by Sharon Sala
She’d awakened, teary-eyed and full of guilt. If only she’d seen who committed the crime, then maybe Olivia could rest in peace. And because she now felt duty-bound to make every effort to bring Olivia’s killer to justice, she’d made a sudden decision to go to the service. Maybe just being in the same room with Olivia’s body would evoke a vision she had yet to experience. And maybe, if she got all the answers to the questions, then this thing that kept happening to her would stop. There was nothing that would make Jessica happier. Then she amended that thought. Stone Richardson could tell her he loved her. That would make her happy. Extremely happy.
* * *
Jack Stryker tugged at his necktie and leaned over to whisper in Stone’s ear. “I’ve never looked for suspects at a funeral before. I don’t know about you, but I feel like I’m trespassing when I should be paying my respects.”
Stone nodded and shifted in his seat. It had been their plan to sit at the rear of the church, hoping it would give them a better view of everyone who came inside. But a city councilman had seen them and insisted they sit next to him. Not wanting to make a big scene, they’d done so. Now the pews at St. Veronica’s were filling up at record speed and it hardly mattered where they were sitting. Within a few short minutes, the majority of attendees would be standing in the back of the church, as well as out on the steps and onto the lawn.
Ornate sprays of flowers were everywhere: hanging on walls, mounted on stands, draped upon the kneeling rails surrounding the pulpit. A massive spray of white roses adorned the closed lid of the casket, upon which was a silver ribbon with the word Mother spelled out in an elaborate scroll.
Stone winced. Jack was right. Today, Hal and Eve Stuart were burying their mother and he was here looking for a killer among the mourners. It was obscene.
Jack elbowed Stone as a man took a seat in the pew directly across from them. “Who’s he?”
Stone glanced to his right, recognizing the well-dressed man who’d been seated next to one of the bankers. “That’s Maxwell Brown. He’s a businessman here in town.”
“Oh.”
Just as the minister stepped up to the pulpit, Stone became aware of a change in the pattern of voices behind them. The hushed whispers were moving to a level of twitters and gasps. Curious as to who, or what, could have caused such a stir, he turned to see, and then his belly gave a nervous pitch.
“Oh, no.”
“What is it?” Jack whispered.
“See for yourself.”
Jack turned just as Jessica Hanson slipped into a vacant seat near the back of the church. He glanced at Stone, who seemed stunned by her appearance.
“So what’s the big deal?” he asked.
“Didn’t you hear them?” Stone asked.
“Hear who?” Jack muttered.
“Them.” He angled his head toward the rest of the congregation. “Look at them whispering among themselves. They’ll probably be expecting her to go into some psychic trance in the middle of the service.”
“Oh, yeah, I see what you mean,” Jack said, and then shrugged. “Look at it this way. She’s got just as much right to be here as the next person, and she can’t help what everyone thinks.”
Stone refused to be swayed. His gut instinct told him that Jessie’s appearance at the funeral was not a smooth move. He turned just as the minister lifted his arms as a signal for the congregation to stand. Stone girded himself for the oncoming service. The family was coming into the church.
* * *
Jessica had parked on a side street a couple of blocks from the church, and counted herself lucky to have found a space so close. It looked as if half the city had come to pay their last respects to Olivia Stuart. She smoothed the wrinkles from her plain blue suit, ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing it into a semblance of order, and started toward the church. Halfway down the block, someone called her name.
“Yoo-hoo! Jessica! It’s me, Sheila. Wait up!”
Oh, no. Jessica increased her pace, hoping that Sheila Biggers would give up the chase. Her hope was in vain as Sheila came up behind her, grabbing her elbow to slow her down.
“Jessica! Didn’t you hear me calling you?”
Jessica managed a smile. “Sorry, I guess my mind was a million miles away.”
“Yes, I suppose it was,” Sheila said.
Jessica gave the woman a sidelong glance. What did she mean by that?
“Say, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Sheila said, all but running to keep up with Jessica’s stride.
“Wow, do you believe the turnout?” Jessica asked, trying desperately to change the subject.
“Monday at work someone called me and told me my house was on fire.”
Jessica kept walking. “The boss told me. I’m really sorry. Was much of it ruined?”
Sheila grabbed Jessica’s arm. “Hey, slow down a minute, will you? Your legs are longer than mine.”
Jessica tried a change of subject. “If we delay much longer, we won’t get a seat.”
“It was you, wasn’t it? The woman who called.”
Jessica remained mute.
“I heard about you saving that woman’s life and all,” Sheila continued, as if Jessica had already answered. “And you saved my house from burning down, too. Even if you don’t want to admit it.”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit far-fetched?” Jessica asked.
Sheila’s gaze moved to the stitches just below Jessica’s bangs. “How do you do it? See the future, I mean? I’ve read about people who get psychic after suffering a blow to the head. Is that what happened to you?”
Jessica wished that she’d never left home.
“Look, Sheila. The only thing I’ve done is take time off from work until my stitches come out. I do not see into anyone’s future. I never have. I never will.”
It wasn’t an actual lie. Except for Tinee Bloom’s near meet with death, most of what she’d seen had already happened.
“Look at the crowd. We’d better hurry,” she added.
Sheila gave her co-worker a curious glance. “You go on ahead. I’m supposed to meet my husband, Don, outside the church.”
Thankful to be off the hook, Jessica smiled and waved. “It was good to see you.”
But Sheila wasn’t quite through with her yet.
“Hey, Jessica.”
Jessie paused and turned.
“You scare me a little, but thanks all the same.”
Jessica made straight for the doorway before someone else made comments she was in no mood to hear. And yet, the moment she walked into the church, she heard the whispers. Lifting her chin, she began looking for a seat, putting a calm face on a situation that threatened to explode.
Oh, cat scratches. What was I thinking?
Centered between an elderly man and a middle-aged woman, she gave them both a polite nod as she sat, purposefully fixing her gaze upon the pulpit at the front of the church and the rose-covered coffin in front of the altar.
Poor Olivia. I’m so sorry for the tragic end of your life.
“I say…Miss Hanson, isn’t it?”
Jessica turned. “Yes, I’m Jessica Hanson.”
Geraldine Mylam nodded. “I thought it was you.”
Jessica turned toward the minister, who was about to take his place behind the pulpit.
Not to be deterred, the woman continued the conversation without a pause. “My name is Mylam. Geraldine Mylam, but I suppose you knew that.”
Once again, Jessica turned. “No, ma’am, I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Oh, I know that,” Geraldine said. “But I just figured since you were psychic and all that you would know who I was without my having to say.”
Distracted by the woman’s comments, she looked up just as Stone Richardson looked back. Their gazes locked and Jessica’s heart skipped a beat. His expression was not that of a happy man. Barf bag!
Geraldine Mylam continued as if Jessica was still paying attention, which she was not. �
��You know, I lost my dear Terrance nearly five years ago. I was wondering if you could ask him something for me.”
Stone glared, then turned around to face the front, and the link was broken. Jessica jerked like a fish that had been tossed back in a pond.
“Excuse me,” she muttered. “I didn’t hear what you said.”
“Terrance. I asked you if you could talk to Terrance for me.”
Now Jessica was completely lost. “I’m sorry, but who is Terrance?”
Geraldine patted Jessica’s arm, as if she was a child. “Why, he’s my husband.”
“Why would you want me to talk to your husband?”
Geraldine leaned closer so that her request would not be overheard.
“I want you to ask him what he did with my grandmother’s silver gravy boat. It’s been in my family for generations, and I can’t find it anywhere.”
Jessica stared at the woman as if she’d lost her senses. “I’m sorry, Mrs….”
“Mylam. Geraldine Mylam.”
Jessica sighed. “Sorry. It’s been a long day. But I don’t understand. Why don’t you just ask your husband yourself?”
Geraldine’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “Why, because he’s dead. But I thought with your powers and all that you could—”
“All rise.”
The minister’s voice resonated within the walls, breaking Geraldine Mylam’s train of thought, and saving Jessica from having to come up with an answer that didn’t sound like a lie.
Hal Stuart entered the church, accompanied by his sister, Eve, and her little daughter, Molly. Jessica looked, then looked away, feeling guilty for watching them in their time of grief.
Hal Stuart walked like a man going to a hanging. His face was devoid of expression, while his sister, Eve, could hardly see to walk through the tears streaming down her face. Molly clung to her mother’s hand and ducked her head, looking uncomfortable at being the focus of everyone’s attention.
Sympathetic murmurs sifted among the mourners as the family made their way down the aisle to the front of the church and took a seat on the very first pew.
“You may be seated,” the minister said, and the sound of three hundred and fifty people sitting down at once was like a wave breaking against the shore, washing up and then over the breakers until all the power within it slid out in a whoosh.
The service began.
A short while later, Jessica watched as Eve Stuart made her way to the pulpit, leaving her daughter in her uncle Hal’s care. Jessica’s heart ached for the family. She knew what it felt like to lose one’s parents. Her eyes teared as she tried to focus on something besides the heartbreak in the young woman’s voice. It was an impossible task. Eve Stuart proceeded with a testimony that would have made her mother quite proud.
And while it was all Eve could do to get through what she wanted to say without sobbing aloud, Hal seemed to be dealing with his loss in a different manner. He spoke in measured tones without once looking up from the paper before him. After all, Jessica thought, he was the man of the family. It behooved him to be stoic.
And finally it was over.
Jessica breathed a sigh of relief. In a way, she was disappointed that she hadn’t had a revelation that would have provided some much-needed answers. But on the other hand, she hadn’t given full thought as to what would have happened if she’d flipped out in front of the entire congregation.
She glanced up. People were moving around at the front, and it dawned on her that they were going to open the casket for public viewing.
“No,” she muttered, telling herself that she wouldn’t—couldn’t—go.
The elderly fellow to her right jerked, and Jessica realized that he’d nodded off.
“Excuse me?” he said. “What was that you said?”
“I’m sorry,” Jessica said. “It was nothing.”
Satisfied that he hadn’t done anything wrong, he reached for his cane as the people in the pew in front of them rose from their seats.
“Oh, no,” Jessica said, realizing that if she didn’t do something fast, she was going to be swept along with the crowd. And she didn’t need to go look at Olivia’s body. She’d already seen her die.
Suddenly it was their turn to stand. She grabbed her purse and looked around behind her, searching for the best and least conspicuous manner in which to walk out, when someone took her by the elbow and shoved her into the line. It was the old fellow, who had been sitting beside her.
Now he pays attention, Jessica thought.
“After you, miss,” he said.
She was trapped. Either she turned and walked out in plain sight of everyone here, which would probably cause even more gossip, or she went through the motions like everyone else and prayed that nothing untoward would happen. Reluctantly, Jessica opted for the line of least resistance and moved down the aisle past the pew where Stone was sitting.
Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.
True to form, she ignored her instincts and looked. There was a warning in his eyes she couldn’t miss. She frowned back, giving him her best “mind your own business” look, and then moved on. Yet the closer she came to the casket, the more panicked she became. Her palms were sweating and her heart was skipping beats like crazy.
Don’t look at her. Don’t look at her.
Again, her instincts were warning her against something she couldn’t see. All around her, people were sniffing, some openly crying. She felt like a fake in a sea of pure grief. She wasn’t nearly as sad for Olivia Stuart as she was afraid for herself.
Don’t look. Don’t look.
And then she saw the end of the casket coming into view, and like a magnet, her eyes were drawn to the woman within. In that moment, a rush of kindred spirit all but overwhelmed her.
Olivia…Olivia…you weren’t alone. I saw. I saw.
She took a deep breath, inhaling the unexpected but overpowering scent of gardenias. She walked away, unaware of the steady stream of tears flowing down her face.
Outside the church, someone tapped her on the arm.
“Dear, are you all right?”
Jessica blinked, then looked up. It was the woman who’d sat beside her.
“What? Oh, yes, I’m fine,” Jessica said.
Geraldine handed her some tissues. “Didn’t she look nice? I always say, it’s easier to give them up when they go out looking so lifelike and all.”
“Thank you for the tissues.” There was nothing else Jessica could think to say.
“You’re welcome, dear,” Geraldine said, and patted Jessica once more before turning away.
In the brief moment when the woman’s hand was on her arm, Jessica suddenly saw in her mind, as plain as the sunlight that was up in the sky, an ornate but tarnished gravy boat sitting on a shelf. Beside it, a basket with a broken handle, and above it, three fly rods, with fishing line dangling and covered in spiderwebs and dust.
“Fishing,” Jessica said suddenly, and Geraldine turned.
“Excuse me, dear? Did you say something to me?”
Jessica stared unblinking into the scene before her. “The gravy boat. It’s at the cabin. He took it fishing.”
Blind to the crowds of people moving past them, Geraldine Mylam’s eyes widened as she realized what the girl had just done. In her own way, Jessica Hanson had talked to Terrance Mylam.
“Oh.” She reached out and touched Jessica’s hair, then her cheek, then her arm. “Oh, my.”
Jessica took a step back, suddenly aware that something momentous had happened.
“I, uh…”
To her dismay, Geraldine Mylam made the sign of the cross then grabbed Jessica’s hand and kissed it before scurrying away.
Still a little stunned by what had just happened, her muse was broken by an angry voice next to her ear.
“What was that all about?”
She turned around. It was Stone and his partner, Jack Stryker.
There was a shocked expression on her face. “I’m not sur
e, but I think I just had my first séance.”
Stone snorted in disgust while Jack started to grin.
“What on earth possessed you to come here, anyway?” Stone asked, glancing nervously around as the people moved past, many giving them more than just curious glances.
Jessica looked at him, and then looked away. “Like everyone else…I just came to say goodbye.”
Chapter Eight
Jessica walked away, leaving Stone and Jack outside the church. Stone’s first reaction was to follow her, but he hesitated, and while he was debating with himself, Jack interrupted his train of thought.
“What did you think about the service?” Jack asked.
Stone gave Jessica one last glance, and then turned back to his partner.
“You want the truth?”
Jack nodded.
“I thought Hal Stuart was more nervous than grief-stricken.”
A wry grin broke across Stryker’s face. “That’s why we make such good partners,” he said. “We read people the same way.”
Stone glanced at a man who was coming down the steps of the church. “Then, how do you read that one?” he asked.
Jack turned to look, and then whistled beneath his breath.
“Oh, him. He’s in the dough.”
“What do you mean by that?” Stone asked, watching as the man stopped to speak to several people along his way to a waiting limo.
“That’s Alex Bennett. He could buy and sell everyone in this town a hundred times over. He’s big on charities, always donating, always on the society page. At one time or another, he’s probably worked on a dozen events with Olivia Stuart.”
Stone wrote down Alex Bennett’s name in his notebook.
“What are you doing?” Jack asked.
“Reminding myself to check him out,” Stone said. “At this point, everyone is suspect, remember?”
“I suppose, but I don’t think Bennett is dirty. I hear he’s as straight as they come.”
“Hey, look who’s here,” Stryker said, pointing toward a tall blond man just coming out of the door. “Isn’t that the guy who claimed to have lost his memory? Wonder what he’s doing here?”
