The Seance (25 page)

“Why didn't you just drag him in?”

“Because his ex-wife is out there somewhere. Hopefully, at this moment, still alive. We're going to be watching him. So if you know anything…”

Jed swore with disgust and slid off his bar stool. “You really think I wouldn't tell you if I knew who a killer was?”

“Good night, Jed,” Jerry said.

“Yeah. Good night.” Assholes! he added silently as he left.

And yet…hadn't he been thinking in nearly the same direction? And he hadn't said a word.

And as for Beau Kidd…Did he just want the man to be proven innocent simply because the family deserved some peace?

 

Adam, Genevieve and Thor had gone to bed. The house was quiet. Christina stood at her bedroom window, looking out at the lawn.

She felt numb. She believed in Adam Harrison, and in Genevieve, her good friend, and in Thor. She had even come to believe in the ghost of Beau Kidd. And now…

And now she was exhausted, but she waited, thinking—hoping—that Beau would certainly make an appearance.

But he didn't.

As she stood there, she saw Jed drive up and park. He didn't get out of the car, though, just sat in it and stared up at the house.

Had she been waiting for Beau? Or Jed?

She left the window, walked downstairs, opened the front door and waved him in.

“I thought you might be sleeping,” he said when he got to the door.

A logical assumption, given that it was…what? Three or four in the morning?

“I'm awake.”

“So I see.”

“Are you coming in?”

He hesitated. “Yes. I wanted to…”

“To what?” There was a hard tone in her voice.

“I wanted to make sure you were all right,” he said.

She nodded. “I was with both my cousins, your cousin, Adam, Genevieve and Thor. Just being with Thor, I should have been okay.”

“Yeah,” he acknowledged with a smile.

He followed her inside, and she hesitated for a long moment, then started up the stairs. She heard him lock the door, then heard his footsteps on the stairs behind her.

In her bedroom, she closed the door, hoping Beau wouldn't suddenly decide to make an appearance. Then she turned and stared at Jed. “Are you working for the cops now?” she asked him.

“No.”

“But you left because a cop paged you, right? The one who interrogated Mike?”

“Mike wasn't actually interrogated.” He told himself he wasn't lying, exactly. Mike hadn't been interrogated—yet. And he certainly couldn't break what he knew was a confidence and tell her that Mike was considered the chief suspect right now.

“But that cop went to his house—”

“Jerry—that cop—went to his house and asked him a few questions. That's all.”

He spoke quietly, but the whole conversation still scared her. “Just because he was married to a missing woman, that does not make him guilty,” she said.

“You're right. And they don't have anything on Mike. Anything at all.”

“Because there's nothing to have on him.”

“Christina, I don't know what to say to you. I don't believe in ghosts, including Beau Kidd's, but I also can't help but believe that I—like most of the rest of the world—made a mistake by believing he was guilty. But if I'm wrong and your house is haunted, if the ghost of Beau Kidd keeps visiting you, why the hell can't he help in his own defense?”

She stared at him. “He saw Grace Garcia. He hoped she might still be alive. He went to her, and she was dead but still warm, so he figured the killer had to be close. He drew his weapon because he heard noise from the shadows. He thought it was the killer. He never meant to shoot his partner. The evidence against Beau was just as ridiculous as anything the cops could trump up now against either of my cousins. It's grasping at straws. It's circumstantial. No court in America would convict a man because he was once married to one of the victims.”

He turned away from her. “We should get some sleep,” he said softly.

“You're staying?”

“Unless you're asking me to leave,” he said, turning around to meet her eyes again.

Christina stood very still, staring back at him. “I never want you to leave. I guess you don't know, but when we were kids, I had such a thing for you. You were a hunk on the football field, and then you were a hunk in uniform. But you were also my friend's cousin, and then you got married. I knew some of what you were going through when Margaritte got sick, when she died. I guess we both knew what it's like to lose the people closest to us, to feel as if we're facing the world alone. Even to feel guilty, like why are we still here when they're not?”

“Christina…” he murmured uncomfortably.

“No, listen to me. What I'm trying to say is that I've always been crazy about you and I still am, but the thing is…I don't want you if you think I'm really crazy. I just wonder if maybe you don't want to believe in me. You don't want to believe in ghosts for the same reason I didn't want to myself. It made me angry. If ghosts were real, why didn't my mom come see me? Why can't I tell my father one last time that I adored him, and I'm sorry about all those times I was a wise-ass and tried to sneak around! Why can't I say thanks to Gran for believing in me, or my grandfather, who I swear visited me when I was a kid, but I'll be damned if I've seen him anywhere since. You would want to believe in ghosts if you could see Margaritte one more time. But you'll probably never see her. Because she was good and loving, and she doesn't have anything to prove, to solve, by coming back. Beau is here because he wasn't guilty. He wasn't guilty then, and he isn't guilty now. And he needs people to know that.”

He was staring at her, and she realized she'd said a hell of a lot more than she had intended to.

“Well,” he murmured.

“Well?” She tried to make the word a challenge, tried not to let her voice falter, tried not to show that she was terrified she had scared him off by proving herself desperate and far crazier than even he had ever believed.

“That's a lot to think about,” he said huskily.

“Yes, I know.”

“Do I have to…respond to all of it tonight?”

She shook her head.

He walked on over to her and pulled her into his arms. “I…”

“Yes?”

“Um…”

“Oh, come on. You must have something to say.”

“Maybe we all see and believe whatever we need to so we can get by, so we can go on,” he told her.

She frowned, and he spoke quickly again. “But when I see you, I see life. I see the promise and hope of the future. I see someone who bounced back from every wicked curve thrown her way. I see someone beautiful, strong, full of character, talent…and sexy. Did I say sexy?” he murmured, his lips teasing her earlobe.

It wasn't exactly a declaration of undying loyalty.

“I see life,” he whispered again. “I see the prayer that I might find a life again myself.”

It was definitely enough.

She slipped her arms around his neck, returned his kiss and savored the pressure of his body against her own. She should have been exhausted, but adrenaline was racing through her.

It was like the first time….

Clothes ended up strewn everywhere. Kisses were openmouthed, wet, hot, awkward, sweet and flaring with hunger. Hands were everywhere.

Each touch of his naked flesh was more erotic than the last. She couldn't believe it was possibly to love so hotly, burn so brightly. Ecstasy tore through her when his lips teased her navel, then tasted the flesh between her thighs, when his legs parted hers and he became like one with her, throbbing inside her….

She knew it couldn't always be so hot, so frenzied. Sometimes it would be the way it was later, when they were both half asleep. When a slight touch stirred something in one of them, and a second touch stirred something in return…

Lazy, drowsy, they began to make love again, and for a while it was sweet and slow, before gaining momentum, becoming cataclysmic.

Darkness, she decided, was good.

Darkness meant not having to face the truth, but darkness meant trust, as well. Because in the darkness she did trust him. For the first time in her life, she was sorry when the first light of morning came to drive away the shadows.

But finally she slipped back into sleep, and in sleep there were dreams. Dreams of someone else, dreams in which
she
was someone else. Dreams that were far too real.

 

Tears streamed down her face.

She had been close, so close, to salvation.

Or maybe she hadn't been. Maybe she was just hallucinating before dying. Maybe, until the very second that the life was snuffed from her body, she would believe, would hope…

Her agony was growing. Wrists, ankles, back…the pain was constant.

She needed to stop crying. Even her tears hurt.

And they brought an ever greater pleasure to the fiend who savored her degradation and humiliation.

Actors, actresses, performers…they thought they were so great, according to her killer, so much better than everyone else.

But he…he knew better.

C
hristina was more than half asleep—mostly asleep, she decided somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind—when she heard a phone ringing. Then she heard Jed answer, heard him say that he would be along in a bit.

She opened one eye and looked at him questioningly as he flipped his cell closed.

“Katherine Kidd,” he told her.

“Oh?”

“She just heard about Angela McDuff being missing. She called to say that she's sorry, that she wants me to come by. She wants me to bring Adam.”

“Good idea,” she said, trying to sound unconcerned.

“We can all go,” he said.

“No, she only asked for you and Adam.”

“Actually, I think she'd be happy if you came.”

“Why?”

“I think she feels that she owes you some kind of apology.”

“She doesn't.”

At her side, he was silent for a minute. “She really thinks she saw her brother last night.”

Christina rolled over on her back. “I've got it! Here's a theory for you. Beau really was a killer twelve years ago. Now he's back, and even though he's a ghost, he's killing again. He has Katherine doing all the dirty work for him. She lures the victims, then he holds them prisoner down in his grave. Later on, she dumps the bodies.”

Jed didn't look at her. He rose and headed for the bathroom. A minute later she heard the shower come on.

He didn't seem to appreciate her sense of humor, she thought, or understand that it seemed every bit as ridiculous to her to think that her cousins could be involved.

He came out, dressed, and drying his hair with a towel. “You should come with me,” he told her.

“No, thanks.”

“I'll go see if Adam will join me.”

“Maybe Thor will go, too. Then Genevieve and I can talk about old times, and dish about you and Thor,” she said lightly, forcing a smile.

He paused by the bed and lifted her face. He kissed her lips. “Can a ghost kill?” he asked in all seriousness.

Was he mocking her? She couldn't tell. She hesitated, then said, “He…uh…makes a decent cup of coffee,” she said.

“All right. I'll see you later.” He started for the door, then turned back. “Wait for me?”

“All right.”

“I'm serious. I mean—”

“You mean I shouldn't go anywhere—especially with my cousins—right?”

“There's no real evidence,” he said.

“There's no evidence at all,” she snapped in return. “Don't worry about me. I want to decorate the house for Halloween, so I think I'll get started on that. I'm a bit late, but, hey…there are still ten days left. And I can hunt up all the Thanksgiving stuff while I'm at it,” she said. “Ana wanted to go out for Halloween,” she said softly. “She wanted all of us to get dressed up like characters from the Wizard of Oz. She was going to be Toto.”

“Sounds…”

“Sounds lame when you're talking about a serial killer in the same breath, huh?”

He didn't know what to say to that, so he just said goodbye and left.

She sat there in her bed and listened to his footsteps on the stairs, followed by voices. Adam's, Genevieve's, Thor's…Jed's. Even Killer woofed his two cents. Finally the front door opened and closed, and then she heard a car start up, drive away. And still she stayed in bed, listening to the sound of silence.

 

“Adam, do you think you can help Katherine in any way? Do you think maybe she knows something that can help clear Beau but doesn't realize it?” Jed asked, meeting the older man's eyes in the rearview mirror. Thor was next to him, too tall to fit comfortably in the back seat. Jed wasn't sure he was ever going to believe in ghosts, but he was intrigued by the efficacy of the power of suggestion and hypnosis. He was sure Adam knew that he didn't believe in the supernatural, but then again, from everything he'd gathered, Adam Harrison never actively tried to convince anyone that the spirit world existed.

“I don't know. I'm not sure how much she could know. She couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen when the first set of murders took place. She believes in her brother, blindly, because she loved him. That doesn't mean she actually knows anything, even subconsciously.”

When they arrived at the Kidd house, Katherine had obviously been waiting. She walked out to greet them, looking thin and tense, despite her jaunty earrings and her gypsy-style skirt.

“I've been watching the news. Lieutenant Tiggs is being interviewed. He just told the reporter that authorities think they're looking for a copycat killer!” She shook her head in dismay. “How can they say that?”

“They haven't found any reason to fault Larry Atkins for shooting your brother, Katherine,” Jed explained. “I'm sure there's a lot of departmental pressure to keep the story as-is until they know something different. It's also smart. If you and I are right and we're still looking for the same killer, he's more likely to make a mistake if he doesn't realize they're on to him.”

She nodded, but her attention was already focused on Adam. Her lips trembled suddenly. “I saw my brother last night,” she said. “I really saw him.”

“I believe you,” Adam said quietly.

She hesitated. “Can you hypnotize me?”

“Probably.”

“I can't help thinking…if I could only remember the night he died, I might think of something we don't know, something that would help.”

“You can't bring your brother back, you know,” Adam said gently.

“Nothing can bring my brother back. I know that. But I still think there's something from back then I need to remember.”

“All right,” Adam said after a minute. “Let's go in, shall we?”

 

“Here's one of the boxes of Thanksgiving decorations,” Christina said, pleased. She and Genevieve were down in the basement, where it was cool and pleasant. Her grandmother had always marked boxes clearly, so it was easy enough to find what she was looking for.

Genevieve laughed. “What was your first clue? That great drawing of a turkey, maybe?” she said.

“Mike did that. Mike could always draw,” Christina said.

“Okay…what else?” Gen asked.

“Why don't you grab that box over there, past the pool table? I think it has seasonal serving trays and things.”

“I envy you your basement,” Gen said as she was getting the box in question. “I wish I had one, but with the water table down in the Keys…no way.”

Upstairs, as they set the boxes down, Christina looked at Genevieve and burst into laughter.

“What?”

“You're covered in spiderwebs. I think I have to get down there and really sweep the place out.”

“Spiderwebs?” Genevieve said, horrified.

“Not so jealous of my basement now, huh?”

“Maybe not,” Gen laughed. “I don't want a bunch of spider bites. I'm going to run up and take a shower. I'll be back down in a few minutes.”

“I think I'll run over and get Ana, see if she wants to help decorate.”

Christina cut across Tony's lawn to reach Ana's house. At the door, she rang the bell and waited. No one answered, and she started to walk away. Ana often worked weekends, so there was nothing strange about her being gone. But then she thought she heard movement within.

“Ana?” she called.

Nothing.

She walked around the house. Ana must be home, she thought, because she could hear the television; it was on somewhere in the back of the house.

“Ana?” she shouted, walking toward the back, where she noticed Ana's car parked. Her friend was clearly home, so why wasn't she answering the door or responding to her name?

Christina's heart suddenly started to pound too swiftly, but she gave herself a mental shake.

There was no reason to be afraid for Ana. She had dark hair, not red. Other than being a woman, she didn't resemble any of the murder victims in the least.

Heart racing, temples pounding, Christina raced to the back door. It wasn't exactly wide open, but it was ajar.

She was tempted to go in, then realized that if someone was in there, she had no way to fight, no way to save her friend, who had to be alive. Had to. She needed to get back to her own house as quickly as possible and call the police.

She raced back across Tony's lawn to her own house, wondering if she was being watched by a killer. She looked around, searching for signs, then stopped stock still, too stunned to keep moving.

Dan's car was there. Not parked in front of Ana's, but down the street, partially hidden by a large oak tree.

She felt ill.

Horrified.

No. It couldn't be.

She turned to run back to her own house. To reach a phone.

But as she stood there, the front door of Ana's house opened and Dan stepped out. He had a piece of paper in his hand, but he didn't look at it. He just stood there, then crumpled the paper in his fist.

Even from a distance, she could see the veins stand out in his arm.

She waited, momentarily frozen, as a chilly October breeze gusted past, drawing her hair across her throat.

As if in warning.

She realized that she was partially shielded from Dan's sight by a large bush, but if she wasn't careful, he would see her.

She looked around desperately and tried to figure out where to run for safety.

Ana's house?

Tony's?

Her own?

She made up her mind and ran.

 

Adam Harrison didn't dangle a pendant in front of Katherine's face and tell her she was getting sleepy. Instead he had her sit in a comfortable chair and close her eyes. Then, in a soothing voice, he described a scene so calm and peaceful that Jed nearly fell asleep himself.

At last Adam told Katherine that she was a child again, living at home, and though her brother was a cop, with a place of his own, he still came to the house a lot. Sometimes he took her and her friends to a movie or one of the local water parks.

“Beau is dating a girl named Grace Garcia, Katherine. Do you remember her?”

“Yes. She's from Ybor City. Her family are cigar makers. They came over from Cuba.”

Katherine's voice had changed, Jed realized. She actually sounded as if she were thirteen, not the twenty-five he knew she was.

“So you knew Grace.”

“Yes.”

“And what did Beau say about her?”

“He liked her. But he was scared when he met her.”

“Do you know where he met her?” Adam asked.

Katherine smiled. “I know. I know, because I was with him.”

“And where was that?”

“The pub.”

Jed felt his muscles go tense.

“What pub?”

“O'Reilly's pub. Lots of people went there. Beau said anybody who was really Irish always went there.”

Anybody who was really Irish.

“I can see Beau now,” she whispered.

Jed went still. He could have sworn he saw the man himself. Standing by his sister—staring straight at Jed.

And then the ghost began to speak, and Jed knew he must be losing his mind.

“That's it,” Beau said. “It all makes sense. O'Reilly's. It's in the middle of everything.”

“Oh, hell,” Jed said. The damn ghost had seen what they all should have seen.

Still staring at Beau, Jed pulled out his phone and punched in Christina's number.

No answer.

He turned and, deserting the others without a thought, ran for the car.

“Jed!” Thor called after him.

“Call the police. Get Jerry Dwyer over to Christina's!” Jed shouted over his shoulder.

Then he was in his car and driving, a million thoughts filling his head.

O'Reilly's.

The one place all the victims had in common. All the Irish went there. Redheads.

It was between two highways. Two of the highways where the victims had been found. But before they were murdered, they were abducted and taken to a place where they were held until the killer was ready to strangle them.

They were lured into the killer's car. Lured…how? Suddenly it hit him.

A woman would trust another woman.

Christina had been close, so close. He remembered her mocking suggestion that Beau had come back to kill again and was using Katherine to lure his victims. It had been an intentionally ridiculous suggestion. Beau had never killed. And Katherine had never procured a victim.