And it would have been a problem for her—being wrong, having Nev here. Because Nev wasn’t lacking at all. In fact, she was damn near perfect.
* * *
It’s déjà vu all over again.
The river, the trees, the storm clouds gathering on the horizon—all too familiar at this point. But my perspective has changed. I’m not on the trail but above it, drifting as effortlessly as, in reality, I’m lying in Ty’s bed. Just below me is the tree, spectral, rising into the air and dipping into the water at the same time, so close that if I reach out, I can probably touch the uppermost tip of its branches.
Laughter comes from the trail through the tall grass: ethereal, carefree. As I wonder who’s coming, I rise with an exhalation and see them: the young girl I’d chased in the earlier dream with a woman I could never meet outside of a dream. The girl may be only five, but the beauty she possesses today is clear on her child-face. Her sundress is the shade of fresh-churned butter, her curls as wild as my own, and she practically dances in circles around the woman as they move toward the river.
And the woman... Lord, I wouldn’t have thought anyone could be lovelier than Anamaria, but Glory is. Her hair is tamer, her skin browner, her features more exotic, and she’s smiling at her daughter as if she’s the most precious thing in her world. I watch them with such longing. How I would have loved a mother like that, one who thought I was special, who was happy simply because I existed.
Thunder rolls in from the west, creating currents in the air that I can actually see, ripples of energy that bob me up and down like a cork in the ocean. I turn to check the approaching clouds, and when I look back, Anamaria is gone, leaving Glory alone. Her dress is different from a moment ago, blue and white, stretching over her distended belly, and a shawl is wrapped around her shoulders, pieced of velvet and wool and carrying the faint scent of something sweet. My stomach would growl, my mouth water, if this was real.
I want to speak to her, but to tell her what? Go home? Don’t die? Don’t leave us?
As the sky darkens, the scene around me shifts. Rain falls, soaking my clothes, my hair, and makes Glory pull her shawl tighter. The trees are thicker, the river hard to see through the torrent, but yellow lights gleam to the north. Not Ty’s lights. Someplace bigger, more isolated. We’re farther upriver, someplace I’ve never been, someplace I saw only briefly in my dream a few nights ago, when the river spoke to me.
There’s a mark on Glory’s cheek, the beginnings of a bruise. My own cheek throbs and stings. Her breath is coming in pants, and when she looks over her shoulder into the shadows of the woods, fear comes into her face. Clutching the shawl, she moves haltingly and then gathers speed until she’s running as fast as an awkward, center-of-gravity-shifted pregnant woman can run. She goes south, following a path I can barely make out, slipping, her sodden skirt clinging heavily to her thighs, grabbing at her calves.
Crashing sounds in the gloom behind her, and with a quick look, she pushes herself on. I catch a glimpse of a figure—large, hulking, with an awkward gait—and I catch my breath in fear. My body sinks through the rain until I’m beside Glory. Her mouth is moving, not just gasping for breath. “Don’t look back, run, run, run, you can make it!” she whispers.
“You have to make it!” I cry.
She doesn’t hear me, of course, because I’m not really there. This isn’t really happening. It’s a dream, a bad dream, a nightmare. No matter how real it seems, no matter how my chest hurts and my lungs burn and my heart thuds, no matter how precious air has become, no matter that my abdomen...oh, dear God!
The trail runs into another trail, widening, curving closer to the river. Glory stumbles, frees one hand from her shawl and holds it to her belly, giving voice to a cry of pain and anguish and fear. The baby is coming. It’s time...but it’s the wrong time, the wrong place. How will her little girl survive? How will she?
Sadly, so sadly, I know that Glory won’t survive.
The cramps are intense, and she stumbles. Thrusting out one hand to catch herself, she scrapes her knuckles on the bark of a dead tree that hasn’t had the sense to crumble, and then she pitches forward, hitting her head on a stubby limb, sliding down the riverbank, landing half in, half out of the water.
As the figure stops on the trail, chest heaving, Glory looks up into the rain-dark sky. “Lillie, Jass,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, Anamaria, Sharly, my babies, I’m so sorry.” She focuses on something in the distance, and a warm, peaceful smile touches her mouth, and then she closes her eyes and grows still.
This isn’t really happening. It’s a dream, a bad dream, a nightmare. No matter how real it seems, no matter that tears run hot and silent down my face, no matter that my heart hurts with real loss. It’s just a dream.
But deep inside, I know better.
It’s the echo of Glory’s life.
Chapter 11
Nev jerked awake, half rising from the bed before the weight of Ty’s arm stopped her forward movement. Breathing deeply, she lay back, staring into the darkness. The dawn quiet was soothing, broken only by soft snores from Ty beside her and Frank on his doggy bed nearby. Her heart was pounding, her palms damp, her breathing still ragged, and she was filled with a sense of...
Sorrow. Regret. Peace. Awe. The look on Glory’s face at the instant of her death...it was as if she’d seen angels or, even better, loved ones waiting to help her cross from this existence to the next. Pure, sweet love. Joy. Confirmation that death wasn’t the end; it was a new beginning.
Nev’s father had had that look when he died. He’d known he was going to a better place. He’d hated leaving them, but oh, he’d been happy to see heaven.
A tear slipped down her cheek, and she swiped it away before easing out from under Ty’s arm and out of bed. She found her pajamas where she’d tossed them hours ago, dressed and went into the kitchen. At the window, Frank snuffled and then settled in again.
With just the light over the sink to guide her, she started a cup of coffee brewing and then heated a square of corn bread in the microwave. Butter melted into all the little crags of the bread as she sat at the kitchen table, took a sip of coffee and stared into the distance.
Why were the dreams about Anamaria and Glory coming to her? What was she supposed to do about them? Why had she been forced to witness Glory’s death? If this dream business was a gift, she wanted to return it immediately. Marieka was the drama/trauma mama, not her. She didn’t need any more unsettling in her life. Wasn’t it enough that she had a jealous woman trying to chase her out of town?
If Kiki really was the one behind the recent events. She didn’t want to believe it, and neither did Ty, but it seemed possible. Kiki was a smart woman, she liked getting her way, she solved crimes so logically she knew how to commit them, and she had an unhealthy obsession with Ty. Maybe in her mind, Nev was the only obstacle to their getting back together. Remove the obstacle and he would be hers again.
Or maybe Nev just preferred a villain she knew over one whose identity remained a secret, one who could make her wary of every soul in town. Maybe she found it easier to believe such awful behavior of Kiki because she had disliked the woman before she even met her.
Maybe. Lord, they had suspicions but no proof. They couldn’t risk harming Kiki’s reputation and perhaps her career without proof. But what if she escalated even further? What if she turned her attention from trying to scare Nev to trying to remove her permanently?
Glory watches over this house? she’d asked Anamaria.
She watches over everything and everyone who’s important to her, had been her reply.
“Am I important to you, Glory?” she whispered. Motionless, she looked and listened hard for any sort of response. Nothing happened besides the air-conditioning cycling on, leaving her feeling foolish but going on anyway.
“I’m here because of you. I don
’t know why, but I am. So maybe you could watch over me a little bit? Keep me safe from Kiki or whoever it is who wants me gone?”
More silence, and then... “I thought I smelled something delicious.”
She startled as Ty materialized out of the shadows of the bedroom, wearing a snug-fitting pair of boxer-briefs and nothing else. Had he overheard her? Would he think she was crazy, talking to a woman who’d been dead more than twenty years?
“The corn bread and coffee smell pretty good, too.” He nuzzled her neck before pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and then he got a glass of water and sat across from her. He must not have heard, thank heavens.
Swallowing hard, she nudged the plate toward him. “I woke up and felt the need for caffeine and sugar.”
“Something’s on your mind besides caffeine and sugar. What’s got you looking so pensive?” He broke off a piece of corn bread, popping it into his mouth and then licking the tips of his fingers.
The gesture was sexy enough to send a shiver through her, though not enough to distract her from her thoughts. Sadness for Glory and Anamaria, rational or irrational fears of Kiki. She and Ty had talked that last subject to death, pardon the bad word choice. She didn’t want to continue. But was she ready to share her dreams with him? Ready to trust him with that most private part of herself?
She loved him. She knew that as sure as she knew her own name. If a woman couldn’t tell the man she loved everything, was that really even love? He would find out about the dreams soon enough if they continued to share a bed, and it wasn’t as if they were truly horrible. Yes, Lima had been appalled by them, but negative reactions regarding Nev came easily to her mother, and Ty was nothing like her.
His gaze troubled, he reached across the table, removed the coffee cup and then held her hands tightly in his. “Talk to me, Nev.”
“Aw, it’s noth—” Her voice was high and squeaky. She took a breath, curled her fingers around his and eased into her confession. “Do you remember I asked you if you believed Anamaria has the gift of sight? You said you like physical, tangible evidence, but...”
“I’ve seen things I don’t understand,” he finished for her.
“Well...I don’t tell people this—my mother, you know—but...” With another deep breath, she rushed out the words. “Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had dreams, and they sometimes mean something. They sometimes come true. It’s not anything big, just about jobs, boyfriends, babies, but lately I’ve been having dreams about the Duquesnes, the river and Glory’s death.”
Ty’s brow narrowed into a frown, but he didn’t let go of her hands, didn’t pull back or walk away from her. Instead, after a moment, he asked, “Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she’s sending a message that I’m supposed to pass on but I’m not smart enough to see it. I don’t even know why she would bother with me, since Anamaria says Glory talks to Mama Odette regularly. Why wouldn’t she just tell Odette instead of going through me?”
He gazed at her a long time, and she wondered how unbalanced she sounded from his point of view, babbling about dreams, messages, a dead woman. He didn’t point it out, though. Because calm and logical was his style? Or because he had seen things he couldn’t explain? “How many dreams have you had?”
“Last night was the first time I didn’t dream in five weeks.”
His frown deepened. “So that’s why you came to Copper Lake. Not a vacation. To figure out these dreams.”
Guilt stabbed through her at the reminder of every time she’d evaded telling her real reason for being there. “I don’t routinely lie, Ty, but this was just a little lie, and I didn’t know— The people asking were strangers. Is it wrong to want to keep my personal business to myself?”
His chuckle rumbled warm and comforting around her, tamping down the anxiety rising inside. “Calm down, Miss Nicey-Nice. Of course you can keep your personal business to yourself. So you’ve had five weeks of dreams about Anamaria and Glory.”
Her breath sighing out took more of the tension with it, and the muscles in her shoulders unknotted. “Not exactly. Originally the dreams were just about Copper Lake. I’d find myself walking downtown, then going to the river to that big old dead tree out there that’s half in the water.” She gestured out the kitchen window. “After I got here, I saw a little girl—Anamaria—then one time I got chased by a man. The dreams got more unsettling and sometimes scary, and tonight—”
Breaking off, she gazed away, listening, looking for any sign of Anamaria’s ill-fated mother. If Glory was there, she didn’t want to be seen. Nev wasn’t sure whether seeing the dead woman right here in Ty’s kitchen would give comfort or scare the dickens out of her.
“Tonight I saw Anamaria and Glory,” she said slowly. “Then Anamaria disappeared, and a man was chasing Glory through the woods. She was scared, running as fast as she could, but she was pregnant and it was raining and dark and she went into labor. She fell by that tree, and—and she died.” Her voice quavered, and tears stung her eyes—for Anamaria’s loss or Glory’s heavenly gain? “She was wearing the most beautiful smile when she died.”
The quiet echoed around them for a time before Ty broke it. “Maybe that’s the message. She wants Anamaria to know that she passed peacefully.”
Her fingers tightened around his in a rush of gratitude. He didn’t think she was crazy or a freak. He wasn’t giving her that disbelieving, distrusting look Lima did. He accepted that there really were things he couldn’t explain and trusted that she was experiencing one of them. She’d never felt safer, more protected, more special in her whole life.
“Couldn’t she just tell Mama Odette and leave me out of it?” she asked ruefully.
Laughing, tugging her hands, he pulled her out of the chair and onto his lap, guiding her head to his shoulder. “I’ve never talked to spirits, sweetheart. I don’t have a clue how they do things. But I can tell you who does. Anamaria. I’ll give you her number, and you can call her in the morning—” he glanced at the clock on the microwave and corrected himself “—in a few hours. If anyone around here can help you figure things out, it’s her.”
“She won’t think I’m strange?”
He drew back enough to see her face, giving her a chastising look. “Until you’ve met Anamaria’s family, you don’t know strange. In the meantime...” He set her on the floor, stood and steered her into the bedroom. “Let’s see if we can give each other a few sweet dreams before I have to go to work.”
* * *
Ty was in a damn good mood when he left the house for work. That cheeriness vanished when a patrol car turned into the neighborhood while he waited at the stop sign at River Road.
The officer recognized his truck, slowed and rolled down the window. “Everything quiet last night, Detective?”
“Yeah, it was good.” If he didn’t count Nev wandering off in a dream to watch a woman be chased to her death.
“Hope it stays that way.” With a wave, the officer drove on.
As Ty headed toward downtown, he considered their dawn conversation. Why had Glory Duquesne chosen to haunt Nev’s dreams? The Duquesne women were known for their gifts, including communicating with spirits. As Nev had asked, why didn’t Glory talk to her mother? Why a stranger?
Because the message involved Nev? Yeah, that wasn’t likely. Nev had never heard of the Duquesnes until she’d been in Copper Lake a day or two. She’d never been to the town before. She’d had no connections to anyone there.
Maybe it would have been too difficult for one of Glory’s family members to bear the dreams. Maybe spirits didn’t choose but just took advantage of whoever was available at the time they needed help. Maybe the dreams didn’t mean a thing.
But they’d been specific enough for Nev to identify the town. They’d drawn her there. If she’d gotten the details of Glory’s last moments right, that had to me
an something. After all, the facts weren’t common knowledge around town.
He made a stop at A Cuppa Joe for two coffees and a box of pastries, drove the couple of blocks to the station and went straight to Lieutenant Maricci’s office. His boss was already at his desk—always the first one in—and the door was open. Steam rose from the chipped white mug beside his computer.
“That Wendell’s coffee?” Ty asked. The dispatcher liked his coffee strong and bitter. Ty had tasted it his first day on the job and kept his distance ever since. He’d never been needy enough for caffeine to risk a second taste.
“Yeah. What I don’t drink, I pry out with a screwdriver and give to my kids to play with.”
“Only because the dog won’t touch it?” Ty handed him a cup and then took the seat the lieutenant gestured toward. He opened the box between them, laid out a handful of napkins and picked up a cheese Danish.
They’d each eaten a Danish and were starting on the next—a cinnamon roll for Ty, an apple turnover for the boss—before Maricci spoke. “How’s Nev?”
“Bewildered. Can’t figure out why anyone would do this.” He didn’t mention Kiki. Rousing suspicions without evidence wasn’t the way he worked. He had doubts, but they weren’t enough. For the sake of Kiki’s reputation, for the sake of his own, he needed proof. “Can I ask you some questions?”
Maricci shrugged. “You can ask anything.”
But he wasn’t guaranteeing any answers. Ty had learned that after working for him a few weeks. “It’s about Glory Duquesne’s death.”
“Anamaria’s mother?” Maricci’s surprise faded as quickly as it had come. “I think I was in middle school at the time.”
“But you know. You know everything.” Lieutenant Maricci made it his business to know pretty much everything about his town and the people in it. Besides, he’d been best friends since kindergarten with Anamaria’s husband, Robbie, and his wife, Ellie, and Anamaria were tight. “She died at the river?”
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