by Deborah Camp
“Oh?” Rhema stood up. “Why? What’s happened?”
Levi flashed Quintara a glance of irritation, but smoothed it from his face when he turned toward Alan and Rhema. “To be on the safe side. The thing is, we don’t think that Glenn and Kathryn’s deaths were accidents. They were murdered.”
Rhema gasped, her hand flying up to her mouth.
Alan stared at Levi as if he’d lost his mind. “While I respect your talent, Levi, that is quite a leap. Kathryn simply lost her balance—.”
“Yes, and the same was said about Eudora, but a few minutes ago I received strong feelings that Eudora’s death wasn’t accidental either.”
“Oh, for God’s sake! That’s ridiculous – and cruel.” Alan ran a hand down his face and Rhema slipped an arm around his middle.
“I’m sorry, but the fact remains that she was pushed from behind,” Levi insisted.
Unable to stand the looks of shock and outrage on their faces, Trudy placed a prudent hand on Levi’s shoulder. She felt him give a start and the lash of his frown, but she approached Alan and Rhema, holding her hands out in a gentle plea. “This is a terrible shock, I know. To everyone. We don’t like being the deliverers of such information. Being clairvoyant is often a curse instead of a blessing.” She glanced over her shoulder at Levi, giving him a small smile before looking at Alan and Rhema again. “Levi has remarkable retrocognition abilities. He’s able to discern information by touch – like murder or extreme fear. When we were at that stairway, he felt Eudora being shoved.”
Rhema made a choked sound and Adam’s face reddened. Instinctively, Trudy moved closer and rested her hand lightly on Rhema’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know this is upsetting. We’re upset about it. But it wouldn’t be right to keep this from you, now would it? What kind of friends would we be if we did that?”
“Are you two serious?” Sabra pushed open the screened door and stepped out onto the porch, anger flashing in her dark eyes. “Mother was shoved? Wouldn’t someone have seen that happen?”
“Maybe, maybe not.” Levi shrugged. “Evidently not, since no one reported it. I stand by what I felt, what I saw.” He tapped his temple and then shoved his hands into his back pockets. “No doubt about it. What I picked up was strong and irrefutable.”
Trudy gave a little sigh, wishing Levi would be a little less forceful and more sympathetic to the reactions around him. Couldn’t he understand that these people were upset, angry, in denial? When Levi had a plan, he was single-minded. It was one attribute that made him a successful businessman and leader. He could be understanding and tender, but right now he was all about delivering the news and then making tracks.
Alan rested a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Sabra, honey, I’m sorry you heard this. No one can know for sure what happened that day. It’s all supposition.” He faced Levi and Trudy again. A tall, lean man, his sky blue eyes glimmered with stark memories, made all the more noticeable against his pale skin and white hair and beard. “Eudora’s death was a tragedy, but we’ve managed to move on from it. I know I speak for my daughter when I say that we don’t want to go back to that dark and painful time. We loved Eudora and we always will. She is missed every single day.”
Should they have opened this wound? Trudy wondered, looking at Levi for guidance. Maybe they should have let Quintara handle this, since she was so close to them.
“The person who pushed her could be the same one who ran Glenn off the road,” Levi said, obviously not sharing Trudy’s misgivings. “Maybe even the same person who watched Kathryn struggle to get out of the trash bin and didn’t help her.”
“What?” Rhema looked from Levi to Quintara. “What’s he talking about now? Someone watched Kathryn die?”
“I saw it,” Trudy confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. God, was this getting out of hand or what? “I didn’t understand what I’d seen until I was here and I heard about Kathryn and how she died. Someone ran up behind her and pushed her into that garbage bin, then watched as she struggled to get out of it.”
“Good heavens. Well! I don’t know what to think about this,” Rhema admitted.
“The thing is, there is a murderer among us,” Levi said. “And he’s preying on psychics, which is why we’re heading home and why you should be careful, too, Rhema.”
“You can’t be serious!” Rhema clutched at Alan’s arm as if her knees were ready to collapse.
“A murderer in Eureka Springs?” Sabra repeated with a harsh laugh. “And he’s after psychics? Huh. Well, he should be having a field day, then. You can’t walk two blocks without bumping into someone who says they commune with the dead, chase ghosts, or can predict tomorrow’s catastrophe.” She laughed again, mirthlessly. “A lot of people had a beef with my mother, but I don’t think anyone would have actually killed her.” Noticing her father’s look of alarm, she added, “Dad, you know perfectly well that Mother angered as many people as she entranced. Her way of ambushing people and blurting out that their husbands were cheating on them or their girlfriends were draining their bank accounts or that their children had stolen their American Express cards, often didn’t go over well.” She shifted her gaze back to Levi. “But I doubt very seriously that any of them would want her dead and take part in it.”
“The reasons why people do despicable things have ceased to surprise me,” Levi said, stoically. His looked at Rhema and his expression softened. “Just take care, Rhema. I understand that you don’t practice much anymore, but keep your eyes wide open when you do. Until there is a better understanding about what’s going on, everyone should be on guard.”
“Are you going to share your beliefs with Sheriff Rocknell?” Sabra asked, and Levi nodded. “Really? You think he’ll open an investigation into my mother’s death?”
“On just what I have to tell him? Probably not. But he should know what I know.”
“I have no theories one way or the other about Glenn or Kathryn’s deaths, but I don’t believe for one second that my mother was murdered.” Sabra tossed her head in a dismissive gesture. “I just don’t.”
“This is all so confusing.” Rhema’s voice trembled out of her.
“I know and I’m sorry for having upset you. Believe me, I am.” Levi bussed Quintara’s cheek. “Be back in a couple of hours to pick you up. I’ll text when we’re on our way.”
Trudy walked with him to the car, weighted down by the horrible news they’d dropped on the others. She felt like a harbinger of gloom and doom. In the car, she buckled herself in and stared blindly out the windows as she grappled with the recent revelations and reactions to them.
“Why did you take over like that?” Levi asked, suddenly. “I was explaining to them what happened to me and you all but pushed me aside and told me to can it.”
“I didn’t mean for you to take it that way, but sometimes you’re a bulldozer. You get caught up in your feelings and experiences and you forget who you’re talking to. Eudora was Alan’s wife. He loved her. What you were telling him was painful. He and Rhema needed it sugar-coated so they could digest it.” She regarded him from the corner of her eye, wondering if she’d gotten through to him. He was staring ahead, that “moody blues” look on his handsome face.
“I suppose I’m lucky I have you now as an assistant.” His tone was as dry as dust. “Someone to help me communicate effectively.”
She rolled her eyes at his biting sarcasm. “It’s not like that, Levi. You’re the more experienced one and you do have a master’s degree in psychology. I get it. Okay? But you have a tendency to tell people things without considering how they’re going to react. You’re not ‘touchy feely.’ You’re more ‘buck up and listen.’”
“You understand that when I’m giving public readings, I never tell anyone anything upsetting in front of the audience? I take them aside, one-on-one. So, I do know how to deliver unpleasant information.”
“Well, you needed a filter today. Don’t get all pissy about it.” She paused, struck by a thought. “
Eudora Martin didn’t have a filter, did she?”
“No.” He shot her a curious glance. “You’re my filter now?”
“I’m your partner,” she amended. “I look out for you and you look out for me, which is why I’m not fussing about leaving here and running back to Atlanta like scared chickens.”
He steered the car into the treehouse village and his dark brows formed a vee. “I’m not scared, Trudy. I’m following my instincts, which tell me to get you and Quintara to safety. You’re important to me, so I’m determined to protect you. It’s in my DNA.” He parked the car and switched off the engine.
“You know we’ll be back here, though.”
“Do I?” he asked, unbuckling the safety belt so that he could angle sideways to face her.
“If I keep making contact with this person, yes. I won’t be able to let it go. Besides, I thought you were determined to discover who caused Glenn’s death.”
“I am, but that doesn’t mean you have to be involved in it.”
The smugness in his expression and the glint of determination in his eyes made her hackles rise. “You think you’ll work on this without me?” At his slight nod, she shook her head. “Oh, no. I’m invested in this, just like you. More invested because I’ve been inside the crackpot’s head. He loves what he’s doing, so he’ll do it again and again until he’s stopped. Until we stop him. Besides, you’re in as much peril as any of us. More, maybe, because you’re the famous one.”
He huffed out a breath and opened the car door. “We’ll see. We’ll talk about it later.”
“No.” She cuffed his wrist with her fingers. “We’ll finish this discussion now. I’m going back to Atlanta to put your mind at ease, but I’ll be back here. You can come with me or not. But when I have more details about who the murderer is or his next victim, I’ll come back here.”
“And what if he targets you, Trudy? What then? What if, when you return here, he focuses on you as the next one to knock off?” His voice had risen, taking on an edge that matched the sharpness of his gaze on her. “This isn’t just any murderer. He’s picking off psychics, and I’ll be damned if I let you tempt the devil.” He raised a finger in her face, a finger that quivered slightly, transmitting his anxiety, the sliver of fear running through him. When he spoke again, it was through clenched teeth. “No, Trudy, no. Don’t defy me on this. You will lose, baby. You. Will. Lose.”
Chapter 7
He really hated this. It was the worst.
In the back of the church, Levi pulled his shirt collar away from his perspiration-sticky neck and wondered how many minutes had ticked by. It had probably been no more than five, but each one passed agonizingly slowly. His psychiatrist, Dr. Althea McClain, sat in the same pew next to him and he could feel her assessing glance every so often, keeping tabs on his reactions and whether she needed to intervene.
Being in a church was an exercise he and the good doctor participated in every few weeks because he had developed ecclesiophobia from when he was a kid. That was one of the reasons why he and Trudy had chosen a kitschy chapel for their wedding. It had been void of the usual “holy” atmosphere and hadn’t made his skin crawl. Because of his work with Dr. McClain, he was getting better at remaining relatively calm when he was forced to be in a church or synagogue. Each time, he managed to stay put for a few minutes longer than the last, but he didn’t think he’d break his personal best record today. His heart was already double-timing it and beads of sweat rolled down his spine and collected under his arms.
Shit! He ground his teeth together as panic billowed inside him. The walls vibrated, trembled, leaned in toward him. The stained glass windows blurred before his eyes. A metallic taste coated his tongue, and his stomach floated up and bumped against his lungs. Yeah. He was losing it. Had to get out. Had to escape before he had a heart attack or could no longer breathe!
“Levi.” Dr. McClain’s measured voice cut through is momentary panic. “Think of something else,” she suggested. “Did you say that you went to Eureka Springs last week for a funeral?”
“Yes. A fellow psychic,” he said between gritted teeth.
“I’m sorry. Were you very close to the person?”
“Not really, but I liked him.” Talking about the trip was working. His heart still rammed against his ribcage, but his stomach dropped back into place. “He’s not the only psychic who has died under mysterious circumstances there lately.”
“What mysterious circumstances?”
“Trudy and I believe that his car was run off the road on purpose. Another psychic was pushed down a long staircase and died, and a third was pushed head-first into a deep trash bin. She was elderly and couldn’t manage to get herself upright. She died from exposure. It was last winter.”
Althea McClain was so quiet that he glanced over at her. She faced the altar, the fractured, multi-colored light from the windows giving her caramel skin an unearthly glow. She reminded him in that moment of a portrait of a dark-skinned Madonna he’d admired once in a Paris museum. Her natural Afro looked like a black cloud around her head.
“Do others share your view? Others besides Trudy?”
“Somewhat.” He thought back to the dubious reactions he’d received when he’d phoned Sunshine and Perchance to fill them in. Sunshine had “oohed” and “aahed,” but hadn’t asked any follow-up questions. Perchance also had little to say other than, “Well, well! A murderer among us. Fancy that.” He’d even put in a call to Bolt, who had stiffly thanked him for “sharing.”
“Are you working on a different murder case now or will you take this one on?”
He frowned at her question because it harkened back to Trudy’s insistence that they continue to sniff around in Arkansas. “I have too much going on with Wolfe Enterprises. I don’t have time to do any intense psychic work now.”
“I see.” She crossed one shapely leg over the other and flicked at a wrinkle in her tan skirt. “And Trudy isn’t that interested in it either?”
He turned his head slowly to look at her. “Have you been talking to Trudy?”
“Only in sessions and she hasn’t made an appointment with me in several weeks.” Her smile held a note of slyness “I take it by your question to my question that Trudy wishes to continue investigating these Eureka Springs deaths.”
His shirt collar felt as if it were tightening, so he yanked at his dark gray tie and undid the top shirt button. Trudy had gone to Dr. McClain at his suggestion to work on her self-confidence issues. She’d made progress. Probably, more than he had in a fraction of the time. “Are we finished here? I’m about to explode out of my skin.”
“I think you’re doing quite well,” she said in that smooth, silken way of hers. “Two more minutes. That would be a minute more than last time.”
He tipped back is head and tried to breathe normally even though it felt as if ants were crawling under his skin and a python was squeezing every drop of blood from his heart.
“Tell me what you’re feeling now, Levi, and why you think you’re feeling it.”
He stared at the ornate ceiling of crucifixes and hearts wrapped in thorny vines. So violent. Why did churches want to depict the pain and not the passion? “I feel like I’m choking. I can smell incense, lilies, and that musty book smell of hymnals. It’s like . . .” He shut his eyes against a memory that bubbled up like acid. “Christ, I really need to get out of here.”
Her hand clamped on his arm. “No. Don’t run. Talk. What just happened?”
“I’m leaving.” He wrenched his arm free and bounded up from the pew. The stench of urine flooded his nostrils and the salty bitterness of it coated his mouth. His long, almost galloping strides should be sending him out of this godly prison, but the church doors weren’t getting any closer. Finally, his hands closed on the iron circle handles and he pushed hard against the double doors, but the awful memory managed to catch him and force him to his knees.
For a blistering moment he was a skinny, bruised fourteen-year-old
lying on his back, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, staring up at a face that represented evil to him. Brother Carlos, dressed in a red vestment, his penis jutting out from the folds as he urinated on him, into his eyes, his mouth, across his naked neck and chest.
“Holy water does not work on you, devil boy,” Brother Carlos shouted in Spanish, his lips peeling back from his pearly white teeth, made even whiter in contrast to his black mustache and beard. “Let’s see if this washes away your sins.”
“Levi? Levi!”
He blinked, trying to get the nasty, stinging liquid out of his eyes, and stared dumbly at the woman saying his name. Then, like a light being switched on, he was back to himself. To his adult self, who was on his knees in the grass outside a church, trembling and sobbing. He ran his hands through his hair as embarrassment engulfed him.
“Tell me what chased you out of there. Tell me about what happened to you. How old were you?”
Just turned fourteen. He realized that no sound had emerged from his throbbing throat. He tried again. “Fourteen.” The word scraped against his burning esophagus. “Mexico. Don’t know exactly where. Never knew.” He dragged in a breath, expanding his withered lungs. “I was there for three months. Then to Wyoming. To another place for delinquents.”
“And what happened in Mexico? Was it in a church or school chapel?”
He squeezed his eyes shut, recoiling, his shoulders rounding as he leaned away from the psychiatrist. Didn’t want to go back there. Back to that hell.
“In a church, Levi?” she insisted, wrapping her warm hands around his. Her skin was dry and soft like cotton.
“A big tent with an altar. All tents. No buildings. It was hot and dusty.” He swallowed again, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. “Most of the boys were older than me. Brother Carlos.” He shook his head. Just saying the name made him want to retch. “He ruled over us. I hated him. God, how I hated him.” He gnashed his teeth as fury and violence whipped through him. “He made me lie on my back and he pissed all over me. In my mouth and eyes. He laughed at me when I c-choked on it. Sick motherfucker. He was one sadistic, sick motherfucker.”
