by Sheila Lowe
“No, I haven’t thought about it. I just know she has nothing to worry about.”
“Wait, Jess. Take a second, please, and let yourself go into neutral. I want you to imagine her telling you that she’s been hearing and seeing ghosts, and talking to murder victims. If that wouldn’t disturb you at all, it’s fine. I’m asking you to be honest with yourself.”
The mere suggestion made her uncomfortable, but since she had asked for his help, Jessica did as he asked, visualizing a situation where Jenna was the one who was getting these visits from the spirit world. Would she have left a three-year-old Justin alone with her sister under those circumstances? She wished she could say “yes,” but the truth was, she knew better.
With a sigh of resignation, she said, “Fine. I get it. But look, I can’t help that these spirits are bugging me. Does that mean I’ll never get to spend time alone with my nieces?”
Dr. Gold favored her with his best avuncular smile. “I’m pretty sure it doesn’t. Maybe you need to give Jenna some time to adjust to the idea. She might be afraid that you’ll talk to the girls about it and scare them. You can reassure her about that, right? How about starting by spending more time with the whole family? Once Jenna sees that you’re the same Aunt Jessica you always have been, she’ll relax.”
Jessica cast a skeptical glance. “You do remember who we’re talking about, right? You used to be her therapist, too. My sister the perfectionist doesn’t do ‘relax’ very well. She has one way of doing things. Her way.”
“What’s the alternative?”
“Okay, good point. But I’m still mad at her. I’m not ready to grovel.”
“Groveling isn’t necessary, Jess. But giving her time to miss you won’t hurt.” He chuckled. “Besides, you have that twin thing going on. She must know how you feel.”
“Yeah, she sent Zach over to check on me right after I blacked out and woke up outside. She told Roland—her husband—that she felt something had happened to me.”
“See, Jess, she loves you. And you love her.”
“I know, but she sure doesn’t make it easy.”
SEVEN
Claudia’s friend, Sage Boles, arrived precisely at three o’clock to pick up the sculpture.
Gazing up at him standing in her doorway, Jessica wished that Claudia had given her a warning. He was nothing short of drop-dead gorgeous. Short-cropped, curly black hair, a straight white smile and startling sapphire eyes fringed by long, thick lashes. Bronze skin that came, not from the sun, but from mixed heritage. Jessica, whose skin was always pale regardless of how much time she spent on the beach, decided that he had gotten the best of both parents.
As they introduced themselves, her artist’s eye caught a shadow behind his penetrating gaze, a certain sadness around his mouth that made her want to sculpt him. The two women in spirit who stood together on his left were pretty interesting, too. Especially since one of them was Madeleine, Dr. Gold’s former wife. Jessica had already delivered her message. What was she doing here, and who was the woman with her? She couldn’t ask Sage.
She invited him in, silently requesting the ladies not to bother her for the next ten minutes, floored that they complied. The pair of them faded away so fast, she wondered whether she had dreamed them up.
Sage was a tall man—though most people were tall next to Jessica, who might just reach five-four if she stood on tippy-toes. His presence radiated, making the cottage shrink in a way that Zach never had. When she took the hand he extended, a spark of electricity ran through her that took her breath away.
For a second or two, the unexpected rekindling of emotions left her unable to speak. She had packed those emotions into a neat box and buried them deep long ago. Now, when she least expected it, here they were, thrusting their way back into her life.
“Uh, the sculpture is all ready for you,” she stammered, moving over to her worktable and indicating the large cardboard box, which was sealed with packing tape.
Sage towered over her, not in an intimidating way but—Jessica smiled inwardly—protective was the word that came to mind. How bat-shit crazy was that, when she had never laid eyes on him until ten seconds ago?
“How do you know Claudia?” she asked a little breathlessly.
“She authenticated my aunt’s will. Ironically, we met last year in Maine.”
“Maine?”
“My aunt lived there. We found out we both lived on the West Coast, not all that far from each other.”
“I’m a big fan of Claudia’s,” said Jessica. “She’s such a good person.”
He smiled. “You won’t get any argument from me. How about you? How did you meet her?”
“She analyzed my handwriting several years ago,” she said. “When I also had a—” she hesitated, “a legal matter.”
If she told Sage that the legal matter was having Detective Jovanic check her name in police records to determine whether she had a record, or anyone had filed a missing person’s report on her, he would, of course, want to know why, and that would get too complicated.
She saw the curiosity in the extraordinary blue eyes, but he was too polite to ask the question.
He had the box in hand but was not making a move to leave. Nor did she did want him to. Should she offer him coffee or a beer? Her cheeks were fever-hot. She cleared her throat. “What do you do in Ojai?” she asked, her voice sounding higher than usual.
It was ridiculous to think that something might start between them. As soon as he knew she heard voices, it would be over before it began.
Dating had been rough once the voices got in the way. She had tried a few times since the divorce. The trouble was, when the men she met realized that Jessica did not live wholly in the same world they did, they tended to disappear in a hurry. Her last date—it must have been six months ago—had fled with some flimsy excuse during dinner at a cozy bistro. She had decided right then that her art was enough. She could get along fine without a man in her life. Sex was a distant memory.
But Sage Boles made her want to try again, and it was not just his super-hot looks. Her spidey senses were tingling; the attraction went both ways.
He was looking at her with a question. She had missed his answer to hers. “Oh, sorry?”
“I paint murals, sculpt with iron, draw. Stuff like that.”
Another frisson of wonder ran through her. “You’re an artist, too? Claudia didn’t tell me that.”
Sage smiled like the Cheshire cat, as if he knew something he was not going to share with her. “I have a feeling there’s a lot she didn’t tell either of us.”
“I’m sure you’re right about that.”
“Maybe we can get together and share.”
Her heart did a somersault. “Maybe we could.” This was not like picking a date from an internet site. Claudia was the connection point. She must have thought there was a good reason to introduce them.
She doesn’t know about the whispers. Would she have introduced us if she did?
Jessica got a strong sense that something important was happening. Maybe she could head off potential heartbreak if she tested him now. If he had no interest in spirituality there would be no point in starting anything with him.
“Have you ever heard of The Ojai Valley Spiritualist Association?” she asked.
His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Sure. I know it well. Why do you ask?”
“Does it have a good reputation?”
“Yeah, it does. I attend services there sometimes.”
“Oh, it’s a church?” Jessica said, disappointed and hopeful at the same time. “I don’t do religion.”
Sage shook his head. “It’s not a regular church. It’s more like a group of free thinkers who get together and for some pretty good talks about universal love and spiritualism.”
“That definitely doesn’t sound like church. I’ve read a little online about spiritualism, but I want to learn more about it.”
“Why don’t you go with me tomorrow?”
&n
bsp; Sage’s confidence impressed her, like he was comfortable in his own skin the way she had always wished to be. “Tomorrow? Well, okay, yeah, I could do that.”
There was that smile again, full of charm and intrigue. Should she trust it?
“I’ll introduce you to Bella Bingham,” he said. “She’s the pastor. She also leads some of the groups that meet there.”
“Thank you. That would be awesome.”
Sage said, “If you’d like to meet me at the Center at ten-thirty, we can walk over for the eleven o’clock service. It’s not far.”
“What Center?”
His smile spread. “I guess you were serious when you said Claudia didn’t tell you anything. The Regina Boles Center for Traumatized Children. It’s named for my mother.”
As he spoke the name, a thunderbolt slammed through Jessica’s body, and a message.
“Go.”
Something was happening here, and it was more than physical attraction.
Wasn’t it just yesterday when she had decided to look into spiritualism? Now, here was Sage to take her hand and lead the way. Had the spirits heard her and sent him?
She couldn’t help feeling a bit like a pawn being moved around a chessboard by an unseen presence. It was not an entirely unpleasant sensation.
“Are you okay, Jessica?” Sage asked.
She smiled up at him. “Your mother must have been an incredible person.”
“Yes, she was.”
“What’s the address of the Center?”
He took out his own pen to write the information in the sketchbook she handed him. Jessica took a quick glance, wondering what Claudia thought of his handwriting, which to her untrained eye looked bold and black, artistic and just a little on the wild side.
Sage tapped the box under his arm. “I can’t wait to see your work. Your reputation precedes you.”
“Now you’re making me nervous. Give Claudia a hug from me.”
With another of those killer smiles, he promised he would.
Jessica walked him out to an expensive-looking Tesla. He started to lean toward her as if he intended to kiss her cheek, but then thought better of it, leaving her with mixed feelings.
They said goodbye and she watched him drive away, for once, allowing herself to dream just a little.
EIGHT
Zach called while she was clearing away the remnants of the salad she’d had for dinner.
“Jess, you are incredible. You did it again.”
“Did what?”
“The cult case is practically solved. The vic’s name was indeed Finley Hunter. You were dead on, if you’ll excuse the pun.”
“What did you tell Roland about how you found out her name?”
“Confidential informant. I can’t let him know the truth this time.”
How convenient that he had already forgotten how pissed he had been about the shadowbox crime scene. He had his information, all was well.
“Thanks for letting me know.”
“I’ve already been reassigned. Got a more urgent case.”
“More urgent than a satanic murder?”
“We’ve handed the murder over to the local field office. They have all the dope on cult activity out there—and there’s a ton of it. The new one is a parental abduction. Can I run it by you?”
“Sure, go ahead,” Jessica said, her suspicions raised. Hadn’t he been skeptical of how she got her information?
“It’s a marriage gone bad—cliché, right? The mom is an associate at a law firm, Dad’s a realtor and the kid’s primary caregiver. She’s miserable, makes secret plans to take the kid and run. She comes home from work ready to hit the road, but Dad beat her to it. He’s gone and so is the kid.”
At that point Jessica stopped listening. The final argument with Greg was ringing in her ears. They had been getting ready for a road trip to San Francisco. He was screaming at her over some minor transgression, the cause so small, she had forgotten what had set him off. It was no different from all the other times he had gone ballistic on her. One moment he was the captivating Prince Charming; the next, the rug was pulled out from under her. Jekyll and Hyde had nothing on Gregory Mack.
That night, he had backed her against a wall, spewing hateful vitriol, his face thrust close enough to hers that a spray of spit landed on her lip. Justin was on her hip, wailing. She could feel his face pressed into her neck, his little arms holding on as tight as two-year-old muscles could manage. The memory of his fear would never, ever be erased from her mind.
Jessica would always remember it as her saturation point—the moment she ran out of excuses. No longer could she lie to herself that he would treat her better if she just didn’t make him mad—not that there was ever any rhyme or reason to his anger. It all depended on how drunk he was at the time.
Jenna, who had not liked Greg from the first time they met, urged her to leave. Now that Jessica had found the courage, they worked out a plan. After settling in their hotel in the city, Greg would drink himself to sleep. He always did. He would sleep through Jessica taking Justin and their luggage to meet up with Jenna in the lobby. Jenna was going to take them to a safe place. Jessica and her son would hide out until she could file for divorce and custody.
Then fate got involved. Now Justin was dead and Greg was in prison.
“Jess, are you still there?” Zach’s question bumped her out of the memories.
“Yeah, I’m here. Sorry, could you repeat what you said?”
“Are you busy? Should I call you back?”
“No, I just got distracted. Go ahead. What happened?”
“The husband texts Abby, the wife, that he’s taken the kid to Disneyland, sends photos of him having a ball on the Small World ride—the one with the song that can drive you nuts?”
Jessica started singing, “It’s a small world after all; it’s a small world after all—”
“Shit, Jess,” Zach interrupted in protest. “Now that stupid song is gonna be stuck in my brain.”
“Okay, I’ll stop. Tell the rest of the story; it’ll get rid of the earworm.”
“Thanks, thanks a lot. Ugh.”
Picturing him shaking the song out of his head like a dog shedding water, she laughed. “Anytime, Zach. Anytime.”
“Okay. The dad tells her they’re fine and to quit bugging him. Mom relaxes a bit, starts packing up her stuff and the kid’s stuff so she’ll be ready to go when they get back. Problem is, he doesn’t come back. Two days later, he still isn’t back and now he’s not responding to texts and calls. So, she calls the cops.”
“Did they do anything?”
“There’s no divorce, both are custodial parents. The cops have no jurisdiction. There would have to be a court-ordered custody agreement that was violated for them to pursue it. There’s no custody order, so their hands were pretty much tied.”
While she listened, Jessica rinsed and dried dishes, put leftovers in the refrigerator. The automatic action helped her concentrate on what he was saying. “What if he took the kid out of state? That’s a federal violation, isn’t it?”
“Again, only when a parent defies a custodial agreement. After the mom—her name’s Abby—got nowhere with the police, she waited two more days. Then she calls them back, freaking out. Says her husband called, tells her she’s never going to see her son again. And he has a weapon—she checked where he kept it and it’s gone.”
“Has he threatened the son’s safety?”
“Not in so many words, but the threat is implicit.”
“Where do you start looking?”
“According to the file, Abby already called his parents, in case he took the boy to Arizona, where they live. They claim they haven’t heard from him, and they don’t want to, either. Nice family, huh? After some initial investigation, the local cops ended up referring her to our field office. We step in and help local agencies when an abduction might take a child far away.”
“That poor mother,” said Jess. “I feel for her—that
is, I’m assuming she’s the good guy and the dad wasn’t rescuing the child from a bad situation.”
“I’m getting up to speed on the case. She seems like a pretty devoted mother. Besides, she claims that her husband has a history of minor violence against her, but not the boy.”
“‘Minor violence’? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Bruises where they don’t show, mainly.”
“Police reports?”
“Nope, so far we have to take her word for it. She says she has photos in her safe deposit box at the bank. Plus, she has a confidant at work who she says will corroborate. She’s forwarded the photos her husband took at Disneyland.”
“Proof of life,” Jessica said. “Like when someone’s kidnapped and they photograph them with the current newspaper so you know they haven’t been killed.”
“Except in this case, all we know is the kid was alive a few days ago. The father used a debit card to pay for food and gas and a hotel near the park. He’s since checked out of the hotel and hasn’t used the card again, except to get enough cash to keep going for at least a week without being traced.”
“What about his phone?”
“We haven’t been able to pick it up. If he’s smart, he’s gotten rid of it and picked up a burner. Which may not bode well for the kid.”
“You think he’ll hurt his son?”
“It isn’t uncommon, Jess. We’re taking it seriously.”
“But couldn’t he get fake passports and leave the country?”
“Anything is possible. We’ve got BOLOs at all the points of entry.”
“How old is the boy?”
“Four. Ethan.”
A year older than Justin. She couldn’t help making the comparison. There were times when Greg had been wonderful with him. And then there were the other times. She sent a quick prayer that Ethan’s father was treating him well.
“That’s so young,” she said. “I hope the little guy is okay.”
“According to Abby, Trey was a good father—he’s been the primary caretaker since Ethan was an infant. Now he’s using the kid to get back at her for threatening to leave him, and she believes he’s capable of following through.”