“No . . .” Her voice was incredulous, barely managing the word. Aubrey stared at the wooden box. Boxes. An ornamental one shaped like a treasure chest with a coppery patina; it held the ghost gifts delivered to her. Her father’s letter box, a vessel that held scraps of paper—the many ghost gifts left in his care. And now, before her, a box meant for the victim of brutal crime. The sight of the coffin took on an unnerving presence—the most enigmatic ghost gift. “It’s not possible. There’s no way . . .”
“Pete.” She whispered her son’s name. When he found Aubrey and Zeke together in the bedroom, she’d perceived it as an awkward meeting. She’d read Pete’s reaction as anger. Aubrey drew her hand to her mouth. But that wasn’t it, not even close. Not her son, a boy who shared an undefined manifestation of the Ellis family gift. The day Pete saw Zeke, Aubrey hadn’t witnessed adolescent anger. She’d witnessed shock and awe. Twelve-year-old Pete was the same age as Aubrey the first time she’d encountered a physical specter. Pete’s reaction wasn’t about finding a strange man in his mother’s bedroom. His reaction was about seeing—a ghost.
Aubrey staggered backward, her body quaking like tremoring earth. On carnival air, from a place she associated with safety and the emotions soothed by a singular man, came a voice.
“You once told Levi it’s an incredible opportunity, to be able to communicate with someone you loved. Someone you’d never thought you’d see again. That’s all I was doing, sweetheart.” The candle on the other side of the casket extinguished, and Aubrey turned toward it. She refused to face the voice. “You’ve always felt slighted, the burden of your gift compared to the benefits. Never a visit from your parents . . . your mother or father.”
Consumed by dread and knowing, Aubrey pivoted. Standing midway in the aisle, between the rows of empty chairs, was Zeke. Neon lights, the kind that blinked from the Ferris wheel, flashed in Aubrey’s peripheral vision. It told her that despite the dark, despite reality, Zeke Dublin’s ghost stood before her.
Then it registered—he was ageless, precisely the picture in her mind’s eye. His clothes, jeans, and a green flannel shirt, cotton so soft she could feel it without touching it. They were the same clothes Zeke wore years ago, the sleeves rolled up and the tattoo visible. The same tattoo found on the body in the casket behind her. The steady steps with which she’d approached the coffin eluded her. Aubrey stumbled to a chair and clamped her hand around the back. “Zeke . . .”
“I’d say in the flesh, but my best carnie bit couldn’t sell you on that. Not anymore.” In a lazy motion, just as she would have envisioned, just as her mind would have fabricated, he shoved his hands in his front pockets. Zeke’s grin, an enigmatic thing, took on an eerie essence. “I wanted to be here for you. I know how upset you’ve been . . . Levi leaving, then Pete.” His shoulders appeared to shrug. “I was never any more than this, Aubrey—a ghost in your life, even when I was that flesh-and-blood man. It made it easy, if not natural, for you to perceive me as part of the here and now.” He grinned wider. “It’s your gift protecting you. Really not that difficult to imagine. Not for you.”
“It’s why Levi hasn’t seen you, why Charley hasn’t heard from you since California.” Rash thoughts seized her: praying, bargaining, clawing at the macabre image before her. A wad of pain gathered at the base of her throat, and her breathing matched his—nonexistent. Gravity lowered Aubrey into a chair. “How . . . how didn’t I know?”
The grin vanished and stillness governed. “For as complex as your mind is, your heart won the battle, sweetheart. At least for a little while. You were in pain; you needed me in your present—not a murder victim. Not on top of everything else. But now it’s time.”
She pointed lamely at the casket. “All along . . . since Dan called, and Levi went to Maine . . . you. You’re the body they’ve been chasing?”
“Wasn’t the most pleasant exit. Just one last smoke before it all went black. But maybe a fitting end for a grifter. Not a great line of work, in case anybody asks.”
“But you said . . . you admitted to wanting Jude Serino dead.”
“Well, yes.” A languid grin emerged, so anchored to reality it sent Aubrey’s stomach into a topsy-turvy spin. “I did want him dead. And here’s the really strange part . . .”
“Stranger than this?” Aubrey moved her hand through the air between them.
“Had I gone through with it, killing Jude, you wouldn’t be in this spot. I’d have a hell of a lot to answer for, more than a grifter’s soul should. But still . . . I would have done it . . . for you and for Nora. For my parents.” His frame wavered, brightening and dimming, like a bulb about to die. “For all our sakes, I should have killed Jude Serino long before he had a chance to kill me.”
Aubrey squeezed her eyes shut and opened them to the same sight.
“You’re not dreaming, sweetheart.”
“Charley’s dream . . .”
“Did you show up in it last night?”
She nodded.
“I figured it might be the first step to . . .” He pointed at the casket. “Moving us on to this. But if I’m going to help you, really help you . . .”
Aubrey stood and shuffled forward, staring, never having seen a tear glisten in the eye of a specter.
“You needed to know about me. And it’s okay.”
“What . . . what’s okay?”
“That you’re glad it’s me. You’re glad Charley’s dream and tonight didn’t lead you to Pete.”
“Yes, but I don’t want it”—Aubrey nudged a shoulder at the casket—“to be you either.”
His lifelike irises, so dark and real, edged away from hers. “Not much we can do about that now. And it’s not all bad, baby. I finally understand my purpose in your life. It was always a good question.” His gaze ticked back to hers. “Haven’t you always wondered, Aubrey? We both know I was never that guy.” Zeke thumbed gently over his shoulder. “Your hardheaded reporter. He won that lottery a long time ago—he was meant to. The one thing I predicted on my own.” Laughter emanated, and Zeke reached up, running a hand through the dark locks of hair on his head. “Grifters tell so many lies. It’s the truths we remember. I was never sure why I belonged in your life. And now I do.”
“And that’s . . . ?”
“To help find your son.”
“Pete? You know where Pete is? Tell me!” Her voice rose to a shouting demand. It penetrated the heavy doors, and Levi burst through.
“Enough, Aubrey. Are you all right? What about Pete?”
And on Levi’s energetic entrance, Zeke vanished the way ghosts so often do.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
“We’ve sent a Las Vegas team to collect a DNA sample from Nora Montague. We’ll know in a few days if our John Doe is Zeke Dublin.” Standing in the Ellis–St John living room, Dan Watney shook his head again. Levi thought that by now he must have developed a crick in his neck. Head shaking was Dan’s physical response to the rare thing he could not grasp. “Look, you know I come down on the skeptical side of this whole ghost business, but—”
“Finding Trevor Beane, Liam Sheffield, that wasn’t enough to convince you?” Piper stood in her usual spot near the fireplace, slightly away from the people in the room.
“I read your report.” Dan’s head no longer shook. “I have connections too. You cited a full confession from Suzanne Serino, Deputy Chief. There wasn’t a single word about ‘ghosts’”—Dan air quoted the word—“leading you to the suspect.”
“And reactions like yours are the reason we don’t stray from textbook tactics when it comes to reports. Catch up, Agent Watney. Zeke Dublin is how we’re going to find Peter St John.”
“I’m waiting to see, Piper. Can I call you Piper?”
“No. You may not.”
Dan rolled his eyes at the deputy chief, who did outrank him, and held up his hands to Levi in a vague gesture. In turn, Levi was too drained to negotiate verbal sparring. “Let’s just see what the DNA says. Or maybe . . .”
“No,” Piper said. “But allow me to cut to the chase. Your people haven’t turned up a thing on Zeke’s whereabouts, have they?”
“Not yet. But we’re backtracking to Dublin’s last documented movements. Levi only hit me with this . . . what? Less than eight hours ago?”
“When your child is missing, Agent Watney, eight hours is a lifetime.”
Levi looked at his watch. “And we’re approaching seventy-two hours. What’s the statistic, Piper? After forty-eight hours, what are the odds of getting your child back alive? The percentage, it drops dramatically, doesn’t it?”
Piper’s usual tough façade tapered. “Yes. The odds drop. But I’d hardly label this case as typical. Let’s, um . . . let’s not step off the ledge just yet, Levi. I’ve seen the results when Aubrey’s involved. I can’t imagine her gift would fail her when it comes to her own son.”
“It’s what I’m hanging on to.” Levi looked toward the stairs. “Maybe I should go and get her. After we left the funeral home, spoke to both of you . . . I’ve never seen Aubrey behave that way. When we got here, she turned the place upside down.”
Their collective gazes moved around the room—open drawers everywhere, the remnants of a rummaged-through closet, usual orderliness gone awry. It was a snapshot of their lives—total chaos.
“She was looking for a way to connect to Zeke.” He pointed to Aubrey’s box of ghost gifts, its contents scattered near the hearth.
“Touch,” Piper said.
“What about it?” Dan asked.
“Touch often facilitates communication for Aubrey. That’s what she was searching for. To be honest, I’m surprised she didn’t insist on opening the casket.”
Levi absorbed a chill that penetrated his bones. “She did.”
Piper cupped a hand to her mouth. “Sweet Jesus. She didn’t?”
“Damn.” Dan sat again. “You didn’t tell me that. I, um . . . I know the condition of those remains. That takes some serious nerve.”
“If it will lead you to your own child, Agent Watney, it’s not nerve. It’s hope. And it doesn’t require a second thought.”
Dan’s phone rang and he connected to the call. “Yeah, Jack.” He listened; Levi and Piper watched. “So we can document a plane at Logan and passport ID, but nothing landing in the Serengeti? That is interesting.” He glanced curiously at the two of them. “You’re kidding. You did? I had no idea she was your suspect, that you interrogated Aubrey Ellis.” As Dan stared at Piper, his head shaking resumed. “Yeah. I have Deputy Chief Sullivan right here.” He listened for a few moments longer. “So I’ve been told . . . you too, huh?” A few moments later, he ended the call but continued to gaze blankly at his phone.
“And?” Levi finally prompted.
“That was Jack Hanlin. He was recently reassigned to my team.” He looked at Piper. “You get around. Apparently, Hanlin is the agent who questioned Aubrey after the Prudential Tower explosion.”
“Amazing how all you Velcro guys with your GI Joe gear find one another.” Piper smirked in Dan’s direction. “What else did he tell you?”
“Jack said it’s not in his report either, but not only did Aubrey convince him of her gift, he, um . . .”
“He what?” Levi said.
“Jack said he had no rational explanation for her prior knowledge. That the deputy chief here is the one who vouched for Aubrey, cleared her in the end. Once the blast was traced to a faulty valve and not terrorism, he had no choice but to flush the pending charges.”
Piper strode toward him, her arms folded. “You can add that to your need for proof list. Aubrey did foresee the explosion.”
“Dan,” Levi said. “Could we get to the point? Did this Jack Hanlin have anything to offer on Jude Serino?”
“Nothing definitive, like a location. A private plane was scheduled and did take off from Logan on the twenty-ninth. But FAA records show a last-minute change in flight plans; Serino’s plane flew to Nova Scotia. Jack’s tracking where it went after that. But with zero communication from Serino, we don’t know—”
“If after killing Zeke Dublin, he went off to hunt big game or twelve-year-old boys—”
“Levi, I’m not ruling out theories,” Dan said. “But until I have irrefutable proof that Jude Serino isn’t our John Doe, he’s a person of interest. No more.”
“Thanks, but I have all the irrefutable proof I need.” Levi stood and lingered at the bottom of the staircase.
“What I can’t figure out,” Piper said, “is why Zeke Dublin would offer Aubrey hope and then vanish. It doesn’t make sense—not from what Aubrey’s told me about him, their relationship.”
“As theories go, I’ve got one there,” Levi said. “I spooked him. If Zeke Dublin doesn’t come back . . .” His flinty gaze avoided Piper and Dan. “Things weren’t great between Aubrey and me before her past turned up—in whatever form. I’d hoped we’d work it out. That was my intention. But if Zeke is a no-show and it’s my fault . . . if we don’t get Pete back . . .” He looked toward the stairs again. “It will end us.” Threads of stress pulled so tight, Levi thought he might have arrived at the thing that would rip him in two. “Our son . . . our relationship . . . I can’t believe my life is going to come down to this.”
“This what?” Piper asked.
His lost gaze moved toward hers. “A ghost of a chance.”
It seemed impossible that physical exhaustion could win out, but that’s what the clock indicated. Aubrey blinked into bright blue numbers: 9:22 a.m. She jerked upright in the bed, swinging her legs over the side. Three hours. She’d been asleep for three hours. Voices filtered up the stairs. She knew them all: Piper, Dan, and, of course, Levi. Aubrey started for the bedroom door but stopped. Surely if there were anything new, he would have woken her. She looked toward the bathroom. A shower. She should take a shower; it might wake her up, clear her head.
After returning home, Aubrey had scavenged and scoured the house for a conduit, a connection to Zeke, but there was nothing. She’d gone on to beg and pray and promise, whatever combination it took to unlock a portal. She’d come up empty.
She inched her tired eyes around the room: a made but rumpled bed, scattering of discarded clothes, sunlight. Aubrey turned, dragging herself toward the bathroom. It wasn’t touch or even a whisper. It was instinct that said to do an about-face. To hell with the shower. Aubrey hurried to the window seat. She looked out into the preserve behind their home, beyond the tire swing and picnic table where Zeke’s ghost had sat across from her. The green reeds of summer had given way to a golden fall, and even at the distance, droplets of dew shimmered. A flock of grackles fluttered in unison, startling Aubrey as they rose in a turbulent cloud of black wings. The empty field rolled on until it met with dense forest. To her considerable disappointment, all Aubrey saw was earthbound nature. Wrapping her arms around herself, she wanted Levi to come upstairs. She needed him there—with her. But what she found herself wishing for more than anything was Zeke.
Aubrey bowed her head. “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride . . .” It was grifter code, something Zeke had said years ago—a winsome proverb or an excuse for his nomadic, broken life. While the wish wasn’t granted, Zeke didn’t appear, Aubrey’s eye caught on the three drawers built into the window seat. The seat on which Zeke had sat—or appeared to sit.
She dropped to her knees and tugged on the first knob. The intention of the drawer space had been a linen chest. But the builder had mistakenly divvied one large drawer into three smaller compartments, rendering them useless for bulky storage. By default, they’d turned into junk drawers, the miscellaneous catch-all every home harbored, even Levi’s.
The first drawer held his past—writing awards he’d won, retired from his desk, but the sort of thing you’d keep. There was an old camera, the digital kind most people discarded in the ag
e of smartphones. About a year ago, Broderick St John had given his son his military medals. They were ultimately intended for Pete, who had bonded over war stories with his grandfather. It had been Levi’s intention to have the medals framed, displayed on the wall—at least when his father visited. He’d never quite gotten around to it, and without touching the pile of medals, Aubrey closed the drawer.
The middle bin contained baby-Pete keepsakes. Reverently, Aubrey tugged it open. It only took a glimpse of bits of blue—a blanket, his baby book, and a monkey named Moe—to summon a fresh onslaught of tears. The muscles around her mouth wouldn’t bow up from a frown, and Aubrey started to close the drawer before ending up in a puddle of despair. A worn ribbon and tarnished medal caught her eye. Instead of avoiding the memento, she was drawn to it, picking it up. It was an ornate thing, composed of three points of a star with raised swords crossed through the center. Attached to the heavy emblem was a faded rainbow-colored ribbon. Her first instinct said it belonged to Broderick. Maybe Pete had been into the memorabilia, so enamored by his grandfather’s heroic past. She opened Levi’s drawer again, only intending to put it with the other wartime keepsakes. The date stopped her. “What in the . . . 1918? That’s World War I.” As far as she knew, Broderick St John hadn’t collected medals beyond his own—the Falklands War, secret participation in US engagements, a variety of British covert operations.
She turned the medal over. On the back were the initials P.L.S. and the words For eminent duty in Belleau Wood, France. “P.L. . . . those are . . .” They were Pete’s initials: Peter Levi St John. Aubrey closed her hand around the medal, drilling obvious explanations through her brain: it had to be a reproduction. Probably something Pete’s grandfather had made for him. Aubrey and Levi didn’t overly encourage their son’s keen interest in Broderick’s military past, but when Pete’s dreams intensified, one of a few soothing measures seemed to be his grandfather’s visits and battlefield chatter.
Foretold (A Ghost Gifts Novel Book 2) Page 36
