“Zeke did not come here to steal more ghost gifts.”
“How can you be so sure of that?”
“Because he told me why he’s here.”
Levi’s gaze turned laser like. “And that would be?”
“He cares about me, Levi. Zeke just wants to be present . . . listen to me, help me through a tough time. Sorry if that doesn’t cause a spike in your sinister meter.”
He shook his head and stared at the pavement, mustering every ounce of reason. Finally, he looked up. “Come on, Aubrey. You’re not this naïve.”
“It’s not naïveté. It’s me knowing Zeke as well as I know you.”
He cleared his throat. “Thanks for the clarification.”
“Stay on point, and don’t overread Zeke being here. No matter the facts, I wouldn’t dump you into a scenario involving missing boys or unidentified dead bodies. That’s guilt by association.”
He hesitated. Anything more would be asking for a major fight in a public parking lot. Instinct wouldn’t let go. Levi lowered his voice. “I’m just asking, what is Zeke’s connection to the Serino family—specifically? You tell me his work for them is mainstream and beyond reproach. You claim he’s no more than a charming ex-boyfriend, something that dazzled like the Ferris wheel lights from your carnival past. That he’s here in the name of friendship. But his knowledge of those ghost gifts, these curious extenuating circumstances . . . it all suggests I question that.”
“You’re projecting because you don’t like Zeke.”
Levi glanced back toward Dan, who was clearly trying not to hear what sounded like a nasty husband-and-wife quarrel. Despite the absence of a legal union, Levi supposed it was exactly that. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Am I?” Aubrey firmed up her point and position. “This rant, your suspicions. It’s all because you don’t like that I had coffee with Zeke last week or a relationship with him years ago. You’re annoyed because he turned up present day on your porch swing. So really, which one of us is making assumptions based on emotion?”
Forget communicating with the dead. Aubrey’s real talent had always been getting under his skin. Not today; not over this. “That’s a great question. Maybe you should spend some time thinking about it. It’s your conjecture that Zeke took off from my porch swing because that’s . . . how he rolls,” Levi said, brushing his arm through the air. “I say it’s more of a thief-in-the-night maneuver. Zeke vanishes before he has to answer a question from anyone but you—his biggest fan.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that you’ve disliked Zeke from the moment you met him five years ago.”
A flat-out charge of jealousy shut him up. Levi loathed the idea that such a thing could influence his perspective. He shook his head—not at Aubrey, but at himself. He wasn’t doing that. “I think you’re the one who needs to remove emotion from your opinion. True. I may not like Zeke, but I’m not the one whose calling card is stamped “grifter, first class.” Look at how he’s lived his life. What does it tell you?”
“It tells me you don’t know the first thing about Zeke. Not the things that matter.” Near-visible steam hissed from her; Levi was just better at hiding his. “And to be honest, I’m disappointed that you—the five-star fact finder—would leap to conclusions based on what you think you know.”
He blinked at her accusation.
Aubrey took a tight turn in the dusty parking lot, her fuming gaze moving over him. “Just FYI, Levi, channeling your narrow-minded father is not your best look.”
“So enlighten me. If my Zeke facts are limited, it’s because that’s the way you wanted it. Other than his vague carnie existence and labeling him the first big love of your life, it’s all you’ve given me to go on, sweetheart. Sorry if you don’t like the picture that paints in my head—particularly, as you note, when it turns up on my porch swing years later.”
The energy around Aubrey quieted. Her tightly folded arms eased. “You’re not wrong.”
“Is that anything like saying I’m right?”
“Just shut up if you want to hear this.”
Levi stood down, trying to relax his posture and unfolding his arms.
“I never told you about Zeke’s past because . . . well, it happened long before I knew him. It’s not something he likes to talk about, or even talked to me about that often. Out of respect, I never brought it up to you. Fair enough?”
“Go on.”
“The reason Zeke and Nora eventually joined up with the Heinz-Bodette troupe is because they were runaways from the Illinois foster care system.”
“I believe I recall a mention of foster care from a conversation we had about Zeke years ago.”
“Right. Well . . .” Aubrey pursed her lips, a breath rising and falling from her chest. “The two of them had been through several homes together. On their last placement, they were separated. The home Nora lived in, there was an older boy. She was raped . . . repeatedly.”
For the first time, when it came to Zeke Dublin, Levi felt a step behind.
“While that’s shocking to hear, it only competes for the worst part of the Dublins’ story. The reason Zeke and Nora ended up in foster care is because their parents died.”
And like a fine sliver of light, Levi could see Aubrey’s acute attraction to the carnie grifter. “So they were gone—like yours.”
She nodded.
“Was it an accident?”
“The police concluded it was murder-suicide.”
“Also a similar theory to what may have driven your parents off that mountain road in Greece.”
“Possibly. But Zeke has a different theory.”
“That being?”
“He believes they were murdered.” Aubrey shook her head. “Something to do with retribution. I don’t have any concrete details. Although I do know it was gruesome and violent. His mother was riddled with bullets. His father died from a single gunshot to the head. That’s where Zeke always clammed up, maybe the reason he appears a little vague on the whole. Dead parents are a difficult thing for any child to navigate—something I know a little about. It’s something Zeke and I had in common. I’m sorry if you can’t get your head around that bond. Whatever happened to his parents, what were the odds I’d run into somebody with a relatable story?”
“Not huge.”
“And now you know what I do about Zeke. He lives with a lot of ghosts, Levi, some I can’t even fathom. But I do know that as a teenager, Zeke got his sister out of a bad situation. He made sure nobody ever hurt her again. That single act earns points in my book—somebody who’d go to such lengths to protect you. It’s the kind of respect speculation and wild theories won’t shake.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her hand.
“I’m sorry if Zeke’s life comes with details you didn’t anticipate. That he was more than some wild kid who ran away to join the circus. But I also don’t think Zeke has to prove anything to you.”
“All right,” Levi said, processing an unexpected punch of compassion. “That does cast him in a different light. I give a teenage boy credit for having the presence of mind to come to his sister’s aid, provide for her as best he could. Anyone would agree it’s commendable.”
Aubrey tipped her head at him. “Why do I hear a ‘but’ in there?”
“There isn’t.”
She tipped her head the opposite way.
“Fine. There’s a ‘but.’ Go beyond that dark period. In addition to heroic, you just defined a person who is smart, clever, and resourceful. All positives.”
“So?”
“Have you ever stopped to consider the negatives? Haven’t you ever thought about those horrible things that happened to Zeke, and how they might have shaped the adult he became?”
“In what way, exactly?”
“Say everything you told me is fact, including a double homicide. I have no way of knowing if it’s true, but Zeke believes it is, and that’s all that matters. What becomes of a boy whose sister was
raped at the hands of a system that was supposed to protect them? Or it could be the boy skips right over the system and ends up blaming himself for what happened to her. And if that’s not enough, where does a person’s head end up if they believe their parents were brutally murdered?”
Aubrey’s eyes searched his.
“You’re missing a few chapters in Zeke’s story, Aubrey. He grew up a grifter with a series of heartless experiences connected to his background. You can’t discount that.”
“It doesn’t tie him to Piper’s or Dan’s cases, not beyond circumstantial.”
“It doesn’t tie him to your father’s ghost gifts either—not directly. But I’d say all things considered, it’s enough to prompt a dialogue. You feel you’re so right about him. Let me have a conversation with Zeke, and let him prove me wrong.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Las Vegas, Nevada
Six Months Earlier
“Zeke! I’m glad Max located you. Please come in!” Jude was on the phone but motioned anxiously to him. It was as if the room were his domain and their conversation would be casual. “Good to see you. Such a bustle of people for a family party. I thought it’d be easier to speak in here.”
Zeke took in Nora and Ian’s study, amazed that one small room could hold his hatred for Jude Serino and their unfathomable fates. Today’s unexpected venue was compliments of Nora and Ian—not deliberate but effective. Much to their delight, seven years ago, the Montagues had extended the Serino and Dublin connection when Nora gave birth to a daughter.
Ceremony had brought them together today. Earlier, Zeke sat at the First Communion of Emerald Montague, amazed that God didn’t deviate from the forgiving of sin to strike dead a visiting uncle or two. Not when, inside the sanctuary, so many choices made for easy targets.
Jude placed his hand over the phone, saying, “Hold on. I’ll be right with you.”
Wait for Jude? He didn’t think so. “I can talk to you lat—” Zeke turned, finding Max stationed at the door.
“No . . . no. Please sit.” Jude waved his arm toward a chair as if it were a friendly gesture. “I won’t be more than five minutes. We’ll talk before they serve cake—marvelous-looking creation, buttercream frosting, I think.” He appeared to glow over the promise of family celebration, as if their niece’s religious milestone wasn’t anything but an excuse. Jude returned to his phone conversation, his tone reverting to business. “Exactly, Rudy. Building costs are skyrocketing—outrageous compared to when we started these communities a dozen years ago. I want a real-time update on the Maine development. The Five Points at Blue Cove cost overrun is inexcusable. Then go back to our Arizona property—costs are piling up there as well. I didn’t purchase a fucking desert for pennies to end up in a hole! Extravagant swimming pools, I get. But a fucking ice rink? Who the fuck ordered a custom indoor ice rink!”
Zeke’s mind defaulted to his old job. He looked out at Nora and Ian’s Vegas backyard. An indoor ice rink didn’t sound like the worst idea. Not in Arizona or Vegas; at least today was atypical, with a breeze and the thermometer holding in the low eighties. The Montague backyard included a swing set, built-in pool, and, presently, many guests. Standing near the study window, Nora hugged Emerald’s shoulder, stroking her red hair, so like Ailish Dunne’s. In a muffled motherly tone, Nora could be heard warning Kieran to be careful on the diving board.
Resigned to his immediate fate, Zeke dropped into a leather wingback chair, adjusting his tie and everything else that was a discomfort. Jude’s ongoing phone call was a tactical delay, providing a window for Zeke to reflect. For years, he’d been schooled in this behavior and every other unsavory quality attached to Jude. What began as an exchange of information to repay Ian’s debt and guarantee Nora’s happiness had eventually gone as crooked as a country path.
Initially, Zeke supplied enough ghost gift victories to not only clear the deed to Nora and Ian’s house, but repay his brother-in-law’s gambling debts. In turn, Jude had kept his word, and Nora never learned of Ian’s true financial crisis. What Zeke didn’t do was break the vow he’d made to himself—not to profit anymore from Peter Ellis’s ghost gifts. He viewed this as the hard-fought pledge of a compulsive gambler determined not to roll another die.
The delivery of ghost gifts became unavoidable background noise. Instead, Zeke focused on carving out an honest position within Serino Enterprises. He’d proved his worth as a land location manager. There were endless things about Jude Serino that Zeke loathed, ironies that he was forced to live with. Conversely, Zeke couldn’t say he disliked the opportunities the situation had afforded. He’d earned a solid salary by employing a grifter’s soul, traveling like a gypsy from one project to the next. It had suited him; it was a lot for guy who’d never excelled at anything but survival.
The Tucson development, upscale Spanish-style homes, had flourished like a cactus in the sunbaked ground of Santa Claus, Arizona. Buyers with money and a taste for arid living were drawn to the climate, privacy, and the affable repurposing of worthless desert. Over time, Jude and Bruno expanded upon their housing communities with development deals in Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, Maine, and Florida. It’d been interesting to watch: Jude working every angle to accumulate power and wealth, while Bruno was determined to do the same by way of eighty-hour work weeks and business dealings beyond reproach.
Most recently, on Zeke’s land proposal idea, Jude had made an unusual slingshot move up the East Coast. Construction on pristine Maine acreage was under way. Like past land ventures, Jude had started out on the high road by dedicating land to a nature preserve. Once the locals were on board, he began to weave in moneymaking interests, like a proposed golf course. It’d been slated to abut protected swampland. At least that’s where Zeke had left Five Points at Blue Cove when he left Jude’s employ.
Waiting in the Montagues’ study now, Zeke felt his animosity renew. For the sake of the day, he tried to deflate it by sucking in air and mentally popping tiny bubbles of hate. Maybe all Jude wanted was input. He appeared frustrated enough with Rudy, who’d taken over much of Zeke’s responsibilities. But realizing how tightly his fingers were gripped into the chair’s leather arms, it was clear that Zeke’s body knew better than his brain.
While employed by Jude and bound to servitude because of Ian’s debt, Zeke had considered other ways out, but Nora was never in a place where he could risk it. His sister had had two miscarriages before Emerald and suffered a scary bout of postpartum depression afterward. In more recent years, Nora had developed asthma and anxiety issues, something for which Zeke absorbed a chunk of the blame.
He might have physically saved Nora from a heinous situation by stealing her from foster care, but she’d never gotten the proper psychological help. It simply never occurred to a fourteen-year-old boy. Nora’s only healing resource—whether it was their parents’ deaths or the traumatic assaults she’d endured—had been time. It wasn’t enough. And because of this, Zeke and Jude saw the same thing: a fragile woman who craved a stable life.
Finally, an uptick of hope had bloomed. Ian seemed to be holding his own as the manager of a single car-rental franchise the Serino brothers had bought for him. Nora thought it was generous, especially after the pool-cleaning service Ian had drained of any profit and a Vegas Strip tour service he’d imploded two years before that.
Six months ago, Zeke saw his chance and he took it; he owed Jude nothing but a bullet to his head. He demanded out from his boss’s heroin-like addiction to winning prognostications. To his surprise, the CEO of Serino Enterprises agreed and let Zeke go from his obligation—and his job.
Initially, Zeke reined in the shock. The good news was his hard-earned freedom; he could find other employment. So far, those efforts hadn’t unearthed much. Currently, Zeke was behind on the rent and not sure where, after today’s First Communion spread, his next meal might come from. Yet only a small part of him regretted not using the ghost gifts for his own gain, or at least a rainy day fund.
/> Admittedly, his current situation added to Zeke’s desire to see Jude dead. It ranked high on his list of motivating factors, though not near as much as avenging his parents’ deaths. Giorgio Serino’s son might not have pulled the trigger, but it was complicity; Jude had stood by and watched murder happen.
Aside from the disruption of today’s “family” activity, Zeke was almost there. He’d even purchased a .22-caliber revolver. According to talk at the Nevada shooting range where Zeke had practiced, it was the perfect weapon for up-close murder. The .22-caliber revolver was quieter compared to other guns; it left little evidence. A bullet discharged to the head tended to remain in the skull, spinning around and causing catastrophic damage, an almost-no-margin-for-error painful death. Aiding his murderous scheme, Zeke knew enough about Jude’s comings and goings to formulate a promising plan of action.
Zeke recrossed his legs and focused on Jude’s dark head of hair, the brain beneath it. Of course, Nora’s study wasn’t the location Zeke had envisioned for long-awaited retribution. That and he hadn’t thought to bring the .22 to a First Communion. He didn’t imagine Ian’s half-brother would show up. In his experience, Jude paid almost no attention to the Montague children.
Shifting in the leather chair, Zeke dumbed the moment down to a curious hitch. What else could it be? And what could Jude possibly want? This was no more than the universe tapping Zeke on the shoulder, saying, “Murder. Tough move, even for someone like you . . .” Zeke nodded firmly at Jude, who was still deep in conversation. “Doesn’t matter. It’ll be worth it. And whoever I’ll owe, they can have this grifter’s soul . . .”
It prompted Zeke into spur-of-the-moment action—he didn’t have to listen to a damn thing Jude had to say. He rose sharply from the chair. Jude ended his conversation, and Zeke pounced on another one. “Don’t even bother. I told you we were through; I meant it. You won’t get another thing out of me that makes your pulse beat any faster.” Jude stared, clearly not used to such a dominant Zeke. What the hell? What did it matter if Ian had steered the car-rental franchise into red ink or the goon behind Zeke beat him to a pulp for noncompliance? Not in the Montagues’ study, but at an appropriate time, of course. Jude could no longer fire him; he had nothing to hold over Zeke’s head. Nora might be the only thing left to sway him, but what could Zeke honestly do? Aside from any fresh threats, the letter box containing Peter Ellis’s future ghost gifts had nearly run dry. “I don’t have one fucking win to offer, not even a craps game on the old Vegas Strip.”
Foretold (A Ghost Gifts Novel Book 2) Page 22
