Celeste Files: Unlocked

by Kristine Mason

  Celeste hugged her back. “Don’t worry about me. I’m more concerned about you.”

  Kelly let go of her, then pulled a tissue from her skirt pocket. “I’m okay. I knew today would eventually come, I just didn’t realize how many emotional highs and lows I’d have.” She shook her head. “Some of the people who’ve come today I haven’t seen in years. It’s amazing and humbling to know how many people my mom has touched.”

  She rubbed Kelly’s arm. “I wish I’d had the pleasure of meeting her. She sounds like she was wonderful woman.”

  A wistful smile tilted Kelly’s lips. “She truly was. What’s sad is that Avery will never know her grandma.”

  Celeste’s throat tightened with the threat of tears. How many times had she thought the same thing about her mom? At least Sandra had met Avery. Celeste’s mom hadn’t been able to see her marry or had the pleasure of holding Olivia. So much had happened in the five years she’d been gone. Being here, witnessing Kelly’s pain, only reminded her life was too damned short. Tracy’s image filled her mind. Too damned short.

  Celeste’s grief was suddenly dwarfed by guilt. Kelly and Lea clearly suffered, and within the next fifteen to twenty minutes, that suffering would be taken to another level. Because of her.

  Aware of the man behind her in the receiving line, she gave Kelly another quick hug, then approached the opened casket. She didn’t recognize the dead woman. With her face heavily coated in makeup, a brown wig covering her head, her body slightly bloated—likely from whatever medication she’d been on before she had died—Sandra looked nothing like she had in Celeste’s vision. While she hadn’t been able to see Sandra in the first trance, during the second one she’d watched her crochet the baby blanket, saw her pretty smile, and the laughter and sadness in her bright brown eyes. That was the image she would take with her. Not the body in the casket.

  Celeste made a silent prayer, apologizing to Sandra for what her family was about to be put through, and vowing that she would do what she could to make sure her killer was held accountable. She left the casket and walked toward the back of the room, where she took a seat in a wooden folding chair. After a few minutes, Kelly and her family sat in the chairs at the front, while the funeral home director stood before the casket. He recited closing prayers, then informed the few guest still left that the memorial service would take place at noon tomorrow.

  When he finished speaking, Celeste’s nervous stomach soured. She slipped her cell phone from her purse and checked the time. In another ten minutes the police were to arrive. Since she wasn’t a close friend or family member, she had no reason to remain at the funeral home. Needing to stall for time, she rose, then made her way to the ladies’ room. The strong odor of antiseptics and flowers immediately made her eyes water. She’d endure the smell for another couple of minutes, then head out of the bathroom. She figured by the time she said good-bye to Kelly, the police would—

  Commotion came from the hallway. A man shouted, a woman cried out. Celeste’s heart rate accelerated as she rushed from the bathroom. Dale argued with a man she assumed was one of the detectives George had told her about, while Kelly sobbed against Lea’s shoulder. Several uniformed officers blocked the entrance into the room where Sandra’s showing had been held. Both the funeral director and Brandon stood next to Dale, each of them holding his arms and pulling him away from the detective.

  “This is bullshit,” Dale shouted, then shrugged off Brandon and the director. “Can’t you let my wife and her family grieve in peace?”

  “Detective Garfield,” Brandon began, his tone calm yet filled with contempt, “my brother-in-law has a point. If you want to reinvestigate Sandra’s death, couldn’t you have done it after the memorial service?”

  “Screw that.” Dale fisted his hands. “How about a little warning? At least if we knew you were coming, my wife and her sister, not to mention their aunts, could’ve been prepared for this bullshit.”

  Celeste had forgotten about Sandra’s two sisters, who stood near the exit, one of them holding Avery, while the other had Zoe propped against her hip. The sisters’ faces were tear-soaked as they gazed at the scene, shock evident in their eyes.

  “Mr. Westfield,” Detective Clay Garfield said to Brandon. “I apologize for the ill-timed situation. But that doesn’t change the fact that we will be removing your mother-in-law’s body from the premises for a thorough autopsy.”

  “On what grounds?” Brandon asked.

  “We’d like for those of you present to come to the precinct to answer a few questions,” Clay said, instead. “I’ll be happy to explain the situation then.”

  “Unless I’m under arrest, you can kiss my ass.” Dale took Kelly by the arm. “We’re leaving.”

  Kelly held her ground. “No.” She faced the detective. “The coroner said our mom’s death was a suicide. What’s changed?”

  “Ma’am, I—”

  “I’ll go to your precinct and answer your questions,” Kelly said, her voice rising. “But at least tell me why you’re doing this to us?”

  “We have new information that leads us to believe your mother’s death wasn’t a suicide.”

  Lea gasped. “Are you saying she was murdered?”

  “Ridiculous.” Dale snorted. “I don’t think any of us should answer any more questions without an attorney.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Brandon said with a sigh. “Knock it off, Dale. And remember, I am an attorney.” Brandon took Lea’s hand. “We’ll cooperate, right?”

  Lea leaned against her husband and nodded.

  “We will, too,” Kelly said, and nudged Dale. “If Mom didn’t die of natural causes or a suicide, I want to know what happened to her.”

  “Fine. But, for the record, I still think this is bullshit.”

  Kelly looked away from her husband and met Celeste’s gaze. Celeste’s heart went out to Kelly and her guilt turned into self-loathing. John had told her that during an investigation he didn’t care about hurting the feelings of the victims’ families, and that his main objective was to give the victim justice. But she knew this family and she did care. She wanted Sandra and Tracy’s killer caught. She wanted their families to be allowed to grieve properly. She wanted to be wrong about Lea and the possibility the woman, and maybe even her husband, had anything to do with Sandra and Tracy’s murders.

  Kelly broke eye contact and walked toward the exit with her husband. As the funeral home emptied, Detective Garfield approached her. “Ma’am. How are you associated with the family?”

  “I’m Celeste Kain,” she said. “George told you about me.”

  “Really?” The detectives hazel eyes widened slightly. “Sorry, I guess I was expecting someone who looks like the tiny woman with big glasses from Poltergeist.” His small smile softened his lean, weathered face. “Thanks for helping us out tonight. George filled you in on everything?”

  “Yes, and I’m nervous about listening to the interviews.”

  “Don’t be. They won’t know you’re there.” He turned to one of the officers. “Head out the back exit and let the coroner’s techs know we’re ready to remove the body. I’m heading back to the precinct.” As the officer walked off, another man entered the funeral home. “Clay, you ready?”

  “Did the family leave?”

  “Yep, I’ve got a patrol car following them.”

  Clay turned to her. “Mind giving me a ride? We’ve got a fifteen-minute drive, and I’d like to hear more about your visions.”

  Chapter 12

  SURPRISED BY THE detective’s genuine interest in her psychic skills, and curious to hear his take on what had just transpired at the funeral home, Celeste agreed to drive Clay back to the precinct. Once they were in the car, she realized she wasn’t going to be asking any questions. Before Clay buckled his seatbelt, he was drilling her about her first vision. After she explained what details she remembered from Sandra’s murder, he dragged in a deep breath.

  “How is it you couldn’t see the k
iller?” he asked. “And what about Tracy Saunders? George said you couldn’t see her killer, either.”

  “That’s a question I keep asking myself,” Celeste admitted, then parked in the spot Clay had suggested. “It’s weird that I can see so many details in my visions, yet when it comes to the killer I can only feel its anger and hatred.”

  “Its?” he asked, reaching for the door handle.

  She shrugged. “Obviously a flesh and blood person murdered Sandra and Tracy. But the killer I saw didn’t resemble a man or a woman. It was like an entity of some sort.” She let out a shaky chuckle. “Sounds crazy, huh?”

  “A little.” He grinned. “After being a detective for over twenty years, I’m used to crazy.” He opened the door. “Come on. Let’s get this over with so you can go home to your family.”

  She followed Clay into Chicago’s 19th District, then into a small viewing room. A female uniformed officer fiddled with the equipment stacked on a table in front of a one-way mirror. On the other side of the mirror, Dale sat at a metal table looking pissed off at the world. “Where’s George?” Celeste asked.

  “He couldn’t make it,” Clay said.

  Disappointed and nervous, she glanced back to the mirror. “You’re sure Dale can’t see me?”

  “No one being interviewed knows you’re in here,” the officer said.

  Clay placed a hand on the doorknob. “Relax. I’m going to leave you with Officer Moran while my partner and I conduct the interviews.”

  “And I should be doing what?”

  “Whatever it is you do.”

  She looked to the ceiling and shook her head. When she met Clay’s gaze she said, “I’m sure George explained that I’m a psychic, not a mind reader. I can’t get inside peoples’ heads.”

  He smiled. “He did, and I understand. But you are our only witness to the two murders.” He stepped away from the door. “My colleagues aren’t expecting much from you. Honestly, neither am I.”

  Her temper spiked. She pulled her keys from her coat pocket and moved toward the door. “Then don’t waste my time.”

  Clay caught her by the forearm. “Let me rephrase. I’m one of those cops who’ll give anything a shot if it means I can close a case. If there’s a chance you can pick up a familiar phrase the killer used, or maybe their body language is similar to what you saw in your visions, we could use those things to dig deeper into that person’s background. You claimed to see two women die. I don’t know if I believe it, but I’m not going to discount it. Just watch and listen. When we’re finished with the interviews, we’ll talk.” He let go of her arm. “And if you have nothing to add, don’t worry about it.”

  How could she not worry? She’d spent the majority of her life living in a small town. The people there either believed in her, or thought she was as nutty as her mom. She didn’t want to look like a fool, or have Clay’s colleagues laughing behind her back or giving him a hard time for putting a modicum amount of faith in a psychic.

  “For whatever it’s worth,” Officer Moran began, “I think psychics are cool. You’re not going to hear me talking smack about you, no matter the outcome.”

  Clay opened the door. “See? We’re all good.” He smiled. “I’ll catch you in a bit.”

  After he closed the door, Officer Moran pulled out the chair next to hers. “Have a seat and enjoy the show.”

  Keeping her coat on and her purse tight to her chest, she sat next to the woman. “Thank you, officer.”

  “Since we’ll be here for a while, let’s get rid of the officer bit. My name’s Jamie.” She adjusted the video camera, just as Clay and his partner stepped into the interview room.

  “Where are the others?” Celeste asked.

  “They’re being held in separate rooms until it’s their turn to be interviewed.” Jamie glanced at her. “Clay said one of the suspects is a friend of yours.”

  She nodded and pointed toward the mirror. “This guy is her husband.”

  “Too bad.”

  Before Celeste had the chance to ask why Jamie thought that, Clay started the interview. “Mr. Graney, where were you late Tuesday night?” Clay asked.

  “At home,” Dale answered. “With my wife and daughter.”

  “What about Wednesday?” Clay’s partner asked.

  “I didn’t catch the other detective’s name,” Celeste whispered.

  Jamie grinned. “He’s Detective Ben Mathews. And you don’t need to whisper. The suspect can’t hear you.”

  Dale clenched his jaw. “Are you accusing me of killing my mother-in-law?”

  Clay held up his hands. “No one is accusing you of anything. We’re just talking.”

  “Talking a lot of bullshit.” Dale rested both of his elbows on the table and placed his head in his hands. “Look, Sandra didn’t like me. Honestly, I didn’t like her, either. She was always in our business, thought that Kelly could do better than me, that our house was shit, that I didn’t earn enough.” He dropped his hands. “I bust my ass every single day. I’m up for a promotion come April. If I get it, I’ll have the opportunity to run my department. It’s no secret Sandra and I didn’t get along. But I wouldn’t jeopardize my career and kill a woman who was already dying. What’s the point?”

  “How about money?” Mathews asked. “I’d say over four hundred thousand dollars is a valid point.” He shrugged. “’Cause that’s about what your wife will inherit. I imagine that amount of money would help out a guy who’s only bringing in one hundred and fifty grand a year. Then there’s your debt.”

  “Yeah,” Clay began, “you and your wife have been having some fun with the credit cards.”

  Dale narrowed his eyes. “We have debt, who doesn’t?” He leaned back in his chair. “Don’t waste my time. Check our credit, I don’t give a shit. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  “Do you think Sandra did?” Clay asked.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Do you own a gun?” Mathews asked, instead.

  Dale frowned. “I thought Sandra died of an overdose.”

  Mathews sat at the edge of the desk. “Just answer the question.”

  “No gun.”

  “Okay, then tell us what you know about Tracy Saunders?”

  Dale’s face contorted in confusion. “Who?”

  “She died the same day Sandra did,” Clay said. “What’s interesting is that Tracy was Sandra’s daughter.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Dale looked between both detectives. “Holy shit. Are you telling me Sandra had a kid no one knew about?”

  “That’s right. According to the medical examiner, Tracy Saunders died sometime between Tuesday night and Wednesday morning. Can you tell us where you were during those times?”

  Dale rolled his eyes. “Tuesday, I went to work and didn’t get home until around six.”

  “And Wednesday?”

  “I was at work.”

  “All day?” Mathews asked.

  Dale shifted his eyes to the desk. “Look, I work hard—”

  “So you’d said. Just answer the question or should we call your supervisor and confirm your whereabouts?”

  Dale’s face reddened as he shook his head. “Fine. I wasn’t at work in the afternoon, but I was there in the morning.”

  “Where were you in the afternoon, Mr. Graney?”

  “La Quinta Inn on South Franklin Street.” Dale pushed a hand through his hair. “With my girlfriend.”

  Both detectives looked at each other, then Clay asked, “What time?”

  “We met around one and I left at four-thirty, after Kelly called to tell me Sandra died.”

  Clay placed a pad of paper and a pen in front of Dale. “We’ll need your girlfriend’s name, the room number you stayed in and a receipt. We’ll also need your supervisor’s contact information.”

  Dale picked up the pen. “Are you going to tell my wife?” he asked, the guilt crossing his face matching Celeste’s. Oh, my God. Now Kelly would not only have to deal with
knowing someone had murdered her mother, but also a philandering husband.

  “That she has a secret half-sister whose been murdered, or that her husband cheated on her?” Detective Mathews asked.

  “In other words,” Clay began, “murder trumps affair.”

  “That’s all for now, Mr. Graney,” Mathews said. “You’re free to go.”

  Celeste jerked back when Dale slammed his hands against the table. As he stood, he shoved the paper he’d just written on off the desk. “This is bullshit. Your ridiculous accusations could cause a problem with my marriage and—”

  “Thanks again for your time,” Clay said, then nodded to the officer standing near the door.

  “Looks like Dale is screwed,” Jamie said, as she stopped the video camera.

  “Looks like he didn’t do it.” Celeste watched as Dale was escorted from the room. There had been times in her life where she’d wished she could be a fly on the wall. Now that she was one, she didn’t like it. She didn’t want to know anything about Dale’s affair, or that he and Kelly were having financial problems. She wanted to go back to before Sandra’s death, when she wasn’t having visions or trances and had been oblivious to her friend’s personal problems.

  “Maybe,” Jamie said. “Clay and Ben will follow up on his alibis. People like to lie.”

  “That makes sense. I’m wondering why the detectives didn’t ask him more about Sandra’s death. The killer wanted an item in her safe.”

  Jamie glanced at her. “It’s hard to ask about this alleged item when they don’t know what it is or if it even exists.” She straightened. “Next interview is up.”

  Celeste looked toward the mirror as Brandon took a seat. “I know you’re aware that I’m an attorney,” he said. “I know my rights and—”

  “We’re well aware, Mr. Westfield,” Clay began, “Just as I’m sure you know that we will look into your alibi for Tuesday night and Wednesday.”