“Not the last one,” Riley said quickly.
Nina just smiled at her. “Some mediums find nothing but peace from communicating with spirits, while others see it as terrifying or a source of stress. Regardless, you get to decide what role you want this to play in your life, and then you can adjust based on that. But you do need to decide, Riley. Your being here right now tells me that what you’ve been doing isn’t working, at least not anymore.”
It took Riley a moment to organize her erratic thoughts. “People seem to think that since I’ve been able to communicate with ghosts since I was ten, I shouldn’t be scared anymore. Not all ghosts are the same, though. You don’t always know what you’re dealing with until you’re already in communication. It’s not all grandmas just saying hello from the other side.”
“No, it’s not,” Nina said. “And with someone as sensitive as you, you’re going to experience the gamut. I won’t lie … I was very jealous when Orin reacted to you the way he did in that cellar.”
Riley had sensed this immediately, but she was a little surprised Nina admitted to it now. “Getting on the radar of a serial killer ghost is nothing to be jealous about, trust me.”
“I wasn’t envious of the serial killer part so much as the effortlessness of your gift,” Nina said. “But that effortlessness is also at the heart of your fear. Ninety percent of the time for me, if I interact with a spirit, it’s because I’ve called on their energy. Even though spirits are around us all the time, I’m often unaware of them. Whether that’s because I’ve learned to put up my defenses enough so that they only contact me when I give them permission, or because my psychic energy isn’t as strong as yours, I don’t know.”
“I sort of think of it like a switchboard,” Riley said, and immediately flushed, worried that sounded stupid.
“Oh?”
“Yeah, uhh … like there’s a giant board in the Great Beyond with all the psychic mediums’ names on it, and when they’re open for contact, the light below their name flips from red to green,” Riley said, squeezing her hands between her knees. “Lately it feels like mine is always green.”
“I think it likely is,” Nina said. “You closed yourself off from your ability for a long time, putting up walls to keep the spirits out. Your trip to the ranch tore all those barriers down, and now you’re getting a deluge instead of a trickle.”
Riley sighed.
After a beat of silence, Nina asked, “Are you ready to tell me what happened earlier?”
Right. The reason why Riley had called Nina in the first place. It took her a few long moments to work up the courage to recount it, but she finally told Nina about the ghost who had stalked her around the grocery store.
“What about this bothers you the most? Other than the ghost sounding downright scary,” Nina said.
“I hate that I can’t even go shopping anymore without a spirit popping up,” Riley said. “I don’t know what I want to do with … this … but I agree with you: I need to get enough of a handle on it that going into a store doesn’t cause an anxiety attack. And I want to get better at knowing when they’re spirits and when they’re humans. If I had known about the Poltergeist of Aisle 3, I would have avoided the store entirely.”
“Well, you can’t be too badly shaken if you still have your sense of humor,” Nina said.
Riley managed a small smile.
“There’s no formal training manual for something like this,” Nina said, “and what works for me won’t necessarily work for you. But if you’d like to work with me to help you get a handle on this, I’m happy to try. At the very least, I can get you headed in the right direction.”
Riley was just about to tell her that she was game when Nina cut her off.
“First, though, I need you to think about what role you want your ability to play in your life. ‘None’ is an acceptable answer if that’s what you want,” Nina said. “Once you figure that out, know that if you want to learn how better to sense spirits, you’ll need to be around spirits. Which means venturing into haunted places … on purpose.”
“Hard pass,” Riley said.
“Think of it like aversion therapy.”
Riley was averse to this all right.
“Think about it,” Nina said. “You know where to find me when you make your decision.”
CHAPTER 2
Summer gave way to autumn and Riley had yet to contact Nina again. She sent periodic “I’m still thinking!” texts so Nina knew she hadn’t given up on the idea entirely, but it was the whole “going into haunted places on purpose” thing that was getting to her. If the childhood bedroom of her best friend Rebecca could be haunted by something decidedly evil, then cemeteries, long-abandoned buildings, and ranch houses in the middle of national forests should be avoided at all costs.
But now mundane places like grocery stores, bars, and miniature golf courses weren’t safe either. Miniature golfing should be avoided at all costs anyway, but when a weeping woman had abruptly materialized before the open maw of the clown on the fourth hole, Riley vowed never to go back. Which was too bad for her boyfriend Michael because that man loved himself some miniature golf.
She trusted Nina. She knew the woman truly had a gift, even if it wasn’t as strong as her own. Nina was comfortable in her own skin, even when a serial killer ghost had tried to wear that skin during the séance.
Perhaps it wasn’t Nina whom Riley didn’t trust. It was herself.
“Earth to Riley,” Jade said, snapping Riley out of her thoughts. “You with me?” she asked, from the driver’s seat, reaching over quickly to pat her light brown hand on top of Riley’s much darker one.
“Yeah, I’m here,” Riley said, glancing over at her. No one other than Nina and Michael knew about the poltergeist from the grocery store. She’d managed to convince herself that if she avoided talking or thinking about it, then maybe it hadn’t happened. It was a Band-Aid on an infected wound and she knew it. “I just didn’t sleep very much last night.”
“Oooh, do tell,” Jade said, her green eyes alight. “Spent too much time letting that squirrel hoard his nuts in your tree hollow?”
Riley snorted. “No!”
Jade grinned at her, then launched—relaunched?—into the latest chapter in her ongoing saga with the owner of her wedding venue. “The place is a dream,” Jade had said last week, “but this woman is horror incarnate.”
If the last few months had taught Riley anything, it was this: being maid of honor should be a paying position. Riley adored Jade. They had been sister-level close for well over seven years. Either one would run into a burning building to save the other. But agreeing to be Jade’s maid of honor was perhaps worse than enduring flames.
Jade wasn’t a Bridezilla—yet—and she hadn’t put any over-the-top demands on Riley’s time. But Jade had been engaged for almost six months, and now nearly every week had a task on the agenda that had sent the pair all over town.
Jade had decided from the beginning that she wanted to DIY as much of the wedding as she could. Despite having done well for herself as a financial analyst, and Jonah doing extremely well in the tech industry, Jade would rather get her hands dirty than hire someone to do the work for her. It was one of the things Riley loved about Jade. But after months of this, plus Riley’s existential crisis over her ever-evolving psychic abilities, she was exhausted.
She’d seen so many YouTube makeup and hair tutorials that the stars of the videos had started popping up in her dreams. Jade wanted to make her own table decorations and reception gifts, so Riley had seen the inside of more craft stores than she ever had in her twenty-five years on this earth. Jade wanted to figure out seating arrangements for nearly 200 people with only index cards, a white board, and sheer determination, all while keeping family dynamics and shaky friendships in mind.
Though a maid of honor was supposed to help ensure the bride-to-be didn’t lose her marbles to stress, Riley wasn’t taking on tasks so much as being the voice of reason. Last weekend,
they’d tried menus at eight different restaurants and Jade hadn’t liked any of them. They were too expensive, or the food was too posh, or Jade simply hadn’t liked the attitude of the chef. When Jade had pulled up a video on cooking prime rib for a large group, Riley had to shut her down.
“I will be the first to admit that you’re basically Superwoman,” Riley had said. “But if you actually try to be the chef at your own damn wedding, I’m going to lock you in a shed until you come to your senses. Jonah will help me.”
When Jade had said she wanted to wear multiple wedding preparation hats, Jonah, Jade’s fiancé, wisely hadn’t fought her on it. If Jade made up her mind about something, the best thing to do was to either get out of her way or hold on—and hope you didn’t fall off the back when she hit the gas.
Jonah wasn’t a pushover by any stretch, but life’s everyday tasks overwhelmed the guy, whose brilliant mind was often too caught up in code to worry about something as pedantic as color swatches. Yet he knew how to put his foot down when his bride-to-be was pushing herself beyond her limits. Riley called Jonah to tell him to nip the chef thing in the bud, which he’d taken care of that same night.
Once Jade accepted that there was a task she couldn’t do herself, she allowed Riley to research professionals for her. Her one caveat was that the professional in question had to be an up-and-coming entrepreneur. So, instead of calling up ritzy catering companies, Riley contacted food truck owners, small restaurateurs, and personal chefs offering their services. Each suitable candidate was then put into one of Jade’s many color-coded spreadsheets.
Today’s mission was a seemingly never-ending one. As part of the reception, Jade wanted attendees to take pictures with cameras she provided. But instead of being a normal person and purchasing disposable cameras in bulk, Jade wanted to track down at least a dozen vintage cameras.
So far, out of the five thrift stores they’d tried over the last couple of months, they’d only found two functioning cameras. Riley was going to give this ridiculous endeavor one more month before she’d intervene and make an online order.
The worst injustice of all was that Riley had yet to find a single plate, mug, or bowl from the barnyard series. A few months ago, Riley and Michael had found a plate in a thrift store featuring tutued horse people. The plate was still on display in Riley’s apartment. According to the number on the back, the plate was 4 of 15. It was one of Michael’s life missions to find the others. A cake plate adorned with a sexy cow in a tutu would have heightened Riley’s mood considerably.
As they pulled up outside Reinholt Consignment now, Riley cast a sidelong glance at Jade. She tried one of her oft-used arguments. “You know we’re millennials, right? A lot of your guests are going to be millennials. They’ve probably never used a vintage camera in their lives. Not to mention that this whole plan will be moot if you can’t find a place to develop the film.”
“Good news on that front,” Jade said, checking her reflection in the flip-down mirror on her visor as she spoke. She gave her ponytail of wild brown curls a tightening tug. “Brie said she’ll develop them for me. She had one of her bedrooms turned into a dark room.”
Riley involuntarily flinched at the words “dark room.” The memory of the deep, gravelly voice of Orin Jacobs speaking to her from the Great Beyond via EVP flitted through her head. Electronic voice phenomena would never cease to creep her out: voices recorded by devices that couldn’t be heard by human ears.
Brie’s dark room is a room for developing photographs, she told herself. It’s not a room where a madman dismembered the bodies of children.
“Sorry!” Jade said, catching sight of Riley’s face after flipping the mirror closed. “Anyway, she just finished up her … uhh … development studio a couple weeks ago. I didn’t want to ask her to do it for me if the room wasn’t completed yet, but now it is! She won’t let me pay her though. Gonna have to figure out how to thank her. She’s very stubborn about that kind of thing.”
Riley laughed, resisting the urge to make a comment about black pots and kettles.
Jade wrinkled her freckled nose. “Quiet, you.”
They climbed out of the car and headed for the shop, which had a dry cleaner on one side and a dog grooming place on the other. None of the customers in the lot appeared to be interested in the consignment store. Over the last few months, Riley had learned how much the inventory—and clientele—could vary in consignment stores versus the average thrift shop.
The vibe of this one had a more relaxed air about it than the last, which had been run by an uppity woman who wore pearls and a judgy expression. They hadn’t stayed long; the store only sold bizarre items, like oversized women’s housecoats, giant elaborately decorated vases that looked like they were straight out of the Ming dynasty, and large oil paintings in gaudy frames of dreary landscapes. Here, soft instrumental music heavy on the harp piped in through the speakers, and the place smelled like lavender incense instead of mothballs. The Caucasian lady behind the counter on the right side of the room had a wild mop of curly gray hair that hung halfway down her back. A huge pair of glasses rested on her nose, magnifying her eyes to borderline-comical size.
The only other person in the store was a twenty-something Black lady perusing something in a glass case on the left side of the rectangular building.
“Hello, ladies!” the older woman said from behind the tiny C-shaped glass-fronted counter. “Anything in particular you’re looking for today?”
Jade, ever the extrovert, strolled up to the counter. “Hi,” she said. “My research says this is one of the best places in Albuquerque to find film cameras?”
The woman grinned. “Indeed. Follow me.”
The shop had two long racks that ran down the middle of the store. One side was full of vintage card and board games, and the other had all manner of small appliances and electronics. There were old gaming consoles, games, and DVDs, but also random items like small steam irons that looked like they’d had their heyday in the 1950s.
Part of the left wall was lined with vintage signs and framed advertisements for things like Coca-Cola, lye soap, and headache pills. A glass case displayed old-fashioned dentistry equipment—which was what the other patron was most interested in. Toward the back corner, where they were headed now in a single-file line, stood a few carousels of old postcards. The back walls were lined with several racks of old magazines, records, and vintage posters. And taking up most of the space was a wide table covered in photography equipment—camera bags, lenses of various sizes, tripods, and mounts. There were several Polaroid cameras and boxes of film and, to Jade’s delight, three film cameras.
Jade pumped a fist in the air. “Do they work?”
“I had them appraised by someone and I’ve been assured they’re functional,” the woman said.
Odd way to say yes.
“Can you tell me anything about them?” Jade asked.
“I don’t know much about where they came from, honestly,” she said, lightly wringing her hands. “I get a lot of my inventory from estate and yard sales, and a few storage unit auctions when we get lucky. That’s where I got these cameras. Well, my friend did. It’s like those reality shows where you bid on a unit and get whatever’s inside. I don’t like going to the auctions anymore, but my friend is a bit obsessed with them. We split the cost and she brings me the games, electronics … you know, entertainment stuff, and she gets all the clothes and accessories.” She punctuated that with an awkward laugh.
If Riley hadn’t known any better, she would have said the woman was nervous. It would explain the mild case of verbal diarrhea, at least. Maybe the woman hadn’t had them appraised at all. Perhaps “assured they’re functional” meant the knobs and dials on the cameras worked as long as you didn’t try to use them.
“What do you think, Ry?” Jade asked, breaking Riley’s focus on the fidgety woman. “Should I get all three?” She tapped a pointer finger to her lips as if she were in a museum studying an ancient piece o
f art.
“Do you have a return policy?” Riley asked the woman, already knowing the answer.
“All sales are final.”
Addressing Jade, Riley said, “If you ran into any problems with the functionality of the cameras, do you think Brie could fix them?”
Jade chewed on her bottom lip. “I think so. And she’s got a few photography nerd friends. They could probably help.”
Riley shrugged. “Seems like a good haul. This is the first time we’ve found more than one in a single trip.”
“You’re right,” Jade said, standing to full height. “I’ll take ’em.”
“Wonderful!” the woman said, her voice jumping an octave. She cleared her throat. “They come with camera bags as well. I’ll grab those for you and meet you up front, hmm?”
Riley grabbed one camera and Jade grabbed two, and then they made their way back to the front of the store. The dentistry cabinet had been abandoned by the young woman who had been studying it earlier. With a collection as eclectic as this, Riley wondered how the place stayed open.
“Did you see something over there you liked, dear?” came a voice from behind her and Riley jumped, almost losing her hold on the camera. She glanced over her shoulder and found the store owner behind her, carrying a black camera bag.
“Oh, no …” Riley said, facing forward again. “I’m not here to shop. I’m the moral support.”
As the woman rang up the cameras, Jade happily told her about her upcoming wedding. Now that they were at the front of the shop, the woman’s demeanor was relaxed again. Riley eyed the handwritten “Absolutely No Refunds!” sign that had been taped to the glass top of the counter. Hopefully the woman hadn’t just sold Jade three lemons.
“Have a lovely day, ladies,” the woman said, gently sliding a camera bag across the counter’s surface once the payment had been made. “There are two smaller ones inside.”
The bag was bulky, awkwardly shaped, and made of a dull blue-gray fabric. Riley was sure it was perfectly functional as a camera bag; it just wasn’t very cute. She draped it over her shoulder, offered the woman a small smile, and followed Jade outside.
Shuttered Secrets Page 3