Spirited 1

by Mary Behre

  Setting down the mug, he crossed from the kitchen to the living room to stare at the framed picture of Ernie, April, and a teenaged girl with a familiar face. The three people sat on a sand dune in matching outfits of white shirts, blue jeans, and sandals. Even their smiles were identical. Bright and wide. As if they’d just shared in a great joke.

  “Is this new?” It couldn’t be. Ernie looked about ten years younger in the portrait.

  “Kind of. Ernie hung it there about a week ago.” April waddled up beside him and stared up at it. “Juliana took the picture when she was seventeen. We were on vacation and she set up the camera on a tripod and made us pose. The original picture was ruined when Mrs. Himmel’s cat used my picture box as a litter box last year.”

  Seth winced. He remembered that cat clawing through more than one screen on a hot day last summer. And all the neighbors who fell victim to Mrs. Himmel’s senile cat had something ruined. Including him. Except the cat only destroyed his screen, which was why he didn’t have one in his window two nights earlier.

  “So where did this one come from?” he asked, gesturing to the large portrait.

  “In all the packing, Ernie found the negative. He knew how much I loved that picture, so when Juliana came home, he presented one to each of us. This one belongs to her.”

  Seth turned to examine it again. “Her eyes aren’t green here.”

  “Oh, right.” April gave a wry grin. “That picture was taken right before her eighteenth birthday when she was heavy into her assimilation phase.”

  “I’ve heard of a rebellious phase, but what’s an assimilation phase?”

  She grinned. “Well, all children go through phases. While most children want to be different from their parents, sometimes adopted children want to be more like them. Ernie called it her assimilation phase.”

  “And since you and Ernie adopted Jules, she wanted to be more like you?” Made sense to him.

  “You got it.” Her eyes softened as she glanced at the portrait. “Juliana dyed her hair blonde, wore colored contacts, and even called us Mom and Dad for a bit. But her hair never went completely blonde; her red always shined through. And she hated wearing the lenses. Plus, she felt like she was betraying her own mother by calling me ‘Mom.’”

  “So where’s Jules been for the past several years?” He turned to face April. “I mean, you’ve mentioned having a daughter, but I’d never met her before two nights ago.”

  “She’s been away.” April frowned and chewed on her lower lip. “Finding herself.”

  Before Seth could ask about her curious answer, his cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID. Jones.

  “Excuse me a moment, April. I need to take this.” He moved away in an effort to gain a little privacy. “English here. What do you have for me, kid?”

  “It’s not Jones,” the captain barked in his ear, “it’s Captain Peterson.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Just kidding, it’s me.” Jones laughed.

  He picks now to develop a sense of humor?

  “Damn it, Jones, stop screwing around,” Seth hissed into the phone. “If you’ve got something for me, then get to it. Otherwise, stop wasting my time.”

  “Right, I apologize, Detective.” Instantly, Jones sounded like his typical stoic self. “Good news is I checked out the local tattoo artists in the city and found one who identified our vic’s ink as his artwork. Bad news is, he only had a first name for her. Hang on—” Jones must have placed his hand over the receiver because muffled sounds came through for a moment before he returned and said quickly, “Captain Peterson wants an update here in his office in fifteen minutes on what we’ve come up with since yesterday.”

  Great. Nothing. Seth had come up with exactly nothing since yesterday. And getting nowhere fast right now.

  “I’ll be there.” He didn’t bother saying good-bye, but clicked off his cell. Time to get down to the last bit of business before he left. “I hate to ask you to do this, but can you wake up Jules? I promise not to stay long if she’s still sick, but I need to go over what happened yesterday with her before I meet with my captain.”

  “Oh, Seth. I’m sorry. Juliana isn’t here. She left before you arrived.”

  Seth frowned. “Where is she?”

  “Oh, well, I don’t know how to reach her right now.” April smiled but it seemed a bit forced, then she made her way around the living room as fast as she could waddle. “She doesn’t have her cell phone, you know.”

  Seth pivoted on his heel, keeping her in his line of vision as she collected her jacket from the coat hook near the front door, checked her pockets, dug out her keys, and jingled them.

  In all the years he’d known April, she’d never acted uneasy around him. Until now.

  “April, is everything okay?”

  Another forced smile. “Of course. Look, Juliana had an appointment this morning. But I know she’ll be at the shop by nine thirty.”

  “Ah.” The last thing he wanted was to arrive at the station with nothing to show for the last twenty-four hours. He’d ended the call too quickly to hear what exactly Jones had learned from the tattoo artist. Maybe if he hurried, he could reach the station in time to discuss his partner’s findings with him. Better to walk into the captain’s office with a lead than with nothing at all.

  April’s watch beeped.

  “Ugh, I’m sorry.” She flicked her wrist and her eyes widened. “I’m gonna be late if I don’t head out now.”

  He nodded because really, what else could he do? Opening the front door, he held it, then followed her out of the apartment.

  They’d barely started down the steps when she surprised him by asking, “I suppose you need to talk to Juliana about that poor woman you found in the Dumpster?”

  He snapped his gaze to hers. “I’m afraid so.”

  “You know she had nothing to do with what happened to that woman.” April lifted her chin. Blue fire flared in her eyes. “She couldn’t hurt anyone.”

  “I believe you, April.” And he did. It didn’t change the fact that he needed to account for Jules’s whereabouts before and after she was in his apartment. “But you do understand this isn’t personal. I just need to ask her a few questions for my case.”

  “Anything that happens to Juliana is very personal to me.” She paused on the third step and turned to him. Her lips thinned. “Just like it would be for you if it were Theresa caught up in a situation like this.”

  True.

  “April, I could have taken her down to the station for questioning yesterday, but I didn’t because she’s your daughter. Give me a little credit here. I know she didn’t kill that woman.” Seth placed a hand on April’s shoulder. “It’s why I felt confident letting her rest after she was discovered in the Dumpster with the body yesterday.”

  “Thank you for that.” April gave him a wan but genuine smile.

  He dropped his hand and they started moving again.

  She took two more steps down then stopped again. “Seth, please take it easy on her. She’s been through a lot. We just got her back home. I don’t want to lose her again.”

  Why would interviewing Jules cause them to lose her, again?

  • • •

  JULES HAD ASKED the social worker, Mrs. Harris, to meet her at The Jewish Mother because it was her favorite diner. As a teen, Big Jim and April would bring her there every Sunday morning for a chocolate-covered croissant while they ate fresh lox and bagels.

  Just walking inside the building, Jules had an overwhelming sense of home. The place was busy and crowded. Even with every table filled, there was an atmosphere of intimacy and privacy. Perhaps it was because each booth had a high back. Or maybe it was the small tea light candle flickering in a mini hurricane lamp. Or maybe it was the dark wood furniture that lent itself to a homey, cozy feel. Whatever it was, each table nestled between two dark blue cushion-covered seats seemed like a world unto itself.

  And Jules couldn’t have been more grateful. B
ecause the news she’d just received shook her to the foundation of her soul.

  “I wish there was something more I could do for you,” Mrs. Harris said as she set her cup of Earl Grey on the table.

  Jules smiled despite the cold lump that had formed in her throat. She shifted on the butter-soft blue leather seat. “I really appreciate all you have done. At least I know Shelley ended up with a good family for a while.”

  “Yes, her adoptive parents dying in that car accident was a tragedy. I didn’t even know it had happened until a few days ago. I can’t believe five years went by and no one thought to notify me. I spent most of last week trying to track down Shelley’s last known address, but according to neighbors, she moved away not long after the accident.”

  “She was seventeen. Where could a seventeen-year-old go?”

  Mrs. Harris gave her a pitying look and shook her head. “It’s hard to know. Potentially anywhere.”

  The truth cut through Jules. Her little sister, lost and alone in the world. Granted, Shelley wasn’t a child anymore, but what had she gone through for those last five years? She’d lost her parents not once but twice.

  Jules wanted to weep. Weep for the sister who’d lost everything again. And weep for herself. She hadn’t meant to, but in one day she’d let her hopes build. Ideas of reuniting with her sisters had taken over every spare thought and threaded through her dreams last night.

  Tears stung her eyes but she blinked them away.

  “There’s still hope, you know.” Mrs. Harris smiled and the only lines on her plump, fifty-ish face appeared at the corners of her eyes, giving her a sweet, grandmotherly appearance. With her short silver hair in a bob and wearing a red suit from Talbots, she looked more like a banker’s wife than a woman who worked sixty hours a week helping children find stable homes.

  “I’m sure you’re right, there’s still hope.” Although Jules doubted it. And truly, hope sucked. “I just wish Hannah’s parents hadn’t chosen a private adoption.”

  “You can appeal to the courts. It will take time, but that at least is an option.” Mrs. Harris patted Jules on the hand, then tugged a card out of her jacket pocket. “Here, take this. It’s a long shot but if anyone can help you locate Shelley, these boys can. They owe me a favor or two. Just tell them I told you to call.”

  Jules accepted the small business card with a logo of a seagull on the front.

  Tidewater Security Specialists: When no one else can, we will.

  • • •

  “SIX DAYS, ENGLISH. Wrap it up.”

  The captain’s parting words echoed through Seth’s brain like a skipping CD as he made his way from his car down Atlantic Avenue toward the flower shop.

  He hadn’t wanted to go to the station before he met with Jules, but he hadn’t had a choice. If that wasn’t bad enough, he learned from Jones that Seth’s would-be informant, Aimee-Lynn, was actually his homicide victim.

  Okay, so he’d feared that would be the case since yesterday when Aimee-Lynn didn’t show up for their meeting. But the idea of telling his captain that only Jones had managed to make any progress in the case chafed. It didn’t help that they still only had a first name, since the girl had paid for her tattoo in cash and the artist claimed he didn’t have a record beyond the picture of his work.

  Without a last name or at least someone looking for her, the trail was going cold. His only hope was that Jules had seen something. Perhaps if she could shed a little light on how her phone ended up with the dead woman, he’d find out she knew more than she realized.

  And he’d get the break his case required.

  He needed to get to April’s Flowers and question Jules as soon as possible. With lights green all the way up Atlantic Avenue, he stepped on the gas.

  • • •

  JULES WANTED TO scream.

  The ghost-girl had materialized near the front door of the florist shop thirty seconds ago. Where had she come from?

  For that matter, why was she back?

  Jules hadn’t seen her since yesterday and thought perhaps the ghost had gone into the light. Or had taken the hint that Jules had no interest in playing Who Wants to Be a Medium?

  Guess not.

  The ghost popped into existence near the front door. She glanced around the shop as if confused by how she got there. At first, she was mostly a transparent apparition with only her head and shoulders fully formed, then slowly the rest of her body became visible. Her hair changed from a short, black bob to shoulder-length and dirty blonde. This time she wore a pair of khaki shorts, a pink polo shirt, and black stiletto boots.

  Who does your wardrobe?

  The ghost snapped her gaze to Jules as if she heard the thought. Silent and unmoving, she stared balefully at Jules, sending a shiver of unease racing through her. Jules broke eye contact.

  At least the storefront was empty. No customers right now meant no risk of anyone overhearing her if she had to speak to the ghost. And given what had happened yesterday when she’d tried to ignore the ghost, the last thing Jules wanted was another round of The Murder Memory.

  “Please, talk to me.” The words whispered through Jules’s mind. She glanced up to find the ghost staring at her with a look of intense concentration on her face. Her ghostly lips moved slowly. “I know you can hear me.”

  Dang her crift!

  “I can hear you,” Jules admitted in a whisper. She glanced around to make sure no one could hear her. Not that anyone else was there yet. April still hadn’t arrived and Diana was still in church. “I’m not sure what I can do for you. I really don’t do the medium thing anymore.”

  Okay, she never really had done the medium thing because she’d never learned what she was supposed to do.

  Really, what could a living person teach a dead one? How not to be alive? Um . . . no, the ghosts have that market cornered.

  The shiver of unease she felt moments ago gave way to warmth and peace. The sensation startled her and she glanced up to find the specter smiling. “You’re funny.”

  The ghost’s lips didn’t move, but Jules clearly heard the girl’s thoughts in her mind.

  Jules’s throat went dry and she swallowed convulsively. Was her crift expanding or did the spirit possess her own form of telepathy? Jules focused on a single thought to see if she could project it.

  “Can you hear my thoughts?”

  The ghost nodded again. “Of course.”

  Jules’s heart beat double time in her chest. She could control some part of the gift beyond visualizing castle walls. Granted, it was only projecting her thoughts to a specter, but still . . . she controlled it.

  Maybe she could learn to send out a universal message like the bat signal to all specters that she was closed for business? It could be a chance for the paranormal-free existence she’d been hoping for. The thought made her giddy.

  Her hope was short-lived. It vanished the moment the ghost-girl’s head tilted back and her mouth dropped open. Like before, no words came out. Only the sound of dozens and dozens of fingernails raking a chalkboard screeched as the ghost wailed.

  Jules wanted to dig her fingers into her ears but knew the move would be pointless. The ear-piercing scream rang inside her head.

  “All right! Stop! I’ll help you.” Jules shouted her thoughts to the spirit, unsure whether the specter would be able to hear them since she’d barely learned she had a new skill.

  The noises stopped with alacrity and the ghost smiled.

  She freaking smiled as if she’d won some sort of game.

  Jules wanted to slap her. Not that she would have, even if the specter had still been corporeal. Her southern manners were too deeply imbedded to ignore, but that didn’t stop her from fantasizing. “Don’t do that again.”

  The specter nodded and her smile faded. Again she glanced around the store as if confused. She reminded Jules of a lost child. “Do you know what’s going on?”

  “Not really.” Jules pressed her lips together. She shouldn’t be talking to the
ghost, certainly not in the store where anyone could come in, but the girl seemed so sad. “We haven’t formally been introduced. I’m Juliana Scott, but my friends call me Jules. What’s your name?”

  “Hi, Jules. My name is . . . I don’t know. I can’t remember my name.” The ghostly words whispered through Jules’s mind, immediately followed by a prevailing sense of fear and pain. “Why can’t I remember my name?”

  The pain tugged at Jules, making her want to comfort the spirit despite the fact that moments before she wanted to commit violence against her. “Don’t worry,” Jules projected. “It’ll be okay. It happens sometimes, but your memory will come back. At least, I think it will.”

  “Oh, when?” The ghost appeared neither pleased nor comforted by her words.

  Good question. Jules had no idea. Most ghosts that spoke to her already remembered everything. They just didn’t like to share that information with Jules. But there was one other time a ghost had been like this one. Afraid, lost, and confused. When that ghost’s memory came back, Jules paid the price for it.

  Shoving away thoughts of a past she couldn’t change, she projected her answer. “I’m not sure, but I think we need to talk later. I really need to get back to work right now.”

  The ghost-girl nodded. Silver tears glistened on her translucent cheeks. “I don’t want to be dead.”

  “I know.” A small lump formed in Jules’s throat. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you right now. The store’s already open. Someone could come in at any moment. Do you think you can find me later? Somewhere a little more private?”

  “But I need you now!” the ghost snapped. Her words sliced through Jules with razor-sharp clarity.

  “Take it easy!” Jules projected, silencing the ghost.

  Was it possible to start bleeding from the ears because of voices only you can hear?

  But the ghost-girl was getting better at direct communication. When she had asked a question, Jules felt no pain. It was only after the specter became upset again and lost control that Jules experienced that searing ache in her head and ears.

  With her head still throbbing from the earlier screeching, Jules made a mental note to keep the ghost as calm as possible.