she had completely lost her mind? The story of Alexis’s
imaginary friend had already created friction earlier, and
the last thing Kathy wanted to do was to make Tom
wonder about her sanity. “Do you have any recent
photos of Tracey, Tom?”
Given that Kathy was a photographer who
specialized in portraits made the request sound
legitimate.
“Yes…I have one on my computer. Why?”
“Just wondering. Would you like another glass of
wine?”
“No, thank you. I am so tired that if I drink more
than one glass tonight, you will need to carry me to
bed.”
Kathy smiled coyly. “That’s not a bad idea, then.
Have another glass.” She winked suggestively.
Tom grinned, and he stretched on the chair with
satisfaction, thinking that this evening was getting better
and better by the minute.
#
Alexis sat on her hotel bed, mentally recalling all
that had happened throughout the day. She and her
parents had adjoining rooms and the door was ajar; she
was trying to be extra quiet in order to not disturb her
mother, who was already resting when Kathy dropped
Alexis off. Her father had gone out to get some tea for
her mother about 30 minutes earlier, and no sound came
from her parents’ room. According to her father, Rose
had taken a sedative when they first got back to the
hotel, and she was still asleep. Alexis thought it was a
little odd for her mother to take medication to help her
sleep so early in the day, but when she saw her father’s
swollen, red eyes, she didn’t have the heart to ask any
questions. She already knew Tracey was gone, but her
parents hung on to the illusion of bringing her home
alive, and their world had crumbled under their feet
when they found out it was never going to be. So she sat
on her bed and mindlessly looked at a word search
magazine her mother had bought her for the trip, but she
couldn’t focus on finding any of the words.
She didn’t know how much time had gone by when
she heard a sound and realized her father was back. She
tiptoed to the door between the rooms and saw her
father quietly placing the cup full of steaming tea on the
small table near the window. When he heard the door
move, he turned around and smiled at Alexis. “You’re
awake.”
“Yes, Daddy. Is Mom okay?”
Mike put a finger in front of his lips to signal to
Alexis that she should let her mother sleep, then he
walked toward the separating door and into her room.
He closed the door and sat at the edge of her bed. “Mom
is going to be okay. What about you, Alexis? Are you
okay?” He raised a hand to ruffle her hair, and Alexis
rested her face on it. “I’m fine. I already knew, Daddy…
you know that. You and Mom think that Lily is not real,
and that I’ve made her up, but I swear, I haven’t. Lily
told me Tracey was dead before those police men even
came to the house.”
Mike sighed heavily. “Look, Alexis, we’ve talked
about Lily before, and even Doctor Taylor explained to
you that she is not real—she seems real to you, but she
is not.”
Alexis didn’t say a word, so Mike stood up and
kissed the top of her head. “Try to get some sleep,
Alexis. Mom is going to need both of us tomorrow.”
Alexis nodded and lay her head on the pillow, but as
her father got ready to step through the door to go back
into his own room, she said: “Do you remember the
lighter you lost last month, Daddy? The one that
belonged to Granddaddy?”
“Of course I remember. What about it?”
“It’s in the tool drawer in the garage.”
Mike raised his brow. “How do you know that? Did
you see it there?”
“No. Lily told me to tell you it’s there. You put it
there when that salesman came up our driveway to sell
you lawn treatments and you forgot about it.”
Mike smiled. “Okay, Alexis. Tell Lily thank you and
try to get some sleep.”
He turned off the light on his way out and closed the
door quietly behind him.
#
“Goodnight, Kathy.” Tom stretched his legs on the
clean sheets and hugged his pillow. Their lovemaking
had not lasted long tonight, but both of them were happy
and relaxed.
“Goodnight, Tom. I love you.”
Tom turned off the night light and wrapped his arm
around Kathy. Kathy lay there awake, her mind shooting
in a million directions. She had tried to find a way to tell
Tom about the photos, but the right moment hadn’t
come along. Sensing that something was wrong, Tom
hugged her more tightly, but Kathy couldn’t shut down.
“Are you okay, Kathy?”
“I’m fine…” she murmured.
“I know you are not fine. What is it?” Tom nudged
her gently.
“Do you really want to know, Tom?” The light was
off, but she could see that Tom’s eyes were open and
looking at her intently.
“If it is not about ghost friends, yes.”
Kathy sighed before she spoke. “It’s not about ghost
friends, Tom…it’s about ghosts, period.”
“What do you mean? Have you seen a ghost?” Tom
said jokingly.
“Yes.” Kathy didn’t know how else to say it.
“You are kidding, right?” Tom wasn’t sure if this
was a question or a wish spoken out loud.
“I am not kidding, Tom. Let me show you
something.” She quickly got out of bed and went to the
kitchen to fetch the photos she had taken the night
before. When she returned to their room, Tom saw she
was holding something and, since she had mentioned
having something to show him, he turned on the night
light and fluffed up his pillow before raising himself
over his elbow.
“Here. Look at these.” She handed him the
snapshots, one at a time.
Tom looked at them carefully. “I can’t really see
anything. They appear to be taken around our house, but
they are unfocused.”
“That’s what I thought too, at first. Since the camera
fell on the floor—twice—I took a few shots to make
sure it wasn’t broken. All the photos show the same
image superimposed on them. I thought maybe the flash
went off, but it couldn’t have happened to all of them
without me knowing it.”
“Okay…so, where are you going with this?”
“Look at the pictures, Tom, and look at the image. It
is exactly the same shape and density on all of them.”
Tom looked closer, and Kathy moved the night light
to shine right over the photos Tom was holding. “What
does it make you think of?”
Tom was quiet and, for a fleeting moment, Kathy
saw a shadow of awareness flash briefly in his eyes.
“What do you see, Tom?”
Tom looked away fo
r a split second, then he turned
to meet Kathy’s scrutinizing gaze. “If I didn’t know
better, I would say I am looking at Tracey Newman.”
Chapter 6
Tom took a sip of ginger ale from the can he had
purchased when he stopped to fuel his car and grimaced.
Cutting down on coffee was the greatest sacrifice he had
to make in the name of health, but Dr. Valensky didn’t
exactly leave it as an option. High blood pressure had
already forced him to quit smoking, and now he had to
give up yet another pleasure—not entirely, since he
would never agree to it, but he was down to no more
than two cups a day. There were days when Tom wanted
to shoot Dr. Valensky the bird and go on a coffee binge.
Somehow, getting up in the morning and knowing he
could only have one cup made getting out of bed even
harder, and most days he developed a dull headache
around mid-day, probably from caffeine withdrawal.
Today the headache was here ahead of schedule, and
that alone was enough to irritate Tom to no end. He tried
not to think about it, as he turned right on Louisburg
Road and headed toward Perry Creek. The sky was
overcast and the temperature was a bit cooler, so he
cracked his window and looked for the apartment
complex where Tracey Newman had lived. When he
arrived, he pulled his unmarked car into one of the
parking spots in front of the building and went up to the
second level. A dead plant was standing guard beside the
door, and Tom wondered if it died before or after
Tracey. He almost expected to find no one there when
he knocked, but the door opened to show an attractive
brunette clad in gym shorts and a sport bra, carrying a
white T-shirt over her right shoulder. Her hair was
pulled into a ponytail and she wore a baseball cap.
Under the visor, Tom noticed that her eyes were red and
slightly swollen. One of them looked faintly bruised.
“Can I help you?”
“Are you Shannon Brinkley?” Tom asked in a soft
but direct tone.
“Yes, that’s me, how can I help you?”
“Ms. Brinkley, I am Lieutenant Tom Lackey, from
the Raleigh Police Department. May I speak with you
for a moment?”
Shannon Brinkley took one step back and turned to
look behind before she spoke. “Of course, Lieutenant.
Please come in.”
Tom followed her to the living room and sat down
on a loveseat. “How long has it been since you’ve seen
Tracey Newman, Ms. Brinkley?”
Shannon paused to think before she replied. “A little
over a week, I think; maybe two weeks. She didn’t show
up for work and the hospital called here looking for her.
At first I thought maybe she had gone somewhere with
Brad, but he doesn’t seem to know where she is either.”
“Brad?”
“Her boyfriend. They dated on and off. I sort of had
the impression they were on the mend lately, so I
thought they might have gone off on a romantic trip and
she lost track of time. When she still didn’t come home
the next few days I began to worry and called different
friends. Nobody had seen her, so I called her parents to
let them know.”
“Was it typical for Ms. Newman to leave
unexpectedly and without notifying anyone?”
“Not typical, but she could be impulsive at times.
She really liked Brad, and I think she would have done
anything to get back with him, even if he was seeing
someone else.”
“Do you know why she and her boyfriend were
fighting?”
Shannon hesitated. “Look, I don’t want to get
anyone in trouble. Maybe it would be best if you talk to
him directly.”
Tom nodded. “Do you know how to get in touch
with him, Ms. Brinkley?”
“Yes. I will write down his name and contact
information.” She stood up and went to her computer
desk in the far right corner of the room, to find a pen
and a sheet of paper. She scribbled down the phone
number and handed it to Tom. “Here you go. You can
probably find him at work by this time of the morning; I
wrote down his work number—he works at a warehouse
somewhere in South Raleigh. I also wrote down his
mobile number.”
Tom took the note and tucked it into a jacket pocket.
“Thank you, Ms. Brinkley. You have been most helpful.
Listen, can you think of anyone who would have wanted
to harm Ms. Newman?”
“Harm her? No, certainly not. Tracey was the
kindest person I knew.”
“How was your relationship with her?”
“My relationship with her?” Shannon opened her
eyes in surprise. “We were very close, Lieutenant. We
roomed together for the last two years and we were very
compatible. Do you have any idea of her whereabouts
yet?”
Tom nodded. “Unfortunately, we have discovered
her body not too far from here. Her name hasn’t been
disclosed to the press because her family only recently
identified her. I’m sorry.”
Shannon sat on the larger couch. Pain registered on
her face. “Her body? You found her dead?”
“I’m afraid so, Ms. Brinkley.”
“But…what happened? I mean, how did she die?”
“I am not at liberty to discuss details with anyone
who’s not part of her immediate family. I apologize.”
“We were not blood related, but we were like
sisters.”
“I understand, Ms. Brinkley, but unfortunately, I
can’t disclose any information on the case. Her parents
are in town, if you would like to talk to them. They are
staying at the Ramada Inn on Capital Boulevard.”
Shannon nodded, her tears held back by a dam of
disbelief. “But who would have wanted to kill her? She
was a kind soul.”
Tom didn’t reply, though he noticed that the young
woman consistently talked about her friend in the past
tense even before he told her about the body being
found, and used the word “killed” even if she had no
way of knowing how Tracey died.
“I need to take a look at Ms. Newman’s room, if it is
possible.”
Shannon stood up and walked toward the hallway as
if in a daze. “Follow me, Lieutenant.”
She led Tom to a room on the left side and opened
the door. Tracey’s private world opened up in front of
his eyes. He stepped through the doorway and saw the
bed had been neatly made up before Tracey left her
room for the last time. Even though the walls were
painted white—standard for rental apartments—they
were adorned with small, Kinkaid cottage prints and
paintings of Victorian children playing in flowery
gardens. The bed spread also had a flowery motif and
her small desk was tidy. The drawers of the desk
contained a few office supplies and a blank notebook. A
large bookshelf filled with textbooks and
romance
novels covered one of the walls in its entirety. When
Tom opened the closet, he found a half-full laundry
basket on the floor, with Tracey’s clothing neatly hung
above. Everything in Tracey’s room was meticulously
organized and clean, clearly indicating her life as being
orderly and well planned—hardly someone likely to run
off on a wild weekend with a boyfriend and blowing off
work on a whim, without so much as a phone call.
Nothing seemed to be out of place. Still scanning the
closet, Tom noticed a box filled with letters. He picked
it up and browsed through its contents. Most of the
letters were written in an uneven hand and bore no
return address. Some of the others were written by her
mother; some by a man in Missouri who shared Tracey’s
last name.
“Who is Frank Newman?” Tom asked Shannon,
who was standing by the doorway.
“That’s her father. Frank and Rose divorced when
Tracey was about ten years old.”
It never occurred to Tom that the heartbroken man
he had met the previous afternoon was not Tracey’s
biological father.
“Is he still in St. Louis?”
“Yes, as far as I know. Tracey didn’t have a close
relationship with him, but they talked from time to
time.”
Tom made a mental note to call the department in
St. Louis and request that someone go to notify the
father. It was possible that—as distressed as she was—
Rose Rose Howard wasn’t going to call him right away,
and Frank Newman had the right to know his daughter
was no longer living. He opened one of the letters
without a return address and found a name at the bottom
of the text: Jack. “Who’s Jack?”
Shannon blew out a lungful of air and rolled her
eyes. “Jack Little. That’s Tracey’s previous boyfriend.”
“Do you mind if I take this box?”
Shannon shook her head. “No. It’s okay, I guess.”
“Shannon!” A deep woman’s voice echoed from the
other side of the hallway. Shannon jumped nervously
when her name was called. Tom looked at her
questioningly.
“That’s my friend, Mary. Sorry…she works night
shift, and she must have just woken up. Would you
excuse me for a moment?”
“Of course.”
Shannon slipped into the other bedroom of the
apartment and, although Tom tried his best to hear the
conversation between the two women, the door she had
pulled closed behind her after entering the room muffled
Killer in Sight (A Tom Lackey Mystery) Page 7
