“Did she mention last night?”
“No. She didn’t. Celeste’s not like that.”
Relief and hope slipped passed the edge of fear coursing though him. She might be mad at him, but she’d kept their personal business, personal. “How’d she find the hairstylist?”
Roy grabbed the keys to his cruiser. “I’ll explain along the way.”
Five hours later, the sheriff dropped him off at his car. Although bone weary, mentally and emotionally drained, he started the ignition and headed for The Sugar Shack. While it was only three in the afternoon, he swore it seemed more like three in the morning.
Thanks again to Celeste they’d tracked down the hairstylist, Judy Frank, at the Slinging Scissors Salon located in Altoona. From a photo, Judy had ID’d the girl from the bog as Courtney Harrison. From there everything went to shit. They’d contacted Harrison’s parents, who had just returned from an all-inclusive trip to Mexico this morning, only to inform them that their daughter was likely in the morgue.
Having parents ID their child’s body was never easy. The Chicago case he’d been assigned to before coming to Wissota Falls had been tough, but still not enough to prepare him for any of this. Courtney Harrison was an only child. A seventeen-year-old beauty queen, with a potential full ride to Harvard, she had more opportunity than most. But now she was dead, and the grief he’d witnessed from her parents had left him hollow and aching.
Carl had confirmed that Courtney had been sodomized. Cause of death, a sharp object, likely a long, serrated knife, had damaged major organs as it ripped through her torso causing her to bleed out. She’d been dead before she’d hit the water.
With this knowledge, coupled with Celeste’s trance, he tried to come up with a profile for Courtney’s killer. Winston had been easy. He appeared to be a true sociopath. He’d charmed the women he’d killed and had felt no remorse. The man who’d killed Courtney? Something didn’t settle well with him as he tried to dissect him on the drive over to The Sugar Shack.
There was something diabolical in the way he’d cut Courtney’s face and torso. Something John couldn’t quite grasp. Normally, he’d peg a killer for what he was, but this time he couldn’t put his finger on it. Because he’d allowed his emotions for Celeste to cloud his judgment? Or maybe because this was just one fucked up case?
He had hoped Harrison’s autopsy would have revealed more, but it hadn’t. He’d also hoped Lloyd would discover something in Tilden that could help their case. That end came up empty as well. Not that he wanted another dead body on their hands, but another lead would have been nice.
He parked the sedan in the street outside of The Sugar Shack. While apprehensive about how Celeste might react to seeing him, he also couldn’t suppress the anticipation. Being in the same room with her gave him a calming effect. He just hoped to God she’d at least talk to him, give him a chance to explain why he’d reacted the way he had yesterday.
As he entered the diner, he immediately searched for Celeste. When he didn’t see her, he settled into the same stool he’d sat in just two days before. How things had changed in a matter of forty-eight hours. She’d turned his world upside down, and had made him think long and hard about his life, his career. She’d made him realize he didn’t have a life outside of his career. She made him want more. Did she?
“What can I get for you?” a forty-something woman, with a pinched expression asked as she walked toward him.
“Is Celeste around?”
She eyed him with skepticism. “No, she’s left for the day.”
“What about Will?”
“Will’s out back dealing with inventory, but if you’re a salesman, you could talk to me. I’m Karen, the assistant manager,” she finished with a raise of a haughty, penciled eyebrow.
He drew some cash from his wallet, then laid a five dollar bill on the counter. “Thanks for your time,” he said, then left before he searched out Will and rearranged his face. Why the hell wasn’t he watching Celeste? According to that fucking Viking, they’d had her covered. Bullshit. And from here on out, the only one covering her would be him. He’d prefer naked, but at this point fully clothed would work so long as she was protected.
He sped down Main Street, ignoring every traffic law until he reached Celeste’s driveway. With Courtney Harrison’s autopsy came the confirmation that they were dealing with another killer. Celeste could be in danger, especially if the killer was local, as Roy had suggested. He might know about her gift and suspect she’d been working with them on the investigation.
With the ignition off, he sat in Celeste’s driveway gripping the door handle tight enough his palms started to sweat. During the drive over to The Sugar Shack, and again to her house, he’d done a mental play of how things could go down when he confronted her. Although he’d appreciated the leads she’d given them, he was still pissed at her total disregard for her own safety.
Maybe you should have given her a reason to worry last night.
Shit. He hadn’t. He’d channeled his fear into anger, and laid down an almighty decree. She couldn’t, wouldn’t play a part in the investigation. Regret punched a hole in his stomach as Roy’s words filtered through his memory. Celeste liked control, but held little over her life thanks to her mother’s death, her dad’s grief, and her siblings’ lack of involvement. She’d lost control of her visions, the trances, and he’d done what everyone else around her had done—he’d tried to take more control away from her.
He hadn’t meant to. Protecting her had been his first priority. But she deserved more than just his protection. She deserved to know what happened during her trances. She deserved to be his partner in every sense.
Determined to set things right between them, he climbed out of the sedan, then walked up the brick pathway leading to her front door. A dozen wide-eyed gnomes grinned at him with menace, reminding him of her vindictive streak. The story she’d told him about her neighbor, coupled with the temper he’d encountered last night, had his gut clenching as he knocked on the door.
Would she see him? Probably. Would the sparkle of desire heat her eyes? Or would she kick his ass straight to the curb again?
The door opened.
Time to find out.
* * *
Running a hand through his hair, Dr. Alex Trumane paced his living room. Every few seconds, he stupidly glared at his silent phone, waiting for the call that might lead to his final atonement.
Number Twenty-two. Miranda Gates.
He’d called her last night, but the number had been given to someone else. Some young punk who’d told him to fuck off, that the woman he’d been looking for didn’t live with him and to not call again. He dug deeper.
In the files he had on his computer was the phone number to her next of kin, her grandmother. Unfortunately, that proved to be another dead end. The phone had been disconnected. He dug even deeper.
After hours of searching, he’d discovered the grandmother, Anna Gates, had been a patient of one of his former colleagues, Doug Broen. He’d done his residency with Broen, and had more shit on him than the man knew. Broen wasn’t a lush like him, but had issues with prescription drugs. He’d witnessed his drug abuse, and hadn’t been afraid to threaten him to obtain the information he’d needed. Information that would hopefully lead to his final atonement.
He’d called Doug at home, late last night, and had been waiting for him to call back since early this morning. With a glare at his cell phone again, he slumped on the couch. Broen was pulling utter bullshit on him. He knew how doctor’s offices worked, hell, he’d had his own practice for nearly fifteen years. All Doug had to do was look into her files and give him Gates’ new address and phone number. If that prick...
The phone rang. His heart jumped.
Not recognizing the number, he answered, “Trumane.”
“Alex, it’s Doug.”
His heart rate kicked up a notch, along with hope. “What did you find?”
“You do realize this goes
against policy, right?”
Broen’s fear made sense, along with why he’d used a different phone to call him. Doug wanted nothing traced back to him. “So does taking prescription drugs illegally,” he shot back.
“God, I hate former abusers who think that now that they’re clean, they’re holier than thou.”
“Cut the shit, what do you have for me?”
“She’s dead,” Doug said with a heavy sigh.
He gripped the phone, wishing, not for the first time today, for a cold beer or a shot of whisky. “When?”
“Five years ago.”
He’d given Miranda Gates her diagnosis around the same time. Anxiety had him clutching the phone tighter. “Cause of death?”
“Hell, Alex, she was eighty-eight. She’d been found dead, in her bed. You know the drill, at that age, no autopsy was done, and cause of death was listed as natural.”
“Natural,” he echoed. How convenient. “Sorry for bothering you, but thanks for your time.” He hung up the phone, then rebooted his laptop. He found the number he was looking for and placed the call.
“Hi,” he began, then decided to thicken his southern accent and pour on the charm. “I’d like to order a copy of a will. Do you think you can help me? I sure would appreciate it.”
The woman on the other end assured him she could, but only in a hard copy. Mississippi didn’t offer archived wills to be viewed online. Although disappointed, because he wanted the information now, he gave his credit card information to pay for the copy. Afterward, she’d promised him that the Last Will and Testament of Anna Lynn Gates would be in his mailbox within the next two days.
Two days. He’d have to sit and bide his time. Wait.
God, he wanted a drink.
Chapter 13
CELESTE SHOULDN’T HAVE opened the door knowing John was on the other side. Last night’s argument had given her the perfect way to sever whatever it was between them and keep her heart intact. But she couldn’t help herself. Devastatingly gorgeous, with thick black hair, dark eyes and broad shoulders a woman could hang on to, physically, he was everything she craved. Yet that craving ran deeper. She couldn’t deny the connection they shared, the unexplainable need and deep emotional attraction. Or the way he’d already wormed his way into her heart.
“Ever hear of calling first?” she asked, going for ticked off nonchalant even as her pulse raced. “I know you own a cell phone. If I recall, you used it last night.”
“Do you think we could leave the sarcasm at the door and talk inside? Please. It’s important. To me, to us.”
She raised her gaze to his, caught the regret and longing in his eyes and caved. “Sure, but I don’t have much time though. I have paperwork to do and—”
“Why aren’t you at work?” he asked, an edge to his tone.
“Will’s there, and besides, as of today, I have a new assistant manager.” Something she should have done several years ago rather than completely burden herself with the business. Maybe now she’d finally find the time to have a life outside of the diner.
“Karen? I met her when I stopped by the diner looking for you.”
“Yeah, she’s great. She’s been working at The Sugar Shack for years, and knows everything about it. I should have given her the promotion a long time ago.”
“But you didn’t want to lose control.” He moved into the foyer, glancing between the living room and dining room. “You’re alone?”
“Duh,” she muttered with exasperation, and took a seat on the couch.
“I thought you were leaving the sarcasm at the door.”
“I’m not being sarcastic, I’m pissed. Would you like me to show you another example to help clarify the difference?”
He raised his hands and dropped to the other end of the couch. “Please, don’t indulge me.” With a weary sigh, and an even wearier frown crossing his face, he pulled his cell phone from his pants pocket, then set it on the coffee table.
She eyed the phone. “What are you doing? And why shouldn’t I be alone?”
“Your last trance will give you the answers. You did want to hear it, right?”
Panic rose to the surface and had her scooting her legs beneath her. “I did, I mean, I do. Why the turnaround?”
He reached for her hand. “Last night, I didn’t mean to come off all hard-assed. I’m sorry for that. But I was only trying protect you, not control you.”
Rolling her eyes, she released a heavy sigh. “There’s a novelty,” she said, then cringed. “Sorry, no more sarcasm.”
His eyes darkened with anguish and regret. “No, actually, I think sarcasm fits. When was the last time you did something just for you?”
She looked down at the new acrylic nails, applied this morning and painted cherry red. The manicure had been done on a whim, but she knew he wasn’t talking about trivial vanity. He was talking about every aspect of her life.
Apparently Roy had filled John in on the other details she hadn’t divulged. Although she’d prefer him to have kept his big mouth shut, she understood. Roy wanted nothing but the best for her. If he’d shared personal information about her to John, he’d done it to protect her.
Just like John had last night.
“I know where you’re going with this.”
His brows rose as he edged closer. “You do? Is this some sort of psychic thing?”
“No,” she half-laughed. “I meant that I understand you were looking out for me, not trying to control me.”
“Good.”
“But I’d still like to hear the recording.”
A flash of disappointment crossed his face. “Fine, before you do though, that lead you gave us on the hairdresser paid off big time. Great job.”
“Really?” She hadn’t expected that. After he’d left last night, she’d practically run to her basement where she’d put her anger, frustration, and hurt into some serious baking.
While she’d placed the croissants that were needed for this morning’s breakfast rush at the diner into the double oven, she’d had a Nancy Drew moment. She’d been unable to shake the lead on the hairdresser out of her head. She’d also been determined to show John she deserved to remain a part of the investigation, so she’d called the hair salon she used and made an appointment.
At the time, the idea had seemed brilliant, but this morning as she’d stood in Eau Claire’s only posh salon, she’d thought it plain stupid. How many hairstylists by the name of Judy worked in Wisconsin? Yet her stylist, Tish, knew her, and had not only given her a well needed trim, but a lead. She’d also been the one to talk her into the manicure.
“Yeah, thanks to you, we were able to ID the girl from the bog. Her parents had been out of town, which was why there hadn’t been a missing persons report on her.” He sighed, and she caught the sadness in his eyes before he spoke again. “They saw her body earlier this afternoon and confirmed that she’s their daughter.”
“What was her name?”
“Courtney.”
“Courtney,” she echoed, and with her stomach churning, she hugged a throw pillow to her chest and nodded to the cell phone. “Let me hear.”
“You’re sure? You don’t have to. I could just tell you what you’d said.”
“Like you did with the trance I had in your car about Courtney?”
“Welcome back Miss Sarcasm.”
“Sorry,” she said with a sheepish shrug. “Were you able to gain any leads off this last trance?”
With a gusty sigh, he nodded. “Yes.”
“Good, tell me about them afterward. Could you please play it for me now?” she asked before losing her nerve. She’d never had a trance until two days ago. Her mother never mentioned having them, either. While she needed to know what she’d said, what she’d physically gone through, a part of her would rather bury her head in the sand. She feared the trance might be way worse than any vision she’d ever endured.
“Fine.” He hit a button on his cell.
The living room filled with
her recorded voice, rambling on about how she’d saved Lloyd. She smiled at the memory, and the man he’d become, then again as John’s soothing and affectionate voice mingled with hers. She looked at him then, and realized this was only the calm before the storm.
His eyes had grown wild with anger and fear. She’d seen the same look last night, but it hadn’t registered. Dread gripped her, especially when the recording went dead silent.
She waited, her heart pounding with anticipation. Then a low whisper drifted from the cell phone. She barely recognized her own voice, the sheer terror it held as it ebbed, then faded. Cold fear wrapped around her, sending chills through her body.
Suddenly a shocking, horrifying scream sliced through the room. She jumped, then cowered into the sofa cushions. The cold fear that had cocooned her with icy fingers became a frightening maelstrom of panic and dread.
She rocked back and forth as her living room filled with her voice, so desperate and scared. Gripping the pillow tighter while tears streamed down her cheeks, she wished the stupid cell phone would somehow malfunction. All she’d have to do was tell John to put an end to it and she knew he would. She couldn’t bring herself tell him, though. Somehow the second victim from her visions had channeled herself though her body last night, and as much as she didn’t want to hear anymore, she forced herself to listen. The woman deserved to be heard. She deserved justice.
Silently crying, her stomach knotting, then twisting with horror and anxiety, she sat through it all. The brutal sodomy and the eventual death of the woman who had been beaten by her mother, been called fat and useless, then murdered by two sick bastards without a care.
As her tinny voice faded, she honed in on the alarm that edged John’s voice as he’d tried to rouse her from the trance. Regret, sharp and painful, sliced her to the core. She’d been selfish and childish, and now wished to God she hadn’t forced him to relive the trance once again.
Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology Page 80