by Celia Ashley
She climbed carefully from the bed and searched the floor for his shirt. She would wear that since it would cover more of her bare ass than her own would. After slipping the garment over her head, Maris held the fabric to her face for a brief inhalation of Dan’s scent prior to pulling it down over her body. Before heading to the bathroom, she stared at the pile of clothing.
Dan had noticed something there earlier. Although she didn’t believe he recognized what had drawn his attention, she had witnessed the change in his face before she kicked their clothing away. An ill-omened trick of light and shadow, as serpentine sleeves and humped denim created the spectral inference of a lighthouse lying along the rug. Not alarming in itself. People saw shapes in clouds all the time—made a game of naming them—and in photographs as well, claiming to have captured the spirit world on film. But this particular form harked back to the dream of Great-Aunt Alva that had returned Maris to Alcina Cove. Dan and death were connected as one in the vision of that lighthouse, a landmark structure only a short distance up the coastline that sent its beam across the ocean tides nightly. She could try to keep Dan away from the sea, but it was far more likely the correlation was abstract rather than direct. In fact, it wasn’t until she’d met Dan, witnessed the darkness dogging him like a second skin, that she had recalled that part of her dream. Assumptions could be dangerous, blinding one to the heart of the matter.
Maris tucked Dan’s shirt along her thighs and climbed up to sit cross-legged on the cleared end of his desk. She pulled down on one of the slats in order to peer out to the street below. Behind her, the bedsprings creaked, followed by the soft tread of bare feet across the carpet.
Dan’s arm slipped around her from behind, forearm resting against her collarbones, fingers wrapped around her upper arm. “What’s up?”
Maris grabbed the pull cord for the blinds and raised them about eighteen inches from the sill. Over her head, Dan’s breath rasped into his lungs.
“I’ve seen that twice now. The night Alva Mabry died, and last night as well. Is it…is it her, do you think?”
“My, how far you have come in two days’ time, Dan Stauffer.” Maris leaned forward, fingers splayed across the glass. Dan followed her movements, his chest warm against her back.
“Is it?”
“It could be, Dan. It upsets me to admit it, but Aunt Alva could be that determined.”
“You mean you don’t know for sure?”
Maris shook her head. “Many spirits take the form of the crone, but my gut feeling is that it is Alva. Yet she’s not speaking to me. I’m looking right at her, and there’s not a single word.” As she spoke, the translucent silhouette vanished with an upward curl like smoke. Maris lowered the blinds to their former position. “What time is it?”
“Two? Two-thirty?”
She skated her fingers between his, fitting them together. Lifting his hand, she pressed her lips against his knuckles and slid her tongue into the place where his fingers met hers. “One more time into the fray?”
He didn’t say no.
Chapter 14
When Maris awoke in the morning, she discovered Dan energized, dressed, and tying a pair of running shoes on his feet, declaring his intention of taking the first run he had in weeks. She waved him on his way with a flutter of her fingers before rolling over to bury her head beneath the pillow. “You have fun with that.”
As soon as she heard the front door shut, she sat up. What was she doing here? They were suddenly like a couple, the little woman staying in bed to rest up after a hard night while the man took off on his jock pursuits, showered and shaved and revitalized. Maris swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She needed her own shower. Desperately. And a plan. Some kind of plan. She couldn’t have Dan risking his livelihood, his safety to save her. Because he would. He would do all of that without understanding why. He certainly wasn’t in love with her, but a link existed between them that couldn’t be explained away. Sex, sure, that had been a blast. Fulfilling and hot enough to burn away some of the blackness adhering to them both. If she stayed by his side, though, the doom she sensed waiting would claim him, and somehow her hand would be in that dark destiny.
“Aunt Alva, I need you. I need you to explain this to me.”
The distance between them had been too great for too long, and now…well, if Alva Mabry chose not to speak to her, nothing on this earth could change that.
Maris showered, using Dan’s shampoo and Dan’s soap, realizing she would smell like him for the rest of the day. His scent would be in her hair, on her skin. As unsettling as that was, the recognition would comfort her. She considered dumping a bit of his shampoo into a plastic bag, enough to open and breathe in as necessary in a kind of stalker-ish aromatherapy.
She had nearly finished dressing and was putting her earrings back in when she heard the front door open. Walking barefoot down the stairs, she called Dan’s name. A male voice answered her that wasn’t his.
“Hello? Who’s that?”
Maris stopped, fingers tight around the handrail. If the person was someone Dan worked with, she couldn’t let him know her identity. Things would only go from bad to worse. As she was deciding what to do, a man walked from the living room back into the foyer. She recognized him. He’d been the other detective following them down the hall toward the room where Dan had fingerprinted her. Dan had practically shut the door in his face.
“Ah, shit,” the man said upon sight of her. “That guy has fucked himself good this time. Where is he?”
Maris sat on the step, tucking her hands into the folds of her skirt. “He…he went for a run.”
“A run? Feeling proud of himself, is he?”
Maris frowned at the man. “Jamie, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t be like that. He’s a good man. And a good cop, I’m sure.”
Jamie sat down on the step below her, leaning his back against the wall. “You don’t even know the guy.”
“Maybe not. At least not the way you know him. Obviously, you’re shocked because his behavior is uncharacteristic. That should tell you something.”
“Then he better start acting like the guy I know. I mean, how long have you been in town? Two days? A perfect stranger, and possibly the only one who might have had reason to off old lady Mabry—sorry. But you know what I’m saying is true. He’s walking a dangerous path. What did you do to him? I can’t see him taking a risk like this if he was thinking with his brains and not another part of his anatomy.”
Maris crushed fabric between her fingers and slowly let it go. “I did nothing to him. And I didn’t kill my aunt. You’re a rude man, considering you don’t know me either.”
Jamie puffed a breath out through his nose. He reached up and scratched his scalp through short, auburn hair. “I’m sorry. It’s just—I’m worried, you know?”
As am I, she wanted to say. For so many reasons.
He dropped both forearms onto his thighs, clasping his hands together between his knees. “How long has he been gone?”
“Half an hour or so. I’m sure he’ll be back soon. You should wait for him.” A thought occurred to her. “Did you find out something new?”
“I’m not discussing the case with you. I…I can’t.”
“Since you haven’t yet broken out the handcuffs, I can only assume it doesn’t point a finger definitively at me.”
He frowned. “You could be in real trouble, very soon. Are you always so flippant?”
“Don’t confuse straightforward with dismissive. And learn to listen.” Maris rose and turned, heading back up the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
She paused, looking back down at him. “To finish getting dressed. I don’t want to see Dan in trouble any more than you do. I hadn’t intended to stay here last night. I only hope that damned soap convention has ended and will empty out the hotel outside of town.”
“Right. Look, you seem nice enough,
but that doesn’t mean anything. Take Ted Bundy, for instance—”
“Once again, you’re confusing two totally separate things. You’ve mistaken charm and looks for character. He was able to fool people into trusting him, mostly because of the way he looked. And Bundy was a serial killer. Unless someone else shows up with a needle full of poison in their neck—”
“What did you say?” Jamie rose, his whole demeanor altering.
Oh God, oh God, that came from him, from his mind. Jamie would never believe she was anything but guilty now. Why had she spoken his thoughts aloud?
Jamie repeated his question, face hard.
Maris rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “I know I shouldn’t be listening, but I can’t help it.”
“What do you mean? Did Dan get a call from someone this morning?”
“Yes,” she lied, glibly, compounding her own damnation. “I don’t know who it was, but I overheard part of the conversation.” Hopefully that would keep the detective satisfied, or at least in doubt, until she had an opportunity to speak to Dan. Chances were that Dan would side with Jamie anyway on this. Dan struggled every moment with what made sense in his logical mind and what he knew in a place that operated on elemental understanding. A statement like the one she’d made could tip the scale in the wrong direction.
“Is that how Aunt Alva was killed?” She had to ask, not to throw Jamie off, but because she wanted the information.
“I’m not saying that. In fact, in case you didn’t get it, I’m not saying anything to you about the investigation. Fuck.”
Maris hurried upstairs to Dan’s bedroom and shut the door, resisting the urge to lock it. If either officer was determined enough, a door wouldn’t keep them out. She paced back and forth across the room, toes digging into the thick carpet. Frightened, she considered fleeing, but dismissed flight as a foolish response. Wasn’t that what guilty people did? Run? Lying and running. The occupation of the morally challenged.
Maris grabbed her zippered case and threw all her belongings back inside with the exception of a pair of tights, which she slipped on under her skirt. After, she fit the diary between the folded legs of her jeans and zipped the bag shut, because despite her self-scolding not to run, the urge to do so was nearly overwhelming. She couldn’t climb out a window, which meant she’d have to walk down the stairs again. Well, her laptop remained on the floor in front of the sofa. She’d have to grab that anyway. If Jamie even let her past him.
How could she have blurted out a statement that made her appear guilty as hell? Would she even believe herself after these last two days? What was she going to do?
Maris slammed her hand on the desk top. The impact caused the top drawer to slide open a few inches, revealing the edge of a thick, illustrated card. Pulling the drawer out farther, she gazed down at a Tarot card inside. Her heart began a rapid fluttering as she recognized what could only be one of Alva’s. How had Dan come into possession of the High Priestess card? Maris’s mind rushed to an ill-borne conclusion involving guilt as ridiculous as her own. Dan wouldn’t have hurt Alva. He didn’t even know her. Did he? But if he didn’t, what was the card doing hidden away in his desk?
Closing the drawer, Maris sat in the chair, spinning a little on the swivel mount until her knee came to rest against the desk itself. Morning light shone through the slats of the blinds, illuminating the wood with diffuse geometric shapes. No running. There was a saying: The Truth Will Out. The police department would require hard evidence to charge her. With the exception of her fingerprints, explained to Dan and which she would reiterate to anyone else who asked, there was none to point conclusively in her direction. Her recent utterance followed by the poorly executed falsehood wouldn’t help her, but it couldn’t convict her either.
Aunt Alva, who would do this to you? Can’t you help me find out?
No answers came, but she hadn’t expected them to. Except for the undeniable call for her return to Alcina Cove, Maris had received no further information since her arrival. Not about Alva. Plenty about Dan Stauffer, though. What did that mean?
Voices came to her, muffled by the wooden door. Dan had returned.
* * * *
Dan slowly climbed the stairs. Sweat glued the T-shirt to his back. He stood listening outside his closed bedroom door. After a moment, he heard the squeak of the desk chair. He pushed the door open.
Maris sat facing the window, staring out through the raised blinds. She had a look about her, in her eyes, her position, as if yearning for wings so she could fly. At her back on his bed, her bag lay on its side, packed. Dan crossed the room and sat beside it, He leaned forward with his elbows planted on his sweaty thighs. “Are you leaving?”
“I thought I should see if any rooms have opened up at the hotel.”
“That inquiry could be accomplished with a phone call, couldn’t it?”
Maris drew a steadying breath. “It’s better if I leave—”
“Not for me, it isn’t.”
“I think Jamie’s going to arrest me.”
“No. He’s not.”
“I told a lie. I told him I overheard a conversation you had on the phone, but it was what I heard in his thoughts.”
“Will you look at me?”
“I can’t.”
Dropping his head forward, Dan pushed his fingers through his hair. “I wasted a shower. I freaking stink.”
He thought she laughed, but when he looked up again, she was crying. “What is it? Sweetheart, tell me.” At the endearment, she cried harder. He started to get up.
“No. Stay there,” she whispered hoarsely. “If you touch me, I’ll turn into a crazy person. I swear I will.”
“Turn into one? What the heck are you now?”
She shrugged, wiping at her face with the heel of her palm. “Dan, have you ever heard people talk about past lives?”
“Yeah,” he said slowly.
“Do you think there is such a thing?”
“I don’t know.”
She slid down on the seat, crossing her legs over the edge of the desk and leaning her head against the cushioned chair back. “There has to be because I barely know you, and yet the idea I could let you down is breaking my heart.”
The muscles in Dan’s abdominal wall tightened. He felt momentarily dizzy and realized he hadn’t eaten. Stretching out his left arm until it bridged the gap between them, Dan closed his fingers around Maris’s hand. He gave her arm a tug. “Come over here and sit next to me.”
She dropped her feet to the floor and stood. Her head turned abruptly toward the door. “Is Jamie waiting in the hallway? Handcuffs at the ready, I suppose.”
Dan followed her gaze, spotting the shadowed movement visible under the barrier of wood. Releasing her arm, he hurried to the door and yanked it open. He stepped into the hall, glancing the short distance to either side. “Rogers! Where are you?”
The sound of footsteps on carpet preceded Jamie Rogers’s appearance on the upper half of the stairs. “Where I have been. Sitting on the step. You told me to wait.”
“No one went past you?”
Jamie’s brows lowered. “Are you joking around? No one’s come in. They would have had to step on me. I haven’t moved.”
“Shit.” Dan ran to the bathroom and checked inside, then onto the small guestroom, also empty. When he came out, he found Jamie and Maris standing side by side. Jamie’s realization of his vicinity to Maris’s person spread across his face. He sidled a couple of feet away.
Maris took a step forward. “I saw someone—”
“So did I. But there’s no one up here. And your friend there was on the steps, so no one passed him.”
Maris eyed Jamie up and down. “My friend?”
Jamie shot her the same sort of look, but with the whites of his eyes showing all around. Oh, yeah, thought Dan. The guy is spooked.
“So you both saw someone,” Jamie said, “but there’s no one up here except yo
u two. Is that what I’m supposed to get out of this conversation?”
“That’s exactly what you’re supposed to get out of this conversation,” Dan said.
“I don’t—” Jamie subsided, staring down at his feet.
“It’s all right,” Maris whispered.
He glared at her, then turned away and stomped down the stairs.
“We’ll be right there,” Dan called after him. “Park it on the couch for a sec.” Cupping the back of Maris’s skull in his palm, he tipped her head closer and pressed his lips to her warm, fragrant hair. She smelled like…his shampoo. Right. He laughed.
She pulled away and looked up at him. “What’s going on?”
He jerked his head in the direction of the stairs Jamie had descended. “You, me, the upstart down there—we need to have a conversation. Are you ready for that?”
Maris’s brows dropped to form a straight line, giving her the expression of a worried cat. “Depends on the topic.”
“The topic is you.”
Before she could protest, he pulled her to the stairs and down. Jamie waited for them in the living room seated on the edge of a cushion, arms folded over his abdomen. Dan led Maris to the stuffed chair on the opposite side of the coffee table. He perched on the chair arm beside her, conscious of the sweat drying between his shoulder blades.
“I’m going to start.”
Both Jamie and Maris looked at him, relief clear on their faces. Obviously, neither of them was ready to say a word.
“A few years back, I had a run-in with something impossible. It still gives me nightmares, and it’s not something I’ve discussed freely with anyone. In fact, I’ve developed a pretty cocky-assed attitude about things that don’t fit into a neat little box labeled reality because I figured there could be only one reality—the one that comes under the classification of general acceptance. Because even though I’d experienced something that didn’t fit into that box, I wanted to pretend it didn’t happen. I never would have admitted to any of it out loud, and I compartmentalized the memory. Still, it was like a door that kept opening I needed to slam shut. Every time I encountered something else, my solution was to turn away in denial.” Jamie folded his hands. He ran his thumb over the ridges of his knuckles. Maris slipped her fingers into Dan’s.
