by Lena Gregory
Bee righted his glass and pulled his chair back in as he sat, then rested his clasped hands on the table.
Cass laid a hand on his. “Don’t worry, Bee. I’m not stupid.”
“I know, dear.” He patted her hand. “But you don’t always have the most common sense.”
“Hey!” Cass bristled.
“Cass Donovan.” Stephanie gestured toward her.
Applause erupted as Cass stood and took Stephanie’s place at the center of the room. Heat flared in her cheeks. She didn’t love being the center of attention, and this was the largest crowd she’d ever performed for. Come to think of it, there seemed to be a lot more people here than there had been at the mansion. Had they sold more tickets? She’d have to remember to ask Stephanie.
Cass scanned the faces of the guests. Was one of them a killer? Most likely, yes. But how could she figure out who? “Thank you all for coming.” The applause died out as everyone settled more comfortably for the show.
Readings were a lot less formal than séances, so Cass kept the lighting at a comfortable level for her to interact. She liked to roam the crowded room, searching for someone to read. The perfect target would have their emotions well displayed for Cass to interpret. “I’d like to start with a moment of silence for Conrad and Joan Wellington.” She dipped her chin but continued to scan the room. Chairs scraped as everyone stood, and most everyone bowed their heads.
Sylvia cocked a hip, looking impatient.
Donald continued to stare at Cass, the plea for help clear in his expression.
Wiping a tear from her cheek, Priscilla lowered her gaze.
Jim held his clasped hands in front of him but chanced a quick glance at his sister.
Mitch and Carly Dobbs stood with their heads bent together, whispering. At least Carly kept her voice down this time.
Emmett and Sara stood side by side, fingers entwined. A jolt of joy flared in Cass. They were good for each other.
Cass’s gaze caught on a stranger. A tall man with dark hair and a muscular build. He wore a black suit, and his tie was loosened. Not only did he hold his head upright, he glared toward Priscilla with undisguised contempt.
“Thank you.” She lifted her head as everyone took their seats.
Grace Collins waved from across the room, and Rudy winked. Cass’s heart warmed at the sight of the elderly couple. They’d never attended a group reading before, and she couldn’t help but wonder if they’d come to lend support.
She relaxed. She was in her element now, the place she was most comfortable. These people had gathered to see her, to support her. Most of them, anyway. Her gaze skipped back to the intense stranger. Should she start with him? He pulsed with negative energy. Could he be a killer? Possibly. Better to leave him alone and not draw his attention.
“Many of you have attended readings before, and I thank you for coming back.” Making eye contact with as many return clients as possible, Cass hoped to convey her gratitude and make them feel welcome. “I also see a lot of new faces. Welcome.”
She started to move through the room, ignoring anyone who made her feel uncomfortable. It was imperative her full concentration be focused on what she was doing. Bee and Stephanie would worry about everything else.
She approached Sara Ryan. Sara was a regular customer. She blushed as she glanced at Emmett. Emmett’s cheeks flamed bright red. Sensing they would be uncomfortable having attention drawn to them, Cass smiled and moved past them.
An older woman sat with three younger women. She clasped and unclasped her fingers. One of the women reached over and squeezed her hands, offering a reassuring smile. Hmmm . . . something. Not exactly nervous, but stressed. “You have something on your mind.”
The older woman fidgeted but nodded.
Most people who attended readings were seeking to communicate with a loved one who had passed on. “There’s someone here, someone you want to reach.”
The woman nodded again and lowered her gaze to her left hand. She twisted the plain gold band around her finger.
“Your husband.”
She sucked in a breath as her gaze shot to Cass. “Yes.”
Tears shimmered in the woman’s eyes. The look on her face was one of fondness, the look of someone who’d long since come to terms with her loved one’s passing. It wasn’t the raw grief of a woman recently widowed.
“He’s been gone a long time now.” Indecision prickled Cass’s nerves when the woman didn’t answer immediately. Ah jeez, I hope that’s right. Should she backpedal? She waited. Confident.
The woman smiled and finally spoke. “Fifteen years, now. Eddie’s been gone since the girls were teenagers.” Her gaze softened as she looked at the women seated around her, women who all had to be in their thirties by now. Their love for their mother was very obvious in the way they looked at her, the silent encouragement they offered.
“He’s very proud of them.” Cass moved closer, making the contact more intimate, less of a group event.
“Yes. I knew he would be. They’ve taken good care of me over the years.”
Fifteen years. What would she want to ask her husband who’d been gone for so long? Certainly not where something was. That was a common request. People died, leaving behind loved ones who needed something only the deceased knew where to find.
The women all looked healthy. All of them kept their gazes firmly on their mother. Obviously, it was the older woman who needed some sort of guidance. Cass focused her attention on her. An attractive woman, probably in her late fifties or early sixties. A tear trickled down her cheek. The loyalty she felt toward her departed husband was evident in the pained expression on her face. Loyalty? Odd word choice, but it definitely fit the woman’s expression.
What would trouble her so? What could make her feel disloyal? Cass softened her voice. “Eddie is concerned.”
The woman’s breath hitched, and she stared at Cass, a plea in her eyes.
“He’s afraid you’re having trouble moving on.”
A soft sob escaped, and the woman nodded. One of her daughters gripped her hand, and another offered her a drink of water. The woman sipped slowly then placed the glass on the table, a newfound confidence straightening her back. “I am. I love my husband. I always will.”
Though she didn’t say it, Cass sensed the but. “It can be lonely being the one who’s left behind.”
“Yes.” Relief relaxed the woman’s shoulders, loosening the tension.
Cass approached and knelt on one knee in front of her. She took the woman’s hands in hers. “He understands that. He loves you, and he’ll be waiting for you when it’s time for you to move on.” Cass searched for the right words, the words that would offer the comfort this woman needed to move forward with her life. “You have a lot of love inside you. There’s nothing wrong with loving someone else while you’re here. It doesn’t take away from the love you feel for your husband. He knows that. He wants you to be happy, to have someone here to love who will love you back.”
The woman cried softly. “Thank you.”
Cass patted her hands then stood and moved on, leaving her to the privacy she needed. One of the daughters’ hushed words followed Cass through the room. “See. I told you he’d be okay with you getting married again.”
18
Cass worked her way through the room, sometimes stopping to chat, other times just saying hello before moving on. Smiles met her at every turn. The reading was progressing wonderfully.
A scatterbrained old man needed help finding the watch he’d misplaced. He swore his deceased wife had put it somewhere. As it turned out, he’d always made the same accusation when she was alive, too. Cass gently reminded him of that fact while she led him to remember where he’d put it.
She helped a young woman contact her mother to apologize for the argument they had the night she died. Unable to forgive herself, and c
ertain her mother would never forgive her, the woman had been tormented by the argument for three years. She’d lost weight, couldn’t sleep, and suffered from severe depression. Hopefully, Cass had helped her start on the road to recovery, but she’d also discreetly passed on a colleague’s business card and suggested the woman seek counseling to help her work through her depression.
Tears had flowed down more than one face during that exchange. Even Bee had pulled out a tissue and blotted his eyes. She loved bringing people peace, or even some small measure of comfort, without having to shoulder too much responsibility. She’d helped more than one person seek forgiveness over the years. It was a need she understood well. Too well. The patient she’d failed weighed heavily on her still. She shook off the image, needing to concentrate on the here and now.
All in all, she had to consider the evening a great success, but it was about time to wrap things up. It was getting late, and Isabella would be ready to serve dinner soon. Cass had wanted to do the reading before dinner so she’d be available for a while afterward. It was common for people to seek her out to discuss a private reading or ask questions they were too shy to ask publically.
Of course, one extra minute to stir things up a bit wouldn’t hurt. You never could tell what information you’d accidently unearth with a well-placed shove.
Weaving casually between the tables, Cass angled herself toward her target.
Sylvia sat slumped in her chair and tapped a quiet staccato against the table with her long, hot pink, rhinestone-studded nails. Her eyes opened wide and she straightened when Cass stopped at the table beside her.
“I sense you’ve lost something.”
Donald rolled his eyes, but Cass ignored him.
Sylvia snorted, but she glanced at the rock on her left finger an instant before shooting Donald a suspicious glare. Apparently, she’d already made him replace the missing ring. Or perhaps Donald had been in a hurry to claim the woman Cass suspected was straying. Was that why she’d removed her engagement ring? Maybe she hadn’t forgotten the ring when they changed rooms. Maybe she’d deliberately removed it for her midnight rendezvous. Had she been in the room with Conrad?
Wait.
The realization struck hard, and Cass froze. Sylvia hadn’t left the ring in Conrad’s room. Cass knew that with absolute certainty. Not only because the awareness sucker punched her in the gut, but because Beast had never been in Conrad’s room. Where could he have picked it up? She stood still, waiting to see if more would come. Someone—Stephanie? Bee?—had said maybe Beast picked it up in the hallway. Could be. Somehow, it didn’t feel right. But where else had he been?
Sylvia squirmed then glanced at Donald but cast her gaze quickly away. Was she afraid Cass would tell him where she’d dropped the ring?
No matter how hard she tried, Cass couldn’t come up with where the ring had been. Beast could have picked it up anywhere. Maybe it had been in the hallway. “Hmm . . . Sorry, it seems I’ve lost the connection.”
Sylvia visibly relaxed.
An image popped into Cass’s mind. “All I can tell you for sure is, the ring is exactly where it belongs.” She smiled and moved back toward the front of the room.
Stephanie was shaking her head but smiling, and Bee had his head lowered, laughter rocking his shoulders.
When she reached the front of the room, she suppressed a grin and turned. “Thank you all for coming. I hope you enjoyed yourselves.” Applause thundered through the room, bringing a rush of joy. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask now, or come to me during dinner.”
Carly Dobbs nudged her husband with an elbow.
Mitch lurched to his feet, and his hand shot into the air. “I have a question.”
Was there a tactful way to ignore him? Not that she could think of. Crap. “What would you like to know?”
“Can you do anything to break the curse?” He finally dropped his hand to his side.
“Curse? What curse?”
“You know. The curse on the old Madison Estate.” He pointed a finger at her, his stance combative. “My wife told you all about it the other night. That curse brings misfortune and death to everyone who owns that house.”
Death? She couldn’t remember if the Dobbs’ had specifically mentioned the curse brought death. Was he embellishing?
Bee stood and started around the perimeter of the room toward Mitch. Uh-oh.
“I’m sorry, I’d have to look into it more, but I doubt it.” She smiled and leaned her hip against the table, hoping to ease some of the tension.
He clenched his fist but kept it in the air. “Well, then, can you tell us who’s going to be next?”
“Next?”
“Yeah. Can you look into your crystal ball, or whatever it is you do, and figure out who the curse is going to take next?”
“Uh . . .” Bee still hadn’t reached him, but she wanted to avoid the scene that would incur if Bee tried to throw him out and Mitch fought back.
“Because someone else is going to die.”
The certainty with which he spoke sparked a small niggle of fear. How could he be so sure? Could he have concocted the whole curse thing as a way to get the Wellingtons to turn over the mansion? He had to be out of his mind.
She noted his dark hair. Was he Joan’s secret lover? He seemed like enough of a lowlife to threaten a woman. She aimed a quick glance at Emmett, perched on the edge of his seat as if ready to pounce. Did he recognize Mitch’s voice from the argument with Joan the night Conrad died?
Mitch tilted his head, and some of the anger left his voice. “Funny, don’t you think, that everyone associated with that place meets a tragic end?”
Priscilla gasped, and Mitch turned on her. “Of course, you don’t have to die. You could re-think your decision and hand the estate over to me . . . uh . . . us, now. Before anyone else loses their life.”
Jim shot to his feet, tumbling the chair behind him. “Is that a threat?”
Ah jeez . . .
Mitch took a step back from the table and turned to Jim. “Why don’t we call it more of an observation?”
Jim started toward him.
Mitch held up his hands in surrender. “What? I’m just saying I’m willing to take the problem off your hands.”
Thankfully, Bee reached Mitch before Jim did. He put a hand on his shoulder and whispered something in his ear.
Mitch paled, then clamped his teeth closed and dropped into the chair.
Carly wore a self-satisfied grin, her eyes shining with greed.
Bee rested a hand on his cocked hip and turned to meet Jim’s attack. He lifted the other hand in a stop gesture, and Jim skidded to a halt. The two conversed in a hushed whisper, Bee gesturing wildly.
In the end, whatever Bee said worked, because Jim shot a glare at Mitch but returned to his seat. He righted his chair but didn’t sit. Instead, he stood behind Priscilla with his hands resting on her shoulders. He leaned close to her ear. A moment later she nodded and patted one of his hands.
A flood of relief poured through Cass. The last thing she needed was a brawl in the middle of the ballroom. She shot Bee a grateful glance.
He waved his fingers and continued to stand beside the Dobbs’ table. Hopefully, he’d be able to fend off any more problems through dinner.
With another thank-you, Cass took her seat at the table beside Stephanie.
“That was weird, huh?” Stephanie’s gaze continued to jump back and forth between Mitch and Jim. “You think the Dobbs’ had something to do with the murders?”
Cass shrugged. “I don’t know what to think.”
Jim pulled Priscilla’s chair back and helped her stand. Then he guided her from the room with a hand on her elbow.
“Hmm . . . What do you make of that?” Cass asked Stephanie.
“I honestly don’t know what to make of any of it.”
Stephanie waved her off. “Don’t think about it anymore tonight. Enjoy your dinner, and we’ll get together tomorrow and see what we can figure out.” She patted a small spiral notebook at the side of her plate. “Bee and I have been trying to keep an eye on everyone all night. We’re going to meet for lunch tomorrow and go over everything. I hope it’s okay, I’ve asked Tank to join us.”
Cass glanced at Bee before turning her gaze back to Stephanie and lifting a brow. Tank and Bee didn’t always hit it off; though, Tank had been trying a little harder lately to be tolerant.
“Don’t worry. I asked Bee before I invited Tank, and he was okay with it.”
“Oh, good. I’d like to see the two of them get along.”
“Yeah. I know what you mean. It’s not easy. Tank doesn’t really know what to make of Bee, and Bee’s distrust of the police doesn’t help matters. He’s on edge whenever Tank’s around.”
“I’m sure they’ll work it out.”
“I hope so. Anyway, Bee said he’ll pick you up around one tomorrow then meet us at the diner.”
“Sounds good.” But her mind was already a million miles away.
• • •
“Let’s go, Beast. In the crate.” Cass stood beside the brand-new, shiny cage she’d bought from the vet’s office that morning. Sue had assured her she was doing the right thing, but she didn’t have to like it. “Now.”
Beast tipped his head to the side, his eyes filled with confusion.
“Don’t look at me like that. You wouldn’t have to go in the crate if you hadn’t eaten the leg off the table while I was at the reading last night.” Well, maybe not all the way off the table, but the table definitely tilted to the side he’d chewed on all night. “Now, let’s go. I don’t have time for this.”
She glanced at the clock on the stove. Bee would be there in five minutes.
“Come on, boy. Please?” Okay. She hadn’t had time to check out many of the websites Doc Martin had given her yet, but she was pretty sure whining wasn’t the way to go. Maybe he just didn’t know what he was supposed to do. She’d put a brand-new bed and a blanket and toys in there, but maybe he still didn’t realize he was supposed to go in. Or maybe he was afraid of it. Hmm . . .