by Lena Gregory
Cass leaned farther forward so her hair would fall over her face, continuing the compressions that were too late to help Fred, and whispered, “Are you still here?”
Though she’d never tried to reach a newly departed spirit, she couldn’t shake the image of the silhouette framed in the window as Fred had fallen. Or had he jumped? Been pushed?
“If you can hear me, Fred . . .” Though the wind tearing across the jetty would certainly carry her hushed voice away from prying ears, she was still careful to keep the volume barely above a whisper. “Tell me what happened. I’ll try to help if I can, but I’m not sure what I saw.”
Except for the screams, sobs, and hushed murmurs of the living, she was met with only silence.
Rick, a volunteer EMT and owner of the local deli, rushed toward her as fast as he could carrying the equipment he needed. With Rick handling the call, Emma Nicholls, one of his employees and Bee’s only true rival in the gossip department, would have rumors flinging fast and furious before the dinner rush ended.
Following the same quick assessment Cass had done, Rick looked up and shook his head. “I’ll take over, Cass, thanks.”
She sat back on her heels to catch her breath, and waited until Rick’s partner reached them, then scooted out of the way to give them room to work.
Bee still had his hands full with Amelia, whose gaze was riveted on Fred over Bee’s shoulder as he tried to move her back toward the keeper’s house.
Stephanie stood beside him talking to Levi, who held his cap against his chest, twisting it into a knot.
Alone, for the moment anyway, Cass headed back up to the walkway by the lighthouse. She leaned against the sagging split-rail fence and squinted against the sun to look into the window she’d seen Fred fall from. Unlike the rest of the windows, which reflected the white puffy clouds gliding through the afternoon sky, that one lay in shadow, an open maw swallowing the light of the day. Who had opened it? Fred? For what purpose?
She replayed the vision again. Fred tumbling toward the rocks. A shadow moving inside the window. What had caught her attention? Fred’s movement, or the movement of another? She didn’t know, couldn’t say for certain either way. Great.
Luke, her . . . something, though she wasn’t quite sure what—their relationship seemed to be progressing comfortably since he’d taken a position with the Bay Island Police Department and moved to Bay Island—worked the scene with his partner, Stephanie’s husband, Tank.
She enjoyed watching Luke in his element, could imagine his laid-back drawl, comforting when witnesses would be upset, uncertain, scared—take your time, no rush, just tell me what y’all saw whenever you’re ready—bringing to mind lazy afternoons swinging on a front porch with a friend, where time spent equaled quality, not pressure. Luke’s casual stance and easy Southern charm would make witnesses open up to him in a way Tank’s harder veneer wouldn’t encourage. It was no surprise that Luke was talking to witnesses while Tank hovered over Rick and Fred.
What did surprise Cass was Chief Rawlins’s attendance at the scene. A tall, handsome woman with an imposing presence, she studied the scene, issued an occasional quiet order, and lingered on the sidelines, seemingly content to let Luke and Tank do their thing. So why was she there?
She glanced toward Cass, held her gaze, seemed to study her across the dunes. Her salt-and-pepper hair, pulled back into a tight bun, enhanced her long neck and sharp features. Her suit appeared custom-tailored to fit her slim build. The kind of woman who made Cass fidget when confronted with her authority.
Cass shifted from one foot to the other, looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was behind her. Nope. She was alone. Maybe the chief’s presence wasn’t as surprising as Cass had originally thought, given she had a good idea what would come next.
Chief Rawlins nodded once, then started toward Luke.
Frowning, Luke looked down at his notes, then approached Bee where he sat on a bench with his arm around Amelia and squatted in front of them.
Though Bee didn’t always trust the police, and even still seemed a bit nervous around Tank, he’d seemingly taken an instant liking to Luke, trusted him in a way he didn’t trust many people. Could be the thick, shaggy dark hair that always hung a bit too long over his collar, or those sometimes dark and stormy blue eyes framed by lashes that would make any woman green with envy, or that thick Southern drawl he sometimes laid on that could send heat rushing through you, but she had a feeling it had more to do with the fact that Detective Tall, Dark, and Steamy had an easy way about him that inspired confidence. He accepted people for who they were and didn’t indulge in an ounce of judgment.
When Bee pointed toward Cass, Luke stood and turned toward her.
She lifted a hand to wave. Seemed her quiet moment was over.
He started to move in her direction, but Chief Rawlins stopped him. Cass could almost hear the accent that spoke of her roots in New Orleans, the same roots that allowed her a belief in the occult that other officers of the Bay Island Police Department didn’t share. Including Luke and Tank.
It didn’t take any psychic abilities to figure out what she wanted.
Cass closed her eyes and reveled in the feel of the bay breeze fluttering through her hair. She breathed deeply the scent of lilacs, their lavender blossoms in full bloom, then sneezed. Twice.
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. Obviously, no time for a reprieve. She’d have to decide quickly what to share with Luke. Not that she’d ever keep anything from him, especially something related to a murder investigation, if that’s what this was, but she had no way to be sure what had been real and what imagined. She’d certainly share the fact she’d seen Fred fall, but what of the shadow?
She and Luke seemed to be headed toward something nice together, something special, despite Cass’s trust issues, thanks to her ex-husband and her ex–best friend, and despite the fact Luke didn’t really accept that Cass could communicate with the dead. That was okay, though; Cass sometimes had a hard time believing it herself.
Bee accepted that she thought she could communicate with the beyond with an eye roll and a shake of his head, as if he’d convinced himself her intuition manifested itself as spirits she could hear. Until recently, she’d have agreed with him.
Stephanie had always believed Cass could communicate with the dead, ever since they’d been kids and Cass had earned money for college offering readings on the boardwalk, much to the dismay of the local sheriff’s department.
Luke’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly, and he nodded to the chief, then turned and headed toward Cass.
Though she couldn’t be sure, she suspected Luke’s less-than-enthusiastic approach had something to do with the chief’s firm belief in the use of psychics, especially Cass, if past experience was any indication.
The firm set of Luke’s jaw assured her she was right.
When he reached her, his stance was all business, notepad out, pen poised. His eyes, however, held only sympathy swimming in their depths. “Are you okay?”
Was she? Surprisingly so. “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”
“Okay, beautiful . . .”
A million butterflies sent her stomach all aflutter, and she marveled he could still have that effect on her.
“Seems I’m expected to make a request of you.” He pursed his lips, and Cass had to resist the urge to slip into his arms. “An official request.”
“Oh?” She raised a brow and waited, determined not to glance past him at Chief Rawlins. “And what’s that?”
He shifted uncomfortably beneath her admittedly too-intense stare. “Chief Rawlins would like your input on this case. Of course, I’ll question you about what you saw, your impressions, all the usual, but I’ve also been instructed to ask you about what your . . . ahem . . . other senses might have picked up.”
Under the circumstances, she resisted her first instinct to tease him, as she might have in other, less dire, situations. “Thank you, Luke. I appreciate you asking, especially
since I know it wasn’t easy for you.”
“Look, Cass, I understand—”
“But I’m afraid I can’t help.”
“How you feel, but . . . Wait.” Luke’s eyes narrowed. “You’re saying no?”
“I’m sorry.” It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help, but with the chaos going on in her mind, and her inability to sort through the messages trying to reach her, she was afraid she wouldn’t do much good. And even worse than just not figuring anything out would be misinterpreting a message she was receiving, as she had with the lighthouse that afternoon, and having someone get hurt because of her. “I’m afraid I just can’t help right now. I’m having some issues.”
She didn’t need to stand there and go into the whole thing with him when he had more important things to do than trying to understand her malfunctioning psychic powers . . . or maybe over-functioning powers . . . whatever.
“You mean your . . .” He rolled a hand as Bee often did when trying to describe abilities he didn’t understand. “Whatever . . . is on the fritz?”
She didn’t try to hold back the smile. “You could say that.”
He contemplated her for a moment, then nodded and let it drop. Probably for the best. “Okay, then. Can you tell me what you saw?”
She started at the beginning, talked him through their visit with Amelia, then shared her short conversation with Fred.
“Bee told me what he said; don’t take it to heart, Cass.”
“I didn’t. Everyone knows how Fred is. He thinks he’s funny, but as long as . . .” She caught herself midsentence, remembering Fred was no longer with them. “I mean . . . uh.”
“Don’t worry about it. You’re not the first person to mention his crass personality.” Luke flipped a page in his notebook.
“Thanks.” She didn’t mean to be disrespectful, simply understood and accepted Fred’s shortcomings. It wasn’t like she’d run into him often.
“Bee said Amelia made veiled references that led him to believe Fred might have been involved with someone other than his wife.” He frowned, his disapproval evident in his expression.
He should probably learn to school his features better, as Tank had. Though she couldn’t quite picture Luke with the hardened expression Tank, who was really a big teddy bear, always wore.
“Did you get that impression?”
“Huh?” She pulled herself back to the conversation. “Oh. Yes, but it’s really just gossip at this point. Levi also made a crack about not being Fred’s type when I suggested he should get a job as a tour guide.”
“Why did you suggest that?”
“He had Bee enthralled, telling him a story about a ghost and a treasure.”
Luke groaned.
“Hey, you asked.”
“You’re right. I did.” With a sigh, he jotted something on the pad. “So, go ahead and elaborate, but please tell me you don’t think a ghost had anything to do with Fred’s death.”
“Levi said something about seeing a ghost out on the jetty a few times, digging around the rocks.” Did she really believe it was a ghost he’d seen? “Could be he saw someone, a real flesh-and-blood someone, out there searching for the treasure. Maybe even Fred. Although I can’t figure out why he’d be out there dressed as a pirate.”
“A pirate?”
“Yup. At least, that’s what Levi said. Who knows? Maybe Fred was immersing himself in the past while he searched.” Though it sounded false even as she said it.
He nodded and scribbled, probably happy to have something substantial to focus on. “What else can you tell me?”
Now for the tricky part. “I saw Fred fall from the window.”
His gaze shot to hers. “You actually saw him fall out the window? How sure are you that he fell? Any chance he could have jumped?”
“I didn’t see the exact moment he exited the window.” She closed her eyes and replayed the scene, which presented itself in more detail than Cass would have liked. Fred tumbling, over and over in her mind, a constant loop, just those few seconds immediately after he must have gone out, his body falling, tumbling, while he made no attempt to right himself, turn over so his head wouldn’t hit, flail his arms as would be instinct. “I’m sorry, Luke.”
He stuffed the pen through the spirals of the notebook and stuck it into his pocket. “Don’t worry about it. You’re not the only one. Unfortunately, no one seems to have seen the exact moment he went out.”
When he reached for her, she stepped back, held a hand against his chest. “No, I mean I’m sorry I’m about to make your life more difficult.”
He froze where he was, slowly lowered his hand. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t be sure, but . . .” Something nagged at her, the silhouette, just a shadow among more shadows. Not a man. Not a ghost. At least, she didn’t think so, and yet . . . something.
“Stay away from the lighthouse,” the phantom voice whispered in her ear.
She scoffed. “It’s a little too late for that, buddy.”
“What?” Luke frowned.
“Nothing, sorry.” She waved him off, not even realizing she’d spoken the words out loud. “Fred was too limp when he fell. He made no attempt to turn over, didn’t flail his arms or legs . . . Even if he’d jumped, I would’ve expected him to at least stiffen up. But he didn’t. His body plummeted to the rocks completely relaxed, as if he were unconscious.”
As expected, his notebook came back out. “You think he was unconscious when he fell?”
“I do. I’m almost positive I saw a flash of red on his head as he was falling. I think he sustained the head injury before he went out the window.”
“Okay.” He nodded and jotted something down. “But that still doesn’t mean he was murdered. It’s possible he hit his head on something in the room, then got disoriented or blacked out and fell.”
Now for the tricky part. “I don’t think he was alone.”
“Did you see someone else with him?” Luke flipped back a few pages, stopping a couple of times to scan something he’d written, then moving on. “According to all of the witnesses we’ve questioned, everyone else left the room, and he was left alone, said he had something to do but they were dismissed. And Bee and Stephanie both claimed they didn’t see anyone else from the lighthouse.”
“I can’t be sure, but there was a shadow, a silhouette that backed away even as Fred fell.”
Luke let out a harsh breath and ran a hand over the goatee he’d been sporting of late, then propped his hand on his hip and met her gaze with the intensity of a lion on the hunt. “How sure are you, Cass?”
“I’m positive I saw the shadow.” The image replayed itself every time she closed her eyes, more ingrained than that of Fred falling. She cringed and went for it. “I’m just not sure it was a real person.”
He stared at her for a long moment. Weighing her answer? Maybe. Either way, he’d have to investigate Fred’s death as a homicide now, with everyone who’d been present a suspect, including whatever ghosts might be haunting the Bay Island Lighthouse. “Do me a favor?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“Keep that to yourself for now. Don’t tell anyone, not even Bee or Stephanie, what you saw.”
She nodded again and lowered her gaze.
“I mean it, Cass.” Luke propped a finger beneath her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “If someone helped Fred out that window, there’s no point painting a target on your back if the killer thinks you saw him or can identify him by any other means.”
Chapter Five
Cass’s feet sank into sand that still remained cool as she walked down the beach toward Mystical Musings. Soon enough the sun would make it too hot to walk barefoot unless you walked along the shoreline where the cool water would lap at your feet. But for now, she was content to walk on the dry sand, enjoying the cool early morning breeze and the beautiful pinks and lavenders of the sunrise.
She tossed a stick ahead of her down the mostly deserted beach, and Bea
st charged after it, his shaggy fur blowing behind him as he ran. She’d need to make a grooming appointment soon. No way was she bathing him again. Ever. But it had been a while since any mishap had her calling and begging the groomer for an emergency appointment.
Yikes! What was she thinking? Better not to tempt fate. A small surge of anxiety washed over her, and she shifted to less stressful thoughts.
Like murder.
By the time they’d finished at the lighthouse the day before, it hadn’t made sense to go back to work, so she’d just picked up Beast—who, thankfully, hadn’t done any real damage while she was gone—and headed home, ignoring Bee’s pleas to go to the diner. The last thing she needed was to be smack in the middle of gossip central. The otherworldly voices beating at her were enough.
Beast returned with the stick and dropped it at her feet, then looked up at her, panting.
“Wow, boy. That’s a first.” Usually, he plopped down somewhere and chewed on the stick until she caught up with him, took it, and threw it again. She weaved her fingers into the thick fur on his head as they walked. “Come on, let’s get you some water and breakfast.”
Reluctantly leaving the peace of the morning behind—who knew? Maybe, like Bee, ghosts liked to sleep in, granting her an early morning reprieve—Cass turned toward Mystical Musings. When she reached the back deck, she sat down on the top step, brushed off her feet, and put her sandals on. She couldn’t help her gaze drifting to the lighthouse standing sentinel on its bluff, warning sailors of the danger posed by the rocks below. Too bad that warning hadn’t helped Fred.
“Come, Beast.” She stood and brushed the sand from her shorts, then unlocked the back door and went inside. She didn’t bother locking it back up; few customers would venture into the shops from the beach at that time of the morning.
The chimes tinkled as she opened the door, and she took a moment just to stand and survey the shop. She inhaled deeply, the scents of incense, bath salts, lotions, and candles mingling together, enveloping her in comfort, easing some of the tension that had become her constant companion of late.
