Echo Moon (A Ghost Gifts Novel Book 3)

by Laura Spinella

  The couple with the baby dog and Saks Fifth Avenue wardrobe moved on, and Pete realized something else: his usual distaste for New York was absent. Like it’d been erased. He didn’t get back in the car but leaned against it. He looked at his phone, scrolling through photos again. There were the stolen images of Phin’s work and Benjamin Hupp’s photo. He should delete them too. But before he did, Pete realized there was a photo missing. Images from his iPad had also migrated over, including the one he’d taken of Em in the fondue restaurant. It wasn’t there. There was just a burst of light on the screen, like maybe an orb had exploded. “How in the world . . . ?” He swished his finger back and forth. The photos on his phone went from the New York Times archived images to the last photo he’d taken in Mumbai—a friendly pose with Dr. Kapoor. Pete’s heart started to race; so did his mind. He was confronted by a sudden and sharp realization.

  Zeke Dublin had narrated his journey, offering guidance, if not clues from afar. He was a ghost known for grifter chicanery, even in death. Years ago, he’d fooled Pete’s mother for weeks; she’d believed Zeke Dublin was alive. He was crafty—and he was also Emerald Montague’s uncle. Pete looked back at his phone and the street view of New York—crowded, bustling, disinterested in him. “No. It’s impossible.” A bead of sweat prickled on his lip, and he swiped at it. “I’m going to call Em—as soon as I have the right number. Or figure out what happened to the one she had. Em’s just on the West Coast. We’ll get back to each other.” Until that moment, Pete didn’t realize how much he was counting on intention, the idea of seeing her again.

  His phone was slick in his hand. He tapped her number again. The same “out of service” recording played. He looked at the street signs, then in the direction of the United Nations Plaza, flags from the world waving at him. Fuck it. He was done with the world. He pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and tucked it in the hand of the sleeping vagrant. Then Pete took off running, away from his job, toward Em’s apartment. She might have gotten on a plane, but surely there’d be a trace of her left behind.

  The distance was enough to have taken the car, but with the delegation arriving, Manhattan had turned into gridlock. On foot was fastest. He raced up the avenues. After blocks where he mumbled, “Excuse me” and “Sorry,” stopping briefly to pick up packages he’d knocked from one woman’s arms, Pete stuttered to a stop outside the Greek deli. He was heaving miserable breaths. His lungs ached, but the damn deli was there. The same one where Em bought him a bottle of water days ago.

  Thoroughly winded, he still managed to run the final blocks. His strides petered out as her building came into view; he watched until a man was buzzed in. Then Pete was on his heels, helping himself to the otherwise locked entrance. Several people waited at the elevator. He took the stairs, two, maybe three at a time, his long legs spiraling up to the third floor. The apartment door was ajar. This startled him, and he stopped in the hall. “Okay. Enough craziness. Even if Em’s not there, her stuff has to be.” He pushed the door open. The tiny apartment was nearly empty, two men standing in the center, holding the white leather sofa. “Where is she?”

  The men looked at each other and Pete. “Who?” one said.

  “The girl who lived here. I know she went to LA, but do you have a contact number for her?”

  “That witch?” the other mover said, and Pete widened his eyes. “You need to talk to Manny. He’s in charge. She was here yesterday when we came by to take an inventory. Talk about an attitude.” He laughed. “I asked Manny if she was flying her broom to the coast.”

  “No. Not her. Not Caroline.” Pete aimed for her last name, realizing he didn’t know it. Why the hell didn’t he know it? “Her roommate. Emerald Montague.” He pointed to the small door on the left.

  “No roommate here. Miss Caroline’s daddy hired us to haul her belongings to a warehouse on Orchard Street. Somethin’ about subletters moving in right away.” He stared at Pete, who was blocking the door. “If you don’t mind, custom Italian leather. It’s kinda heavy.”

  Pete shuffled to his right. “Sorry. Do . . . do you mind if I wait here a minute, catch my breath?”

  The man shrugged, the weighty sofa his obvious priority. “We’ll be back for the bedroom stuff. Don’t steal nuthin’.” They exited, and Pete moved farther into the tiny apartment. He hesitated, then rushed to Em’s bedroom. Naturally, it was dark. He flipped the switch. Something between a groan and a gasp rolled up from his gut. Empty. It was completely empty. Like she’d never been there. Never existed. The narrow daybed and swags of vintage fabric, the books and the row of tiny potted plants, the sweet string of lights. He turned toward the closet. One wire hanger, not a piece of clothing or shoes. There was no doll, no message.

  “It’s not possible.” This went beyond anything he could get his head around—tragedies he’d stood next to, otherworldly experiences that would boggle the mind of someone like Dr. Kapoor. The idea of ghosts. It was a fact many people flat-out shunned—something Pete might question if he didn’t know them like he knew the alphabet.

  But this, the idea that Emerald Montague had been nothing but a projection of his weirdly wired brain, a ghost product born out of his psychic abilities and a fertile imagination. The proven ability to access another life. It couldn’t be. And yet, as Pete stood in what he swore was her bedroom, he braced for one more jolt to his weary mind. He poked at his phone, and it connected to home. “I may be lucky to find out my own parents aren’t ghosts who haunt the house on Homestead Road.” But a second later, he heard his mother’s voice. “Mom?”

  “Pete? Are you all right, did you make it to New York okay?”

  “I . . . I need to ask you something.” He sucked in a huge breath. “Do you think it’s possible—”

  “Pete. What are you doing here?”

  He spun around. His brain scrambled to adjust, and after a few seconds, he reminded himself to breathe. “Uh, Mom. Can I call you back?” He hit “End” on his phone, missing the button the first time.

  “Are you going to answer me?”

  “You’re real.”

  “What?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them. Em stood at the edge of the small kitchen, tapping a key on the counter. “You’re really here.”

  She looked at him as if a metaphysical reply escaped her.

  “You had a red-eye to the West Coast. The sitcom audition. Caroline.” Choppy words were all he could produce. His heart rate wouldn’t allow for more, not without the risk of hyperventilating. Pete ruffled a hand through his hair. Given his sudden upset, he thought hyperventilating might make for a fairly weak showing.

  “I didn’t go. I got the part.”

  “In California?”

  “No. The musical. The one I auditioned for the other day, when you were here. The producer called after you left yesterday.”

  “Did he?” Pete was breathless, amazed by the feelings that living in the present could produce. “That’s fantastic. So you’re staying . . . in New York?”

  “Yes. Caroline was furious, naturally.” She pointed to her empty bedroom. “She said if I didn’t get my stuff out before hers today, I could pay the full rent starting tomorrow. Not exactly in my budget, even with a real acting job. Fortunately, I didn’t have much to move, other than the bed and plants, my clothes. Lucy helped me. I’m staying with her for now. Six girls, one apartment.”

  “Six girls,” he repeated. “One apartment.”

  She wriggled her brow. “Why? Do you have a lot of guy friends?”

  “No,” he said. “Not really.”

  She smiled crookedly. “The apartment will work for now. I can sit on the sofa whenever I want, if I can get a spot.”

  Pete thought he repeated himself, saying again that it was all great or how nice New York could be in the fall. But he wasn’t sure. He was too taken, too busy with the sight of a redheaded actress who ate like a lumberjack and made endless jokes to hide her nerves. A girl who had the ability and heart to fi
nd answers that had eluded him for so long.

  “So you still haven’t said what you’re doing here.”

  “I, um . . .” He pointed lamely in the compass direction of the UN. “I came back to tell you what happened last night.” He held up his phone. “I must have gotten your number wrong. I got a recording that it wasn’t in service.”

  “Did you . . . call?” She smiled wider. And Pete knew he’d never seen a smile like hers. “So you came all the way here to see me?” She too pointed at his phone. “Let me see.”

  Pete held out the device, clicking on her contact information.

  “Nine. It’s eight, nine at the end. Not nine, eight.”

  He nodded. “I’ll fix it. I, uh . . . for sure.” He tapped on his contacts and made the correction. Then he tapped on his photos. “The picture of you I took at the restaurant. It’s gone.”

  “Oh, well, that one’s my fault. When you went to the restroom, remember I was scrolling through the photos from the archives? I wasn’t crazy about the picture of me, so I deleted it.”

  “Did you? I’ll have to take another one.”

  “Give me a few weeks. The producer of the show wants new head shots. As soon as it’s in my budget—”

  “I’ll take them for you.”

  “You’ll . . . aren’t you hopping a plane, heading back to your photojournalist life, somewhere chic, like Paris, France?”

  “I’ve been to Paris.”

  “What about the rest of the World?”

  “I hear that’s right here—June through September.”

  She moved closer. “And after that?”

  “After that . . . I don’t know. But I have a strong feeling your future is safe . . . promising.”

  “Because your past is no longer a threat?”

  His arms were around her now. “Because you succeeded where . . .” He couldn’t say “where Esme failed.” It was too disrespectful for a girl who never got the chance like one that stood before Pete right now. “You succeeded where the past failed me. Everything, from here forward, will be brand-new.”

  EPILOGUE

  Three Months Later

  Surrey, Massachusetts

  Aubrey threw back the covers and rolled onto her side. Levi sat up and reached for the down comforter, yanking it back over them. “A drive,” she said. “We could take Pete and Em for a drive up to Maine. It’s peak leaf season. They might like that.”

  Levi was on his back, staring at the ceiling. He turned his head, and she smiled at his handsome, sleepy face.

  “Do you know how much traffic there’ll be on 95 today? I’d rather take them to Disney World.”

  “Please, you didn’t want to take Pete to Disney World when he was six.”

  “And if I recall, he really didn’t want to go.”

  Aubrey propped herself up on an elbow. “He had his reasons. He hardly needed a live character breakfast after a night in his own head. But now—”

  He grabbed her hand, an index finger pointing at him. “Now he’s free and happy to visit anywhere he likes, theme parks included. I got it.” Levi kissed her hand and let go, propping himself up on an elbow too. “You know, my lighter, happier son is not the only thing I’m grateful for these days. Promise me you’re feeling as well as you say, that it’s not just because you’re happy for Pete.”

  “I can’t give you a specific diagnosis, but I’d say a buildup of negative aura was a huge factor. Once Pete made peace with his past . . . with Esme . . .” She shrugged. “Between the medical world, the backstory to Outlander, maybe Wiccan lore, that’s the best answer I can offer you. Spontaneous remission of the most ethereal kind. But as it is, I’m glad we had the cleansing just to even things out on the whole.”

  Levi fell onto his back. “Drawing a line,” he said.

  Aubrey got it. There were numerous things in Levi’s life that he could not deny, things that wholly challenged his logical mind. But when she’d invited a prominent spiritualist over for a sage-smudging ritual . . . well, he’d played golf that day.

  She heard a squeak, the telltale sound of Pete’s bedroom door. “I think they’re up! Do you think they’re up? Is it too early to make breakfast? I don’t want to spook her.”

  Levi laughed. “Aubrey, if we haven’t spooked her so far . . .” Levi sat up, hearing a girlish giggle. Aubrey smiled. She had to admit, Em’s personality complemented their son’s somewhat serious nature. For the few times she’d seen them together, Aubrey thought Emerald was rather smitten with her son. This weekend was their first “couple” visit, and Aubrey was determined to keep it light and fun.

  A short time later, they were all in the dining room, Aubrey and Levi seated at the table. She watched with fascination as Em coaxed Pete into the kitchen, insisting that they make breakfast since Aubrey had cooked dinner the night before. She and Levi traded curious glances as the clanking of pots and pans could be heard, and Em saying, “You seriously don’t know where they keep the coffee . . . or flour . . . or napkins?”

  “I know we have pure maple syrup somewhere. I’ve been away. I’m catching up.”

  And Aubrey beamed at this. They were all catching up. Pete had taken a leave from his PressCorp position. The Whitney Museum in New York was putting together an exhibit of his work. Along with this, they’d offered him a healthy stipend to pursue street photography—something Pete loved. Something far less dangerous than endless journeys through treacherous terrain half a world away. While he might return to that work someday, he seemed content, for now, to stay in one place. He’d been home twice from his more convenient New York address. The visits had been uneventful and sweet. Adding to this, Aubrey had booked a getaway to New York. Em appeared truly flattered that Pete’s parents would be at her opening-night performance.

  When they all finally sat down to a breakfast of crepes—apparently an Em specialty—Aubrey asked what they’d like to do that day. A variety of ideas were passed around the table, Levi trying to tempt them into a round of golf, Pete saying that a hike in a nearby state park sounded fine to him. Aubrey asked Em if she’d ever seen the sights in Boston.

  “Not since I was little, but I was wondering . . .” She hesitated, biting down on her lip. “Last night, I had a dream. I don’t know if Pete’s told you about my dreams.” Aubrey and Levi admitted that he had, confiding how Em had been the caretaker of Esme’s dreams. “I haven’t dreamed about her since . . . well, since Pete resolved so much of what happened to her and Phin. But the dream I had last night . . . could you tell me . . .”

  Her hesitation concerned Aubrey, and she wondered if newfound happiness might be a fragile thing. “Tell you what?”

  “Is there a cemetery in Surrey? If there is, that’s where I’d like to go.”

  “To the cemetery.” Aubrey dropped her butter knife, which clanked against her plate. She aimed at a quick recovery, smiling wide. “The cemetery. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  It was a quiet ride to Surrey’s historic cemetery, the acreage connecting to Our Lady of the Redeemer’s plots, making it one sprawling burial ground. Pete and Em held hands, walking in front of Aubrey and Levi. As with any hallowed place, it took Aubrey’s practiced skill—and she assumed the same for her son—to keep a deluge of spirits at bay.

  “You okay?” Levi said.

  “Fine. I’d just love to know what we’re doing here.” Aubrey stopped, and so did everyone else. She hadn’t been to the cemetery in some time. “This place is such a maze. I didn’t realize we’d come in this way.” Aubrey walked past a few graves to a well-cared-for plot, its marker carved with angels.

  “Someone you knew?” Em asked, following.

  “Missy Flannigan.” Levi bent to straighten a potted mum. He stood, brushing dirt from his hands.

  “It’s, um . . . it’s a long story,” Aubrey said. “That’s how Levi and I met, over the unremarkable life of Missy Flannigan.”

  “Really?” Em said. “Sounds like a curious tale. I’d love to hear it.�
��

  “Come on,” Pete said, tugging Em by the hand. “I’ll loan you the book.”

  Aubrey said a short prayer as the foursome moved deeper into the cemetery.

  They came up on a curve, and Aubrey asked them to stop. “Em, you might want to see this plot.” Again, she followed with Pete behind them.

  “Oh, I knew he was here. Mum had told me.”

  “But it’s not why you wanted to come here today,” Aubrey said.

  Em lowered herself to the ground, she and Aubrey huddling close to Zeke Dublin’s grave. Aubrey had made certain the marker was bold and noteworthy, kind of like Zeke. Engraved at the top was the Celtic symbol for family. Em twisted a ring around her thumb, and Pete said, “It’s the same engraving as on the inside of your grandfather’s ring.”

  Em touched the headstone. “I’ll come back, bring some flowers.”

  Levi had waited at a respectful distance. He may have forgiven what happened to his son because of Zeke Dublin, but Aubrey knew he’d never forget. “So your uncle, he’s not the reason we’re here?” Aubrey said.

  Em pointed to a section where markers were white and smaller. A blank span of earth crested upward. At the top of a slow-rising hill were two huge pine trees. They made their way up, and Em said, “Last night, I dreamt about a wedding. Well, maybe more of a marriage. I also saw those two pine trees.” She pointed. “Believe me, if we hadn’t found them here, I might have told you I only came to visit my uncle’s grave.”

  Glances passed between them, and Aubrey felt the nudge of a spirit. One with an ability to seize her attention, more so than the thousands of ordinary souls that surrounded them. Her breath quickened as they approached the trees, a majestic spot and peaceful if one was in need of a final resting place. A voice was so present Aubrey was surprised no one heard it but her.