Defending the Dead (Relatively Dead Mysteries Book 3)

by Sheila Connolly

  Abby felt her muscles unkinking. “Oh, good—I’ve been worried about telling you. But if you don’t mind talking about it, I’d like to know what you think—or feel—about your own ability. It is there, right? I wasn’t just imagining things, when we met at Thanksgiving?”

  Sarah sat back in her chair and took a long drink from the bottle of iced tea she’d brought, before trying to answer. “Not exactly a simple question, is it? I’ve been aware of this, well, ability—we really should work out some better terms for whatever it is—probably since college. I didn’t think much about it at first. You know, life was full of new experiences and people, and I was busy and excited, and if every now and then I’d know something before someone said it, or saw someone who evaporated quickly, I just brushed it off. I had no explanation, but I didn’t really care. It didn’t get in the way of anything. I just went on with my life.

  “And then I graduated, and got a job, and another job, and I met my husband and we got married.”

  “He doesn’t have this thing?” Abby asked.

  “No, not at all. And I didn’t try to explain it to him. Either you have it or you don’t, or at least that’s what I decided. You can’t ‘give’ it to anybody. And he, nice man that he is, just thought I was sensitive and caring and intuitive when it came to people. And then I got pregnant with Ned.” Sarah stopped for another drink, but her eyes didn’t leave Abby’s.

  And Abby realized she had never thought about that aspect of this thing. “And you knew he . . .” She didn’t even have words to explain it.

  Sarah nodded. “Of course, I wasn’t sure it was anything out of the ordinary. I’d never been pregnant, and people kept talking about hormonal changes, and other things that happened when you were pregnant. But Ned and I, we had something else that went beyond all that. It didn’t involve words—or maybe I used words, but obviously in utero he couldn’t communicate that way—but in a weird way I could feel what he was feeling.”

  Abby leaned forward. “And what was that? If you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Mostly peaceful, I think. You know, drifting around in this warm liquid cloud. Soundless, except for the beating of my heart, and the gurgling of my dinner on its way by, and kind of muddy noises that I recognized must be voices from the outside. Happy. No cares, no pain, just drifting. Childbirth was a different story, but I was so caught up in what was happening to me that I didn’t have time to tune in to him. But when they put him on my chest and we looked at each other, it was like we already knew each other. I know, this sounds like one huge load of bull.” Sarah got up and paced around the kitchen, coming to rest leaning against the counter by the sink.

  “No, Sarah, it doesn’t. I can’t exactly comment on what you and Ned were sharing, but when I started seeing these people, not all that long ago, I was feeling their emotions. And my first impression was that it was only at times of extreme emotion that whatever they were—and you’re right, we need a vocabulary—came through to me. It was the emotion that was the driving force. I’m still kind of surprised that I see actual, recognizable faces, and clothes from the right era, but some of that might be projection, or how my mind is kind of filling in the outlines. Some primitive part of me recognizes who I’m seeing, and then I add the rest to make it more manageable to me. Am I making any sense?”

  “I think so. Isn’t this an odd conversation we’re having?”

  “It is. Have you ever found anything like it with other people? People like us?”

  Sarah shook her head. “I think I was afraid of what I might find, I guess. I was married, and running a household, and I had Ned, and I went back to work, and there just wasn’t time or energy to look at psychic phenomena. And it all seemed so absurd.”

  “And now?” Abby prompted.

  “Now I wonder if I haven’t been a coward. I could get away with that as long as it was only me who was affected, and Ned had kind of shut it down. But now that I know about you, and that there are others, like Ellie, I guess I have to rethink it. How much have you and Ned talked about it?”

  “Some,” Abby said. “Maybe not as much as we should. He’s still having trouble wrapping his head around it, but at least he admits it’s real. You know, one day when I had nothing better to do, I looked up what falls under the heading of psychic phenomena, and it’s a surprisingly long list. Although it’s kind of a grab bag too. I mean, some aspects are more physical than others—like telekinesis or levitation.”

  Sarah laughed. “You haven’t tried those, have you?”

  “No, and I don’t plan to. And then there are the more subtle ones, like premonitions—knowing something is going to happen before it does—or telepathy. A lot have been dismissed as fake, but there seems to be a germ of truth buried in there somewhere. Anyway, what I’ve been experiencing would probably be called retrocognition or post-cognition—the perception of past events. With a dash of psychometry, also known as psychoscopy, thrown in. That’s learning something by touching an object. So if I want to be pompous, I could say I’m experiencing psychoscopic retrocognition.”

  “And a lovely mouthful that is,” Sarah said with a smile. “Is there a short form?”

  “Like ‘psychretro’? Or ‘I’m retroscopic—how about you?’ I could have a button or a T-shirt made up. At least it would be a conversation starter.”

  “That it would,” Sarah agreed, then sobered. “Does it help, to stick a label on it?”

  “Not really. It’s just a description. It doesn’t explain how or why it’s happening, or why it happens to some people and not others. Does anyone else in your family share this?”

  Sarah shook her head. “No, not that I know of. It wasn’t the kind of thing we talked about.”

  “Sarah, I’m worried about Ellie. You know Leslie—how is she going to deal with this?”

  “You’ve seen far more of her lately than I have. As I remember from years ago, she was a no-nonsense type of person, which might have been a good counterbalance to Ned, who spends a lot of time in his head. But I gather they split up by mutual choice. Have you seen her together with Ellie much?”

  “No. When I tried to explain, Leslie had no idea that anything odd was going on with Ellie, until I found out that she was sneaking off to the local cemetery and playing hide-and-seek with someone who died a hundred and fifty years ago.”

  “Not an imaginary friend, I take it?”

  “I saw her too, Sarah. She was a child, about Ellie’s age, from a family line that Ellie and I apparently share, but Ned doesn’t.” And I had several conversations with someone who died last December—in April. But it was too soon to lay that one on Sarah. “Look, I’m not telling you all this to upset you, and I’m not asking you to do anything. Ned seems pretty well-adjusted, all things considered, and I feel extremely lucky that he shares this thing and is willing to explore it, and that somehow we found each other. But there’s a new wrinkle.”

  “Do I want to know about it?” Sarah asked.

  “Ellie’s been asking to see me. Leslie said no at first—I’m not exactly her favorite person—but then Ellie showed up in Lexington after school one day, without telling anyone where she was going.”

  “Oh, wow. She’s seven? So what did Leslie do? Accuse you of kidnapping?”

  “No, thank goodness. We’re trying to work out a way that I can see Ellie often enough to help her through this—although ‘through’ is probably the wrong word, since there’s no guarantee that it will end at any point—and I’m going to be spending a day each week with her, over the summer. But I have to admit that I’m still learning things myself, and I’m not sure how to guide Ellie. I can’t tell her too much, because she’s simply not old enough to handle it.”

  “I can see your problem, Abby, but maybe you’re overthinking it. It’s not like you have to have a result by a certain deadline. Spend the time with her, have fun, go places and do things—and just watch. You don’t have to force the issue, or ask questions. Just see what she does. No rush.”r />
  “That sounds too easy. But I do like her—she’s a smart kid, and observant. Old for her years.”

  “What about her brother? Does he have this?”

  “We don’t know yet. He’s young. And he may not be affected. My mother doesn’t have anything like we do.” There were so many other questions she had that she’d love to ask Sarah, but that might be overkill. Sarah might be older, but like Ned, she’d downplayed her ability for a lot of her life, and while she’d had some experiences that Abby hadn’t, she didn’t seem much further along in understanding it. “Oh, there’s one more thing.”

  “More? I warn you, my brain may explode,” Sarah said, smiling broadly.

  “I’m looking into the Salem witch trials. I want to learn enough so that I can visit Salem Village and see if there’s anything lingering there, even though it’s been a long time.”

  “You don’t believe in witches?”

  “No, of course not. But people then did, at least as vessels or servants of the Devil. I want to know why people were so eager to believe. And if it has anything to do with people like us.”

  “And why things got so out of hand? It was an interesting time, indeed.” Sarah shut her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them she said brightly, “Do you realize I haven’t seen the rest of the house yet? Why don’t you give me the nickel tour?”

  Abby decided that Sarah was signaling that she’d had enough of the discussion of the other thing. “I’d love to. But I warn you, it’s a mess, and your son, despite all his good qualities, hasn’t done a whole lot about it.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” Sarah laughed.

  The tour ended in the backyard. Sarah surveyed the level property. “Nice. Hasn’t been looked after for quite a while, but I’ve seen worse. Good-sized lot, too. Do you have a lawn mower?”

  “Got me. I’ve never used one. But the grass isn’t three feet deep, so there must be something.”

  Sarah fell silent, and when Abby looked at her, she realized that she was looking past the back fence. “Is that . . . ?”

  “Yes. It’s the oldest cemetery in Lexington.”

  “And Ned bought this property,” Sarah said, to herself. “Who’s that?”

  Abby followed her gaze and recognized . . . someone who wasn’t there. “I’m guessing it’s a member of the Reed family, probably from around 1800, judging by the clothes. You see her too?”

  Sarah turned to stare at Abby. “Oh, dear. Are they there often?”

  “They come and go. It’s not like we’re keeping count. But Ned sees them too. And so does Ellie.” As soon as she said it, Abby could have bitten her tongue.

  “Ah,” Sarah said, then stopped, and her expression changed. She looked at Abby with an odd curiosity in her eyes. “Is she . . . ?”

  Abby nodded. “Yes.” Thank goodness she didn’t have to explain. “I wasn’t going to say anything . . .”

  Sarah held up a hand. “I understand. Was Ned ever going to tell me?”

  “That was between Leslie and him. And Ellie doesn’t know.” Abby watched anxiously as a variety of expressions crossed Sarah’s face.

  The final one was sort of happy, if Abby was reading her right. “Will you tell Ned that I know? There’s been too much concealment already.”

  “You don’t want to see him yourself?”

  “Not yet. I need time to absorb the fact that I have a seven-year-old granddaughter. But you don’t have to say you slipped up: I guessed.”

  “Poor Ned must be getting used to things like this by now,” Abby said ruefully. “Thank you for listening to me.”

  “Thank you for sharing this with me, Abby. I mean it.” Sarah grabbed her in a quick hug, and Abby returned it. “We’ll talk again, okay?”

  “Of course.”

  14

  Abby was in the kitchen, scrubbing cabinets that looked to be about fifty years old and had at least five layers of paint on them, when Ned came home. “Thank goodness!” she exclaimed. “Now I can give up. I think it’s hopeless—some of the drips and lumps are three layers down. I hate to toss the cabinets, because they’re sturdy and well made, but they are so ugly!”

  “Abby, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, coming up behind her and kissing her neck.

  “The cabinets. There’s no point in trying to clean them, because it doesn’t make any difference.”

  “That could be a good thing, you know. Maybe you’ll get used to them the way they are.”

  “Like you have, you mean?”

  He shrugged. “They don’t bother me. And can’t we finish one project before we jump into another?”

  “What ‘we’?” she demanded, turning to face him. “You’ve owned this house, what—five years? I’ve been here less than two months and I’ve already done more than you have.”

  “You want me to apologize?”

  Abby told herself that she needed to calm down—but working on an old house could be so frustrating! “No. It was your house, and you could do what you wanted with it. But if I’m going to live here, I might have a few ideas of my own.”

  “So tell me about them—I’m listening.”

  Abby softened. “Sorry—I must be hungry or something. We can sit down and make a list later.”

  “How was lunch with Mom?” Ned asked carefully.

  What was Ned’s problem with his mother? Too many secrets, or at least knowledge not shared. Well, she was about to blow a big hole in that. “Great! I really like her. She brought over some sandwiches and we spent a couple of hours talking. Why didn’t you ever invite her to see this place?”

  Ned shrugged. “I figured she knew it well enough—she’s been driving right past it for much of her life.”

  “But she’d never been inside!” Men were sometimes so clueless about what interested women.

  “No. I guess I didn’t want her to think less of me, for picking such a dump.”

  “Ned! She wouldn’t have said that. This place is structurally sound. Plus it has great potential—I’m sure she would have seen that.”

  “So you two talked about interior design?” Ned asked, leaning against the counter, much as his mother had. Funny—Abby hadn’t noticed that they shared the same rangy body type.

  “Some. Mostly we talked about this thing we share—we’re going to try to come up with a better name for it. So far we’ve rejected retrocognition or post-cognition, psychometry, also known as psychoscopy, and psychoscopic retrocognition.”

  “Wait—are those real?”

  “Sure are, but they’re just labels. Sarah’s really never had anyone to talk to about all this, since you weren’t interested.”

  “I’m not sure that’s fair, Abby. I was a shy, nerdy smart kid, and the last thing I wanted was to have this peculiar ability that I didn’t want other people to know about. I never meant to shut my mother out, but she held back and let me find my own way. I’m grateful for that.”

  That was both good and bad, Abby thought. “And here we are today. Neither one of you knows what you’ve got or what to do with it. Mostly you ignored it.”

  “I can’t argue with that. And if you hadn’t showed up, we probably would have muddled along just fine.”

  “Look, I didn’t mean to stick myself in the middle of all this. I wouldn’t have said anything to her, except that when we met that first time and shook hands, we both recognized it. And then there’s Ellie. Ned, how much did you tell your mother about Leslie?”

  Abby almost took pity on Ned, because he looked so uncomfortable. “I told her I was dating her. I told her when we got engaged—I was under the impression that she approved. I told her when we called it off. And that’s all I told her. You didn’t . . .”

  “I’m afraid I did, if not in so many words. I didn’t mean to give anything away, but when we were talking about Ellie’s abilities, she kind of read between the lines and guessed, particularly after I told her that Ellie sees the ghosts in the yard.” Ned looked stricken, so Abby rushed on
, “I told her that I ended up with you here because I lost my job, and that was because I figured out that Ellie had this thing and I told Leslie, who wasn’t happy to hear it, and that I wanted to help Ellie figure it out, not just shut it down. And in the interest of full disclosure, when we toured the backyard she saw someone in the cemetery behind, and I said that I saw them too and they were probably Reeds, which she already knows about. And I might have said that Ellie saw them too.”

  Ned stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “Which means she leapt to the logical conclusion. Abby, did you mean to make my life more complicated?”

  “Hey, pal, I thought it was our life! I didn’t go looking for this, but as long as we have other people in our small circle who possess some part of this, I think we need to share as much information as we have. I like your mother. Why can’t you just talk to her? Is it a guy thing?”

  “How did Brad treat his mother?”

  Was Ned trying to divert the conversation? “He didn’t have to treat her in any particular way. She thought he was the sun and the moon. I didn’t stick around long enough to see how he rationalized getting involved with the lovely Shanna. Not that it mattered much: his mother didn’t think I was good enough for her darling boy. I’d bet she’s over the moon about Shanna, if that lasts. On the other hand, my mother thought Brad was just peachy—but she’s never been the intuitive type.” She hesitated before saying, “Look, I’m sorry if I blew the whole story about Ellie, but I’d really like your mother to be part of figuring all this out.”

  Ned was still shaking his head, but at least he was smiling. “We really are clueless, aren’t we? Most people in relationships, whether it’s with parents or siblings or lovers, have communication issues. With us, we’ve got a whole other level. Are we all going to end up strangling each other, or just moving to different ends of the country so we don’t have to deal with it?”

  “Oh, Ned, I don’t know,” Abby said, contrite. “And there’s no guarantee that we could escape it, wherever we go, now that we know about it.” She paused, trying to find the right words. “Sometimes it feels like a game, like ‘who can see who.’ Other times it scares me, because I don’t know how deep it goes, and whether it’s going to change or grow the more we explore it. And in a way, that’s why learning more about Salem is relevant: people went to extremes all too fast, because they were scared. They wanted to stamp out whatever it was as fast as they could. Never mind that the Devil could be busy just about anywhere and would keep on recruiting new witches or wizards, or that’s what they believed in their time. They just reacted to what they thought was right in front of them.”