“Yes, I know,” Sophie said, wondering how well Stewart must be paid for his services to afford the suit he was wearing. While his clients’ money might not be making them happy, he appeared to be doing fine.
“Not to be nosy, but I’m kind of at a crossroads myself, and if I wanted to hire you, what would it run me?”
“Sophie, I would love to work with you! You have so much potential. I’ve said privately, to Margaret, that you close yourself off too much, which is understandable, given your past, but you need to separate yourself from all that negativity. Release your real self and stop hiding her. If you need a few sessions, I charge three hundred to five hundred dollars for two sessions a week, but I would offer you some sessions free, since Talismans has been a gold mine of referrals.”
Sophie had to stop her eyes from bugging out. “Three to five bills a week?”
“I’m worth it. I can change your life.”
“I wish,” she joked, but Stewart was completely serious.
“Stewart, did Patrice happen to mention to you that there was anything going on, or that anything was wrong?”
“No, not really,” he said, walking to the window, stared out at the park. “I only wish I knew. Maybe I could have helped, stopped something from happening.”
Sophie could relate. She saw Stewart frowning at Alan Bledsoe, who stood by the bar among flowers, friends, and cocktails, putting on a good show.
“I take it you’re not in the Alan Bledsoe fan club?”
Stewart nodded. “He’s an ass. Everything Patrice tried to do that was a positive move for her, he would criticize, tell her she was being ridiculous. I always think he got perverse pleasure in knocking her down because she was the real power broker in the family. He’d have been nothing without her connections and cash.”
“Did she ever talk about leaving him?”
“No. I saw it was mentioned in the papers, that you’d said she mentioned a divorce, but she never said anything to me. She was obviously unhappy, and in some ways, maybe better off where she is now.”
Sophie drew back in surprise. “You can’t really mean that?”
Stewart wiped a hand over his face in distress. “No, I suppose not. It bothers me that he made her so miserable, and she missed Angela so much. I hope if there’s another life, Patrice is with her daughter.”
“Yes, well. I think I might go get a fresh drink and mingle a bit. Will you be okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I’ll sit here quietly and say good-bye to Patrice in my own way. I really do think I can feel her presence with us today. All good, positive energy. She wouldn’t want us to be sad for long.”
Sophie smiled, patting him on the shoulder slightly, and moved among the crowd. Some people cast her curious or nasty looks, but no one spoke to her. They could use some of the positive energy Stewart was feeling.
The person she was most interested in meeting, Penny Wilde, stood alone at the bar, and Sophie closed in, asking the bartender for another coke. When it was delivered, she turned to face Penny, lifting her glass.
“To Patrice,” she said, taking a sip, setting her glass down and holding her hand out toward Penny in way of introduction. “I’m Sophie.”
“Yes. I know. I’m surprised to see you here.”
“I came for Patrice,” Sophie said, setting up defenses.
“Relax. Believe me, everyone in this room has been in the paper at some point, and many of them have committed crimes as well, if not as well-advertised.”
“We’ll I haven’t committed a crime, especially not this one. I thought your comments were nice, in the service.”
“Thank you. I was nervous as hell, but did it for Alan. I knew he didn’t want to speak. It was too much for him.”
“Nice of you to step up. You’ve been a friend of the family for a while then?”
She smiled slightly. She had huge blue eyes that filled when Sophie asked, and she grabbed a cocktail napkin, for lack of the ubiquitous white hankie.
“I’m sorry, this has been happening all day,” she said on a harsh laugh.
“It’s okay. It’s good to cry for someone when they die. It means you cared. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Thank you. And yes, I was Alan’s secretary for years, but then I quit in order to start the Heritage Keepers. My husband is an architect, and he was always talking about how we were losing all of the beautiful buildings around us, and I agreed. So I decided to do something about it, and he and Patrice were behind me every step of the way. I was also Angela’s godmother.”
“That was a terrible thing.”
“Yes.”
“Patrice funded your project? I know she was very generous,” Sophie asked, hoping her attempts at fishing were not that transparent. “Everyone who spoke at the funeral mentioned her funding something or other.”
Penny’s eyes turned dark, the edges of generous lips turning down. “That’s all they cared about, most of them. Tom Underwood, he and Patrice had a huge falling out days before her death because she was pulling funding from a project he’d pushed through against the will of the Board, and yet he showed up here all smiles as if he hadn’t stabbed her in the back--” Penny paled, slapping a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. That was crass. And uncalled for.”
“It’s okay. You can tell the wheat from the chaff pretty easily even when they’re wearing Chanel.”
“True. All looking for more money now that she’s dead,” Penny said sourly.
“She contributed to your foundation, too?”
“Some, now and then, but I didn’t want to confuse our personal relationship with money. We’re a small non-profit with a low operating budget. Sure, there are things I’d like to do, but it was mostly a labor of love. Patrice helped me with fundraising, used her contacts, but the biggest thing is that she convinced me I could do it. She made me believe in myself, that I could make it work. Make a go of it, you know, and be more than a secretary.”
Sophie was quiet. It would explain why Penny was so cozy with Alan, having known him longer, but maybe there had been a little more than secretary/boss interactions going on? Cliché, yes, but clichés came to be because they pointed to things that actually happened far too often.
“She did have a way of making you know she believed in you,” Sophie commented, knowing Patrice often believed in her more than she believed in herself.
“She mentioned you often, you know. That taking care of you when you were staying with her helped her deal with some of her grief in losing Angela and made her feel like she had a purpose again. She also loved her tarot readings—said how helpful she found it. She tried to convince me to go, but I never followed that kind of thing.”
“That’s nice to hear,” Sophie said, mildly uncomfortable as she watched Pereski mingle with the crowd. Always keeping one eye trained in her direction. She turned back to Penny, who was still speaking.
“I know she was into all of that, the tarot, astrology, hiring her Reiki and life coach. It drove Alan nuts, but I never saw the harm. It made her happy, so who cares?”
“Not everyone is so open-minded,” Sophie replied.
“So you were with her when she died,” Penny said sympathetically, putting her hand on Sophie’s arm. “That must have been tragic for you, as you were so close.”
Sophie nodded, clearing her throat and reaching for her drink in order to dislodge Penny’s hand from her arm. “Can I ask you something personal, Penny?”
“I suppose,” the older woman pulled back, ever so slightly.
“Did you know if Alan and Patrice were completely happy? Did she mention anything about them possibly splitting up to you, even in casual conversation?”
Penny looked shocked, bringing a hand to her throat. “Why, no! I read that in the papers, and I can assure you it’s false. They were together a very long time, and marriage isn’t all wine and roses. After Angela died, well, they had their struggles, but I can’t imagine she would leave him. They’d been through too much in th
eir life together.”
“I see. I’m sorry to upset you,” Sophie said as some of Penny’s warmth suddenly dropped away.
“I must go check on Alan. I’m trying to make sure he has at least one person he can rely on among this shark pool,” she said, and offered one last, tense smile as she moved back to the crowd that formed like a human shield around Bledsoe.
Roger wandered over. “So, having a good time playing amateur sleuth?”
“You and Pereski looked like you were about to come to blows,” she countered, sipping her soda.
“He was pissed that you were here, and I was defending you.”
He didn’t sound happy, but for some reason, her lips couldn’t resist a partial smile. “Thanks. It’s nice to know you’ll stand by me, even when we disagree.”
“That’s what it’s about.”
Warmness invaded her heart for the first time that day. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
Sophie looked across the room, finding it difficult to imagine Penny Wilde doing anything nasty like sticking something sharp in Patrice’s jugular. Still, as Penny stood close by Alan’s side, her hand on his arm, their heads close in conversation, she wondered if they were grieving or celebrating.
Chapter Eight
Sophie dropped Margaret off at home and was thankful for the use of her car to make it back to campus, not looking forward to navigating the streets on foot or waiting for trains at the moment. She’d learned to drive at her father’s insistence, though never had much use for a car in the city, but it was comforting to sit ensconced in the privacy of the little compact as she made her way through the streets.
Pulling into a visitor spot since she didn’t have a parking sticker, she got out of the car and looked around for watchful eyes before chastising herself for being paranoid. Was Pereski having her followed? And what of the dark-haired man on the subway? Suddenly, threats loomed everywhere. She shook them off, walking across the lot and stopping as she heard a low whistle. Looking to her left, she paused as two young guys stretched out on the lawn with books thrown around them on the grass, unabashedly looking in her direction. Sophie looked around to see whom they were ogling. She was the only one there.
They’d whistled at her?
She was still in her funeral clothes, for goodness sake. Still, when one smiled and offered a one-handed wave, she got flustered, pushing her hair back and feeling her cheeks heat as she moved on toward the building where Dr. Mason’s office was located.
Sophie knew she wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t used to being whistled at, either—too tall at five-eight and built more for athletics than pretty clothes, she never felt particularly sexy. She preferred practical and comfortable, dressing in jeans, boots, her Red Sox cap and no make-up. Heels and dresses had never held any appeal for her, especially with the scars on her knee that she’d taken away from repetitive surgeries. They didn’t show so much in the black stockings, though.
Patrice had offered to pay for plastic surgery to hide the scars, but the way Sophie looked at it, her leg was fully functional again, and she didn’t want to cover up everything that had happened to her, to make it seem like it had all gone away. Her scars reminded her what she’d been through, and that she had survived it. It would never completely go away, and she had gotten used to her ugly knee, mostly. Roger didn’t seem to mind, either.
Still, Sophie knew she didn’t project the image of a new age tarot reader or professional woman. It hadn’t ever bothered her much before. Margaret, with her waifish build and brown pixie-cut hair, who always dressed in floating, colorful styles, was more the image of what people expected when they walked into Talismans. All the more reason the store would do well in her hands.
Still, the knowledge that she could draw male attention in a skirt, even if it was college guys who were likely to whistle at any female who crossed their path, was nice, and there was a little bit of spring in her step as she entered the building, making her way to Dr. Mason’s office. His door was open though the other offices in the hall were closed, people having gone home this late in the day. She was relieved, half-expecting him to have missed their appointment again.
She knocked softly on the door and he looked up from his computer, staring for a moment, looking blank, as if he had no idea who she was.
“Hi, Dr. Mason. Is this a bad time?”
He shook his head. “Oh, Sophie, right! I’m sorry. I’m just catching up on some work and kind of lost track of everything. Come in,” he invited.
She smiled in relief. “I know how it is.”
“I like it at the end of the day when it’s quiet. Sometimes I stay here and work until late into the night. The quiet allows me to focus better. Oh, and call me Gabe. Only my students and clinical patients call me Dr. Mason.”
“Sure, Gabe. Do you live close by?” she asked, walking into the room, feeling the need to make some small talk for whatever reason.
“I’m renting in Waltham, but I think I might start looking into a condo someplace in the city. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be here, but it’s been twelve years now. I guess I could call myself a transplant,” he said with a smile. “Time to commit and buy something. Besides they tell me it will be better for my taxes.”
Sophie nodded, sitting down in one of the comfy leather chairs on the opposing side of his desk. To her surprise, he came around and sat in the other one, crossing long legs and looking at her directly. The light in the office was low and warm, and the tip of his foot was only inches away from hers, which seemed like a silly thing to notice.
“You’re all dressed up.”
“I had the funeral to attend this afternoon. My friend Patrice,” she said, surprised when the casual statement choked at the end, and she found herself breaking eye contact, looking away. What was wrong with her? “I’m sorry, I just. . .it’s been a long day.”
“I imagine. I’m very sorry you lost a friend, and in such a horrible way.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re a student here, graduate program?”
“No, still an undergrad. I’m almost done, though, in computer engineering. Though the police have been all over campus questioning people and now I’m not allowed back until this investigation is complete. Too distracting for everyone, they said.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. They came to talk to me, too, though I didn’t have much to say, just when you were with us that night. I didn’t tell them about Eliza, for what it’s worth. I know how people can be about what we do. Life hasn’t been too easy for you, has it?”
His tone was kind, but not pandering. She appreciated that and pulled herself together. “Life isn’t easy for anyone, but we manage,” she said with false optimism.
“I’m sure of it. Now, let’s talk about your ghost, and what happened up in Charlestown. I have to admit, I’ve been looking forward to talking to you about that.”
“Oh, yes. How is Josh?” she asked, ashamed of herself for not asking first.
“He’s fine. Remarkable guy, Josh.”
“He told me he’s a thermo-what was it?”
“Thermopath. It’s the name we made up for him, since it seemed to make sense in the way he can feel the energy that’s around him.”
She nodded.
“But let’s get back to you,” he refocused her, and she found she was very nervous about the discussion now that she was here. “You mentioned a ghost sighting, and visions? Tell me about that.”
At first, it was difficult, but as she related the things she saw, the man at the shop, his later appearances, and her other odd events. The words poured forth. It basically felt good to tell someone, and Gabe listened attentively, no judgments betrayed by his expressions or posture.
“And that’s it, basically. I keep seeing this one guy, in dreams, in the weirdest places, and when I found that cufflink, I was sure it was real. Solid, you know? And then it just went poof, and no one else could see it. I can’t help but think this is somehow linked into what happened
to Patrice, that maybe he was there to warn her or something? Do you think that’s possible?”
Gabe was quiet for a few long moments, and Sophie found herself wringing her hands and stopped when he finally spoke.
“Well, in my experience the dead are very much like the living, more concerned with their own problems than those of others. However, they are drawn to energy sources, places where they can manifest, and it’s possible he wasn’t there to help her as much as he was drawn to some similar kind of energy. Maybe he was killed in a similar fashion as your friend. You mentioned a bloody wound? And your friend was stabbed?”
Sophie nodded. “He looked like he’d been stabbed or shot or something, in the middle.” She looked down at her hands again before continuing. “I should tell you, my fiancé made me go to the doctor, and Doctor Thomas said it was probably post-traumatic stress. He gave me some pills, anti-depressants, but-”
“Have you taken them?”
“No. I just thought you should know that maybe this is, you know, all in my head. They think it’s from the fact that I lost my family years ago, and now this. My brain is reacting by creating these weird images and visions.”
He did make a face at that. “Well, I’m sure your Dr. Thomas is a good GP, but he’s not a trained psychologist, and he’s probably not open to alternative explanations. I’m glad you didn’t take the medicine. Those old-fashioned guys, they just want to medicate everything,” he grumped, shaking his head and sitting forward, his elbows on his knees.
“Anti-depressants have their purpose, but you seem to have some kind of psychic energy around you. Josh could feel it, and so could our ghost Eliza. I doubt you were making her up in your head, in fact. . .” he got up, grabbing a folder and pulling out a photo.
Past Tense Page 12
