Trapped (A Jenny Watkins Mystery Book 5)

by Becky Durfee

  “Maybe, eventually,” Howell said, “but not yet. We don’t know if any of the victims have ties to him, first of all. We’d need some sort of evidence to link him to the crime before a judge would issue a subpoena. We obviously haven’t established that yet.”

  A funny sensation started to brew within Jenny. Feeling the need to focus, she stepped away from the conversation and headed to a quieter area a few yards from where she’d been standing. A male voice echoed briefly between her ears, causing her to place her face in her hands.

  “Hey,” she heard Zack whisper from behind her, “are you okay?”

  She turned to look at her concerned boyfriend. Lowering her hands to her sides she remarked, “You look like you could use a good meal.”

  Zack furrowed his brow and looked at her.

  “That’s what I heard.” Jenny pointed to her head. “In my mind. I think that’s how he got the girls to get into his car, even if we don’t know who they were or where they came from.”

  “So then he appears kind,” Ingunn stated.

  The others looked at her, inviting her to continue.

  “Harmless,” she added. “Benevolent. The girls thought he was trustworthy.”

  “Are you getting that in a vision?” Zack asked Ingunn.

  “No,” she replied, “it’s just common sense. Why else would they have gone with him?”

  “Because they’re prostitutes,” Howell said, “and part of their job involves getting into strangers’ vehicles.”

  “Based on what Jenny said, he wasn’t asking them for sex,” Ingunn countered. “He was offering them dinner.”

  Presumably contemplating what Ingunn said, Howell remained quiet.

  “It seems strange to offer a prostitute a meal to get her into your car,” Zack noted. “Why not just act like you want to hire her?”

  “And here’s another thing I don’t understand,” Jenny began. “Now don’t get me wrong, Officer Howell. I don’t mean any disrespect, but if you know these are prostitutes, and you know they’re doing drugs, and you know Adam X is their pimp…why don’t you just arrest them all? Then maybe these girls could get some help and resume their normal lives.”

  “In an ideal world, that would be happening,” Howell agreed, “but the truth of the matter is we have limited resources. There are only a certain number of policemen and women to go around, and they have to patrol the entire county. Then there’s the matter of proof—we know they are prostitutes, but we’d need to have concrete evidence of it before we could arrest them. That would involve a sting, which is costly. And then, after all of that, their sentences would be little more than a slap on the wrist. After a short stint in jail, they’d come out and most likely go right back to the same lifestyle.” Howell looked sympathetically at Jenny. “As much as I hate to say this, we don’t really do too much about this because it wouldn’t be worth it. But now that there’s murder involved, the ante has been upped. Going forward, there’s going to be a lot more focus on truck stop prostitutes…if that’s what these victims turn out to be.”

  “How long do you think it will take before you get positive IDs?”

  Howell shrugged. “I don’t know. I guarantee they’re working on it as fast as they can.” His eyes circulated the group. “I just hope they can get some answers before there’s another victim.”

  Chapter 7

  Jessica put dinner plates down in front of Jenny, Zack and Ingunn before quickly disappearing back into the kitchen. After taking a bite and grunting with pleasure at the delicious food, Jenny asked Ingunn, “So what is it you do in order to contact the spirits? I’m wondering if this is a skill I can one day master myself.”

  “I need a belonging of the deceased, first of all,” she began, “or a photograph—a good one, that shows their faces. I also need quiet. Then it’s a simple matter of focus. Focus, focus, focus. Honestly, it’s difficult to achieve that level of concentration, which is why I usually do the channeling when I’m alone. Even the tiniest distraction can snap me out of that state. But once I get a feel that the spirit’s presence is around me, I concentrate on the specific aspect I’d like information about.” Ingunn took a bite of chicken, tucking it into her cheek before adding, “Then the answer pops into my head.” She shrugged with one shoulder and returned her attention to her plate.

  Jenny thought back to her first case, where she was able to summon a critical vision while sitting at a picnic table. Did she actually already possess that ability and she just didn’t realize it? Perhaps she’d need to try that again in the future.

  “So, Amma,” Zack began, “this psychic ability runs in the family…”

  “For some members, yes.”

  Zack rested his chin on his hand. “How did it start? I mean, somebody had to have it first, didn’t they?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Ingunn said in casual affirmation. “My great-great-grandmother.”

  Jenny’s eyes grew wide. “You know how this started?”

  “Sure. It’s commonly known in my family.” Glancing up at Jenny with a rare smile, she added, “In our family.” She took another bite of meat.

  “So what happened?” Jenny was ready to jump out of her skin. “How did it begin?”

  “It was a boating accident, back in Iceland in 1852.” Ingunn seemed just as preoccupied with her food as she did the incredible story. “My great-great-grandmother Greta was eleven then. She was fishing on a boat with her family when she and her nine-year-old brother Dyri fell into the icy water. They both disappeared under for a long time. Well, maybe not a long time,” she conceded with a shrug, “but much too long to go without breathing. I guess it goes without saying that they managed to pull Greta back in the boat and she survived.” She pointed at Jenny with her fork. “You and I wouldn’t be here right now if she didn’t.”

  Jenny felt a chill as she considered the fragile chain of events that led to her existence. One hiccup and she never would have been born.

  Ingunn continued to talk about Greta. “She described the experience to her children later on; she said that she and Dyri held hands, in a spiritual sense, as their souls floated out of the water and up into the air. She was able to look down and see all of her family members frantically scrambling to get her and Dyri back in the boat. She even saw her own physical body just beneath the surface of the water, although she couldn’t see her brother’s. He had apparently sunk further down than she did.

  “Greta said she felt at peace as her soul left her body, although she did feel sorry for her family; they all seemed so upset. She wished they wouldn’t be—she and Dyri were leaving the earth together, and she was engulfed in an amazing sense of calm and serenity. If her family had known what it had felt like, they wouldn’t have been sad for her.

  “But then she felt the physical touch of an earthly hand on hers, and before she knew it she was being pulled back downward. She felt torn…she knew her family wanted her to return to her physical body, but she didn’t want to leave Dyri alone in the spirit world. He encouraged her to go back, telling her she had her entire life to live, but she insisted she didn’t want to go without him. That’s when he made her a promise…if she went back, he wouldn’t leave her. He assured her he would always be by her side. With that promise, she agreed to go back.

  “Luckily for Greta—and you and me—the icy water seemed to slow her vitals down enough that she was able to be under the water longer than a person ordinarily would be. Once they pulled her out of the water, her family rowed her to shore and wrapped her in blankets, putting her by a fire to warm her back up again. Eventually her natural color restored, and her breathing became normal. Soon after she regained consciousness, and the first thing she did was ask for Dyri. That’s when her family had to inform her that her brother hadn’t survived the accident. They weren’t able to get him back in the boat. His body washed up on shore a few days later.

  “After she made her recovery, Greta claimed to still be able to speak to Dyri. Her parents tolerated it at firs
t, believing she was just saying that to make herself feel better about the accident. After a while, though, her parents became upset with her when she continued to make the claim. They kept telling her that Dyri was dead, and there was no way she could still hear him—she needed to snap out of her little fantasy world and accept the facts.”

  With obvious awe in her voice, Jenny said, “But she could hear him, couldn’t she?”

  “She could,” Ingunn agreed with a nod. “But it wasn’t until her uncle passed away a few years later that her parents actually believed her. Her mother’s brother, Viktor, died of illness, and apparently his spirit lingered and communicated with Greta. One day while visiting her mother’s childhood home, Greta shared the story of how her Uncle Viktor had fallen out of a tree as a boy. He’d been climbing with Greta’s mother, and he let go with his hands in an attempt to be funny. Apparently that had backfired. He fell from several feet up, landing hard on the ground, hurting his wrist quite badly…But that had been the kids’ favorite climbing tree, so they decided to tell their mother that he’d tripped over a rock instead. They didn’t want their mother telling them to stay out of the tree.

  “When Greta told the story, her mother was shocked. There was no way Greta could have known that; they had never told anybody about how Viktor had really gotten hurt. When her mother asked Greta how she knew, Greta simply replied that her Uncle Viktor had told her; his spirit was with them at that very moment, and he was whispering it to her. From then on her parents actually believed she had the ability to communicate with the deceased and that her claims about Dyri had actually been true.”

  Jenny was too flabbergasted to speak. She was glad Zack had the ability to ask the questions she wanted answered. “So what did they do about it?”

  Ingunn looked expressionlessly at Zack. “Nothing. They didn’t want anybody to know. They feared what would happen to her if people found out. She just continued to receive contacts from Dyri and Viktor, and her family said nothing to anyone.”

  “But then this trait got passed on to her children?” Zack asked.

  “One of them,” Ingunn replied, popping some broccoli into her mouth. “At a young age, Greta’s second daughter began talking about Dyri. Greta hadn’t talked about her brother to her children, so she figured that any information her daughter disclosed must have come from Dyri himself. It was apparent that her daughter had inherited the trait.”

  “But how did it become genetic?” Zack asked. “I understand how Greta could have it, having been so close to death, but how did it pass on?”

  “That, I don’t know,” Ingunn confessed with a finger in the air. “But it seems when Greta was in the water, hovering somewhere between life and death, something inside of her changed. And apparently, that something can be passed down from generation to generation.”

  “So how many people in your family have it?” Zack asked. Jenny was still too stunned to speak.

  “It’s hard to say,” Ingunn deduced. “When you go back that many generations, the family tree develops a lot of branches. In our immediate family, it’s just me, Roddan and Jenny. I have a cousin with it, and I think one of her kids may have gotten it too. I don’t remember, honestly. She is still in Iceland and I rarely talk to her.” Ingunn looked around the table. “Do they have any salt?”

  Zack got up and retrieved a salt shaker from an empty neighboring table. Upon sitting back down, he asked, “Is most of your family still in Iceland?”

  Ingunn poured salt onto her baked potato. Without looking up she announced, “Yup. Everyone but me.”

  “How did you come to be in America?”

  She glanced at Zack with an emotionless face. “I may not look like it now, but I was once a free spirit. I decided I wanted a change, so I came to the states.”

  “How old were you when you came?” Zack was still doing all the talking.

  “Nineteen.”

  “Did you know anyone here?”

  “Nope.”

  “Wasn’t that difficult?”

  Ingunn shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

  A smirk appeared on Zack’s face. He clearly got just as much of a kick out of Ingunn as Jenny did.

  The conversation continued, and Ingunn explained how she met and married Jerry Epperly, a mortician from North Carolina. Ingunn had used her gift to provide solace to the families who had come to Jerry for his services, although she had done it in a subtle enough way that she didn’t disclose her gift. Unaware that she had a secret weapon at her disposal, the relatives of the deceased used to marvel at how Ingunn always knew just what to say. She credited herself—and her gift—with helping to make her husband’s funeral home the most successful in the area.

  Once the meal and the conversation were over, Ingunn wiped her mouth with her napkin and sighed with contentment. “So,” she began, “I guess it’s about time I go have a conversation with this Samuel fellow, don’t you think?”

  Jenny’s eyes widened. “You’re going to do that now?”

  “No sense wasting time.” Ingunn scooted her chair out from the table and headed back toward the kitchen.

  “Where are you going?” Jenny stood up as well, although Zack continued to eat.

  “To get another look at that painting.” She didn’t look back at Jenny as she added, “If it turns out Samuel is one of those children, I can use that to summon him.”

  Jenny scurried quickly to follow Ingunn back into the kitchen where Jessica was washing up some dishes. Jessica looked at her visitors with obvious surprise; Jenny figured it wasn’t every day that guests marched with such conviction into the kitchen while she cleaned up dinner.

  Ingunn spoke immediately. “I’d like to see that painting again.”

  Quickly overcoming her moment of shock, Jessica pulled her hands out of the sink and vigorously shook off the excess water. Reaching for a towel she began to wipe her hands dry as she spoke. “I put it back in my office, but you can come take a look at it.” She placed the towel back on the rack and gestured toward the exit. “Follow me, ladies.”

  She led them into a room that apparently served as both an office and a giant closet; while there was a desk in one corner of the room, boxes, spare furniture and cleaning supplies littered the rest. The painting loomed ominously in the corner; it had been propped up against the wall rather than hung, and it remained free of the blanket. The large family wearing stiff expressions all seemed to be looking at Jenny, which at the moment made her feel tremendously uneasy.

  An inexplicable gust of wind soared briefly through the room. Jessica’s eyes grew wide as she looked back and forth between Ingunn and Jenny, clearly aware the breeze had supernatural origins.

  Ingunn pointed her finger at the painting, specifically to a young boy who appeared to be about six years old in the picture. He was dressed in an uncomfortable-looking shirt buttoned all the way to the top, and his dark hair was parted on the side, plastered to his head. “This one,” Ingunn said assuredly. “This is the boy who goes by Samuel.”

  Jessica looked at Ingunn with awe. “How do you know that?”

  Ingunn never looked away from the painting. “He just told me.”

  “I think this painting will do quite nicely; I should be able to get a contact from it,” Ingunn announced. “Now I just need quiet.”

  “Well, I can certainly provide you with that,” Jessica replied as she scrambled to get out of the room. She appeared to still be frazzled by the events that had just unfolded.

  Jenny began to follow suit when Ingunn said, “No, Jenny, not you. I want you here for this.”

  Surprised by the pronouncement, Jenny remarked, “I thought you preferred to work alone.”

  “I do,” Ingunn replied, “but I want you to take part in it.” She walked over to the window and drew the curtains closed. “I’m not getting any younger; I need someone to carry this on after I’m gone.”

  Excitement grew within Jenny, although it was accompanied by fear. This was a very big responsibility
being handed down to her; she only hoped she was worthy.

  Ingunn searched around the room until she found a box of tissues. Pulling a few out, she wadded them in her hand and used them as a buffer as she unscrewed three of the five light bulbs in the chandelier. She looked around the room approvingly before sliding a chair in front of the sofa-size painting. Taking a seat, she looked at Jenny. “You need a chair.”

  Jenny had found herself so awestruck by the process that she’d become a mere spectator. Realizing she needed to be a participant, she quickly retrieved a second chair and slid it next to her grandmother’s.

  Ingunn kept her eyes fixated on the painting. “You can’t be tense,” she said, “and I can feel your tension from here.”

  Now that her attention had been called to it, Jenny could indeed feel anxiety surging through her body. With a deep sigh she rolled her head back and forth, lowering her shoulders in a concerted attempt at relaxation. Despite her efforts, she wasn’t sure how successful she was.

  “Let all thought leave your body,” Ingunn instructed. “Just be. And then when you feel the purity and the emptiness, begin the focus.” Ingunn looked at Jenny and pointed to Samuel’s image. “Look at him. Look only at him. He is the only thing that exists in the world. There is no you. There is no me. There is nothing material. There is only Samuel.”

  Jenny nodded subtly with understanding, but she was unsure she could achieve that level of focus.

  “You’re nervous,” Ingunn noted. “This will never work if you’re nervous.” She reached out her hand and patted Jenny’s shoulder. “What makes you think you can’t do this, eh?”

  A very legitimate question. Why did Jenny doubt herself all the time? At that moment something inside of her changed. She sat straighter, held her head higher and looked squarely at the painting. “I can do this,” she said with confidence. “Just tell me what to do after I fixate on him.”

  “He’ll appear,” Ingunn replied. “You won’t see him, but you’ll feel him, just like you can feel when someone’s watching you. At that moment, you ask what he wants.”