“I’ve got it,” John said, shifting Olivia away. The movement was subtle. If anyone else were in the room they wouldn’t have noticed. But she had.
“Go relax,” she said, testing him. “You’ve been with her all day. I’ll take care of bath-time.”
He avoided her gaze and instead gave Olivia a loud raspberry at the crook of her neck. While her daughter giggled, John turned away. “You didn’t eat anything. Have some pizza, and I’ll take care of her bath.”
She stared at her husband’s retreating back, disappointment piercing her in the heart. He didn’t trust her to bathe their daughter, even with him home. She would never do anything to hurt Olivia.
The black figure surrounding Olivia’s blond head rematerialized. As she shook off the memory, she couldn’t shake off the resentment suddenly burning its way through her belly. For the unknown killer, for John and for her psychic gift that could put them all in danger.
Chapter 11
CELESTE PULLED THE tray of cinnamon rolls from the oven, then set them on the stovetop. When John was in town on Sundays, she liked to spoil him with a big breakfast. Since she was still irritated with him for making it clear he didn’t trust her to give Olivia a bath, she’d been tempted to not bake the homemade rolls. The only reason she had was because she’d wanted one and because Olivia liked them, too. John could eat a bowl of dry Cheerios, for all she cared.
“Something smells good,” John said, as he came into the kitchen carrying his tablet, which he’d been reading a book from all morning. “Are you making omelets, too?”
“Nope.” She turned toward the counter, then cracked an egg into a bowl. “You’ve got a choice between scrambled and scrambled.” Olivia tugged at the hem of Celeste’s sweatshirt. She looked down and grinned. “Does Livy want some eggs, too?” she asked, and held her leg out to stop her daughter from nearing the oven. “Hot.”
Her daughter smiled back and toddled backward toward John. While he put Olivia in the highchair, she went back to cracking eggs.
“Then I guess I’ll have scrambled eggs,” he said.
“I guess you have no choice.”
“Well, I can see this is going to be a pleasant day.”
“Pretty much.”
“Cut the crap, Celeste. You’ve been in a mood since last night. What’s the problem?”
She tossed eggshells into the sink, and faced him. “You really don’t know?”
“I wouldn’t have asked.”
John shouldn’t look so damned sexy in his old sweats and t-shirt. She shouldn’t want to kiss him after the way he’d acted last night. But she did. She couldn’t help herself. Despite that he’d hurt her, she loved everything about him.
She turned away and began scrambling the eggs. “The problem is that you gave Olivia a bath last night.”
“How is that a problem? You know I try to be a hands-on dad when I’m home. I thought I was doing you a favor.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Kind of strange, since you normally hit the couch and let me take care of Olivia’s bath.”
“I gave her a bath the other night.”
“You’re missing the point.” She turned away from the counter. “Yes, you help out now and then, but admit it. Nine out of ten times it’s my job to take care of Olivia.”
“You’re home more than I am.”
“And you’re coming up with excuses. I know why you did her bath last night. The fact that you didn’t trust me to do it…never mind.” How could she not blame him? She’d practically drowned herself in the tub the night before.
The stool he’d been sitting on scraped across the floor. Within seconds, he had his arms around her, his chest flush to her back. “I’m sorry,” he said, and kissed her neck. “Of course I trust you.” He turned her so she faced him. “Understand something. You didn’t see what I did. When I found you in the bathtub, under the water struggling…I don’t ever want to see that again. Spend as much time as you need with Maxine and do whatever you need to do to figure out what happened to Sandra and Tracy. I don’t care what it takes, as long as you find a way to control these trances. Okay?”
“Okay, but until I figure out how to control them, how do you want to handle Olivia? If she’s not at the daycare, she’s with me. And you’re supposed to go out of town again on Tuesday.”
“What if you were on the phone with your sister or me or whoever during bath-time? This way if something happens, they’ll know to—”
“Call 911?” She shook her head. “Sounds a little ridiculous and makes me sound crazy.”
“I prefer cautious to crazy,” he said, then touched her chin. “For the record, I love spending time with Olivia and helping you when I can.”
“I know you do. And I’ll promise to be cautious if you promise to not be paranoid.”
“Promise.” He gave her a kiss. “Are we good?”
She relaxed against his chest. “Yeah, we’re good.”
“Does this mean you’ll make me an omelet?”
She chuckled. “Don’t push your luck.”
He kissed her again, then plucked a cinnamon roll from the tray and placed it on a plate. “What time do you plan to go to the wake?” he asked, cutting the roll into small pieces.
“It’s scheduled from two to four, then six to eight. I know this sounds bad, but I’d rather go to the earlier showing and get it over with.”
“I don’t blame you. Since I have nothing going today, it doesn’t matter to me what time you go.” He carried the plate to Olivia’s highchair, then placed half the cut-up roll onto her tray. “Oink, oink,” he said, as Olivia shoved a handful into her mouth. “You must’ve gotten your manners from your mommy.”
Celeste laughed. “You better check yourself. I’ve watched you eat ribs.”
“They’re supposed to be messy,” he replied, just as her cell phone rang.
She pulled the phone off the charger and checked the caller ID. “It’s George,” she said, her stomach suddenly filling with nervous energy. “I hope he has some good news.”
While John took over the eggs, she stepped into the living room and answered the call. “Morning, George.”
“Morning. I spoke with Joe and I’ve got some news you’re going to be interested in, and a request.”
She sat at the edge of the sofa’s armrest. “Were they able to do Tracy’s autopsy?”
“That and more. The ME placed Tracy’s time of death somewhere between late Tuesday night and Wednesday morning. He found water in her lungs and confirmed that she’d drowned. The bruising along her face and chest indicated she’d been forcibly held under water. They’re still waiting on a full toxicology report, but so far no alcohol was found in her system.”
Memories of the black figure looming over her instantly resurfaced. “What about Tracy’s office. Joe said it was ransacked. Did they find any fingerprints, hairs, fibers…?”
“Nothing yet. They couldn’t tell what the killer was looking for in the office. But Joe didn’t like that Tracy died the same day as her mother. He contacted Chicago PD last night and they, in turn, contacted Sandra’s attorney. Like we talked about, Sandra had left Tracy twenty-five thousand dollars of her approximately eight hundred and twenty thousand dollar estate.”
“Wow. That’s a lot of money.”
“It’s a lot of motivation. Especially because the attorney claims Sandra had kept her will secret from her daughters. Those girls had no idea what she had or what they were going to get. Anyway, the attorney said Sandra had all the paperwork lined up for her cremation. Chicago PD confirmed this with the funeral home. Since the paperwork was signed and ready to go, Sandra was scheduled to be cremated Tuesday morning.”
“Was?”
“That’s right. Chicago PD reopened the case and they’re treating it as a possible homicide. I know the detectives working it. I spoke with one of them, guy by the name of Clay Garfield. They got a warrant to search Sandra’s house, but didn’t find anything that indicated foul pl
ay. Because Clay also doesn’t believe in coincidences, he tried to get a warrant to search the two daughters’ homes, along with Sandra’s ex-husband. The judge didn’t think there was enough probable cause, but agreed that Sandra’s body needs to be autopsied before she’s cremated.”
“Wait. She wasn’t given an autopsy to begin with?”
“Celeste, I worked homicide for many years and had my share of dealings with the county corner and ME. In a case like Sandra’s, it was up to the coroner to decide if an autopsy needed to be performed. The coroner didn’t think so and, if I’d been assigned to her case, I wouldn’t have requested an autopsy, either. Think about it. Dying woman in the final stages of cancer takes her own life. It’s cut and dried.”
“I understand,” she said. “When are they planning on doing the autopsy?”
“Clay wants to pick up Sandra’s body after the wake ends tonight, then bring the family back to the station for questioning. Since they’re doing a closed-casket memorial service tomorrow, the body won’t be missed and the service can proceed as planned.”
Oh, God. She couldn’t begin to imagine how Kelly was going to take the news. What was even worse, this was all her fault. One fuzzy vision could put Kelly and her family through hell. It could also give Sandra and Tracy justice.
Unless you’re wrong.
“Do you know who Detective Garfield plans to question?” she asked, ignoring her self-doubt.
“The two daughters and their husbands. If the ex is at the funeral home, I think he’ll be interviewed, too. If not, I’m sure the detectives will pay him a visit. I know I would.”
“Well, you definitely had interesting news for me,” she began, “so what’s the request?”
“I told you I know the detectives working this case. Clay and I go way back, same with his partner. Both are damned good at what they do. Clay’s also very open-minded. I told him you’re psychic and he wants you to help them.”
Her stomach did a little flip. She moved from the sofa’s armrest to sit on the cushion. “How can I help?”
“Clay wants you to go to the six to eight showing and for you to stay until the end. Once the wake is over, the police will take the body. He’s hoping you could…I dunno, get a read off the family.”
She rubbed her temple where a dull throb began to build. “George, I get readings off objects and have visions or trances. I can’t read peoples’ minds.”
“I get that, I think Clay does, too. But you know these people and could maybe pick up on their body language.”
“That I could do.”
“Clay also wants you to be at the station when he interviews the family.”
She froze. “No way. That I won’t do. I don’t want Kelly to know that I have anything to do with her mother’s body being removed from the funeral home.”
“Clay assured me that they won’t know. You’ll be brought into the station without their knowledge and sit in a separate room to watch the interviews through a one-way mirror.” He let out a sigh. “Between Tracy’s murder and what they’ve found out from the attorney, I truly believe Sandra didn’t kill herself. I truly believe in you, Celeste.”
While she appreciated that George had faith in her and her visions, taking part in what the detective had planned didn’t settle well with her. What if Kelly found out she was the reason the police had reopened the investigation into Sandra’s death and Celeste had been wrong this whole time? Or what if she was right and the killer ended up being Lea, or maybe Kelly’s own husband? Kelly’s family would be torn apart. But if she was right, Sandra and Tracy deserved to have their killer convicted and placed in prison.
“Well?” George asked. “Should I tell Clay you’ll help him?”
John walked into the room, his gaze probing.
“Give me five minutes, George. I’ll call you right back.” After she ended the call, she stood and went to John. “The Chicago PD is now investigating Sandra’s death as a possible homicide,” she said. When Olivia called for them, she followed him into the kitchen, explaining everything George had told her.
She set her cell phone on the island and tucked her hair behind her ear. “What do you think I should do? I want to help, but I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I also don’t want to run the risk of Kelly finding out about my involvement.”
John plated the scrambled eggs he’d finished cooking for them. “If you were Kelly, would you want to know the truth?”
“Of course.”
He set a cinnamon roll on each plate. “Here’s the thing. When I’m investigating a crime I take into consideration the victim’s family, but I’m not worried about hurting their feelings. I’ve interviewed plenty of family members to rule them out and, while most are cooperative, there’ve been plenty who’ve taken offense. When it comes to a murder investigation I honestly don’t care if I offend anyone. My main objective is always about giving the victim justice. If Kelly does find out you played a role in this and her family ends up beyond dysfunctional, I doubt she’s going to blame you. The blame lies with the killer.” He shrugged. “And if she does blame you and you lose a friend, then maybe she wasn’t that good a friend to begin with.”
She stared at the plate in front of her, but had no desire to eat. Although she and Kelly weren’t best friends, she liked the woman. Since moving to Chicago, it had been hard to make friends outside of the people John worked with at CORE, and everyone else she associated with either worked for her or were related to her. Still, John had a valid point. If her involvement ruined her friendship with Kelly, at least she could sleep well at night knowing Sandra and Tracy’s murderer had been found. At least she hoped to God the police found him or her. Based on her visions—not evidence—she was leaning toward Lea.
She picked up her cell phone. “You’re right. I’ll tell George I’ll do it.” She hovered her finger over the call button. “You don’t mind hanging with Olivia tonight?”
He glanced to their daughter, who had cinnamon and icing smeared into her curls, and grinned. “Not at all.”
She let the call go through and placed the phone to her ear. When George answered, she said, “I’ll do it. Will you be there?”
“Not at the funeral home. Clay said I could sit with you during the interviews.”
Relieved she’d have a familiar face with her, she told George she’d see him later, then ended the call. After setting the phone down, she looked to her husband. “I don’t know how you do what you do for a living.”
“And I don’t know how you deal with having the dead work through you.” He pushed his plate away and reached for her. His warm hand brought her comfort and gave her the grounding she needed right now. “We’ll get through this. Set up dinner with Maxine. If she can help us figure out how to deal with the unexpected trances, I’m on board. I love you,” he said, and ran his thumb along her knuckles. “I married a psychic and need the two of you to teach me how to open my mind to what you can do.”
She stared into his eyes and found the support she needed to work through tonight and the tomorrows ahead of them. She squeezed his hand. “I love you, too,” she said, and in the back of her mind she wondered about those tomorrows. She’d had baby on her brain for months and wanted to expand their family. Now wasn’t the time to bring up the subject, but she couldn’t help wonder if John would put a wrench into their baby-making plans, now that her visions and trances had returned. At this point, he didn’t trust her to give their daughter a bath.
The quick memory of being held under the bath water emerged.
At this point, she didn’t trust herself.
*
With her stomach in knots, Celeste stood in front of the photo collage Kelly and Lea had made in honor of their mom. There were pictures of Sandra as a child, a teenager, as a young adult and new mom. Kelly and Lea had left out photographs of their father, but had made sure they included pictures of Sandra in her later years, some of them with her holding her granddaughters.
As she look
ed at the collage, Celeste’s heart told her Lea couldn’t have murdered her own mother, but her visions had told a different story. That black mass, the evil it embodied, had led her to believe Sandra’s killer was someone close to her. And someone who didn’t want Tracy stepping in the way of their inheritance.
Taking in a deep breath, she stepped away from the collage, then moved along the dwindling receiving line. When she approached Lea’s husband, Brandon, the man gave her a firm handshake as she expressed her condolences. She’d never met Brandon before and couldn’t deny the man was good looking. Tall and trim, he stood next to his wife, his black tailored suit neatly pressed, his white shirt crisp and accented with a dark tie. Lea also wore black, and her dress looked as if it had been custom-made for her slim sexy figure. Between her fair skin and light brown hair and Brandon’s darker good looks, they made a striking couple. As Celeste stepped away from Brandon and moved on to Lea, she couldn’t help remembering the conversation she’d heard between the two auras and couldn’t picture Brandon getting into the position for a game of dominatrix.
“Lea,” she began, taking the other woman’s hand, “how are you holding up?”
“Honestly, I can’t wait for tomorrow to be over.”
Brandon wrapped an arm around Lea, then kissed her temple. “Hang in there, honey.”
Celeste gave Lea’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ve been through this, too, and felt the same way,” she said, then walked to the next person in line.
Dale dressed in all black, too. Only his suit looked as if it had been bought off the rack. He gave her hand a limp shake and didn’t bother making eye contact. Other than the weak handshake, he made no further acknowledgement. The few times she’d had to endure the man he had treated her the same way. How Kelly, who was sweet, bubbly and outgoing, had ended up with such a jerk she didn’t know. Dismissing Dale and his arrogant prickish attitude, she moved on to Kelly.
Kelly finished hugging the person in front of her. When she met Celeste’s gaze, her chin wobbled and fresh tears filled her eyes. “I was hoping you’d come,” she said, pulling Celeste into her arms. “Thank you. I’m sure it’s not easy to come to these things after having lost your own mom.”
Celeste Files: Unlocked Page 13