A Deep and Dark December

by Beth Yarnall

  “Are you telling me your aunt’s not really psychic? If that’s the case, she shouldn’t be taking money from people for her ‘readings.’ That’s fraud.”

  “She’s smart and psychic. Not to mention best friends with your dispatcher who uses her head set as a megaphone.”

  “Can’t defend that.”

  “You can turn the heat down. I’m warmer now and you’re probably burning up.”

  He was sweating his balls off. “I’m okay.”

  The uncomfortable silence grew into a solid mass between them. If they weren’t exchanging barbs, he hardly knew how to talk to her. He stole looks at her in the rear view mirror, flicking his gaze over the parts of her he could see. He didn’t want to get caught staring.

  She faced away, her attention on the scenery out the window. Her hair was beginning to dry and curled in clumps around her face. She must have been standing fairly close to Greg when he’d shot himself. Bits of gore had gotten caught in her hair. He frowned over that.

  Still, she was beautiful. There was a fragility to her that belied her fiery personality. She looked made of china, the kind his Grandma Byrne only put out on special occasions because it was fine and old, having passed through several generations. And like the danger of handling his grandma’s china, he had to suppress the urge to touch her, run the tips of his fingers along her jaw, her collarbone to make sure she was real. Something as delicate as she belonged to the faery stories Grandma Byrne had told him as a boy.

  They pulled up to the police station, which was a Victorian house that had been converted sometime in the seventies. They’d ripped all the gingerbread off the façade, leaving it with awkwardly angled roofs and a tower that looked more like a missile silo than a graceful turret.

  Graham grabbed the umbrella from his trunk and came around to let Erin out. He held the umbrella over her head as they climbed the steps.

  At the top she turned to him, holding her arms out. “Will I be able to shower before I change into clean clothes?”

  “There’s a shower in the bathroom at the back.”

  “Thank God.”

  Graham opened the door for her and followed her inside. They hit the wall of women two steps in.

  “Is it really mur—”

  “What hap—”

  “I was so wor—”

  Jessica, Mabel and Cerie got a look at Erin and froze, eyes wide, mouths gaping.

  “Let me get Erin back to the bathroom so she can shower and change.” Graham held his hand out. “Cerie, her clothes?”

  “What? Oh.” Cerie handed him a bag. “Erin, dear, are you all right? Please tell me none of that blood is yours.”

  “I’m fine. None of it’s mine.”

  Jessica wrinkled her nose like she smelled something bad.

  “You poor thing,” Mabel chimed in. “You look like a drowned gutter rat.”

  “Why don’t I help you change?” Cerie said, reaching for Erin’s arm.

  “No. No one touch her.” He gestured for Erin to precede him.

  The women jumped back, their eyes wider than before. Erin walked ahead of him down the hall to his office. Once inside, he closed the door after them.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he said, noticing how pale she was.

  She shrugged. “It’s all right.”

  “I need to take a couple of pictures of you. You know, to document the evidence.” He was sweating from more than the hot car ride. Why was he suddenly so nervous?

  “Where should I stand?”

  “Right there’s fine.” He went to his desk and pulled out a camera.

  “Is it okay if I don’t smile?”

  He looked up from the viewfinder at her remark. “You don’t have to.” He snapped a couple of pictures, then set the camera aside to rummage around in his desk drawer. “Are you right or left handed?”

  “Right. Why?”

  “Hold out your hands palms down. I need to test for gunshot residue although it’s likely the rain washed it away.”

  “What?”

  “If there is any, I mean. I know there won’t be. It’s just procedure. Sorry.”

  She pressed her lips together, making a muscle at her jaw twitch as she stuck her hands out for his inspection. He pretended not to notice them shaking as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves and slowly approached her. He swabbed both sides of her right, then the left hand, paying particular attention to the web area between her thumbs and index fingers.

  “All done,” he said. “I’ll get the evidence bags now.”

  “Evidence bags?”

  “For your clothes and what I’m going to pull from your hair.” When her hand automatically went to her hair he stopped her. “Don’t. Cross contamination.”

  “Oh, right.” She stood still, her hands out to her sides.

  He changed gloves and moved toward her again with caution. She looked as though she’d shatter under the slightest touch. He wanted to tell her it would be okay and somehow soften the things she’d witnessed. He couldn’t say that he knew her or how she’d react if he tried. Mostly he knew things about her, which was worse than not knowing anything at all because he had no way to sort the truth from the fiction. He cursed small town life and the traps it laid.

  Pulling bits of matter from her hair with tweezers, he was careful not to accidentally catch a strand or let her see what he put in the collection bag. There was something strangely intimate between them in that moment. He hoped he wasn’t imagining it at the same time he mentally kicked himself for thinking it. He’d never been this close to her before, had never inhaled her scent or touched her in anyway. Now here they were, sharing personal space and trying not to make eye contact.

  When he finished he took a step back, exhaling the breath he’d been holding. “Done.” He pointed to a door across the room. “That’s the bathroom. There should be a towel and washcloth in the cabinet under the sink.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Leave the door ajar.”

  She paused and turned to look at him, a questioning frown buckling her brows.

  “Chain of evidence,” he replied, holding out a pair of gloves for her. “Put these on before you ah… undress.”

  Taking the gloves, she nodded and continued on her way. She left the door partially open, as he’d asked. This was the first time he’d spent any time with her. All the years he’d known her—or more accurately, known of her—there had always been people around. They’d never been in a room together—alone. He’d never truly noticed her. He was noticing her now and that new awareness did strange things to his ability to keep things strictly business.

  He changed gloves, grabbed a few more evidence bags and approached the door. “Hand me your coat first.”

  “Am I going to get any of these clothes back?”

  “Do you want them back?”

  She opened the door and handed him her coat and shoes. “No, I suppose not.”

  He took them from her one at a time and bagged them. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look a little pale.”

  “I j-just saw myself in the mirror.”

  “Damn. I’m sorry. I should’ve covered it or something.”

  She pulled the door so she was hidden again. “Too late.”

  He heard the movement of fabric and then she poked her hand out of the gap in the doorway, offering her blouse. He put it in a bag, trying not to imagine what color her bra would be. Then her bra was thrust through the opening. Purple. And warm from her body. Did her panties match?

  Next came her skirt and he found himself getting twitchy, his clothes chafing. Her hand appeared with a wadded up ball of fabric. He couldn’t bring himself to take them from her and nudged her arm with the opening of the bag. She dropped them inside. Light blue cotton. He was so fixated, trying to imagine them on her that it took him a moment to realize she was standing on the other side of the door completely naked.

  3

  Graham sat at his desk, trying to suppress the images his brain kep
t tossing up of Erin in the shower. He updated his notes from the crime scene. Erin’s head tipped back, her fingers sliding through her hair, water skimming her bare skin. He checked in with Pax. Erin bent over, her soapy hands gliding down her legs. He flipped the radio on to drown out the sound of the shower. Erin soaping her breasts, her hand slipping lower—

  A knock on his door brought his head up. Cerie stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed. She wore some kind of flowing dress with long sleeves that hung like wings from her arms. He should’ve heard her coming with all the bells and charms hanging from her neck and wrists. She’d tied her graying dark hair into a long braid that hung over one shoulder. Graham saw Erin in the softened lines and creases of Cerie’s face. If she were anything like her aunt, Erin would age well, growing gracefully into her later years.

  “Your thoughts are so vivid I feel the need to check myself for an erection.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She strolled in and looked around. No doubt wondering where Erin was. Graham had always thought of her as eccentric, but harmless. Or was that just semantics for insane?

  “I prefer eccentric over insane.”

  “I never said—”

  “And no, Erin can’t read thoughts like I do. Her talents lie elsewhere.” Cerie smoothed her skirt and sat without being invited. “It’s a good thing for you since you broadcast yours like an air raid siren. Thank you for the compliment by the way. We’ve been blessed with Great Grandma December’s genes.”

  He sat back in his chair. If not crazy then…what? He’d heard the rumors about the Decembers. Cerie seemed to be the only one who traded on them, offering her services as a medium in exchange for money. Donald, Erin’s father, kept mostly to himself, but there was talk about him too that naturally spilled over onto Erin. Were they psychics or just…odd?

  “Why bother having conversations with people when you can pluck the thoughts straight from their heads?” he asked.

  “Because that would be terribly one sided and I enjoy talking so very much.”

  His lips twitched. He’d always liked Cerie, despite the whispers of her being a witch. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Actually there is. Something’s happened.”

  He made a motion for her to continue. He couldn’t wait to see what she’d come up with. Ghosts maybe, or ghouls.

  “Besides the murder/suicide. The poor dears.” She closed her eyes as though she were praying.

  “Cerie? Your point?”

  She opened her eyes and sat up straighter. “I think it’s the storm. It seems to be affecting our abilities.”

  “Our abilities?”

  “I suspect it might have something to do with the storm on top of the full moon and mercury being in retrograde.”

  “You don’t seem to be having any…issues.”

  “Not at the moment, no. But earlier I was doing a reading for Bessie Farnsworth’s daughter Beatrice. You’d remember her. She’s about your age. Blond. She’s expecting… Beatrice, not Bessie you understand—”

  “Of course.”

  “Anywho, there I was, the Tarot deck all laid out, then… blink!”

  “Blink.”

  “Blink! Nothin’. Nada. Zilch. My mind went as blank as Bessie’s head.”

  “Is this leading somewhere because I have a lot of work to do here, Cerie?”

  “I’ll let you get back to your X-rated imaginings of my niece in a moment.”

  He let the grin go, liking how it stretched little-used muscles. “That would be nice.”

  “At the first clap of thunder… blink, blank, bloop.” She passed a dramatic hand across her face. “Nothing.” She lowered her hand and leaned forward. “Reading Bessie’s always been like reading a news flicker, which is why she’s one of my best customers, you understand. So you can imagine my concern when she went blank as the side of a barn.”

  “I’m still not seeing as how this is police business.”

  “It’s not. It’s Erin business. And if you’re meaning to make Erin your business you better work on that properly or stop putting her in the starring role of your own private porno. Got me?”

  He had no business making Erin his business. Fantasizing about her was one thing, acting on it was another. “Get around to it or get out of my office so I can do my work.”

  “Donald said the same thing’s been happening to him off and on all day.”

  “Donald.”

  “You remember, Erin’s father. Boy, it’s a good thing I’m the only mind reader in the family or you’d be staring down the double barrel of Grandpa December’s shotgun. I’m telling you. That shotgun’s not the only thing Donald inherited from Grandpa D.” She put her hand to the side of her mouth. “Both he and Erin got Grandpa’s terrible temper.”

  “How does this relate to Erin?”

  “If my ability went on the fritz and Donald’s too, then Erin’s must have as well.”

  He jerked upright. “Erin has an ability?” Why didn’t he know this about her?

  “She doesn’t like anyone to know so this will have to fall under client confidentiality.”

  “I’m a cop, not a lawyer.”

  She waved that away. “Whatever. The point is, I’m worried for Erin and I need you to help me keep an eye on her. Since you seem to like eyeing her, I figured you’re the perfect one for the job. Plus, I trust you.”

  “Thank you. I think. Just what kind of secret ability does Erin have?”

  A commotion out in the front office caught their attention.

  “White bread and fruit punch,” Cerie mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Here he comes. The most staid man in the county, maybe the state. He won’t be much competition for you.” She winked. “But Donald likes him so that could be a potential problem.”

  “I would ask what you’re talking about, but I have a feeling I’m better off not knowing.”

  “Erin has visions,” Cerie hurriedly whispered. “Of the past and future.” She pressed a finger to her lips. “Remember. Mum’s the word.”

  He opened his mouth to ask her more, but Keith Collins appeared in the doorway.

  “Oh. Hello. I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said to Graham.

  “It’s my office.”

  “I’m looking for Erin—”

  The bathroom door opened and Erin walked out, towel drying her hair. “Keith.” She stumbled to a stop. “What are you doing here?”

  Cerie repositioned her chair to take in the scene. “This ought to be good.”

  Graham stood up and came around his desk. He had an overwhelming urge to drag Erin out of the room and ask her what the hell her aunt had been talking about. Erin had the ability to see the past and future? How?

  “So it’s true,” Keith said, crumpling a little in his starched white shirt.

  “What’s true?” Erin asked.

  “You’ve been arrested,” Keith answered.

  Graham folded his arms. This whole business was getting ridiculous. “Who says she’s been arrested?”

  “It’s all over town,” Keith said. “Carol in produce told me that Janet from the pharmacy’s son told her that he saw you being taken to jail in the back of the sheriff’s car. So I came right down to bail you out.” He fidgeted a little in his Lucky’s Bag N Save apron, his employee of the month pins winking under the florescent lighting.

  This was why he couldn’t wait to get out of San Ray. He studied Erin. And wondered why if she had this supposed ability, she’d kept it a secret all these years. “Goddamned small town.” And then he realized he’d answered his own question right there.

  * * *

  Erin inwardly sighed. Keith really was a nice guy. She wished all over again that she could like him more. Guys who would overlook her aunt’s quirkiness and offer to bail her out of jail weren’t thick on the ground.

  “Humph. I knew it!” Aunt Cerie said, glancing between Keith and Erin.

  Damn it. She�
��d lowered her defenses and her aunt had read her thoughts about Keith. She shored them back up and turned to Keith. “I’m not under arrest. I’m a witness.”

  Cerie drew up in her chair and folded her arms, glaring at Erin. “I hate that you can block me out.”

  “A witness?” Keith crossed the room in two long-legged strides. He put his hands on either side of her face. The gesture was meant to be endearing, but was ruined by the coldness of his hands and how they always smelled like the bottom of a freezer. “My poor angel face.”

  Behind Keith, Aunt Cerie put her hands to her throat and stuck her tongue out like she was choking.

  Keith’s brows drew together and his lips pressed flat. He was worried about her. In his eyes Erin saw how much he cared and she wished all over again that she could return his feelings. There was absolutely nothing wrong with him. He was a handsome hometown boy, clean and well dressed, his hair always combed. He had fresh breath and a good job with benefits. To top it off, last year he’d bought a house that he was fixing up, perfect for a family. Keith belonged to the community in a way Erin never had. On paper he was everything she should have wanted.

  But with Keith, she always felt one step behind with no hope of ever catching up. She should’ve broken things off long before now. Whenever she summoned the courage to try, he’d say or do something sweet and she’d think that maybe if she gave it more time, she’d develop feelings for him. He was nearly perfect in every way. She was beginning to think there must be something wrong with her.

  “I’m all right,” she told Keith, accepting his kiss.

  Aunt Cerie jumped up, putting her hands to her head. “Ouch! Rats and skeletons, it’s happening again.”

  Keith broke away from Erin to stare at her aunt like he thought she could actually produce rats and skeletons.

  “What’s happening?” Graham asked.

  “Blink, blank, bloop.”

  “Is she… well?” Keith whispered in Erin’s ear.

  Erin pretended she didn’t hear him. She’d gotten good at pretending with Keith. “What’s wrong, Auntie?”