Celeste Files: Unlocked (2 page)

“Explain.”

She ran a trembling hand through her hair until it became tangled in her curls. Snippets, like a quick movie trailer, filtered through her head. A room, cast in the golden glow of a lamp. The mahogany wainscoting on the walls. The pretty floral wallpaper above it. The antiseptic scent. The barrel of a gun. A safe. The pierce of a needle.

She rubbed her arm, then her temple and looked to the kitchen table. To the crocheted blanket she’d been holding. “After work, I picked up Olivia from daycare. While I was making a pot of soup, I went through her diaper bag and came across a blanket that isn’t ours.” She shook her head. “When I held the blanket I must have…slipped away.”

“Trance?”

“No.” She had experienced trances during the murder investigation in Wisconsin where she’d met John. The problem with those was that she hadn’t been able to remember what she’d said or done. “This was more like I was giving someone a reading. Only…”

“Only what?”

“Only I didn’t
try
to get a reading and I couldn’t pull myself away from it.” Her chin trembled as she fought the tears, the fear and confusion. She looked to Olivia, who sat on the floor, clapping a large block and plastic keys together. Her daughter paused, looked up at her and gave her a dimpled grin. “I don’t know how long I was…wherever I was. What if this had happened when I was driving Olivia or giving her a bath?” The horrifying image of her daughter in the tub, the water running—

No. She would
not
go there.

“Where was Olivia when this happened?”

She glanced across the room. “In her highchair.”

“Thank God.” He let out a sigh. “John is scheduled to return from Michigan tomorrow. Do you want him home sooner? I could arrange—”

“No,” she said loud enough Olivia stopped her banging. “I don’t want him to know.”

“He never did understand your gift. Not the way I do.”

She bristled. “John understands. He just doesn’t want to ever see his wife facing a killer again.”

“Celeste, you know it’s more than that. John might have believed in your gift because he’d witnessed firsthand what you could do, but the logical, no-nonsense side of him has always had a hard time truly accepting it. I, on the other hand, have been waiting—”

“Don’t you dare go there,” she said, her temper flaring. “I told you before, I won’t work for CORE.” After Wisconsin, after witnessing the results of her visions, she wanted nothing to do with murder investigations.

“Honey, I’m not asking you to work for me. What I meant…you haven’t had a vision in two years. After what I’d witnessed with your mother and what she could do, I knew in my gut that one day your gift would come back. And it
is
a gift, one that Olivia might also have.”

She glanced to her daughter again, who looked up at her and gave her another big smile. Her throat tightened. Olivia was so beautiful and sweet. If anything had happened to her…

“Your mother taught you some things, but not everything she knew,” he continued. “Don’t you want to know all that you can about your gift? Don’t you want to be able to help Olivia understand it, should she end up psychic like you?”

Yes, she did. She also knew her dad was manipulating her. But she’d take the bait. She needed to learn how to control her visions. She had a household and business to run. She and John had been talking about having another baby—arguing really. He’d refused to bring another child into the world until she’d hired more help at the bakery. Hiring a manager was easy enough. Except she had control issues. Right now, she couldn’t control her
gift
. If John found out she was having visions again he’d definitely nix having another child, even if she hired a manager. He might believe in her, but he had always hated what he’d referred to as her
psychic stuff
.

“You’re right,” she said, staring at the blanket that had transported her to another place and time. “I do want to understand why this suddenly happened again, and be able to help Olivia if she ends up like me. When I first moved to Chicago, you mentioned a woman you knew who could help me. Is she still around?”

At the time Ian had offered her assistance, Celeste had been too busy recovering from the injuries she’d sustained at the hands of a killer, moving in with John and starting her bakery, the Sugar Shack, to even consider meeting with her dad’s psychic acquaintance. The visions had stopped anyway. Marrying John, becoming pregnant with Olivia, the bakery…she’d been so involved with life’s ups and downs that she hadn’t missed or cared about being psychic. Until Ian and his fiancée had been kidnapped two months ago. Then she had desperately tried to gain a reading to help find them, but had been unable. She’d figured she had lost her ability—and was dead wrong.

“Yes,” Ian began. “Maxine Morehouse is still available and I know she’ll be happy to meet with you. I’ll text you her information. I suggest you call her immediately.”

“Maybe you should call her on my behalf. I don’t—”

“Not necessary. I’ve told her all about you. She knows who you are.”

“From two years ago?”

“Trust me. Maxine has an excellent memory.”

She went to the pantry for a plastic grocery bag. Using the bag to avoid touching the blanket, she scooped it inside, then tied the handles into a knot. “Okay, thanks. I’ll call her right away.”

“Celeste, one thing…”

“Yes?” she asked, and picked up Olivia, who smelled ripe.

“What did you see?”

She looked to the plastic bag and hugged her stinky daughter tight. “A woman about to be murdered.”

Chapter 2

AFTER A RESTLESS night, Celeste stifled a yawn and carried Olivia inside Kid-doodles Daycare. Miss Nina, a plump fifty-something-year-old woman, with soft brown eyes and an infectious smile, held her arms out to Olivia.

“How’s my precious girl today?” she asked, taking Olivia from Celeste. She gave Olivia a hug before removing her winter coat. Her daughter giggled, then tugged on the over-sized beaded necklace Miss Nina wore. “And how’s Mommy holding up while Daddy’s out of town?”

Celeste smiled and clutched Olivia’s diaper bag. “Good. John will be home tonight.” She glanced around the corner to where several caregivers either held babies or played on the mat with a handful of toddlers. “Did Kelly drop off Avery yet?” Last night, after she’d put Olivia to bed, she couldn’t stop thinking about the small crocheted blanket and whom it belonged to. Then she’d remembered seeing her friend, Kelly wrap her daughter, Avery, in the blanket and had grown increasingly concerned that the woman on the receiving end of the needle was Kelly’s mom, who had been battling cancer for the past few years. She hoped to God she was wrong. During the past nine months that their daughters had been in daycare together, she’d become close with Kelly and considered her a good friend.

Nina’s eyes widened and she took a step closer. “You haven’t heard?” she asked, keeping her voice quiet.

A chill that had nothing to do with the frigid February temperatures swept over her. “Heard what?”

“Kelly’s mom died yesterday.” Nina glanced around as if making sure she wasn’t overheard. “Suicide.”

The babbling and chatter of the babies and toddlers deadened to a monotonous buzz. The room grew suffocating and a wave of vertigo had her leaning against the wall to steady herself. Her hands shook as she tightened her heavy parka around her throat. After swallowing hard she blinked several times to gain her focus. “Suicide?” she managed.

Nina nodded. “That’s what Kelly told me this morning when she called to let me know Avery wouldn’t be in today.” She sighed and hugged Olivia closer. “I guess her mom decided to go on her own terms. I can’t say I blame her. I watched my dad suffer from pancreatic cancer. It was awful.”

“Did Kelly say when they plan to have the funeral?”

“No. Only that she probably wouldn’t be bringing Avery in until next week.”

The door opened, sending in a blast of cold air that reached beyond the reception area. Celeste forced a smile and greeted the mom she saw regularly at the daycare, then looked back to Nina. “I need to get going.” She gave Olivia a kiss, and before handing over the diaper bag, she removed the blanket still wrapped in plastic, then held it to her chest. “I’ll pick up Olivia around three, if that’s okay.”

“A little late for you, but that’ll work.”

“I have a few things I need to do at the Sugar Shack.”

“Okay, see you then,” Nina said with a smile, then whisked Olivia off into the secured room with the other children.

Celeste retrieved her car keys from her pocket, then left the daycare. For the first time in a week, snow began to fall. She ignored the bone-chilling wind and the way the snowflakes wet her face, and thought only about Kelly. Celeste had also lost her mom to cancer but at least she’d known for certain that had been how she’d died. Kelly’s mom… She wouldn’t assume anything. Clairvoyance came with no guarantees. She could be wrong. But if she was right, Kelly’s mom hadn’t committed suicide. She’d been murdered. And for what? What was in the safe that had been worth taking another’s life for?

*

Celeste followed her GPS and drove to North Astor Street in the heart of Chicago’s Gold Coast. When she reached Maxine Morehouse’s century-old brownstone she parked along the curb, then made a quick call to the Sugar Shack to let her employees know she would be late. Blanket in hand, she stepped out of her Jeep Cherokee and took in Maxine’s beautiful home located on a corner lot.

Wrought iron fencing bordered the property. When she reached the gate and stepped onto the brick walkway she couldn’t help feel a small stab of envy. From the outside, the stately home was her dream house. She loved the secluded gardens at the front, the welcoming blood-red front door and the architectural details, down to the antique lion’s head doorknocker. Both anxious and nervous to meet the woman Ian had claimed could help her, she rang the doorbell. She’d spoken to Maxine last night for less than five minutes—long enough to obtain the woman’s address and nothing more. She wasn’t sure whether Ian had warned Maxine that she would be calling or if the woman’s psychic abilities were just that strong, but it was as if she’d been expecting her call.

The front door opened. A beautiful woman with silver hair cut into an adorable pixie style greeted her with a broad smile. “Celeste?” she asked.

She held out her gloved hand. “Yes, Celeste Kain.”

“Maxine Morehouse.” She shook her hand. “Please, come in from the cold. Did you have any trouble finding my house?” she asked, closing the door.

“Not at all.” Celeste shrugged out of her heavy parka, then handed it to Maxine. “Your home is beautiful,” she said, eyeing the gorgeous three-tiered chandelier and tall ceilings, along with the white ornate crown molding and hardwood floors. “I love the original details.”

“Thank you. This home has been in my family since it was built in 1898. I took possession seven years ago after my father had passed on to a better place. He haunted me during the first six months of the two-year renovation. But once I explained to him that I was not destroying the integrity of the house, merely bringing it into the twenty-first century in order for it to last another one hundred years, he left me alone.”

“Seriously?” Celeste asked, unsure if Maxine was joking.

The woman grinned. “I went through two contractors before my father finally allowed me to continue with the restoration.”

“No offense, but I don’t think I could live in a haunted house.”

“Personally, I’d rather live with the harmless spirits of my ancestors than deal with uninvited dead strangers.” Maxine cocked her head, the light from the chandelier making her large diamond earrings sparkle. “How long have you been able to connect with the dead?”

“Until yesterday, it had only happened once before.”

“In Wisconsin, where you met your husband?”

Celeste met Maxine’s dark-blue eyes. “Yes. What else has Ian told you about me?”

“He hasn’t told me anything about you. I prefer it that way.” Maxine gave her a warm smile. “Come to the parlor. I fixed us tea, unless you prefer coffee or—”

“Tea is fine,” Celeste said, following Maxine down the hall.

When the woman opened a set of dark wooden pocket doors that she assumed had been kept their original color, Celeste’s breath caught. Gray light, cast from the windows, touched on two wingback chairs upholstered with a unicorn print. The settee against the wall also had a unicorn pattern, along with the wallpaper above the wainscoting. Unicorn figurines cluttered the fireplace mantel, had been set on the coffee table and filled a curio cabinet in the corner. But her attention was drawn to only one object in the room—a Hummel gnome wearing an apron and holding a cake, a wooden spoon attached to its tall hat.

Unease settled in the pit of her stomach as she approached the gnome at the center of the mantel. “Why do you have this?” she asked, hovering her fingers over the Hummel.

“I don’t know. I found it at a flea market years ago. While I obviously have an affinity for unicorns, when I saw that gnome…it spoke to me. Do you care for anything in your tea? Sugar? Lemon?”

“Both.” Celeste turned away from the mantel. “Look, I appreciate that you’ve invited me to your beautiful house and that you’re willing to help me, but I don’t like being lied to.”