“He called.” Levi held his phone in a murderous grip. “All he said was ‘Pa’ and . . . ‘I love you.’ Then the line went dead. It wasn’t even two seconds. He sounded half asleep, but it was him, Aubrey. It was Pete.”
“He hung up or someone took the phone from him?”
“I don’t know. I’ve already called Dan. You don’t need a time minimum or anything like that to trace a call nowadays. They should be able to pinpoint it.”
She grabbed at his phone. “Did the caller ID indicate—”
“No,” he said, handing it to her. “It just said ‘Private Caller.’”
Aubrey ran her fingers through her hair, squeezing. “So someone took him?” She stared into Levi’s face, which she guessed looked as shocked as hers. “Someone took Pete?”
“Makes basic sense. Or I’m hoping it does.”
“But I did get a text from a dead Eli Serino.” Her heart sank a little more. “Considering that, any message connected to a cell phone has me leery.”
He reached out, squeezing her arm. “I’m going with that was your phone, not mine. Surely it makes a difference. For now, let’s stay with the more grounded, logical scenario.” She nodded; Levi hesitated, then didn’t. “Aubrey, I need to tell you something . . . something Dan considered the moment I told him Pete went missing.”
“Which was?”
“The drug cartel out of the Florida Keys. They were serious badass people. Dan may have led the raid, served justice. But I’m the one who tracked the leads, broke the story. Those drug dealers, the ones who went to jail . . . we know it wasn’t all of them. Offshoot cells do exist, and this could be retaliation.”
“Retaliation?”
“I didn’t say anything at first because child kidnapping doesn’t fit their MO.” His somber face stared into hers. “I mean, what could they want? It’s not like taking Pete would get their partners in crime released, or the government would be open to trading a warehouse full of cocaine and heroin for our son.”
Aubrey considered the theory, expanding on what were surely Levi’s thoughts. “If those people took Pete, you think it’s more of an eye-for-an-eye scenario?”
“I swear, if it is . . . if this happened because of my high-profile job . . .”
She was sorry she said it aloud. “Levi. Let’s not go there. Let’s not play roulette with theories, not until we have hard evidence. One short phrase from Pete doesn’t tell us anything—except that he’s alive . . . I think.”
He turned away without answering. Aubrey peeked around his frame at Charley and Yvette, who sat silently in the living room. Surely, they’d heard every word.
“Right?” Aubrey moved forward and attempted to rouse encouragement. “You two need to tell him not to go off the deep end with possibilities.”
Charley said nothing. Instead, ninety years of living and the lines on her face spoke like a devastating palm reading.
“Charley?” Until that second, it hadn’t occurred to Aubrey to question her grandmother’s presence. “Have you and Yvette been here long?”
“No,” Levi said. “They got here seconds before Pete called.”
“Oh, I thought maybe you came with Zeke. He’s . . .” She pointed toward the back door, but the motioned ceased, her arm dropping heavily to her side. “Charley, why are you here?” She was so quiet, her blue-gray eyes clouding with more than grandmotherly concern. “Charley?”
It was Yvette who answered. “We’ve, um . . . your grandmother and I have been talking all day. What we should do or if we should come. We can’t begin to imagine what the two of you are going through, all the unknowns about Pete. And then we get here, and he calls.” A smile pushed into Yvette’s cheeks, though Aubrey thought she might as well have drawn it on. “So maybe it’s nothing. Maybe you’re just on your grandmother’s mind, which is completely understandable given the circumstances.”
Aubrey shuffled to within a half step of her grandmother and asked again, “Why are you here?”
Her misshapen arthritic hand rose, crooked fingers trembling as they pressed to her lips. “My great-grandson just called. If you’d rang me and said Pete phoned, I never would have come. I would have believed what Yvette said—you’re just on my mind. It would be a reason, an explanation for why it’s more likely than not that you’d . . .”
“Be in your dreams.” The silence that followed said Aubrey was right.
“You were in her dream last night.” Yvette’s hand rested on Charley’s shoulder. “But it makes perfect sense, baby. She’s been so worried; we both have—”
“Except my grandmother only dreams one way, about one thing—the living connected to the dead. At least that’s been the rule for as far back as my memory goes.” She glared at Yvette. “Do you recall anything different? A time when Charley dreamed about someone for the hell of it? That her dreams conjured up a person out of concern because they’d been sick or upset or just on her mind?” Her voice rose with every suggestion. “Have you ever dreamed of a single person for any of those ordinary reasons, Charley?”
Yvette’s grip tightened as Charley’s head bowed. Aubrey’s knees buckled, and Levi grabbed her by the shoulders. Really, they were bracing one other. “What did you dream about, Charley? Tell me.”
“You.” Her head ticked up. “Last night I dreamed of you. I’ve never dreamed of you, Aubrey. It’s an odd thing to dream of strangers, see their faces so vivid and never, not once, dream about your own granddaughter. Not even when your parents died.”
“But they’ve never visited me in this life, and that’s not how it works. Is it?” Aubrey inched forward, her voice bearing down as if the dreams were something Charley controlled. “Is it!”
“No, my dear girl,” Charley said. “That’s not how it works.”
Aubrey glanced over her shoulder; Levi’s staid face had gone pale.
“Your grandmother, she dreamed of me years ago, right before my dead brother visited you. So if Charley dreamed of you now . . .”
“Someone close to me is bound to be dead. And my next conversation will be with their spirit.”
“But Pete,” Levi said, holding out his phone. “He called. We just heard his voice!”
Aubrey turned away, her pulse whacking wildly against her soul. “It’s not about precise timing,” she said to Levi. “It’s about what will come to pass—eventually.” She sank onto the sofa, though it felt more like dread pushing her down. She blinked up at him. “I did get a text from a boy who’s been dead for more than a decade. Who knows where that call from Pete came from.” Aubrey closed her eyes. Honestly? She wanted to close off the universe. “As far as Pete goes, I don’t think earthbound scenarios carry any more weight than otherworldly ideas. Not with our son.”
Levi refused to give up or give in. Yes. He believed in Charley’s gift. He accepted that she dreamed of the living before Aubrey connected to the dead. But he did not believe that meant his son. He would know. Fuck psychic perceptions. He would know if his own son was . . . a tremulous breath pulled into him as he sat in the leather chair. Would he? Fuck. He couldn’t even form the word in his head and connect it to Pete. No. He’d know if his son was anything but alive, and this wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.
The four of them sat in silence for a time. At some point, Levi faltered to a mechanical mode and rose, fixing himself a drink. He asked if anyone else wanted one, and Yvette was the only taker. It was a useless thing to be doing, but he was at a loss to bridge two parallel trains of thought: Pete’s disappearance linking to his initial instinct—a kidnapping connected to any number of dangerous stories he’d pursued with Ink on Air—versus something far more vague and ethereal. Earthbound bad guys connected to him: it was the guiltier but more feasible possibility.
On the other hand, if Charley’s dream was accurate . . . Levi took a burning gulp of whatever he’d poured into a glass. He couldn’t get his head around it, no matter how much a man made of logic swore to the existence of ghosts and a world beyond
this one. He’d be damned if his next conversation with his son would be via Pete’s mother.
Aubrey.
She hadn’t moved from the edge of the sofa. He sat bent forward, elbows on his knees, the drink swirling in front of him as he held it. Levi supposed they were waiting for Dan’s call. But even if it did register a physical address, it might not matter. Anything could have occurred after the call disconnected. Aubrey drew a prayerful, frustrated knot of fingers to her mouth. She looked at Levi, and her forehead mimicked the gesture her hands made. She glanced over her shoulder. “Wait. What happened to—”
Levi’s phone rang and they hurled their collective energy in its direction. He answered. “Yeah, Dan.” He listened for a few moments and said little more before abruptly ending the call. “Nothing yet,” he informed them. “The brevity of Pete’s call made it hard to pinpoint. The, um . . . the signal wasn’t very strong, almost like it’d come from the middle of the ocean.”
From her skirt pocket, Aubrey pulled out a tissue and pressed it to her nose. “Or Middle-earth.”
Her lips pursed into a tight, flat line. Levi put down his drink and stepped over her long legs, bumping into the coffee table as he went. Sitting beside Aubrey, he wrapped his arm around her, and she dipped her head onto his shoulder.
“With all due respect . . .” He glanced at Charley. “Pete is not the spirit connected to her dream. Do not give up on him, Aubrey. He’s not dead. He’s not going to die.”
“You don’t know that.” It was a scratchy, unsure whisper.
“Yeah. I do. You . . . Charley . . . your father. There’s no arguing the fantastic breadth of your gifts. But I swear . . .” His own voice cracked. “I, um . . . I never told you this because . . . well, because compared to your connection to my brother, it seemed small and so what, but now . . . maybe it does matter.”
“What?” Aubrey jerked her head up. “Tell me.”
“It’s about Brody. The night he died, the fire at my mother’s house. When I got to the top of that flame-filled staircase, something inside me made a conscious choice, and I chose to save my mother. Had you put the question to me earlier that day—when I was a calm, average eleven-year-old, I would have answered bluntly . . . honestly. I would have answered ‘Brody’ if asked to pick. Choosing my hero over my usually drunk, often careless mother . . .” He shook his head. “Not my proudest thought, not something I like to dwell on . . . but it’s true. Yet in the moment, I chose to save my mother because instinct said she was savable. Brody was not. I knew then, just like I know now—Pete’s alive. I’m not arguing Charley’s dream. I’m only saying that our son’s ghost, it’s not the spirit you’re destined to meet, Aubrey.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
The four of them continued to wait; Levi alternated between pacing and sitting. At one point, he got as far as the front door. Aubrey asked where he was going. She knew her tone was as desperate as the look on his face. With his hand on the knob, Levi answered, “Door to door. I don’t know. It’d be something. I can’t sit here anymore.”
“Levi . . .”
Logic stopped him, and restlessly, he sat again. In the meantime, Aubrey’s point of view moved to her box of ghost gifts. She’d rummaged through it that morning, desperate for something to click—some yesteryear token to register a new meaning.
Its contents remained unchanged. There were ghost gifts for which she could tell an entire story—places, dates, meanings that had come with closure. Most prominent was a bag of beach sand that had led to an extraordinary connection—the spirit of Brody St John, linking Aubrey to his brother in a way that far exceeded newsroom comradery. She’d never told Levi, but eventually it occurred to Aubrey that Levi himself had been Brody’s ghost gift. Reinforcing her theory, no ghost had delivered the bag of beach sand; Aubrey had gathered it herself.
Aside from this, inside her box were the odder ghost gifts, things that Aubrey could never figure out. Earlier, she’d touched each token, hoping one might lead her to Pete. Among the unexplained was a glass butterfly, smooth as velvet stone, and a vintage postcard from Bayport, New York. The card had always stood out, thought provoking and curious. The faded watercolor image showed a calm blue-green bay and long wooden pier. On the front were printed words: Dock, Foot of Gillette Avenue. Bayport, L.I. While the card bore a postmark, there was no written message. This had always bothered Aubrey—a postmark but no address. It enhanced the mystery, making it more personal than it appeared. The postcard had always emanated heat, but Aubrey perceived it as warmer than usual that morning. She assumed it was desperation. Staring at the box now, across the coffee table, across the room, she was disappointed that nothing connected to Pete.
Directly in front of her was her father’s letter box. She and Levi had gone through it so many times, separately and together. For the most part, it seemed to have filled its prophecy and purpose—clues that had led them to Trevor Beane and Liam Sheffield.
As Levi finished a second drink, he placed his empty glass on the table and scooted the box closer. In the current chaos, Aubrey had forgotten Eli Serino’s earthbound rage, tossing papers about the room, wreaking havoc on Levi’s meticulous filing system. As Levi flipped the lid open, her recollection made the visual even more stunning. Instead of a thrown-together mess, the ghost gifts were neatly arranged, systematized by paper clips, and returned to Levi’s logical order. “Did you do this?”
“No. I haven’t touched it since we threw everything back in, since we took the green construction paper out.”
“Something’s missing.” But she couldn’t think what. Aubrey reached forward; Levi grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t.” His dark eyes darted back and forth, the width of the box.
“Levi? What do you see?” Charley asked.
A singular piece of paper rested on top. It was the last lottery prediction, the one written on notepaper from Hennessy’s Funeral Home. “Maybe nothing.”
“Gut instinct?” Aubrey said.
“I’d cop to that if it helped find Pete.” As Aubrey withdrew her hand, Levi picked up the notepaper. “With everything that’s going on, I’d forgotten the date.”
Aubrey tilted her head at the paper. “It’s today. The lottery numbers are for today.” She glanced at the mantel clock. “An hour from now.”
“Do you think playing them would have bearing on Pete’s whereabouts?” Charley asked.
“Seems unlikely,” Levi said. “Even given our extraordinary point of view. Hennessy’s Funeral Home. Huh. I know I’ve passed by it.”
“It’s on the other side of town,” Aubrey said. “One of those beautiful old Victorians that makes you kind of sad to realize its purpose. Aside from the building, the venue isn’t exactly on my hot-spot list.”
“No, I guess it wouldn’t be.” Levi continued to stare at the paper. “Aubrey, what’s across the street from the funeral home? Warren Street. It’s kind of commercial that way, isn’t it?”
“For as commercial as Surrey gets.” Aubrey closed her tired, burning eyes. An image flashed. A man she knew but hadn’t seen since she was a child. He pointed to a sign. Goose bumps prickled, not out of cold or fear but realization. When Aubrey opened her eyes, her line of vision was consumed by Peter Ellis’s photo. Air was stuck in her lungs; she was startled by the images—the one in her mind and the one on the fireplace mantel. More important was the message, and she spoke the words as they filtered into her head: “Across the street from the funeral home. There’s a mini-mart, a mom-and-pop place—Idlewild’s. There’s a blue-and-white sign; it needs a fresh coat of paint.”
“You remember seeing that?” Levi asked.
Aubrey shook her head. “No.” She looked at Charley. “I think my father just showed it to me.”
“Oh, my dear girl . . .” On Aubrey’s words, the carnival color seemed to drain from Charley’s face. “My son. You’re not serious? Peter? You saw him?”
“Maybe that’s why Charlotte dreamed of you, because of your father,�
�� Yvette said.
Aubrey wanted to pounce on the idea; instead she shook her head. “No. My father wasn’t here. Not in the way spirits visit after Charley dreams about them. This was very distant, detached—more like a glimpse as opposed to a presence with which I could communicate.”
“But still . . .” Levi’s thought trailed off as Aubrey continued to shake her head.
Yet given the present circumstance, Aubrey appreciated how much the possibility meant to her grandmother, how much all of them wanted it to be true. She knew it wasn’t. “But I did see my father, Charley. Even if it was for only a few seconds.”
Her grandmother dabbed at her eye, Yvette patting her aged, arthritic hand.
In the same second, Levi was on his feet, moving toward the door. “Let’s go.”
“Where?” Charley said, sitting up taller.
“To buy a lottery ticket.” Aubrey answered the question as Levi tucked the paper in his pocket. “Maybe there’s a reason why my father’s never been a presence, even if it was fleeting. Maybe he wanted to make damn certain I noticed when he did show up.”
Aubrey and Levi pulled into the parking lot of Idlewild’s. Overhanging lights lit the blue-chipped-paint sign Peter Ellis had pointed to and she’d described.
“I’ll go in,” Levi said.
Aubrey reached for his hand. “We’ll go together.”
He nodded and they exited the Volvo. Behind the counter, a young man had his nose buried in a car magazine. As Aubrey and Levi burst through the doors, he lurched to his feet. Clearly, he was wary of the late hour and a Bonnie and Clyde–like entrance. They slowed their pace, offering awkward smiles.
“Help you with something?” He remained on guard, rolling up the magazine, a weapon if need be.
“We, um . . . want to buy a lottery ticket.”
The attendant motioned to a lottery-designated area. “Quick pick, or . . . ?”
“What?” Levi said.
Aubrey couldn’t recall Levi ever buying a lottery ticket, and she nudged his arm. “He wants to know if you’re picking the numbers yourself or you want the computer to do it.”
Foretold (A Ghost Gifts Novel Book 2) Page 34
