Celeste Files: Unlocked

by Kristine Mason

  “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.

&
nbsp; “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.”

  “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.�
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  “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?”