Dead Ringer

by Pandora Pine

  Ten started to laugh. He knew exactly why Greeley wanted to see a “selfer” of Kaye. It was to make sure she was getting out of bed and taking care of herself after they’d all come back to Massachusetts. He was a clever boy, that was for sure. “It’s a selfie, Mom, and I’m sure Greeley was just missing your face.”

  “Grandma Kaye!” Greeley was all smiles when he saw who his next customer was. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to come to see you at work. Ronan was nice enough to drive me. What do you recommend?”

  “Everything here is off the hook!” Greeley said loud and proud. “For you though, I’d recommend the carrot cake muffin and a pumpkin spice latte.”

  Kaye nodded. “You’ve got yourself a sale, young man.” She snapped a couple of pics of Greeley.

  “Morning, guys!” Cassie said. She looked like she was wearing half of the dessert case on her apron.

  “Hey, Cass! Looks like Bertha was dead on with her idea to open this morning.” Ronan grinned.

  “She sure was. I know you and Ten are gonna be busy making sides for Thanksgiving dinner, but is there any way you could take Laurel home with you so Cole could come down and help with the rush?”

  “Of course! You know how much I love spending time with your mini-me.”

  “I do. Just don’t teach her any more ‘Ronan words,’ okay?” Cassie grinned. She set two pumpkin lattes and a pastry bag on the counter in front of him.

  “What are ‘Ronan words?’” Ten asked. He grabbed his latte and the bag containing their pumpkin muffins.

  “Ones that would get beeped and then get you fined by the FCC if you said them on television.”

  “Oh, she means George Carlin’s famous Seven Words You Can’t Say on Television!” Ronan broke out into a wide grin. “Let’s see, what were they?”

  “I swear to God, Ronan, if Laurel comes home with even one of them…” Cassie trailed off as her next customer stepped up to the counter.

  “Even one of what, Ronan?” Kaye asked.

  “Leftover Halloween candy, Kaye. We’ve got a ton of it.” Ronan turned and rolled his eyes. “Since we’re here, why don’t we give you a quick tour around the shop?” Ronan grabbed his latte and waved to Cassie.

  “I’ll have Cole bring Laurel to you when he comes downstairs,” Cassie called over the din of the crowd.

  “She looks happier than a duck with a June bug,” Kaye lifted a hand to wave back.

  “You know the story of how she and Truman used to work together in human resources, right?” Ronan asked.

  “What story? Kaye asked.

  Tennyson knew what Ronan was trying to do. He was trying to engage Kaye in a story so she wouldn’t notice he was leading her right into the store. The overhead lights turned on automatically when they crossed the threshold into the section that housed the books. Oddly enough, this was the part of the store where Tennyson and Ronan met each other back in January.

  “They had worked together for years and were best friends,” Ronan started as they passed by the crystals. Ronan absently passed his right hand over the bin of fluorite crystals. “Their company needed to fire one of it’s employees at the beginning of December two years ago and it was up to Truman and Cassie to carry out that process.”

  “In December? That doesn’t sound very charitable.” Kaye shook her head.

  “It wasn’t,” Ronan agreed as they passed the candles and dreamcatchers. “The man fired wasn’t even offered his Christmas bonus or a severance package. This is where the story gets interesting.” Ronan stopped in front of the reading room door. He flipped on the light and motioned for Kaye to go inside.

  “I remember this room from the television show.” Kaye set Bertha’s Tibetan chimes jingling.

  “This was the room where Bertha Craig conducted readings with her clients.” Ronan set a hand on her chair. “She’d sit here and her clients would sit across from her. The crystal ball in the center of the table was just there for show.”

  “Ronan, is this where you get me to try to believe in the occult?” Kaye wore a sour look on her face.

  “No, Kaye.” I’m just telling you a story. Listen, okay?”

  Kaye frowned, but kept her mouth closed.

  “A few years ago, Bertha got breast cancer. When she was nearing the end of her fight, she begged Carson and Cole to keep the store open even though neither of them had one drop of her talents.”

  Kaye’s brow knit together. “Wait! Both of them have the same powers as Tennyson. How could that be?”

  Ten tried to hide his smile, but it just wasn’t possible. His mother just admitted, out loud, that he had psychic abilities. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “Back then, neither one of them could have picked the winning horse in a two-horse race.” Ronan snorted. “Anyway, after Bertha passed, Carson became a con-man, of sorts, he’d give psychic readings by using the information his clients would voluntarily give him and their own body language.”

  Kaye looked stunned but didn’t say a word.

  “On the night that Truman and Cassie fired the worker, Carson was closing up the shop after one of those readings. He was in this room talking to Bertha and he touched the crystal ball when the strangest thing happened. He had a vision. A real vision.”

  “You expect me to believe that load of malarkey? You just said Carson was a con-artist.”

  “He was, until that moment.” Ronan grinned. “Ask me what the vision was about, Kaye.” Ronan nudged her gently.

  “What was the vision about, Ronan?” Fake enthusiasm dripped from her voice.

  Tennyson couldn’t help laughing.

  “Carson saw a Christmas party.”

  “A Christmas party?” Kaye sounded dubious.

  “Yes, Kaye, a Christmas party. At this party was the handsomest man he’d ever seen in his life with these glittering green eyes.”

  “Wait a second. Truman has green eyes.”

  “Does he?” Ronan turned to Ten. “I’d never noticed that before. Anyway, the handsome, green-eyed man in the vision was holding his arms up like he was being held at gunpoint.” Ronan demonstrated.

  Kaye gasped. “What happened next?”

  The man’s body jolted and a ruby-red stain appeared through his white dress shirt before the man crumpled to the floor. A woman appeared over the man and started performing CPR before the vision faded to black.”

  Kaye stood there stunned for a moment. “I don’t know what to say, Ronan.”

  “Neither did Carson. It was Cole who told him it must have been their mother who sent him the vision and that it was his duty to find and save the green-eyed man.”

  “A vision brought Truman and Carson together?” Kaye sounded like she didn’t quite believe the words that were coming out of her mouth.

  Ronan laughed. “There were a few bumps along the way, but yes.”

  “You call Carson getting shot a bump along the way?” Ten asked.

  “When you’ve been shot four times, I guess one puny bullet could be considered a bump in the road,” Cole said from behind them.

  “Ro!” Laurel screeched, toddling toward him.

  “Well, hey there, Petunia!” Ronan scooped the two-year-old up and peppered her face with kisses.

  “Thanks for taking her home with you, guys. Mom said opening the bakery this morning would be successful, but she failed to mention there would be a line around the block.”

  “We’ll have a great time cooking together, won’t we? You can cut up the potatoes!” Ronan winked at Cole.

  “Doggie?” Laurel asked excitedly.

  “Oh, you want to see Dixie?”

  Laurel nodded her head so hard, she whacked Ronan in the forehead. “Owwie!”

  “Do not break my child. Do not teach her any new words. No sugar,” Cole cautioned.

  “No problem. I was just going to let her play in traffic and talk to strangers.” Ronan rolled his eyes.

  “Bye, cutie!” Cole smacked a loud ki
ss to Laurel’s head.

  “Bye, Daddy!” She held her tiny hand up to wave. “Candy, Ro?” Laurel turned her sweetest smile on Ronan.

  “Let’s talk about that in the car, okay? You’re gonna sit with Grandma Kaye.”

  “Kaye!” Laurel clapped her hands.

  “Hello, sugar plum.” Kaye ran her hand through Laurel’s blond hair.

  “We’ll meet you outside. I have to strap her seat in.” Ronan whinnied like a horse and galloped out of the room.

  Tennyson nodded and waved to Laurel as they left. He was a little nervous to ask Kaye what she thought of the store. It would have been easy enough to just read her, but that was the coward’s way out. He led her back into the main store. “Well, what do you think?”

  Kaye walked back out into the main part of the store. “It’s not really what I expected.”

  Ten’s eyes narrowed. He was expecting the worst to come out of her mouth any second now. “In a good way or a bad way?”

  Kaye shook her head and walked over to the main display case where the cash register stood. Inside the glass were several different crystal balls. “These are just polished rocks.”

  “You’re absolutely right. Some people see highly polished, round rocks. Other people see decorations. Other people see tools.”

  “Tools?” Kaye’s brows knit together.

  “There are psychics who use crystal balls to channel. It’s a tool for them like a hammer is for a carpenter.”

  “Jesus was a carpenter,” Kaye said.

  It was like Kaye read his mind. “I was just thinking the same thing, Mom. To some, he was just a man, others think he was a prophet, others think he is the son of God.”

  “I’m struggling with believing in both.” She didn’t meet her son’s eyes. Instead, she kept staring at the crystal balls in the display case. Some were clear quartz, others rose quartz, there was even one made of amethyst. The most stunning crystal in the case was made of obsidian.

  Ten knew Kaye was talking about believing in both Jesus and his own gifts. “Jesus believed in psychics too, Mom. If you think about it, a psychic is a prophet. They tell the future. The Bible was against false prophets which over time morphed into including psychics, mystics, and occult practitioners. Anyone or anything that kept people from church or from donating to the church.”

  “That’s awfully skeptical.” Kaye finally looked up from the display case to meet Tennyson’s eyes.

  “Don’t be naive,” Ten cautioned. “Churches run on money.”

  Kaye nodded. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  “It means the world to me that you’re thinking about things, Mom.”

  “Do you think Laurel will let me play with her and Dixie?” Kaye asked.

  Ten laughed. “I’ll give you a hint. If you put Frozen on, she’ll love you forever. Why do you think she’s nuts for Ronan? He sings with her.”

  “Ronan sings?” Kaye laughed.

  “Badly, Mom. Very badly.” Ten shivered. Ronan was the worst Elsa ever.

  “Hmm, I think this might be a good time to try out the video feature on my phone.”

  Ten burst out laughing. Kaye was going to give him blackmail fodder over his husband for decades to come.

  33

  Ronan

  Ronan didn’t realize how much work it was to peel root vegetables. He had a dozen potatoes, half a dozen yams, carrots, parsnips and turnips, all freshly washed and sitting in front of him.

  “How’s it going, detective?” Jude Byrne asked from behind him.

  “Jesus Christ!” Ronan jumped a mile. “Warn a guy, would you, Byrne. You crept up on me like a cat. What are you, a panther or something?” Ronan was interested to see if the P.I. would rise to the bait.

  Jude’s golden eyes glowed. “My grandfather always said I had cat-like reflexes. You probably didn’t hear me come up from behind you because you were too busy cussing out the vegetables. What the hell did they ever do to you?”

  Ronan sneered at the annoying man. Not only did he not answer the question about being a panther, he’d overheard his ongoing diatribe against peeling the potatoes. “Who the hell invited you anyway?”

  Jude laughed. “Your well-mannered husband. Where is he? I didn’t see him or Dixie on my trip through the house.”

  It was strange too that Ronan hadn’t heard their guest knocking on the door. He sure as hell hadn’t rung the bell. “Carson was having some kind of turkey emergency, so he went over there to help. Dixie and Laurel went with him. Kaye too, I think.”

  “Turkey emergency? What the hell is that?”

  “Knowing my husband, its code for getting him the hell out of here. I might have been a bit grumpy over my assigned role.”

  “A bit grumpy? You were telling the spuds to bite you!” Jude snorted. “What role did you want, but didn’t get? Hamilton? The Phantom? Elphaba from Wicked?”

  “Funny.” Ronan deadpanned. “I wanted to make the gravy which would have required me to go around and get the turkey drippings from Carson, who’s making his bird the old-fashioned way and from Greeley, who’s spatchcocking his. I could give two fucks about the gravy. I just wanted an excuse to go see how this cutting the turkey in half and unrolling it like the Declaration of Independence works.”

  Jude stared at Ronan like he’d lost his mind. “Am I having a stroke? What the fuck are the words ‘Declaration of Independence’ and ‘turkey’ doing in the same sentence?”

  Ronan sighed. How did a man like Jude Byrne get this far in life and not know what the hell he was talking about? “Bobby Flay,” Ronan stopped and shot Jude the side eye. “You know who he is, right?”

  “Yes, asshole! I’m from the southwest. He’s the king of southwestern cuisine. Plus, that ass in a pair of Wranglers? A-fucking-men!” Jude held his right hand to God.

  Finally, something they had in common. Ronan was also nuts for Wrangler butts. “Bobby Flay did something on his show called spatchcocking where you cut a turkey’s backbone out.”

  “Ouch!” Jude shivered.

  “You do that after the bird is already dead.” Ronan held his hands out and looked up to the ceiling as if he were looking for a little divine intervention. He didn’t get any. This was probably Karma getting him back for all of the times he was a dick to Tennyson. “Anyway, once the backbone is gone, you flatten the turkey out, season it, and throw it on the grill. Greeley thought it looked good, so he’s trying it.”

  “Okay, so why don’t I help you with your role and when we’re done you can go see Greeley?”

  Jude made it sound so simple. Ronan nodded.

  “Oh, and by the way, I brought drinks. Eggnog for the sweet tooth’s in the crowd, soda, water, and some of those bottled coffee drinks. I left the cooler in the living room.”

  Ronan turned from the sink to study the man. It was curious that he hadn’t brought any booze to Thanksgiving. “No alcohol?”

  Jude raised a silent eyebrow as if he were choosing his next words carefully. “With you and Greeley in recovery, I didn’t think that was the wisest move. Plus, fire water isn’t exactly a friend of mine.”

  Fire water... Interesting choice of words and the first real clue about Jude Byrne. Ronan would file that tidbit away for later. “Whose idea was it to write to me? Hicks’, Tank’s or yours?”

  Jude grinned at Ronan. “You got another peeler? I’ll lend you a hand.”

  Ronan shook his head. “We’ve only got the one, but if you grab a knife out of the block, you can start cutting up the potatoes into cubes.”

  “I wondered how long it would take you to ask that question.” Jude grabbed a chef’s knife and walked around to the opposite side of the island, giving both himself and Ronan plenty of room to work. “I’ve only been here in Massachusetts for about three years now. The first thing I did, after I found a cheap place to rent, was marathon read the last year of The Boston Globe and then The Herald. I made a list of all the major crimes, trials, appeals, and fraud cases. You name it,
I tracked it. I didn’t think your incident with Manuel Garcia and your subsequent trip to rehab was a big deal until the Michael Frye case.”

  Ronan felt his lower jaw tighten. His stomach tossed at the thought of how Jackie and Ross Frye were spending another holiday without their son.

  “I don’t know if you realize it, Ronan, but you teaming up with Tennyson is a game-changer.”

  “What do you mean, a game-changer?” Ronan looked up from his spud to lock eyes with the P.I.

  “Tennyson is an instant lie detector.”

  Ronan shook his head. “Not necessarily. There are certain people, yourself included, who can elude his gift. There is one killer in particular who was able to mask the evil inside of him. That little trick almost got me and Ten killed.

  “But you knew who hadn’t killed the little boy, right? Sometimes knowing who isn’t guilty is just as important as knowing who is.”

  Ronan knew the latter part of Jude’s question was talking about Tank Hutchins, who, at this moment, was sitting in his 6x8 foot cell at MCI-Cedar Junction about to enjoy a meal of turkey loaf and instant mashed potatoes. “I get what you’re saying, but Ten isn’t just a robot who can go down a conga line of cons saying ‘guilty,’ or ‘not guilty.’ This shit takes a lot out of him. He’s a human being with real feelings and emotions. Talking to the dead and their grieving families is gutting.”

  Jude was silent. He didn’t respond to Ronan.

  Ronan was beginning to wonder if Jude was just going to ignore that last remark all together.

  “It’s not always easy dealing with live bodies who find out a loved one’s been unfaithful. It can be soul-sucking.”

  “Why do it then?” Ronan challenged. He had to admit Jude looked almost human in this moment.

  “Probably for the same reason Tennyson does. To help people. As hurt as my clients are to find out they’re being cheated on today, they all agree it’s better than finding out tomorrow.”

  Ronan understood where Jude was coming from. “How many of your clients actually leave the cheater?”

  Jude’s smiled. His amber eyes grew warm. “About 70%. When you’re serious enough to hire a P.I., you’re serious enough to leave ‘em high and dry.”