Zeke nodded at the steamy mountain view, which was starting to resemble a heaping pile of dog shit. “Fine.”
“Very good. I think we’re done here, then.” Jude looked toward the exit.
Zeke turned for the double doors, setting his glass on the bar as he went. “By the way, you should know, I think your Tilda was very lucky.” Jude offered a quizzical look. “Lucky to have died when she did.” His expression sobered. “I’ll call you when I have something.”
Zeke left, hoping common luck followed, finding him an open seat on a flight to Charley and Peter Ellis’s letter box. As odds went, and gambling often played out, Zeke suspected things had finally caught up with him: the consequences of profiting from ghost gifts that were never his.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Surrey, Massachusetts
Present Day
Sitting on the far end of the porch swing, Aubrey had hoped for a breeze. It seemed to have arrived with Zeke, who sat opposite her, asking, “And a look through your father’s ghost gifts, it didn’t set off any alarm bells?” He rocked the creaky blue swing, and the wind picked up, blowing back Aubrey’s hair. “I’d be curious to know what you learned.”
“There was a definite vibe when I first saw them.” She thought for a moment, absorbing the cooler air. In fact, everything felt a little better since Zeke had showed up. “For the most part, I didn’t touch the predictions. Levi wouldn’t let me.”
“Ah, the hero plays the part, even if he’s currently living offstage.”
Seated closer to the house than her, Zeke reached back, and Aubrey heard his knuckles knock against the clapboard siding. She made a face in reply. “It’s more complicated than that, but Levi gets my gift. Don’t sell it short. It’s a huge part of what connects us . . . or did.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to dis the life partner. But know I’m always going to take your side, no matter what. You know that, right?”
“Even if I rob a bank?”
“I’ll help count the money.” Zeke’s grin took a solemn turn. “Anything, Aubrey. Anything you need. I’m here.”
“Good to know. When it comes to Levi, I just wish there weren’t any sides to take.”
“It’ll work out. Exactly the way it should.” Zeke reached over, his fingertips grazing the knee of Aubrey’s skirt. “Tell me more about how Levi divvied up the ghost gifts. You said he came up with a filing system?”
“Ah, well, to completely understand that, you’d have to really know Levi. He’s a master at forming cohesive information out of chaos, finding common threads, solving a mystery.” She paused, crinkling her brow. “Okay, so his organizational skills could pass an OCD litmus test. But it’s a useful thing in a situation like this.”
“And did his tactics solve every mystery surrounding the ghost gifts?”
“Not yet. Although we did identify various patterns.”
“Like what?”
Aubrey hoisted her hand upward, thudding it onto her lap. “A lot of tragic events. But also predictions that indicate windfalls.”
“Windfalls?” The swing swung harder. “What, um . . . what sort of windfalls? Tell me.”
“This is going to sound wilder than the ghost gifts, but among the many prophecies were a lesser number of gaming predictions—a mini Vegas, only no chance involved.”
Zeke stared quizzically.
“You know, like who won the World Series in 1986, major prize fights, things like that.”
“Go on.”
“Well, it gets even more curious. This sounds impossible, but we think certain predictions are lottery wins.”
“Lottery wins? You’re kidding.”
“I mean, they’re not marked ‘Hey, Peter, shuffle off to Buffalo and play these numbers on this date.’ It’s more cryptic. But Levi managed to sort out most of it.”
“In one sitting? Impressive. Must be that dazzling brain Charlotte wrote me about years ago, the one that caught your eye.”
Aubrey whacked a toss pillow at him. It missed, hitting the swing. “Do you want to hear about my father’s ghost gifts or not?”
Zeke feigned a defensive position. “Sorry. Go ahead. I’m dying to hear how your dad predicted Secretariat’s 1973 Kentucky Derby win.”
Aubrey cocked her head at him. That exact prediction was among the earliest. It was written on a vintage Heinz-Bodette flyer. Hard to miss. “Did I mention anything about Secretariat?”
Silence swung with them for a moment. Zeke stared, then he laughed. “Come on, Aubrey. Even an average trivia buff could come up with that moment in sports. It’s like saying ‘Do you believe in miracles?’”
She wagged a finger at him. “US Olympic hockey team, 1980.”
“See. And I know how closely you follow hockey.”
She couldn’t disagree. “As for the assumed lottery wins, we’ll see if the theory pans out. There’s only one prediction like that left.”
“Is there? One prediction?”
“And would you believe it’s from right here, in Surrey?”
“Right here. Wow again.”
Aubrey nodded and drew her knees to her chest, the long skirt falling around her. “Overall, it was fascinating, like watching Levi organize a timeline of my father’s life.” Aubrey hugged her knees tighter and turned her head toward the neighboring fence line. “Huh. The Langfords must be having a barbecue. I swear I smell hot dogs.” She scrunched her brow. “And hear party music. It almost sounds like a carnival.” She turned back to Zeke. “There’s something else about the ghost gifts: the winning predictions break from the pattern. There are gaps, years where positive predictions are missing.”
“Maybe there just weren’t any predictions like that during those years. Not to disagree with Levi, but I’m not sure how you could commit to ‘a pattern,’” Zeke said, air quoting the words.
“Point taken. But I know Levi, and he knows when he’s onto something.” Aubrey let go of her knees and lowered her leg to the porch, pushing off with her toe. The air penetrated, and she swung a sweater that had been lying between them over her shoulders. “He’s working on verifying the lottery theory. That will take some digging. But in a few weeks, none of it will matter anymore.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because aside from the one lottery-like prediction, the only ghost gifts left appear to be gibberish, nonsensical words, peculiar drawings on construction paper. I can’t imagine how they’d add up to anything. So I suspect soon, all Peter Ellis’s ghost gifts will be history.”
Zeke reached for a pack of cigarettes tucked in his shirt pocket. A sharp glance from Aubrey halted the action. “Even if your father’s predictions do end, that’s a lot of secrets for one old letter box.”
Aubrey tipped her head. “Did I say they were in a letter box?”
“Uh, yeah. I think you mentioned that the other day, when we met for coffee.”
“That you didn’t drink!” She leaned forward, her fingertips grazing Zeke’s leg. “After you left, the waitress wanted to know if there was something wrong with it.”
“Are you sure we just didn’t order a second pot? I was wired like a junkie for the rest of the day.” Zeke laughed. “I went back into the city and wandered around for hours. But you’re sure about the lottery predictions. They come to an end?”
“Yes. Whatever way Levi’s theory proves out, he can absolutely read a calendar.” She pushed off once more with her toe. “It will take some time; Levi’s busy on a story connected to his day job.”
“The hectic life of a television reporter. Did he snag an interview with a Kardashian?”
“Now you would have definitely insulted him.” Aubrey leaned into the cushioned swing and breathed deep; the scent of safety wafted off Zeke. “Actually, Levi’s working on something with a contact, Dan Watney. He’s, um . . . Dan’s kind of a wild gun, government law enforcement. After Levi and I left the paper, we both fell into work that involves government connections. Dan and Levi team up from time to time. This
go-round involves a John Doe discovered in a Maine swamp. Definitely a homicide.”
“A homicide in Maine?”
“It was a nasty scene, from what Levi said.” Aubrey frowned. “Dan doesn’t have much to go on with the body—no ID, execution-style murder. It’s a puzzle.”
“And so he put a call in to his best puzzle solver.”
“Something like that.” Aubrey shared the rest of what she knew, which was little more than what Ned Allegro had reported in Surrey City Press coverage. “Male. White . . . midforties or so . . . that’s all I know.”
“No other insider details, like who the dead guy is, or who did the crime? Levi or his FBI contact, they’re not close to solving the case?”
“Why are you so curious? Are you writing a book?”
Zeke laughed, and the tense look riding his face eased. “No. Of course not. Just sounds more interesting than a Kardashian interview, getting an inside scoop on a homicide investigation.”
“For everyone but the victim.”
They were quiet for a moment, and Zeke changed the subject. “His job, it must be different from your work with Piper.”
“Did I tell you about that, my work with her?” Aubrey touched her fingertips to her forehead.
“Last time we talked.”
“Sorry—my mind’s been in such a whirlwind. With Piper’s work, my abilities have proved useful. And it’s gratifying, being able to assist with cases involving missing children. She had a new one recently, and I did make a connection with it and an older one.”
“In the realm of psychic information or standard?”
“A little of both, which is the way Piper and I work. Two missing boys, two thousand miles apart. I got a vibe off the belongings of the first boy . . . a Trevor Beane. He went missing about six months ago. I really felt bad coming up cold when Piper first brought the case to my attention.” She leaned back in the swing. “But this time, when I opened a box containing Trevor’s personal items, I sensed cold air. Definitely indoor cold air, like a freezer.” Aubrey closed her eyes. “Or maybe like a hockey rink.” She concentrated on inbound information, like someone or thing were whispering softly in her ear. “The second boy, Liam Sheffield, he’s from Tucson. The authorities found his bike, a gym bag.” She focused on Zeke. “Stuff from the gym bag, it was jarred loose during a struggle. The tape . . . it wasn’t in the bag; it didn’t belong to Liam.”
“Is that something Piper told you?”
Aubrey looked from the porch floor to Zeke. “No. More like a puzzle piece that was just handed to me. The tape didn’t come from Liam’s bag. It belonged to whoever took him.” Her gaze drifted back to the porch, and Aubrey tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “That’s definitely a piece of information Piper should have.”
“You’re not a bad puzzle solver yourself. Maybe Levi could use you.”
On his words, Aubrey’s phone, which had been sitting between them, dinged. She glanced at it and joked with Zeke. “Wow. Your own psychic prediction . . .” She picked it up, reading Levi’s text. A wide smile drew across her face. “Levi’s on his way over . . . and he’s bringing Pete with him!” She put the phone down. “This will be great! You can see Pete again. You’ll be amazed how much he’s grown since you met him. What was that, five years ago? He was just a little boy. Now he’s practically a teenager.” Aubrey stopped talking, realizing her eyes were damp. “Actually, I may be amazed by how much he’s grown. I haven’t seen him in a month. Maybe this is a good sign. Maybe Pete wants to come home!” She reached over, touching Zeke’s hand. “Wouldn’t that be the best news ever!”
“Guess the only thing that could beat it would be if Levi brought his suitcase too.”
Excitement dampened. “I won’t hold out for a miracle. Hey, would you excuse me for a few minutes? I feel like kind of a sticky mess. Until you got here, the air was absolutely stagnant.”
“Sure. Go. I think you’re gorgeous, but far be it from me to stop you from primping.”
Aubrey rose from the swing and strode across the porch in her bare feet. As she reached the front door, she turned back to Zeke. “I’m really glad you came by today.”
“Me too.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Aubrey came back through the living room, and familiar voices rose from the porch. She smiled silly at rumblings about the Red Sox’s chances of making the playoffs. Hurrying to the door, she pushed open the screen. Motherly instinct charged forward, but the cautious parts of Aubrey hit the brakes. “Pete. You’re here.”
“Hey, Mom.” He stood in front of Levi, his preteen frame coming chest-high to his father. Aubrey breathed a sigh of relief. Aside from being in the 95th percentile for height, which she knew, Pete didn’t appear different than a month ago. When considering things like posture, height, stubbornness, and occasional brooding, Pete could have stepped from Levi’s reflection. When their son was younger, the physical resemblance had given her hope. Perhaps Pete’s gifts would mirror his father’s, not hers. The theory had not panned out. Silence lingered now, and Levi made contact, poking his index finger into Pete’s back. The boy shuffled forward, and Aubrey couldn’t help herself, gathering her son into a massive hug.
“I, um . . . I’ve missed you.”
He didn’t say anything. Pete didn’t whisper longingly in her ear, “I miss you too . . .” But she wasn’t mistaken; his grip tightened, even if it didn’t last. Aubrey buried her nose in his dark head of hair, which she swore still smelled of baby shampoo. She squeezed her eyes shut, and a million memories collided—rocking a fussy Pete at three months old, reading to him as he sat cross-legged in her lap, pounding at a brightly covered book, asking, “One more, Mama.” Her mind flashed forwarded to a vacation in Yellowstone National Park, an awed five-year-old Pete watching from the window of their cabin as a family of bears wandered by. Images of the first day of school dominated, as did the dusky evenings the three of them sat on the porch, eating ice cream, watching day fade into night. All of that was before nighttime overtook Pete’s life, his dreams turning so vivid they were like touching a hot stove.
Aubrey held tighter to her son; his first disturbing encounter was also a potent memory. Pete had stood at her bedside, relaying vivid details about a battlefield. It was knowledge no small boy—not even one as smart as Pete—should possess. After a few years of that, the entities became intruders. They no longer appeared solely in Pete’s dreams, but showed up as visitants, dragging their son, willing or not, into another world. At least, to this point, that was Aubrey’s best interpretation. The experiences had driven him to the door, and he largely blamed his mother for a burden he did not want. A burden that no one, including Pete, could define.
He backed up into his father and flashed a terse smile at her.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” Aubrey said, clasping her empty hands together. She was determined to keep an even keel. A perfectly normal mom, the kind who had it totally together. That was the only thing she wanted Pete to see. “What, um . . . what brings you both by?”
“Pete had half a day at school. We had lunch, talked some. We thought it would be good if he came to see you. We discussed how living at the condo is a break, not a solution.”
Solution for what, Levi? Our son . . . the three of us . . . you and me? Could you shed a little more light on that? But because pressing Levi would only unleash emotion she was burying like a body, Aubrey nodded and smiled at the narrow clarification.
“It was Pa’s idea. Since I don’t drive, and we were closer to here than home, here we—”
“Hey.” Levi gave him another poke. “Did our discussion go in one ear and out the other?”
“Sorry. I’m sorry, Mom.” Yet Pete took a step away from both of them. “How, um . . . how’s work?”
She started a reply and stopped. Any mention of her work with Piper would only highlight their curious skill sets. “Fine. Nothing unusual to report.” She pointed toward the house. “I think your models have missed y
ou.”
“I’ll go see them while I’m here.”
“The only reason I go down to the basement is to do laundry, and there’s not so much of that with only . . .” Aubrey cleared her throat. “I’m just happy you’re here, Pete, even if it’s for a visit.”
His curt smile repeated, answering for him.
“Oh, I have a friend I want you to—” Aubrey turned toward the swing, which was empty and moved ever so slightly. “Where in the world did he . . . ?” She moved past Levi and Pete, peering into the street. Wrapping her hand around the porch post, Aubrey tapped her finger against it. Twenty yards away, a sedan that looked like a rental made a right onto Halifax, exiting the tree-lined curve of Homestead Road. “Nice, Zeke,” she whispered. “I would have thought you gave up vanishing acts with the carnival.”
“Aubrey, who are you looking for?”
“Zeke.” She turned back to Levi and Pete. “He stopped by.” She pointed in the direction the car had gone. “He just left. I wanted to reintroduce Pete. Do you remember him? Zeke and I used to . . . well, he dates back to my carnie days with Nannie.”
“Nope. Not a clue,” Pete said. “But since I’m here, I wanted my longboard. It’s out in the garage. Can I go get it?”
“The idea was to visit with your mother.”
“Just let him go.” She looked dejectedly at Levi. “It’s fine. Maybe he can tell me about school, talk after he gets his skateboard.”
“Or I can just longboard back to the condo.”
“Or you can just leave the longboard right in the garage—period,” Levi said.
Aubrey was quick to offer a keep-the-peace suggestion. “How about you put it in the car? Fair enough?”
Pete narrowed his eyes at both his parents and darted off the porch, disappearing around the side of the house.
She traded parental glances with Levi. “I guess in selecting his runaway destination, Pete forgot he was choosing the disciplinarian parent.”
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