Celeste Files: Unlocked (3 page)

“Who’s lying?” Maxine asked, and handed her a cup of tea. “What I find interesting is that you haven’t commented on my vast collection of unicorns, yet you’re absorbed with the gnome.”

“Obviously Ian has told you I collect them. He’s also told you how I met my husband.”

Maxine took a seat in one of the wingback chairs. “
Very
interesting. A psychic skeptical of her own kind.” She blew at the steaming liquid in her teacup and met Celeste’s gaze. “I don’t lie. Do you?”

“Did Ian tell you about what happened to me yesterday?” Celeste asked instead. No, she didn’t lie, but she would keep what was happening secret from her husband until she understood it herself.

“I told you, I didn’t speak with him. And if he’s your father, why do you call him by his given name?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

“Not to be rude, but I don’t.” Celeste glanced to the gnome again. Although she still suspected Maxine was lying to her, she was here and might as well find out if the woman could help her. “I have to go to work.”

“Of course. Then tell me why you called me.”

After she’d explained what had happened yesterday, and then what Nina had told her about Kelly’s mother, Celeste finally took a seat in the adjoining wingback chair. “I’m not sure what to do. I haven’t had a vision in over two years, then I end up as a vessel for my friend’s mother just before she…” Celeste let out a deep breath. “I don’t know if she committed suicide, or if she was murdered. I don’t even know if what I saw was real. All I know is that what happened to me could have put my daughter’s life in danger.”

Maxine set her cup on the table. “Is that the blanket?” she asked, nodding to the bag sticking out of Celeste’s purse.

“I know this belongs to my friend’s daughter.” Celeste pulled the blanket from her purse, then, careful not to touch it, removed the plastic. “I don’t know who crocheted it.”

“Of course you do,” Maxine said, taking the pale pink blanket and holding it to her chest. A wistful smile curved her lips. “There was so much love poured into making this. It’s unfortunate you didn’t feel that.” Her smile faltered and she held out her hand. “Come here. Quickly.”

Celeste rose from the chair and knelt in front of Maxine, who took her hand and placed it on the blanket. “Feel the love, Celeste,” she said in a soothing tone. “But search deep. Is it the love for the child she’d made the blanket for, or another?”

Celeste closed her eyes and searched for that familiar tug and pull, but came up blank. “I don’t feel or see anything,” she said, disappointed. After yesterday, she’d been too afraid to touch the blanket, but her fears had been for nothing. Maybe she had imagined the whole thing.

Olivia’s tear-streaked face filled her mind. No, something
had
happened in her kitchen. But why now?

Maxine set the blanket next to her, then took both of Celeste’s hands. “Would you mind if I…traveled into your past?”

Could she do that? Curious, but open-minded, Celeste nodded.

“Good.” Maxine closed her eyes. “Give me a moment.”

Celeste stared at the woman’s face, at her high cheekbones and finely-arched brows, and wondered if she’d ever had any work done.

“I can assure you I’ve had no plastic surgery. But I appreciate the compliment.”

Celeste’s cheeks grew warm.

“For someone who has spent her entire life wanting to be accepted and believed, you’re very cynical.” Maxine drew in a sharp breath and wrinkled her forehead. “Dear Lord. I…oh, Celeste.” When she squeezed her eyes, a single tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Your mother…meant the world to you.”

Celeste didn’t know what the hell was happening, but wanted Maxine out of her head. She tugged her hand away, but the older woman tightened her grip.

Maxine’s face twisted in agony. Her breathing came in quick, harsh pants. “I…my God. What you experienced…” Her face relaxed. “Pain, guilt, pleasure, fear…ah, blessed love,” she said with a smile. “Your daughter…I’m in love with her, too. She’s special.” She opened her eyes. “Just like you.”

“You think she has the gift?” From the moment Celeste had found out she was pregnant, she’d worried and wondered if the child she carried would inherit the psychic gene that had been passed down for generations. A part of her had hoped Olivia would know the beauty of being able to peel back the layers and see the world as it was meant. The other part of her understood all too well that there were some layers—malevolent, horrifying—that should remain hidden, and she didn’t want her daughter to know or experience the terror she had.

“Open your mind and you’ll find your answer.” Maxine gave her hand another squeeze. “What you saw in Wisconsin—how much do you remember?”

“None of it. I would slip into a trance and become the murder victim. My husband—we weren’t married at the time—had the unfortunate experience of being the one to watch me go through the trances.”

“Did he tell you about them?”

“Eventually. He recorded one.” The memory of the utter terror in her voice made her shudder. “It wasn’t good.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“You saw?” Celeste asked, unsure what to believe. So the woman had a single gnome in the middle of a herd of unicorns. Ian had probably mentioned that she had a gnome collection that could rival Maxine’s unicorns. Ian could have also told her about the trances and about Wisconsin. She’d definitely call and ask him once she left. Was she skeptical? Hell, yes. Over the years she’d met plenty of opportunists claiming to be clairvoyant. They would use tricks and make statements that might seem personal, yet could be applied to dozens of people. They might say something like, “I sense someone has recently made you angry.” Or, “You lost a loved one who you admired.” A vague statement to make the customer believe the psychic had a sixth sense, when in reality they were being duped out of their money by a con artist. And that’s exactly what Maxine could be doing now, except Maxine wasn’t expecting payment. Now that she thought about it, she had no idea why the woman was helping her.

“I did,” Maxine said, releasing her hand. “And I can understand why you’ve suppressed the side of your brain that allows so few of us to see beyond what’s in front of us. Your gift almost killed you. And now you have a husband and child to consider.”

Stunned, Celeste rested her rear on her heels and continued to kneel in front of Maxine. “So all this has been is a bad case of psychic block?”

Maxine nodded and reached for her tea. “And it looks as if that block is starting to crack. I can help you break past this and learn to better control your mind.”

Celeste stood, then moved back to the chair and sat. “When I had the vision yesterday, I was in the dying woman’s body, but I could hear my daughter crying. What was strange was that the woman heard the cries. She’d also heard the water running in my kitchen sink. How could this be? And why wasn’t I aware enough to shake the vision and go to Olivia?”

“Based on what I saw when I traveled into your past, I believe the woman was already dead when you connected with her. You were in a semi-conscious state, and her spirit latched onto yours and gave you enough of her memories to help her pass over to the other side. You do believe in the afterlife, correct?”

“I’m not sure if I believe in a heaven or hell, but I do think that when people die, they go to another plane that exists with the past, present and future. I also think there are levels to these planes, where some are more…heavenly than others.”

“How is this different from heaven and hell?”

“Because I believe there are decent people who’ve made bad choices, and that those choices aren’t worth being condemned to an eternity of misery.” She raised a hand. “And I’m not talking purgatory where a person’s sins need to be purged before they could enter heaven. I’m talking about souls who haven’t been able to let go of the pain they might have felt on earth.” She stared at Maxine. “I think I answered my own question, didn’t I?”

“I believe you did. This woman’s soul is pained by either her past choices or her murder. Maybe both. Think back to what you saw through her eyes. What did she show you that you could use to help her?”

Celeste pulled a folded sheet of paper from her purse. “I made a list after the vision,” she said, unfolding the paper. “It’s sketchy and the more time that passes, the more the vision fades.” She liked to compare a vision to a dream. Once the vision occurred, unless she quickly wrote down the details, what she had seen faded within minutes. The tone and emotional tug she’d experienced during the vision would remain, along with a few quick fragments of conversation, but nothing more. “I know the woman was sick. She wore a wig and there were thoughts about chemotherapy.” She glanced at her handwriting. “We were in an office, bound to a chair. There was a wall safe that the other person in the room needed access to. The woman didn’t want the safe opened. She wanted to keep her secrets hidden. She also knew the person in the room with her. I sensed an enormous amount of betrayal and disappointment. Strangely, love too.”

“Were you able to see this person’s face?”

“No, just their aura—which was black. Whoever it was threatened her with a gun and a needle filled with morphine, but the woman wouldn’t budge until…”

I’ll kill the spoiled bitch and her brat.

Celeste stared at the paper shaking in her hands, to the bullet points she’d listed… Cancer, gun, morphine, safe, baby crying, money. “Oh, my God,” she gasped. “How could I
not
remember?”

Maxine leaned forward. “Remember what?”

She met her gaze. “I need to call Kelly. She could be in danger, along with her daughter.” She quickly stood. “I should go.”

Maxine also stood, then rested a palm on Celeste’s shoulder. “You need to sit and think this through.”

“The killer
knows
Kelly and her daughter.” She searched her memory and tried to latch onto the fuzzy image. “He or she threatened to kill Kelly and her baby if the woman didn’t open the safe.”

Maxine gave her a small smile. “Are you really going to tell Kelly you think her mom was murdered by someone she knows because of something that might or might not be in a safe? And how can you be sure the threat was toward your friend? Does Kelly have a sister?”

She quickly pictured Lea, who was two years older than Kelly and also had a daughter. Lea’s toddler didn’t attend Kid-doodles Daycare. Instead, Lea had hired a young German au pair. Lea’s husband was a hotshot attorney worth several million dollars, and could afford to keep up with Lea’s extravagant shopping, her expensive car, weekend trips to New York City, LA or the Caribbean. According to Kelly, he was also cold and ruthless, and had no problem stepping on anyone if they stood in the way of what he wanted. As for Lea, Celeste had only met her a couple times. She hadn’t cared for the woman, or how she had always found a way to redirect the conversation back to herself, her money, her connections. Bottom line, Lea wasn’t a nice person, but that didn’t make her a murderer. Still, the killer in her vision
knew
the victim well. Could Lea have killed her own mother? Or maybe her husband?

The onslaught of a headache pierced behind her eye. She took a seat, then leaned into the chair. “Yes, there’s a sister,” she finally answered. “But she has money and I don’t think—”

“Then don’t think.” Maxine placed the blanket back into Celeste’s hands. “
Feel
.”

She curled her fingers into the soft material. “Feel what?”

“The killer.”

Chapter 3

KILLERS SCARED HER. Celeste had spent two years trying to forget what she had faced in Wisconsin. Only the scars on her body would forever serve as a terrifying reminder that the world was a stomping ground for evil, heartless people. She didn’t want to
feel
the killer. She didn’t want to invite him or her back into her mind. While she had missed her gift, and there had been a few occasions where she’d desperately wanted it back, this wasn’t the reason why. She wasn’t a criminal investigator like her husband. She was a baker, a wife, a mom.

“Maybe we should quit,” Celeste said, setting the blanket on her lap. “I could be wrong about the whole thing.”

“What if you’re not?” Maxine asked. “Will you go to the police? Or ask your father or husband to investigate the crime?”

“John doesn’t know about yesterday’s vision. But it would make sense to ask the police to investigate.”

Maxine raised a brow. “You should have talked to your husband about your vision.” She held up a hand. “I’m sorry. Your reasons for not telling John are none of my business. And yes, it would make sense to go to the police, but would they think there was a crime worth investigating? Consider this, you have a woman dying of cancer, who, by all appearances, has taken her life. An autopsy would prove this. If the person who killed her was someone who regularly visited the home, fingerprints would be useless. What was in the safe…that’s what you need to discover. The police might look inside the safe, but if they don’t have any indication of foul play, they won’t look for anything to dispute suicide.”

Damn. “But Ian—”

“Celeste, even your father knows he would need evidence to proceed. Give him or the police that evidence, then let them do their job. If you walk away from this now, wouldn’t you always wonder? Especially if something were to happen to your friend and her daughter.”