steffen?”

  “Don’t you want to be with me, honey?”

  When she didn’t answer, he wondered if it was over for her. Maybe she didn’t want him any more than his absent mother did, but was too polite to say so.

  “Never mind. I’ll find someone else to go with me. Goodbye, Ginny.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Steffen paced around the study, avoiding the letter his grandfather had left him, thinking about Ginny. His heart ached with missing her. Other women didn’t affect him this way, not even Sheryl, and he’d been with her longer than any other woman. He appreciated having a woman in Chicago, one who always seemed glad to see him when he came home from a tour, but he’d never been committed to her, never been in love with her.

  His relationship with Ginny had been different from day one. With her it wasn’t all about sex, but the intimacy brought them closer. He felt comfortable with her and excited by her, but the best part of being with Ginny was that she cared about him when his psychic powers were gone. Aside from the night they met, she was the first woman in his life since his grandmother died who didn’t expect something from him. Ginny gave him a place to stay, the first real home he’d had in such a long time. She treated him like a true friend instead of a freak who could do party tricks.

  A vision of Ginny popped into his head. She was plugging her phone into the charger, saying, “Steffen, my phone died. Please call again.”

  Smiling, Steffen picked up the phone, but Jerry poked his head in the door. “Dinner’s ready.” The phone call would have to wait.

  Jerry had made steak for dinner, but although Steffen could eat with his right hand now, he couldn’t cut the steak. “I hate to sound like a five-year-old, but would you mind cutting this for me? Someone shot me in the right shoulder a few days ago, and there are still some things I can’t do with my right hand, like pick up anything heavy and cut steak.”

  Jerry’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know about the shooting,” he said as he cut Steffen’s steak into bite sized pieces. “Where did this happen?”

  “River Valley, Ohio. The first shot missed, but the second one nicked the bone in my right shoulder.”

  “Who shot you?”

  “I wish I knew. I get a vision of a man in a dark SUV, but I can’t see his face.” Was it someone he knew or a stranger looking to make a name for himself by shooting a famous psychic? Joseph Marchand’s estate was worth a whole lot of money. Maybe he should check out Joseph’s cousin. “How do I reach Phillip Marchand?”

  Jerry hesitated a few seconds before answering. “I believe his number is on the caller ID. He called just yesterday, asking if anyone was staying in the condo. I gave him the phone number for Joseph’s attorney.”

  “Does he hunt?”

  Jerry shrugged. “I have no idea. When Carolyn was alive, he used to call often, always with some kind of sob story. If Joseph refused to speak with him on the phone, he’d show up here at the condo.”

  “What kind of work did he do?”

  “I’m not sure he worked at anything but begging for money. I guess he figured Joseph could support him. The last time I saw him was at Carolyn’s funeral. Joseph refused to see him after Carolyn died, but Joseph cut himself off from everyone after that. He sank into a deep depression. His wife, his only son, and his two grandsons were gone. The only family he had left was you, and when he tried to see you, your uncle asked him for money. Ten thousand for one hour. Joseph was livid, but in all fairness, your uncle probably didn’t know who he was.”

  Steffen couldn’t believe his ears. “Ten thousand for one hour?”

  “He told Joseph that was the going rate for a one-hour consultation.”

  Steffen slowly shook his head. “Damn!” If he hadn’t tuned out Carson and the entire Marchand family, he would have known about this. “Was that the only time?”

  “No, he tried several other times, with the same result. Your uncle may have been trying to protect you.”

  “Protect, hell! He cheated people, including me. Especially me. I never got more than a hundred for a reading. Carson kept the rest for himself.” Every member of his family had let him down. Through his will, his grandfather had tried to make up for his neglect, but money wouldn’t make up for what Steffen had lost. If he ever had children of his own, he’d be there for them. He wouldn’t allow Carson to be involved in their lives, or Steffen’s mother.

  As far as he was concerned, he had no family.

  Jerry looked straight at him. “Does the money help?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “I hear ya. My wife and I had a daughter way back when, but she was born too soon and only lived a few hours. I’d give up everything I own if she’d lived. The rest of my family is gone, so I’m alone. In some ways, Joseph was my family. We spent a lot of time together over the past few years.”

  “I saw him once, when I was a kid. He didn’t want me then.”

  “Sure he did, but R. J. was afraid his wife would find out. Your mother wasn’t his only dalliance, and she threatened to divorce him if he cheated on her again. In spite of his affairs, he loved his wife and didn’t want to lose her.”

  “Did Carolyn know about me?”

  “No, I don’t think so, at least not before R. J. died. Joseph kept an album with pictures and the other things Natalee sent him over the years, but I don’t think he ever shared it with Carolyn. I’ll show you after dinner.”

  When he left River Valley this morning, Steffen didn’t expect a cook and assistant, but he felt fortunate to have Jerry here. He was a pleasant man, someone who could help him understand a little more about Joseph Marchand.

  From what he knew about R. J., he hadn’t missed much by not knowing him, but Steffen felt cheated by not knowing his grandparents, especially his grandfather.

  Jerry cleared the table and showed Steffen into the family room, where a big album sat on the coffee table. “Joseph might not have been an active participant in your life, but never doubt he was proud of you, proud of the way you helped people. He called yours ‘a noble profession,’ and he loved looking through this album.”

  Proud of him? Yes, he helped people, but not before Carson took them for everything he could get. And Steffen had let him get away with it.

  Steffen settled into a chair and picked up the album. The first page held a picture of a newborn, eyes barely open, with a birth announcement underneath. Steffen Dubois Marchand, seven pounds, thirteen ounces, twenty-two inches long.

  Jerry sat in the chair beside the sofa. “Joseph said you looked just like R. J. did when he was a baby.”

  The second page held a note from Natalee Dubois, Steffen’s mother. Joseph, this is your newest grandson. He’s a beautiful baby, but without financial help, I’ll be forced to give him up for adoption.

  “She blackmailed Joseph?”

  “He sent her some money and suggested she find herself a husband, someone who would be a good father for her baby.”

  Would she have given him up if Joseph had refused to give her anything? There were times when he was sure she didn’t want him. “She should have given me up instead of marrying a man she didn’t love.” Natalee Dubois married Cameron Edwards, the man Steffen knew as Dad, but she was desperately unhappy with her life.

  More baby pictures followed, with notes from his mother. 10 months and he’s walking it said under one picture. Another said, First birthday and he’s talking.

  There were no family pictures, none of him sitting on his mother’s lap or playing with his daddy. Just him. Alone.

  Steffen found
a picture of himself on the first day of school. He held someone’s hand, but the other person wasn’t in the picture. He remembered his daddy taking him to school that day, and he stayed with him until Steffen felt comfortable with his new teacher. The day started out scary, but Steffen’s intuition told him everything would be all right, that his daddy would be there after school. His mother was supposedly working then, but he knew she’d gone off somewhere for the day to be alone. His father was the primary parent in those days, the one Steffen went to when he skinned his knee or needed something. Cameron Edwards was the parent who gave him his bath and read him bedtime stories.

  “My grandmother moved in with us after I started school. She was psychic and gave me the support and encouragement I needed to embrace my psychic gifts. The kids at school thought I was crazy because I knew things before they happened, but she helped me understand I was different, not crazy.”

  The early years weren’t so bad because he had his father and grandmother. Then one day they were watching a story about a lost little girl on the evening news and Steffen said, “She’s in the basement across the street from her house.” The next thing he knew, he was at the police station talking with an officer. They found the little girl in the neighbor’s basement, right where Steffen said she was, and his life was forever changed.

  Under his third grade school picture, there was a newspaper article about that incident. Steffen was hailed as a hero, and people started coming to the house to see the eight-year-old boy freak who knew everything.

  The next few pages were filled with Steffen’s report cards, school pictures, and more newspaper articles. Another letter from his mother said, My mother passed away, and without her Social Security, we’re having a tough time financially. Can you help?

  Steffen looked over at Jerry. “After my grandmother died, did Joseph send her more money?”

  Jerry nodded. “He didn’t want you to live in poverty. At one point, he asked to see you. He made an appointment for when Carolyn was having her hair done, and your mother brought you here. You told him he’d outlive his other grandchildren, and he was stunned.”

  “I remember.”

  “Joseph was quite impressed with you and your psychic insight, and you looked so much like R. J., he knew you were a Marchand. He was quite proud of you, but he couldn’t tell anyone about you without risking R. J.’s marriage.”

  Steffen closed the album and put it back on the coffee table. “Am I R. J.’s only bastard?”

  “The only one Joseph knew about.”

  He needed to read Joseph’s letter, but Steffen wasn’t sure how much more he could handle today. Was it just this morning he left Ginny’s little house on Honey Creek? Just this morning he kissed her goodbye?

  His shoulder ached, telling him it was time to sit in a quiet spot and unwind. Meditate. Clear his mind and find peace with this situation. He had no family, but he had a condo overlooking the lake, a vacation home in Florida, a steady income, and enough money to buy anything he wanted.

  He closed his eyes and pictured Ginny’s beautiful face, heard her sexy voice, and felt her gentle hands touch him. He wanted her so much he could almost taste her sweet lips.

  <>

  Ginny carried her cell phone upstairs and put it on the charger beside the bed. Steffen still hadn’t called back, and she was getting worried about him.

  She should have invited herself to Chicago, so she could keep an eye on him. He should have stayed with her a few more days, until his shoulder was completely healed. Until they figured out if the shooting was a random drive-by or a deliberate attempt on Steffen’s life.

  Ginny lay on the bed petting Boomer when the phone rang. Snatching it up, she said, “Steffen?”

  “Don’t tell me you have radar now.”

  “I was hoping you’d call back. My cell phone died and we didn’t finish our conversation. I couldn’t call you back because I didn’t have your phone number.”

  “And I thought you didn’t want to go to Florida with me.”

  “Oh, I want to go.” She’d never been there, and she was getting cabin fever. This had been an especially bad winter. She needed a sun break, and a trip to Florida sounded wonderful.

  “I have a couple things I need to do here first. Why don’t you fly to Chicago and we’ll leave from here?”

  “When?”

  “As soon as you can get here.”

  “Jill’s funeral is tomorrow, and I need to be there for Phoebe.”

  “Understood. I’ll make arrangements for the trip. We’ll go Monday, and I’ll get you back in time to return to work.”

  “Okay.” Ginny would get there this week if she had to drive to Chicago.

  “I’m going to kiss you goodnight, Ginny.”

  She felt her lips tingle and knew he’d planted a suggestion in her mind. And this time she didn’t care. “Mmm, that feels so good,” she murmured into the phone.

  “Sweet dreams. I’ll see you soon.” He disconnected, leaving her body longing for more.

  And she never did buy new batteries for her vibrator.

  <>

  As much as Steffen disliked his uncle, he needed to call him. They hadn’t spoken since Steffen left the hospital.

  “It’s about time you called,” said Carson. “Are you still in Ohio?”

  “No, I’m in Chicago. I’ll come by in a day or two and pick up my mail.” There were other things he wanted to get from the house while he was there.

  “Where are you staying?”

  Steffen gave him the address on Lake Shore Drive. Carson asked, “What in the hell are you doing there?”

  “Living in my grandfather’s condo, the grandfather you wouldn’t allow to visit me without paying you ten thousand dollars.”

  “I don’t remember anyone telling me they were your grandfather.”

  “Ten thousand, Carson. The most I ever got for a reading was a hundred. Where’s the rest of my money?”

  “What do you think I paid the house-sitter with, and the taxes on the house? Sounds like you don’t need it now anyway.”

  What he didn’t need was an uncle like Carson. If he wanted anything from the house, he’d better get it soon, before Carson sold it or threw it away.

  “What I don’t need is a manager who cheats me.”

  “And what I don’t need is a holier-than-thou—”

  “Go to hell!” Steffen hung up. He blamed Carson, but he blamed himself, too. If he hadn’t tuned Carson out years ago, he would have known what his uncle was doing. And if he hadn’t blocked out his grandfather, he would have known Joseph wanted to see him.

  He walked into Joseph’s bedroom and sent a message into the ether. I’m sorry, Joseph. Sorry we didn’t get to spend some time together before you passed away.

  Joseph’s ghost appeared on the other side of the room. So am I, son. So am I. You’re a good man, a man of perception and keen insight. I’m proud of you. I wish I’d talked with Carolyn about you when you were a boy. If I had, things might have been different for you.

  Maybe they would have been different. Maybe Steffen would have become a doctor, like he wanted. But it wasn’t meant to be.

  Write a book, the ghost said. Use the photo albums and your journals and write a book about your life. Dedicate it to Cameron Edwards. He was an honorable man with an illness he couldn’t control. He deserved better.

  Yes, he did, and he’ll have a better life the next time around. Steffen had seen his father’s ghost at his funeral, and he’d seen the future. Dad would have another life without the mental illness that had plagued him in his last life. And he’d be happy.

  I’ll be watching over you, son, said the ghost, and then he faded away.

  Too bad Joseph couldn’t have watched over Steffen when he was a kid, a teenager with too much responsibility, a boy weighed down by life.

  Steffen still hadn’t read the letter Joseph had left him in the safe, and he couldn’t read it tonight. He felt drained by the vision of his grand
father’s ghost, overwhelmed by the size of the estate he’d just inherited, bewildered by the identity of the person who’d shot him, angry with Carson, and lonesome without Ginny.

  He couldn’t handle any more tonight.

  <>

  Steffen had just finished breakfast when a buzzer sounded. Jerry pushed a button on the kitchen wall. “Who is it?”

  “Phillip Marchand and friends,” said the voice over the speaker.

  Steffen nodded. “Let him in. Alone.” He sensed a darkness around the others.

  A minute later, the doorbell chimed and Steffen opened it. The man before him appeared haggard, as if he hadn’t been sleeping or eating enough. Gazing into his eyes, Steffen understood why. Phillip Marchand was a drug addict. He was broke and scared of the two men downstairs. “Come in, Phillip. I’m Steffen Marchand, Joseph’s grandson.”

  Steffen knew this wasn’t the man who’d shot him. This man was so strung out he couldn’t aim a rifle and hit anyone, especially from a distance. His hands trembled and he kept wiping the back of his hand over his nose.

  “Where have I heard your name?” Phillip asked.

  “I’m a psychic. You came here for money, and if you don’t do something to change your life right now, today, you’ll be dead within a month.”

  “D-dead?”

  “That’s right. Didn’t Joseph leave you money in his will?”

  “Yes, but it’s paid out over twenty years, and I need more now. I owe a guy, and if I don’t pay him today, he said—”

  Steffen held up his hand to stop the flow of words. “You’re on heroin, and he’s your supplier.”

  “Yes, but I don’t shoot up. I smoke it. It’s not as addictive.”

  “The hell it’s not,” Steffen muttered. He motioned to Jerry. “See if you can find Mr. Marchand a rehab center. Six months. I’ll pay for six months.”

  Phillip lifted his chin. “I don’t need to go to rehab. I can quit any time.”

  Steffen cocked his head. “No, you can’t. Not on your own.” In some ways, this man reminded him of his father. Dad couldn’t help himself, and this man couldn’t help himself either. He’d already lost his family, his house, and everything of value. All for a highly addictive drug he couldn’t stop using.