A Question of Ghosts

by Cate Culpepper

  Jo’s body relaxed against hers, and Becca could feel sleep claim her in seconds. Her exhaustion had finally kicked in, and Becca was relieved there was some hope Jo might actually sleep through the night. There was some hope she might too now, well and dreamlessly, with Jo draped around her like a comforting cloak.

  Becca turned her head toward the side table. She couldn’t see the little radio or the Spiricom, but the soft crackle of static drew her.

  “Mom?” she said softly. The word felt strange in her mouth. It wasn’t one she had spoken aloud often, certainly not as a name. At five, her mother had been “Mommy,” and Becca had been “little girl.”

  Jo had said the Spiricom might make two-way communication possible. Becca wondered fuzzily if her mother was awake out there, in whatever shadowed land she inhabited now.

  Her lips still vibrated from that kiss, that unexpected gift. She hoped fervently that Jo wouldn’t regret it in the morning, either the kiss or the welcome embrace of her arms tonight. Becca felt a sleepy but powerful hankering to talk to Khadijah or Marty or Rachel, to have a long and thoughtful chat about the fact that she was falling in love for the first time in her life.

  She sighed, and her eyes drifted closed. No one could really advise her on the risk of this romantic folly, about whether loving Jo would ultimately heal or hurt them both. Becca’s wandering mind summoned an image of the Lady of the Rock, and she took comfort from the statue’s maternal gaze.

  “Becca.”

  Becca’s eyes flew open, and she started so hard only the depth of Jo’s weariness preserved her sleep.

  Her mother’s voice was different.

  She had spoken only her name, but Becca heard the change clearly. For the first time, there was no grief in her mother’s tone, no fear, no pleading. Madelyn Healy was speaking to her daughter as she had never been able to in life, as one woman to another, and her voice was rich with love and a kind of shy, pleased approval.

  “Becca…it’s right.”

  Becca stared into the darkness, her heart pounding. She felt Jo’s soft breath stir her hair, and she understood.

  Becca smiled, spiraling down into sleep, filled with a new, growing faith in two things. Her mother had been a wise woman, and they were both right about Joanne Call.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Yes, Pam, I believe I’ve admitted you told us to call you at any time.” Jo grimaced and stepped deeper into the bushes, lifting small branches with one hand and clasping her cell with the other.

  “Yeah, and last night would have been a very good time.” Pam Emerson’s voice crackled in her ear. “I could have been there in ten minutes, Jo, damn.”

  “Well, I’m bringing it to you now.” Or half of it. If Jo couldn’t find the doll’s stupid head, Pam would have to make do with decapitated evidence. “It will only take me ten minutes, too.”

  “You shouldn’t even have touched it,” Pam pointed out.

  “Too late for that. Ah.” Jo bent awkwardly and snagged the doll’s head with her thumb through the hole in its eye. At least the hideous thing would be intact.

  She straightened and saw Becca across the street. She was standing by her battered Toyota, the sun shining on her hair, regarding Jo quizzically. “You’re right,” she told Pam, “I should have called you last night. I apologize. I was…distracted.”

  “How’s Becca?” Pam’s irritation softened. Jo remembered she knew of Becca’s fear of dolls. She had tried to comfort her with one, the night of the shootings. She felt an unexpected flicker of relief as Pam Emerson clicked solidly in place as a member of their clan.

  “She had a rocky night, but she’s better today.” Jo concealed the head of the doll at the back of her belt, wincing as her sore shoulder tweaked. “She’s seeing her therapist for breakfast.”

  “That’s a good idea. And I’m seeing you at the station in nine minutes?”

  “Nine minutes.” Jo folded her cell and walked down the driveway. She gave Becca a brisk wave of farewell, went to the back of her Bentley, and opened the trunk. She slipped the doll’s head into the tarped bundle containing its body, closed the trunk, and walked straight into Becca. “Omph.”

  “Whoops!” Becca steadied her, smiling up into her eyes. “Sorry, Batman.”

  “No harm done.” Jo liked the feel of Becca’s hands on her arms, and the fact that she kept them there even after she was steady. “You’re off to see Rachel?”

  Becca nodded. “I told her I’d meet her at her place. The way she looked last night, I don’t want her out running around. What about you? You haven’t spilled your plans this morning.”

  “Well, I’m going by my office to start cleaning up.” Jo considered lying by omission, but remembered her ongoing lessons in Becca School. “But first I’m bringing the doll to Pam Emerson. It’s in the trunk.”

  Becca’s hands tightened on her arms, but only briefly. She looked toward the back of Jo’s car, then back at her. “Okay. Sounds like a good plan.”

  “Did hearing that trigger you?”

  “No.” Becca really did look fine. “It’s a little hard to explain, but if I’m not actually looking at a doll, I can think of it as an abstract. It’s as if you were terrified of spiders—you wouldn’t be crazy about a dead tarantula in the trunk, but at least you’d know it wasn’t going to crawl up through the seats and eat you.”

  “That makes sense.” Jo drank in the warmth of Becca’s jade eyes. The light in them deepened.

  “It’s Capitol Hill, so I can do this.” Becca’s voice was lower now, silken, as she stepped closer. “But in case you have issues with public displays of affection, I’m giving you fair notice that I’m about to kiss you.”

  Jo actually did appreciate that notice, because touch generally was still hard for—

  And then she forgot touch had ever been hard for her as Becca’s arms slid around her neck. She lowered her head and their lips met.

  It was really, really nice.

  Jo didn’t have words for some things.

  Becca must have agreed because she wrapped her arms around her, the kind of hug she was so justly famous for among her friends. Jo had never been so warmly and thoroughly hugged in her life, but Becca was pressing her shoulder and she squeaked.

  Becca released her. “What was that?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You’re six feet tall and you just went off like a poodle. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Joanne, if I wanted the stoic butch routine, I’d read fan fiction. What is it?”

  Jo grinned in spite of herself and shrugged. “We took a tumble down the front stairs last night. I’m fine. It’s just a bruise.”

  The light faded from Becca’s features. “Are you sure? Should you see a doctor?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Becca looked up at her pensively. “I don’t know whether to trust you with this. You’re not very good at taking care of yourself, I’ve noticed. I’m still not sure what you need, at any given time.”

  “Please consider Joanne School in session now.” Jo lowered her head until her forehead touched Becca’s, and the words flowed as naturally as rain. “Don’t you know this is enough? You’re giving me exactly what I need.”

  The breath went out of Becca and she seemed a bit weak in the knees, an effect Jo had never had on a woman, to her knowledge, nor had ever wanted to. She kind of liked it.

  Becca stepped back and pulled her cell out of her pocket. She flipped it open and tapped keys, then mouthed “voice mail” at Jo. “Rachel? Let’s make it dinner tonight, okay? I’m so much better. And something has come up here that’s kind of pressing. I’ll call you later.”

  Jo frowned. “Becca, this is a terrible idea.”

  “No, it isn’t. I will check in with Rachel, but it can wait for tonight.” Becca slid her cell back in her pocket. “I want to hear what Pam has to say about the doll. Just don’t let me see it. And you’re not cleaning up all that broken glass in your office alone
with a bruised shoulder.”

  “Becca—”

  “And you’re letting me drive.” Becca plucked the keys from Jo’s fingers, chimed open the door, and slid inside the Bentley.

  “Becca—”

  “Trust. Trust builds relationships.” Becca patted the wheel cheerfully. “Get in, please.”

  “Building trust, hell, you want my Bentley,” Jo grumbled. She made her way to the passenger’s side, unsettled by this change in plans, but resigned to it.

  Becca pulled away from the house, smiling broadly.

  “Spare us the queen’s wave, please.” Jo clicked her seatbelt shut. “Keep both hands on the wheel.”

  “I’m an excellent driver. Lots of parking tickets, but that’s Seattle. Not one moving violation in twenty years.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Jo tried to maintain her sulk, but Becca’s obvious pleasure as she steered the elegant car down Aloha was infectious. She turned on the radio, clicking past NPR to a classic rock station, and regretfully turned to business. “We need to tell Pam about our talk with John William Voakes.”

  Becca nodded. “Yeah, she might be able to connect us to the cops who investigated him. I’m hoping she’ll have a lead on whoever trashed your office.”

  “Well, none of our usual suspects fit. Even if Voakes could have snuck out of that guarded room the other night, he’s too physically weak to do such damage.” The same could be said for Rachel Perry, and Jo couldn’t imagine the pristine Patricia or Mitchell Healy wreaking that havoc. “Becca, the station’s at Twelfth and Pine.”

  “Oh. Right.” Becca hit the turn signal. “Sorry. I was just grooving on the ride.”

  Jo looked at her. Pam Emerson had given her nine minutes to reach the station, and she had spent one of them kissing Becca. She couldn’t regret that. But the rest of her time had fled long ago, and Pam was waiting. She opened her mouth to say so. “Go ahead. We can cruise for a while.”

  “Yeah?” Becca darted her a delighted look. “Hot doggy. I’ll just go around the block.”

  She clicked the signal the other way and turned onto Denny. Apparently, the block would include all of Seattle’s downtown district, but Jo sat back to enjoy the ride. They both deserved a little respite under the morning’s mild sun and blue sky, and she was able to relax against the plush seat.

  “Becca!”

  The static of the Bentley’s radio crackled hard, and Madelyn Healy spoke.

  “Becca, the gift held blood.”

  “Jo?” Becca sounded suspiciously calm. “I think our brakes are out.”

  *

  Becca kept mashing the pedal to the floor, but the effort was increasingly futile. The elegant car shuddered and picked up speed as they rolled down Denny.

  “The Bentley has the finest emergency brake ever made.” Jo calmly grasped the hand brake that rested on the console between them and pulled it up. There was one jagged pause in their forward motion before the car rolled on.

  “Well, shit,” Jo suggested.

  Becca was afraid she might. Denny was a long, straight avenue that sloped sharply down toward the Space Needle, and it intersected with busy streets. They were hitting the end of the morning rush. Becca gulped in air, gripping the steering wheel fiercely.

  “Can you turn toward the sidewalk?” Jo clenched the dashboard.

  “Wish I could.” Becca darted her eyes left and right, relieved there was a pocket of space around them. Grinding the wheels against open curb would slow them, but no curb was open on Denny. Becca had a choice of crashing into parked vehicles or roaring up on a sidewalk and killing one of many pedestrians. There was time to jump out, but someone could still be killed by this car if they did. “Oh Jesus, Jo, Fairview.”

  “Just keep us steady.”

  They were rolling down toward one of the busiest intersections connecting to downtown. Becca caught a dizzy flash of a bilious green building coming up on the left—a walk-in haven for homeless youth—seconds before she saw two ragged kids crossing the street in front of them. Becca slammed on the horn.

  “Right!” Jo yelled, but Becca was already spinning the wheel hard. She saw the kids’ two white faces jerking toward them. A Prius loomed next to them in the same instant. Becca made the wheels kiss the curb, some alien logic in her mind telling her not to over-correct.

  Horn blaring, the Bentley skittered between the two gawping young people and the Prius, but even with Becca’s caution, their momentum sent the car tipping wildly, lifting up on two wheels. It slammed level on the pavement again and coasted through the intersection.

  Becca’s mother, the Lady of the Rock, or some god Becca still wasn’t sure existed had to be looking out for them. Fairview’s miraculous red light allowed the Bentley to swerve around the one passing car. The street was leveling and they were slowing, and Becca was able to turn them into the wide dirt lot of a factory on their right.

  They rumbled to a stop inches from the chain-link fence bordering the lot.

  Becca still gripped the wheel, her eyes wide and staring, not wanting to believe she had pulled it off. She turned calmly to Jo.

  “Are you all right?” she barked. “Are you all right?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be all right?” Jo snapped irritably, still gripping the dashboard as tightly as Becca held the wheel. “I’m sitting right here. You did it, Becca. You saved us.”

  “Now we’re getting the hell out of this car.” Becca turned the key and the oddly hissing engine quieted. Jo seemed to read her mind, and they elbowed open their doors. If the brakes of this thing had so obviously been messed with, she wouldn’t be surprised if a bomb went off under the hood. She wanted them out of there.

  They walked stiffly together across the lot, stood side by side, and stared at the treacherous Bentley.

  Jo flipped open her cell. “Where are we?”

  “Denny and Terry Avenue.”

  Jo clicked keys and spoke tersely into her phone. Her tone was stoic as she talked to Pam Emerson, but Becca could feel her trembling beside her.

  Jo snapped her cell shut. “What’s the matter with you?”

  Becca looked up at her, puzzled. “Besides almost flattening two homeless kids, I’m fine. What do you mean?”

  “You’re so calm.”

  “Oh. I’m in crisis mode.” Becca clasped her hands behind her, enjoying the familiar, but temporary, cerebral tranquility that saw her through emergencies. “Trigger my phobia and I’ll freak right out, but throw me a threat that makes sense and I can usually handle it. Social work. I promise I’ll be a basket case by tonight, though.”

  “Well, I’ll have my nervous breakdown now, then.” Jo was pale as chalk.

  “That’s okay. Go ahead. I think there are two rules in good relationships: I get to drive, and only one of us gets to go crazy at a time.” Becca tugged Jo’s sleeve gently. “Come on. Sit down. We found a patch of shade.”

  They settled together into the dirt in the shadow of the building. Becca wrapped Jo’s cold hand in hers and held it on her knee, and they were quiet for a while.

  “The gift held blood,” Jo said.

  Becca closed her eyes, her tranquility fading fast. “I don’t know what that means. I don’t understand what gift she’s talking about.”

  “We heard her voice just before we realized the brakes were gone.”

  “Was she warning us? Trying to get us out of the car?”

  “Your mother spoke in the past tense. The gift held blood. It didn’t sound as if she was warning us of a current danger.”

  “You had just mentioned John William Voakes before she spoke.”

  “True.” Jo was watching her closely. “Becca, I can fly us both to the finest hotel in London. We can be there in ten hours.”

  “That’s tempting.” Becca had a terrific craving for a chocolate truffle and a stiff drink. She let the prospect of escape play out behind her closed eyes, a luxury suite in an exotic city, far away from bloody dolls and severed brake lines. She knew she cou
ldn’t do it. “Jo, please, get out of here if you can. I’ll understand. I can’t go with you. She’s my mother. But you didn’t bargain for any of this. I don’t want you hurt because of me.”

  “I won’t grace that suggestion with a reply.” Jo was steadier now, color returning to the high planes of her face.

  And through the post-crisis calm and questions of ghosts and murder mysteries, Becca found room to marvel all over again at their shadows on the thin grass. Jo’s tall figure outlined darkly beside her smaller one, leaning against her. She still couldn’t believe her shadow might be finding a twin; but there Jo was—breathing and real and, thank Christ, safe for now.

  Becca heard the far-off whine of a siren approaching. Pam Emerson was setting a land speed record. The Bentley sat sadly in the distant corner of the sunny lot, both its front doors open.

  “What gift?” Becca whispered to the air.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Tell me again, who could have gotten to your car last night?”

  Pam had ushered them into a coffee shop, a break from the growing heat of the day and a chocolate opportunity for Becca. Still feeling a little unsettled, Jo watched Becca delicately consume a fudge cupcake.

  “Jo?” Pam nudged her.

  “Sorry. Anyone could have gotten to my car last night.” Jo sipped her latte. “It was parked on the street.”

  “But you had visitors at the house, right? Not me, only the good Lord knows why, but other visitors?”

  “Yes. Rachel Perry and Becca’s aunt came over. But I was outside on the front steps while they were there. I saw them come and go. Neither of them went near my car.”

  “Damn. Okay. What are you two going to do for wheels?” Pam flipped through the pages of her notebook.

  “I’ve leased something.” Jo expected the BMW to arrive shortly. She’d given the service the address of the coffee shop. “What about my office, Pam?”

  “Damn place is clean of prints. We drew a couple of boot outlines from the floor, but they’re real generic boots. We’ll have the doll tested. Guess we’ll have to overlook any prints left all over it by some slimy scientist.”