Unbreakable Bonds (An Angela Panther Mystery Book 2)

by Carolyn Ridder Aspenson

  Tap. Tap.

  I leaned back in my chair. "Cheese and rice, I'm confused."

  Tap.

  I rubbed my forehead. "Okay, lemme think." I held my hand up. "All right. So I know boys like to play with rocks. I have a son, and he did that a lot when he was younger. But they must me something more to you. Am I right?"

  Tap.

  "Did you collect them?"

  Tap. Tap.

  "Did you live by them?"

  Tap.

  My eyes widened. "You lived by them? That's good. Okay." I rubbed my chin, and then said, "Oh, around here? You lived around here?"

  Tap.

  "You lived near rocks. They're important to you. Are they important to you because you lived near them?"

  Tap. Tap.

  "I don't even know what the heck I'm talking about." I stood, and paced the deck. "Let's backtrack here. It was you who threw the rocks at me the day I ran at Central Park, right?"

  Tap.

  I nodded. I searched the recesses of my brain for a connection. After I lost my gift, I read as much about psychic mediums as I could, hoping it would spark something in me, and reignite my gift. It didn't, but I learned a lot. "Oh, I said. "I read somewhere that some spirits hold onto things related to their death. Do the rocks, or maybe Central Park even, have something to do with you dying?"

  Tap.

  I cheered myself, and gave the spirit a thumbs up, even though I couldn't see him. "Now we're getting somewhere.”

  Tap.

  The back door opened and Jake came outside. "Hey, you're being kind of loud out here. What's going on?"

  "The rocks," I said. "I figured out who's been throwing the rocks at me. It's a little boy, and it's got something to do with Central Park, but I don't know what yet, but we're communicating without Ma!" I was so excited I thought I'd peed a little.

  "You can hear him?" Jake asked.

  I shook my head. "No, but I'm asking him questions, and he's tapping me once for yes, and two for no."

  "A little boy?"

  I nodded.

  "What about Central Park?"

  "Like I said, I don't know, but it's got something to do with his death."

  "Hold on." He walked back inside.

  I shifted my head back and forth. "That's my husband, Jake," I said. "He'll be right back." I had no idea where he went, or why, but was too excited to care. "Okay, so you were at Central Park, and rocks mean something. So far, I'm on track, right?"

  Tap.

  "Okay. Let's see—"

  Jake walked back out carrying his iPad, and interrupted me. "Ask him if he's Matthew Clough."

  "Matthew Clough?" I asked, and then I remembered the name from the news. "The little boy they found in the park."

  Tap.

  I grabbed Jake's arm, and squeezed. "Oh God. He just tapped me."

  Jake pressed his forehead into mine. "I'm sorry, babe."

  "How'd you figure it out?"

  He shrugged. "It sounded familiar, the rocks, the park, and a little boy. I can't believe we didn't think of it earlier."

  A few months ago a five-year-old boy died at Central Park. He was playing in the woods, fell and hit his head on a rock. It took the police and volunteers three hours to find him because his babysitter said he'd run off. Initially there was speculation about her involvement, but the newspapers said it was determined an accident. It said he lived for a while after falling, and that if he'd been found sooner, he might have survived. It was a terrible tragedy.

  "Matthew, I'm so sorry." I cried, tears dripping in a steady stream down my face. "I'm sorry I didn't figure it out sooner. Can you forgive me?"

  Tap.

  I turned toward Jake. "This whole time I was pissed about the rocks, and it was this poor child—this baby—trying to communicate with me. I'm such an idiot."

  "You're not an idiot. You couldn't have known. You know now, and you can help him."

  Tap.

  I smiled. "Thanks, buddy, and you too, honey."

  "What do you think he wants?" Jake asked.

  I pressed my palm into my forehead, hoping to stop the headache I knew would come. "I don't know. I'm not even sure how to ask."

  "Where's Fran?"

  "Beats me. She didn't come when I called her before."

  He burrowed his eyebrows. "That's odd."

  "I think she's mad at me."

  "Mad at you? As in truly mad at you or that bickering thing the two of you used to always do?" Jake asked.

  I waved a hand in the air. "I don't know, but it'll be fine, I'm sure."

  "Ah Madone, don't get your panties all up in a bunch, I'm not mad at you," Ma said.

  I grabbed Jake's arm and squeezed again. "Ma! Finally! Where have you been? I have so much to tell you—"

  She cut me off. "Such a chiacchierone—a talker—you are, but you're gonna have to wait. We got this little boy here—such a cutie patootie he is, too—and I'm guessin' he needs some help."

  A soft, tiny voice spoke barely above a whisper. "Yuh huh."

  I dug my nails into Jake's arm, not worrying that a bruise likely had begun to form. "I heard him."

  Jake smiled, and then pulled his arm out of my death grip. He sat, and motioned for me to sit, too.

  I did, and I took several deep breaths to calm myself. "Okay," I said. This is good. “Matthew honey, this will be a lot easier now that I can hear you, okay?"

  "Yuh huh." His little voice trembled.

  I wished I could give him physical comfort—a hug, or even a pat on the shoulder. "You probably want to see your mom and dad, don't you?"

  "Yuh huh. Mommy's sad."

  His voice didn't just tug at my heartstrings, it yanked those suckers right out. I wiped my eyes with my arm.

  "You okay, babe?" Jake asked.

  I nodded. "He said his mom is sad." I touched my hand to my heart. "She must be in so much pain. I can't even imagine. I need to tell her, Jake...I need to tell her he's okay."

  Jake nodded, and wiped the tears on my cheeks. "You're amazing. I'm so proud of you."

  I mouthed thank you, and then talked to Matthew. "Maybe we can go talk to your mommy, and she won't be so sad anymore. Would you like to do that?"

  "I talk to her all the time, but she doesn't talk back."

  "It's hard to explain, but if I go with you, I can talk to your mom for you. I can tell her what you're saying. Would you like that?"

  "Yuh huh. That's what the nice man at the park told me. He told me to talk to you, but you didn't talk back either. So he helped me throw rocks at you because he said your psycho radio was broken. When my Daddy's phone was broken he took it to the store, and got a new one. You should take your radio to the store."

  I giggled. If only it was that easy. "That nice man was right. My psycho radio is broken, but the old lady with us now? She makes it so I can hear you. She's got special powers or something, kind of like a superhero. Do you know what that is?"

  "Yuh huh. Power Rangers are superheros. I like them."

  Josh used to love the Power Rangers when he was that age, too. "Okay," I said, but Ma cut me off again.

  "Hey, I'm not that old," she said. "And I stopped agin' too, when I bit the big one."

  "You're wrinkly like my Nana, and gots a big tummy like her, too." Matthew said.

  Oh boy.

  "A big tummy? I don't have a big tummy. I'm skinny now, on account of the cancer and all."

  "What's cancer?" He asked.

  "Ma? Can we save that for later, please? Matthew needs us."

  "Ah Madone. Fine."

  "My mommy calls me Matty Bam Batty," he said.

  Without trying, he'd just given me an important piece of validation for his mother. Kids never ceased to amaze me. "That's a good name. May I call you that, too?"

  "My mommy said it's her special name for me. Will she be mad?"

  "I don't think so but just in case, I'll stick with Matthew, okay?"

  "Okay."

  "Matthew," Ma said. "Do yo
u know what Heaven is?"

  "Yuh huh. It's God's and Grandpappy's house. They live on a cloud. That's what my mommy says."

  "Your mommy's right, but there are a lot of people up in Heaven with your grandpa and God. It's a place where people go when they can't be here on earth anymore...when something happens to their bodies—people like me, and you, too. And everyone up there talks back when we talk to them."

  "Mommy says talking back is sassin' and it's not good manners."

  I covered my mouth, and giggled. Jake raised his eyebrows. "Hold on," I whispered.

  "Well, your mommy's right about that, but I don't mean sass talkin'. I mean just regular talking—like you want your mom to do when you talk to her now," Ma said.

  "Is my mommy mad at me?"

  A lump rose in my throat. I swallowed it down, and spoke. "Oh honey, no. I'm sure your mom's not mad at you. That's not why she's not talking to you, I promise."

  "You see," Ma said, "there's some people here that can still see and hear us—like Angela here—but most people can't—like your mom and dad. And that's kinda how we know we gotta go to Heaven. And Heaven is a whole lotta fun. They have some nifty stuff there. I bet you'll like it."

  "The man at the park told me about Heaven, but I can't go 'cause I'm not 'posed to go anywhere without my mommy and daddy. That's why the man told me to talk to the lady with the frizzy hair."

  I touched my hair.

  "How about this?" Ma said. "Let's go see your mommy and daddy, and Angela will tell them anything you want. She'll even ask them if you can go up to Heaven, and if they say yes—which I bet they will—I'll take you up there myself, okay? You like that idea?"

  I wiped my eyes. My mother was nothing short of amazing.

  "Yuh huh."

  I twisted toward Jake. "We're going to talk to his parents. Would you like to come?"

  He held my hand. "And see you in action? Absolutely. I don't wanna miss any of these again if I don't have to."

  "Matthew, do you think you can show us where your mommy and daddy live?" I asked.

  "Yuh huh. I have a trampoline in my yard. You can jump on it if my mommy says it's okay."

  Half of Georgia had a trampoline in their yard. I pressed my fingers into my cheekbone and then said, "That's okay. I'm a little too old for trampolines, buddy. Do you know the name of the street your house is on?" I asked.

  "It's the blue house behind the park, Ang," Ma said. "I can get you there."

  That was impressive. "It's amazing," I said. "How you can do that."

  With all of the excitement, I'd totally forgotten about the time. Emily opened the back door, and said she needed a ride to work, her tone changing when she added, "Since I can't ever drive again."

  "I need to feed the dog," I said. "Jake, can you run her there?"

  He stood. "Yup."

  We all walked inside, and I gave Emily an extra tight hug. "I love you so much," I said.

  She pulled away, and nodded. "I know."

  After they left, I told Matthew that I needed to take a shower before we went to talk to his parents.

  "Pee-u," Ma said. "She sure does, doesn't she Matthew? She's stinky."

  Matthew giggled. "You're funny."

  I shook my head. "It's still early, and they're probably not even up yet, anyway."

  "Mommy's in my room. She goes in there, and plays with my toys, and cries. I don't like it when she cries. Daddy sleeps in the chair all night with the TV on. Sometimes he has bad dreams, and screams. I told him it's okay to be scared, but he didn't hear me."

  "I got an idea, Matthew. How 'bout me and you, we go to your house now, and I can show you some of my world famous trampoline moves? You like that idea?"

  "You can jump on a trampoline?" He asked.

  "You betcha I can. I got all these moves I learned from this man Bruce Lee. I can even teach ya a few if you'd like."

  I held in a laugh. "You'll have to come back and get us though, you know."

  "Yah, I know. You get rid of the stinkies, and we'll be back in a bit."

  "Okay, but behave, Ma. You hear me?"

  "Yah...yah, I hear ya."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  JAKE CAME BACK, and jumped in the shower as I got out. We rushed to get ready, and I left a note for Josh next to the TV remotes, where I was sure he'd find it.

  "You ready honey?" Jake asked.

  "Yeah," I said. "I'm just sending Mel a quick text. I haven't heard from her, and I'm a little worried."

  "We can stop there on the way home if you'd like," he said.

  "That's okay. She probably just needs space, and a little time to think right now, I'm sure." I put my phone in my pocket. "Ma? We're ready."

  "I'm here. I left the boy at his house," she said. "He's right about his mom. That woman's a wreck, and his dad? He don't do much but sit on the chair and stare at the TV."

  I sighed. "I can't even imagine."

  "Let's get a move on," Jake said, and walked into the garage.

  In the car, I rubbed my hands on my Capri pants. They were shaky, and clammy. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something about this felt different. Maybe it was because Matthew was young, or maybe it was the publicity surrounding his death. It just felt different. "I need a coffee. Do you mind stopping at Starbucks?"

  "You're having decaf," he said. "Your hands are shaking."

  "It's nerves. I need caffeine to calm them."

  He shook his head in defeat.

  "Ah Madone. Coffee. Just one more time. Is that too much to ask?"

  "Ma wants coffee too," I told Jake.

  "It's got to be hell not having it," he said.

  "You got that right," Ma said.

  "Ma says you're right."

  "Usually am."

  "Good grief."

  We got our coffee at a drive-thru Starbucks, and Ma gave us directions to Matthew's house.

  "Amazing. It backs up right to the woods of the park," I said when we pulled up next to Matthew's house.

  "Maybe that's why they got that crapzu vine growing all over," Ma said.

  I laughed. "Kudzu, Ma. We went over this repeatedly before you died."

  Jake shook his head, laughing.

  She laughed, too. "I know, the Japanese brought it over, and it's good for wildlife—yada yada yada. But it ain't good for landscape. Jake ought a give Matthew's dad a few pointers on how to keep a yard looking nice."

  "Aw, she just complimented you, honey."

  "Me?" He asked.

  "Yes, you. She said you keep a nice lawn."

  "Well, I don't know how nice it would be if I had to deal with that crapzu stuff."

  I laughed. "Okay," I said, and bit my bottom lip. "I'm scared shitless."

  "You got this, honey."

  "Yah, what he said, honey," Ma said.

  I rolled my eyes. "It just feels different. I can't explain it."

  "Just go in there, do what you do, and it'll be fine," Jake said.

  I laid my head back on the seat. "You're right. I know you're right. I can totally do this." I took a gulp from my coffee. "Let's get this party started."

  I got out of the car, marched up to the front door, and rang the bell.

  Matthew's mother answered. Her hair, long, blond and curly, was frizzy and greasy and her face, swollen and puffy. She looked like she was pretty once, but death had taken her beauty when it took her son. "May I help you?" She asked.

  I shook my head to break myself from stare mode. "My name is Angela Panther, and this," I pointed to Jake, "is my husband, Jake."

  "Yes?"

  "Mrs. Clough, right?" I asked.

  She nodded.

  "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I have some information for you. May we come in?"

  Her eyes darted from me to Jake, and back again. "Information? Thank you, but I don't need any more grief pamphlets. They don't work anyway."

  She went to close the door, but I put my foot in it. I needed to thank Mel for that move.

  The door swung o
pen, and a man holding a shotgun said, "You did not just stick your foot in my door. That right there is trespassing. I'd call the police, but they're useless. I'd be happy to use this though." He rubbed the gun.

  "Well, ain't that crazy." Ma said. "That thing isn't even loaded. But nobody's gonna threaten my kid like that."

  The gun flew out of the man's hands and landed at the front of the yard, next to the mailbox.

  "What the—" the man said.

  Matthew's mother's jaw dropped. "How did you do that?" She asked me.

  I shrugged. "I didn't."

  The man tried to close the door, but it wouldn't budge. He grunted. "Honey, help me out here, the door's stuck."

  I glanced at Jake and whispered. "It's Ma."

  He nodded, and whispered back. "I figured." He stepped an inch closer to the door. "Mrs. Clough, please, if you'll give us a moment, we can explain everything."

  Matthew's mother studied me, her expression a mix of confusion and desperation. "It was Matthew, wasn't it?"

  I shook my head. "No, it wasn't, but he's here, and he wants me to talk to you."

  She stood in front of the door, blocking the man from closing it. "I'm letting them in Matt, and you're not going to stop me." Her posture stiffened, and I saw her push her back into the door.

  Mr. Clough cleared his throat. "This is a bunch of bullshit, and you know it," he said.

  "Matt, please," Mrs. Clough said.

  He glared at me. "You're not the first opportunist to come knocking on our door."

  I puffed out my chest, stood up straighter and said, "I am not an opportunist, Mr. Clough. I have nothing to gain from coming here. I'm only doing it because Matthew asked me to."

  Jake got all puffy too, and started to speak, but I stopped him. "Jake, I've got this," I said, putting my hand on his arm. I spoke to Matthew's mother. "Matthew said you called him Matty Bam Batty. I call my son Little Man."

  She blinked, and tears dropped down her cheeks. "Yes, I did." She moved aside and said, "Matt, the gun can't sit in the front yard like that. Please, go get it."

  He didn't budge. "I don't want these kind of people in my house, Amanda."

  "Matt, it's my house too. I have a say in who comes in and who doesn't, and they're coming in. Your gun flew out of your hands, and practically landed in the street. It flew out of your hands, Matt. Do you understand? They're different, and I'm going to listen to what she has to say, whether you like it or not. Now please, go get the damn gun."