Exposed (A Jenny Watkins Mystery Book 4)

by Becky Durfee

  Zack took the set and they made their purchase. Walking out to the car, Jenny noted, “I think my mom likes you.”

  With the comforter tucked under one arm, Zack ran his free hand down his chest. “Well, yeah. What’s not to like?”

  Jenny playfully rolled her eyes and shook her head. Was this goofy guy really mature enough to be a father?

  “I’m being serious,” she noted. “The two of you seem to be getting along nicely.”

  “I agree. She’s a nice person.” Zack threw the comforter set into Jenny’s trunk and they headed home.

  When they arrived at the house they found Rod and Isabelle admiring the painting Jenny had made earlier that afternoon. She hadn’t meant for it to be found; she’d put it in the second spare bedroom that she thought was going to be unused. With all that had gone on she had forgotten it was there.

  “Who is this a painting of?” Rod asked.

  Blushing, Jenny remarked, “The man I’ve been seeing in my visions. He’s the one who’s been abusing me—the one I hope is in Benning Penitentiary.”

  “Well, I don’t think that’s where he is,” Rod informed her.

  Jenny’s blood ran cold. “Do you know him?”

  “No, I don’t know him,” Rod explained. “But I did channel him, and I was able to determine what kind of person he was.”

  Was. The past tense wasn’t lost on Jenny. “Do you think he’s dead?”

  “Oh, I know he’s dead,” Rod replied. “I can’t channel the souls of the living.”

  Zack and Jenny sat on the couch eagerly awaiting Rod’s elaboration. “He was an awful man,” he began. “Now I don’t ordinarily talk like that about people, so it’s not something I say lightly. But he was a very frightening spirit to channel—absolutely brimming with anger and hate.”

  Jenny glanced at the picture she’d painted, noting the expression she’d given this man. “Are you sure you’re not being influenced by the way I painted it? I made him look angry in the picture because that’s how he looked in my vision.”

  “No, that wouldn’t be an issue,” Rod explained.

  Suddenly Jenny realized she may have just questioned Rod’s ability. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to suggest you’re an incapable psychic.”

  Rod smiled pleasantly. “That’s not how I interpreted it. I generally assume positive intent. That’s why it’s really unusual for me to talk so negatively about this man; I can almost always find something redeeming in just about anybody. But I have to be honest—I found very little to be likable about him.”

  Rod’s ability fascinated Jenny. He’d mentioned more than once that Jenny’s contacts—visions, voices and pulls—were similar to his mother’s clairvoyance. But his was different, and she honestly didn’t fully understand it.

  “Can you please tell me a little bit about how you know this?” Jenny asked. “I mean, what does it feel like for you?”

  Zack let out a goofy chuckle. “I’m glad you asked that because I was wondering the same thing.”

  Jenny noticed her mother smile maternally at Zack. This was a good thing.

  “It’s difficult to explain,” Rod began. “But it’s as if I temporarily become that person, in a purely emotional sense. I don’t see the things they’ve seen, but I feel what they have felt—not at any given moment, but collectively over a lifetime. Most people have predominantly happy existences, or at least content ones. Occasionally you’ll come across people who are sad or troubled, but often you discover their circumstances and you understand why they felt that way. It’s extremely rare that I encounter someone who has rage as his primary emotion like this guy did.

  “But I also gain an understanding of the person’s personality. I can tell their level of compassion, their generosity, that kind of thing. Honestly, I am still particularly touched by that young woman whose murder you solved back in Richmond. Despite her troubles, she was one of the kindest souls I’ve ever channeled.”

  Jenny made a face; she, too, was still touched by Lena. She was touched by all her victims. Her pillow had seen more than one set of tears for those people, and the reminder was triggering sadness again.

  Mercifully, Zack brought the conversation back to the original topic. “So what was this guy’s personality like?”

  “Not good, I can tell you that. I’m getting the sense that he had a giant ego. I felt almost…supreme…when I channeled him, like he had been superior to others, or at least he thought he was.”

  Jenny furrowed her brow. Perhaps that was why he felt he could treat the victim the way he did. Disgust seethed within her.

  Swallowing that disgust, Jenny confessed, “I have to admit, I’m struggling to piece this all together. This man was a monster; there’s no doubt about that. He seems to have potentially killed this woman—at least I assume she was a woman—by drowning her. But now he’s dead, too. So what’s the message this woman is trying to send me? And why was I directed to a prison?”

  Everyone in the room exchanged bewildered glances. Nobody had an answer.

  “I guess we need to wait for more contact,” Zack surmised. That was an answer Jenny always hated; patience was never her strong suit.

  “I have to say,” Isabelle interrupted. “This is amazing.” She looked back and forth between Jenny and Rod. “I can’t believe the two of you have this ability. Rod, how come you never mentioned this to me when we were…” A long pause. “Younger.”

  Jenny wondered how her mother was going to finish that sentence. When we were…dating? Sleeping together? Having an affair? Jenny had to admit that younger was actually a well-played card.

  Rod only shrugged. “I didn’t like to advertise it. I still don’t. I use my gift to provide people with insight, letting grieving loved ones know how proud the deceased was, or how happy the deceased had been during their time here on earth. It usually provides people with comfort. But I like to use my ability when I see fit, not when everyone else in the world sees fit, so I generally keep it to myself.”

  “I do remember all those years ago in art class you used to tell us to paint what the soul sees, not what the eye sees,” Isabelle noted. “Were you actually hinting at your ability when you said that?”

  Rod laughed. “That’s a very good memory you have there, Isabelle.”

  “Well, you don’t easily forget the father of your child.” Isabelle looked as if she wished she could suck those words back in as soon as she said them.

  Rod smiled. “I suppose you don’t. But yes, you’re right. I do encourage people to paint what the soul sees, or even what the soul feels. I want people to let those inner emotions out—remove the confines of the skin. If you’re feeling passionate, paint with reds and yellows. If you’re subdued, use the earthy hues. Things on your canvas don’t have to look exactly as they appear in real life. That’s the beauty of art.”

  “Well, apparently my soul sees a whole lot of not much,” Isabelle said with a laugh. “My paintings were terrible, if I remember correctly.” She gestured to Jenny. “She’s the one with the artistic ability.”

  “Unfortunately my soul doesn’t enter into my art very much. I only paint landscapes and murderers,” Jenny announced dryly, inspiring a laugh from everyone in the room. Glancing at the clock she added, “Well, folks, I don’t want to end this night prematurely, but I’ve got to hit the hay. I didn’t sleep that well last night with that horrible vision and all, and I am positively exhausted.”

  “Yeah, I’m tired too,” Isabelle announced. “If you give me the sheets I’ll make up the bed.”

  “I’m actually going to stay up a little longer, if you don’t mind,” Rod said. “It’s not even eight o’clock where I’m from.”

  Jenny had forgotten about the time difference. She showed Rod how to use the complicated series of remotes for the television and then escorted her mother to the guest room, sheets in hand. Isabelle closed the door behind them and immediately announced, “I do like that Zack boy. He seems smitten with you.
”

  An involuntary smile splayed across Jenny’s face. “Yeah, he’s a good guy.”

  “And for the record, sweetheart,” Isabelle added. “You’re positively glowing.”

  Chapter 5

  Isabelle and Jenny were, not surprisingly, the first ones awake. Isabelle sat at the table while Jenny fixed coffee for her mother and poured juice for herself. “No coffee for you?” Isabelle asked, knowing how much her daughter loved her morning cup.

  “I don’t think I can have caffeine,” Jenny said.

  “You can drink decaf.”

  “What would be the point of that?” Carrying a mug in one hand and a spoon in the other, Jenny approached the table. Before she reached her destination, the spoon slipped onto the floor. “Seriously?” She demanded. “What is wrong with me? I dropped the soap three times in the shower this morning. Why am I so clumsy today?” Jenny bent down and grabbed the spoon, tossing it into the sink.

  “It’s the pregnancy, dear,” Isabelle informed her.

  “Pregnancy makes you drop things?” Jenny retrieved another spoon from the drawer.

  “Only everything you touch.” Isabelle smiled at Jenny. “But look on the bright side—better to drop the spoon than the cup.”

  “I guess so,” Jenny replied as she sat across from her mother at the table.

  “I realize this is none of my business,” Isabelle began. “But I don’t think you’re going to have any trouble telling Zack you’re pregnant. He clearly loves you.”

  “That isn’t the issue,” Jenny replied. “I think I’m more afraid of his responsibility, or lack thereof.”

  “Well, you do have one thing going for you. Didn’t you say that your first client left you a lot of money?”

  Jenny took an unrewarding sip of orange juice. “More money than I know what to do with.”

  “Not to sound shallow or anything, but that will definitely help. If Zack doesn’t prove to be responsible enough, you could always hire people to help you. You could get a nanny, or hire someone to clean the house for you.”

  “I could, I suppose. But I’m trying to avoid spending money frivolously. I plan to spend the rest of my life pursuing my psychic ability, which has no income. Yes, I have a large amount of money in the bank now, but it needs to last me a lifetime. And if Greg ends up taking half of it…”

  “Do you think he will?”

  “Knowing Greg?” Jenny replied. “Yes. He’ll feel like he deserves it, too, the bastard.” Jenny stifled an inner cringe, having momentarily forgotten that her parents had raised her not to swear. Fortunately, Isabelle didn’t flinch. “I can’t tell you how much that annoys me. He fought me tooth and nail while I worked on that case, telling me I shouldn’t try to help Elanor. According to him, I should have been focusing all of my energy on the renovation instead. Then when her case resulted in a windfall, he was only more than happy to start spending the money. Hypocrite.

  “The thing that gets me,” Jenny continued, “is that now he has a leg to stand on, legally speaking. We haven’t worked out the terms of the divorce yet, and now that I’m pregnant with another man’s child, I have the feeling he’s going to use that information to take me to the cleaners.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the Greg I know,” Isabelle replied.

  “Public Greg and Private Greg are two different people.”

  Isabelle contemplated the thought. “I guess that’s true for a lot of people. You never really know what goes on behind closed doors.”

  “Exactly,” Jenny replied. “And since everyone only knew Public Greg, I imagine people think I’m the biggest bitch on the planet.” Another inner cringe. “He appears to be such a great guy to the outside world. How does it look that I left him and immediately became pregnant with another man’s child?”

  “Now don’t you worry about that.”

  “I’m not really worried about what people think of me,” Jenny admitted honestly. “But I’m very worried about how Greg is going to play that card in divorce court.”

  A look of concern graced Isabelle’s face, not making Jenny feel any better. Sensing frustration was beginning to creep into her bones, Jenny quickly changed the subject. “So, ma, how are you doing up there in Kentucky?”

  Isabelle sighed. “The truth? Not well.” She diverted her eyes to her coffee cup. “It’s hard. I thought by now it would have gotten easier, but so far it hasn’t. I don’t know, Jenny. Lately I’ve been thinking I need to move. With just me living there, I don’t need so much space, and all those constant reminders of your father are making me crazy.”

  “That’s not a bad idea, ma. You wouldn’t be the first person to move after the loss of a loved one.”

  “I know,” she replied with a saddened voice. “But there are other memories in that house, too. You and your brothers all took your first steps there. The door to the basement still has markings from how tall you were on each birthday. I wish I could take those memories with me but leave the troubling ones behind.”

  Jenny reached out and silently held her mother’s hand, unsure what to say.

  “It’s actually half the reason I came down here. I mean, I certainly wanted to be here for you with your pregnancy and all, but I also had to get out of that house. I was drowning in there. I just needed a break—a distraction. Something to take my mind off of your father for a change.”

  Jenny patted her mother’s hand. “Well, it appears I’m not helping by talking about it, then.” Jenny sat up straight and put renewed vigor in her voice. “So, what did you and Rod talk about while Zack and I were at the store last night?”

  “We caught up, mostly. He told me about his travels and how he eventually settled down, and I told him about you kids. His wife seems like a wonderful lady. I’m happy about that. He wasn’t the right guy for me, but he was always a nice man, and I did want the best for him.”

  Jenny felt a stir inside her stomach. She stood up and patted her mom’s shoulder. “Come on, ma. We’re going somewhere.”

  “What? Where are we going?”

  “Don’t know,” Jenny replied, trying to be terse so she didn’t lose her concentration. “Let’s go.”

  “But I’m not dressed. Let me change my clothes first, and maybe put on a little make up…”

  “No time.” Jenny grabbed her purse and slipped on the shoes by the front door.

  Clearly unsure of what was happening, Isabelle followed suit. The two women got into the car and Jenny began driving to her unknown destination. “Honestly, Jenny,” Isabelle began. “Where are we going in such a hurry?”

  “Shhh,” Jenny replied, putting her hand on her mother to quiet her. She knew she was being rude to the one person in the world she should have respected at all times, but she would explain later. Right now it was more important not to lose the connection.

  The car took twists and turns until it ended up on a street in what appeared to be a lower-middle class neighborhood. None of the houses on the street looked like they had been maintained very well, and chain-link fences in various states of disrepair separated small yards. The cars aligning the streets were generally old and run-down. Parallel parking in a vacant spot along the side of the road, Jenny noted how horribly conspicuous her newer car looked compared to the others.

  “Can I talk now?” Isabelle whispered.

  Jenny let out a laugh. “Yeah, ma, you can talk now.”

  Isabelle straightened her posture. “Why on earth did you drive us here? And why did I have to be quiet?”

  “I was being pulled. The spirit was leading me here for some reason, and I have to remain somewhat unaffected in order for it to work. Sorry I shushed you, but the sound of your voice threatened to wake me from the state I needed to be in.”

  Isabelle looked around in disbelief. “The spirit led you here? This doesn’t seem like a very nice neighborhood.”

  “Well, I’m not necessarily dealing with very nice people.”

  Isabelle reached her hand over and made sure her d
oor was locked.

  “It’s that house,” Jenny noted, pointing to a small, white building across the street. “There’s something important about it.”

  Isabelle squinted in the direction Jenny had pointed. “It seems rather unremarkable if you ask me.”

  At that moment a tall and disturbingly slender young man, roughly in his early twenties, came out of the front door wearing sagging jeans, a jacket and a baseball cap. His dark hair looked shaggy under his hat, and he appeared to have several days’ worth of stubble on his chin. He paused on the porch for a moment as he cupped his hand around the end of a cigarette to light it, and then he proceeded down the steps to the short walkway that led to the street.

  “He needs to pull his pants up,” Isabelle noted. “Look at those things. You can just about see all of his underwear.”

  Jenny laughed to herself but didn’t say anything.

  “And he shouldn’t be smoking,” Isabelle continued. “Doesn’t he know how bad that is for him?”

  “Ma,” Jenny said. “He may not have anything to do with the reason why we’re here. It may be the house that we’re after, or someone else in his family.”

  “He still shouldn’t be smoking.”

  This was an argument Jenny knew she wouldn’t win.

  The young man continued down his front walk to his car, which was small and red with multiple rust spots. Once he reached the driver’s side door, he pulled out his keys with one hand and gave his pants an emphatic hike with the other.

  “See?” Isabelle said. “He’s not even comfortable.”

  He climbed into the car, which seemed much too small for someone his height, and pulled away. Jenny made a note of the license plate number, reciting it to herself until she had successfully texted herself with the information. She also took down the address of this house, eager to look up its history. Perhaps one of the names on the ownership list would belong to the man from her visions.

  “Well, that was exciting,” Jenny proclaimed sarcastically as she turned her car back on.