The River and the Roses (Veronica Barry Book 1)

by Sophia Martin

  “It was kind of you to come,” said Benita.

  Veronica smiled a little. She took a deep breath and focused on Carla. “Can I ask you something?” Carla gazed at her. “I don’t mean to pry. But were you and Sylvia close?”

  Carla let out a breath. “We were sisters. We had our differences, but she… I don’t know what to say. I suppose some sisters are closer, some are more distant.” Veronica wondered why she would give such an evasive answer.

  “Would she have told you if there were problems in her marriage?” she asked, trying to make her tone as gentle as possible.

  Carla stiffened. “What are you asking for?” Veronica said nothing, just looked at her. “Why would it even matter now?”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just that I think—I’m just trying to understand something…”

  “What could you possibly need to understand—”

  A commotion behind her made Veronica turn around. She caught sight of the teenage boy’s back as he disappeared out of the doorway. A blond man with a grizzled face stood just inside, watching him go. Then he turned around and faced Sylvia’s husband, looming at least six feet tall, several inches taller than Albert Gomez. They stared at each other, their bodies rigid, like angry dogs.

  “You’re not welcome here,” Gomez growled.

  The man, whose skin looked pale and tired, snarled at him. “Like hell I’m not.” He walked forward stiffly.

  Benita left Veronica and Carla, coming to the blond man’s side. “Please, don’t do this.”

  He glanced at her but returned his glittering blue eyes to Gomez’s face. “I have as much right—more!” He swung a hand out toward the casket. “This—this—you’re responsible!”

  Dear God, thought Veronica, he’s saying Gomez killed her.

  Gomez stepped toward him, closing the distance between them to three feet. “Get out of here.”

  “You can’t tell me to leave! You think I don’t know? You’re the one to blame!” the man spat.

  “No, Max,” Benita murmured, putting a hand on his arm.

  He jerked away from her and lunged at Gomez in one fluid motion. Gomez dodged, so Max’s punch landed on his shoulder. The two men grappled as people gasped and flinched away.

  Veronica took a step toward Carla, who was moving backwards, pressing herself against the wall.

  “I’ll kill you!” Max bellowed, wrenching Gomez around and slamming him against the wall. Four men appeared in the doorway. One of them was the man from the front desk. They leapt, grabbing the arms of the fighters, pulling them apart. Two more men from among the guests joined in to help.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave,” the man from the front desk declared to Max. He gripped Max’s right arm, and two other men helped him. Max was straining, focused on Gomez.

  “I’m going to kill him,” Max said, baring his teeth. The three men holding him yanked him out of the room. After a moment, those holding Gomez released him. He turned away from everyone, covering his face with his hands.

  Benita addressed the guests, “I’m sorry. We’re going to have to ask everyone to leave, except immediate family.”

  The response was immediate. People nodded, clutched purses and coats, and headed for the door.

  Ask about the club, came Sylvia’s voice in Veronica’s ear. Ask about what happened.

  Veronica, who was struggling not to bolt from the room as fast as she could, ground her teeth for a moment. Well, at least she knew nothing had driven Sylvia away permanently. Pressing her hands together she gave Carla her most apologetic look. “I’m so sorry to have to do this. I just have to ask. What happened at the club?”

  “What?” Carla asked, glancing from Veronica to Gomez and then to the doorway, as if fearful that Max would get free of the men and return.

  “I’m sorry,” Veronica said again. But she could feel Sylvia next to her. She could feel Sylvia’s need. “Um, the club? What happened with you and Sylvia at the club?”

  “Did she say something to you?” Carla gasped, looking straight at Veronica again.

  “Well, yes—” Veronica said, but then she noticed that there were several shadows nearing her. She caught her breath and took an involuntary step back.

  Carla was staring at her, her eyebrows knit together in consternation. “What did she say, about what happened?”

  “I—” Veronica began, but she didn’t know what to say. And the shadows seemed to be multiplying. Where had they all come from? Why were they moving toward her? One broke apart in the wake of another shock wave like the one she saw hit Sylvia. Two more filled in its place. She tried to ignore them, focusing on Carla. “I am so sorry to make this harder for you—but please, tell me what happened at the club.”

  Carla’s eyes filled with tears and she covered her mouth with her hand. Veronica bit her lip in anguish. Not only was she guilty of making this woman’s grief worse, but she was starting to feel surrounded. The shadows neared. Some of them were becoming more distinct. She didn’t want to see them.

  The light shifted and the shadows moved, weaving around each other like animated, dark mist. Yet another flickered out from some unseen impact. Veronica tried to keep her eyes focused on Carla, but she kept glancing at the shapes that grew more distinct. Something brushed her hand, and she jerked it to her chest.

  Please tell Carla I’m sorry, came Sylvia’s voice.

  Veronica caught Carla’s eyes. “She told me to tell you she was sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry, too.”

  They were closing in. She felt them brushing against her, cold and unsubstantial. Veronica looked around. The light dimmed. The movements of the ghosts became more rapid. She took a step back, but it felt like the floor tilted, and one of her hands flew out for balance. “Leave me alone,” Veronica whispered. She could feel fingers clutch at her coat's lapel. “Leave me alone,” she repeated more loudly. Carla’s eyes were on her. What must she think? But what else could Veronica do? What did they want? “I’m not here for you,” she hissed, turning away from Carla. Shadows blocked the way.

  One rushed forward, coalescing into a skull in front of her face. Veronica gasped and stumbled back. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pushed herself forward. Veronica hurried out of the room and back down the hall. The wavering figures seemed even clearer than they had before. She could make out faces and features. They waited ahead of her, as well as behind, following her. She had to get out of there.

  ~~~

  As Veronica neared her car, the blood pumping through her veins shifted from the unpleasant sensation of panic to a more welcome galvanization. That man accused Albert Gomez. I knew there was more to this than the police would consider, she fumed, feeling a wild energy coursing through her.

  Veronica drove directly to the police station. She asked the woman at the front desk whether Detective Seong was in, and when she said yes, she walked by over the women’s protests. She could see officers headed for her so she scanned the desks for Seong. When she saw him, she dodged through the desks toward him. She spotted Felsen coming in from a door across the room from her. With effort, Veronica pulled her eyes from Felsen and focused on Seong.

  “Collins didn’t do it,” she called to Seong as he saw her and got to his feet.

  “Miss Barry, we have a waiting area—”

  Ask him about the fibers, said Sylvia. Her voice startled Veronica—she thought when she left the mortuary that she left all the ghosts behind, including Sylvia, but apparently not. Her hesitation allowed the officers to catch up to her and one put his hand on her arm. That pissed her off. Enough already. Ghosts flying in my face. Felsen accusing me of trying to con people. Seong refusing to even consider what I have to say. I’ve had enough! She yanked her arm away from the officer and fixed her eyes on Seong.

  “What about the fibers?” she snapped.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know—” Under my nails… fibers. “The fibers. Did any fibers from Sylvia’s nails match Collins’s clothes?”

&n
bsp; “No, but he must have gotten rid of all the clothes he wore.”

  Felsen groaned and threw her hands in the air and Seong slapped his hand on his mouth.

  “Nothing was bloodstained, either, I bet. There was plenty of blood on my clothes!” The officer had a hold of her again and was pulling her away. “Did you look through her husband’s clothes?”

  “I told you, he has an alibi!”

  She struggled with the officer and Seong gestured to him. He let her go. She straightened her coat.

  “Miss Barry, listen, you can’t just come barging in here like this.”

  “Now you listen to me, Detective. You have arrested the wrong man. I am not crazy. I am not making this up. I am not here to make trouble or get attention. And I am not trying to con you!”

  Seong shook his head, and Felsen crossed her arms and shifted her hips, a clear expression of skepticism.

  Veronica plowed on. “Sylvia Gomez knew her attacker. She was having problems with her husband. They argued, at that restaurant. She ran out of the restaurant where they were having dinner. And then he must have followed her to the park. And he attacked her, Detective! He crushed her throat and then he stabbed her to death—maybe he even used a knife from the restaurant! Did you ever find the murder weapon?”

  “You’re the psychic, why don’t you find it?”

  “That’s all I have. Now you need to figure out the rest. You’re an investigator. Investigate!”

  “Okay, time to escort Miss Barry out,” he said to the officer, who was still hovering nearby. The officer reached for her and she held up a warning hand.

  “Don’t touch me. I can find my own way out,” she said. She walked into the waiting ahead with her head high, knowing everyone there had heard him call her a psychic. Knowing they probably all thought she was a crazy person.

  “Miss Barry.”

  Veronica halted just as she put a hand on the door to go outside. How could she mistake Felsen’s gritty voice? Turning, she met the detective’s gaze. They stared at each other.

  Felsen broke the silence. “What are you trying to accomplish here?”

  “Me? Just trying to keep an innocent man from going to prison.”

  Felsen took a step toward her. “I warned you about this.”

  “Did you? I thought you warned me not to try to pull a con,” Veronica said, her eyebrows drawing together. “Fact is, Detective, I’m telling the truth. No con here. So you can relax about that.”

  “Miss Barry, if you insist on making trouble for this investigation, I will be forced to make trouble for you.”

  “Go ahead. And if you try real hard, maybe I’ll nail you for harassment. I wonder how your lieutenant would react if they knew the way you’ve been talking to me, Detective?”

  Without checking for Felsen’s reaction, Veronica pushed open the door and marched out into the cool evening air. Let Felsen think what she wanted. Veronica wasn’t going to feel ashamed anymore.

  Chapter 12

  “You did not say that,” Melanie gasped. It was almost a half an hour later, in Melanie’s backyard garden. Melanie crouched and turned the soil over while Veronica paced and talked. She was so wound up, she couldn’t imagine going home and just watching TV until it was time to go to bed.

  “I did. ‘You’re an investigator. Investigate!’”

  “And that’s when he kicked you out?”

  “Yeah.”

  Melanie shook her head, chucking a rock she’d dug up across the lawn. “And that Felsen bitch came after you.”

  “And I said, ‘Maybe I’ll nail you for harassment.’”

  “No way!” Melanie tipped backward in her glee, sitting in the damp ground.

  “Yeah. But the police station wasn’t half as bad as what happened at the funeral home,” Veronica said, extending a hand.

  Melanie grunted as she pulled herself up. “You really saw ghosts there?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Sylvia has been talking to you?”

  “Yeah, off and on. I wish she’d just tell me what happened,” Veronica said, watching Melanie brush the dirt from her tush. “But I guess maybe it doesn’t work that way. I think it takes a lot, for her to even say a short sentence or two. It sounds like it’s coming from very far away—and I have this feeling like it’s getting funneled to me somehow. I don’t know. It’s all very, very weird.” Veronica plopped down on one of the patio chairs on the back porch and it let out a squeak of protest.

  Melanie smiled.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know, you just look… loose,” Melanie said. “You look, comfortable. With yourself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this before.”

  Veronica smiled back at her. “You know, I do feel good. I feel stronger and—uncomplicated. Just—like I was tangled before, and now I feel like I’m all smoothed out.”

  “You were putting a lot of energy into denying who you really were.” Melanie came over and sat in another chair.

  “Yes, I guess I was,” Veronica agreed. “I still feel weird just sitting here talking about it with you like it’s this normal thing.”

  “Weird how?”

  Veronica sighed. “You know, that night when we found Angie… I had the most awful feeling I’d done something terrible.”

  “By finding her? Are you kidding me?”

  Veronica shook her head. “I know, it seems strange. But I did, and I still do. I feel terrible whenever I try to just really open myself up to it, like when I was in the funeral home. Those ghosts that were there—it’s like they realized Sylvia could talk to me so they started to come closer, and I just freaked out—I had to get out of there.”

  Melanie set the trowel she was holding down on the glass patio table. “Why would you feel like it’s a bad thing? I mean, look at what you did for me and Angie. There’s nothing bad about that. And I can understand feeling bad because you upset Sylvia’s sister, but why would you feel bad about talking to other ghosts? Were you afraid of them?”

  “Well, yeah, that was part of it. But there’s this huge shame to it, too.”

  “I’m sure I’d be embarrassed if people thought I was crazy—I mean, it can’t have been easy to be standing in that police station—”

  “It’s not embarrassment. I mean, of course there’s that. But there’s a deeper feeling. Shame. Guilt, even.” Veronica sighed and toyed with the ties of the cushion she sat on. “Anyway, I’m not going to let it get to me anymore. You are absolutely right about how this has changed me—I am so much… lighter since I stopped fighting it. It’s who I am, and I have to just be who I am. Right?”

  “No one can thrive living a lie,” Melanie agreed. She gestured to the right side of the yard’s fence. “Ask one of my neighbors—you know, that nice gay couple?”

  “Exactly! And some gay people have to overcome huge feelings of shame and guilt because they were raised to think being gay is wrong,” Veronica said.

  Melanie frowned. “Do you think it comes from something in your upbringing?”

  Veronica shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t remember my aunt ever saying anything about it.”

  “Well, maybe you should call her. Talk to her about it,” Melanie suggested.

  “If I’m going to talk to my aunt about my ‘second sight,’ I’m doing it in person,” Veronica said. “So I don’t know. Maybe one of these days I’ll take a drive down to see her.”

  ~~~

  Veronica kept thinking about it, however, driving home. Had her aunt somehow taught her to feel ashamed of her abilities? Something must have happened, to put this deep-rooted unease in her mind. Had she said or done something one day as a child, and been punished for it? She couldn’t remember anything specific happening.

  Her aunt, Cybele Barry, took her in when she was very young, which meant moving from New York to New Mexico. Cybele’s brother was Veronica’s father, Claude, who scraped by making a living as an artist in the Village. Veronica’s mother, Alcina, left when Veronica
was only four. Her father had a stroke when Veronica was five, and Cybele became her legal guardian.

  Turning the wheel, Veronica chose the long way home to avoid passing McKinley Park.

  Veronica had no memory of her mother, and Cybele wouldn’t talk about her. Veronica grew up knowing that nothing she could do or say would make Cybele tell her about her Alcina, or why she left, so she had stopped trying to find anything out so long ago, she couldn’t put her finger on the day she gave up. Why had Alcina left Veronica? Cybele would only say that she was selfish, and not cut out to be a mother.

  Night was falling, and Veronica put on her headlights. She looked around at the shadows deepening outside the car. Her fingers tightened on the wheel.

  How might her life have been different if her mother had raised her? The question reminded her of other times, as a little girl and even into her teens, when she dreamt of Alcina returning, and taking her away, and how much better everything would be. Maybe it hadn’t been such a silly idea. If Cybele made her feel ashamed to be herself, maybe she would have been better off with her mother, even if Alcina wasn’t cut out to be a parent. Veronica might have grown up embracing her gift. She would be a different person now. This new confidence, this strength, might have existed throughout her life. Who would she have become? She could have done so much good over the years if she hadn’t spent so much energy resisting the visions and the things she heard.

  She came to a halt at the intersection where she saw the bleeding man—it seemed like a year had passed since then! What had he wanted to show her, she wondered? Would he reappear now? The light changed and he didn’t appear. She hesitated, then hit the gas and drove through.

  Her thoughts returned to Cybele. Her memories of her childhood with her aunt were mostly good ones. Cybele threw her birthday parties. She went to see Veronica in her school plays as a child. When Veronica fell off of her bike, Cybele picked her up. When Veronica got sick, Cybele took her temperature and gave her medicine. What else could anyone really ask of a parent? Cybele was the only mother Veronica ever knew, and she didn’t remember Cybele ever making her feel bad about being psychic. She didn’t remember the issue ever coming up at all.