Foretold (A Ghost Gifts Novel Book 2)

by Laura Spinella

  “He’s your Tucson kid.”

  “Right. He also played street hockey, a newer interest, according to his file. Like Trevor, Liam all but vanished into thin air. There hasn’t been the tiniest lead in either case.”

  “And, um . . .” Levi hesitated, knowing the first thing Aubrey was often called in to rule out.

  “No. I don’t see them as dead. In fact, not only do I sense these boys are alive, I think their disappearances are connected.”

  “And Piper doesn’t agree?”

  “Piper’s on the fence—where she should be at this point. That’s her job. But now . . .” Aubrey picked up the pieces of green paper. “Levi,” she said, fishing a bit. “Among Trevor’s personal belongings was green hockey tape—exactly the color of this paper. Color that would stand out to me. Similar tape was found with items from Liam’s gym bag. The Tucson authorities assumed the tape belonged to Liam. I don’t think that’s the case.”

  “I don’t follow. Why would green tape be of any significance?”

  “Because the entity that was just here, I’m pretty certain he was also in Piper’s office the other day. He keeps showing me the tape. He just reinforced the idea that the tape found at both scenes didn’t belong to Trevor or Liam. And he said one more thing.”

  “What was that?”

  “To ask you what you know about green tape.” Aubrey expected the vague look on Levi’s face would grow more unclear, that he would shake his head and say he didn’t have a clue what she or any entity was talking about.

  Instead, his jaw slacked and his breath visibly caught. “Holy shit.”

  “Holy shit what?”

  “Your ghost is right.”

  “He is?”

  “The Maine homicide, the one Dan Watney called me in on . . .”

  Aubrey craned her neck forward, listening harder.

  “Our dead John Doe, there were a couple of things I didn’t mention about him. One was a custom letter E tattoo. We still don’t know what it means or if it connects to anything case relevant. The other has to do with the victim’s wrists—or what was left of them. They were bound with green tape. At the time, on the scene, I said it looked like electrical tape, not the usual duct tape you’d find in situations like that. But now that we’re both seeing green . . .”

  Aubrey shrank back, astonished. She hadn’t imagined even a dotted-line link to the dead body Levi had recently encountered. “Is it possible? Could Piper’s missing boys and Dan Watney’s John Doe be connected?”

  “Speaking at a purely pedestrian level, I’d say the odds of a connection between Piper’s and Dan’s cases are more plausible than a box of predictions about the future.”

  “Good point.” Aubrey’s gaze drilled into her father’s ghost gifts.

  Levi turned his attention to the mismatched, curious collection laid out before them. “So put it together. What do we have here? Two missing boys, one unidentified dead body—white male in his forties or so—and your father’s letter box. I don’t know about you, but the next question seems obvious to me.”

  “That being?”

  “Are the last of Peter Ellis’s ghost gifts a road map to solving all of it?”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Aubrey, I’m not saying you don’t have a connection here. I know better than to dismiss you.” In a terse, side-to-side motion, Piper swayed in her chair—one of few outward habits that expressed irritation. “I’m just reiterating my focus, which is two missing boys. How that connects with decoder-ring Watney’s dead John Doe, I can’t fathom.”

  “I only thought a conversation between the four of us—you, me, Levi, and Dan—wouldn’t be the worst idea.” Aubrey eased back in the chair, feeling more like she’d suggested a foursome dinner date than a meeting. “Look, I know government agencies aren’t keen on sharing information, but if Dan’s case and these cases connect . . .”

  “Based on green tape and some miscellaneous ghost gifts from your father?” Piper huffed, looking past Aubrey’s head and into the swarm of field agents in the outer office. “I’m sorry, sweetie. That’s not enough for me.”

  “And a strong indication from a specter, based on my perspective, that’s not enough either?”

  “Maybe what I’m hearing is translating more like wishful thinking—at least in this case.” Piper tapped her dark-purple-painted fingernails on a maze of folders. “Look, this goes outside the box that contains you and me.” She jutted her hand between them. “So take it for what it’s worth. Currently, you and Levi aren’t in a good place. Am I right?”

  Aubrey nodded small. “If you want to understate it.”

  “Okay. And it would be wonderful if something besides disagreements over Pete took center stage, even for a little while.”

  Aubrey shrugged, feeling ghostly transparent.

  “So how great would it be if three totally unrelated cases suddenly and mysteriously connected, courtesy of your father. I get it—it’s hopeful. It puts you and Levi back on the same team. So I can see—”

  “I’m not doing that, Piper. I get it. These boys’ lives are at stake. A murdered man deserves justice. At the very least, an identity, notification of the next of kin. But it’s also unfair to think I’d manipulate psychic evidence for my own benefit.”

  Piper held up her hands in a placating motion. “I don’t believe you’d consciously do that. I only thought it might be worth pointing out.”

  “Okay; fair enough. I admit, I don’t know what will happen between Levi and me. When it comes to him and predictability, you can count on a made bed that would pass a military quarter snap, work habits as meticulous as a Swiss watch. After that . . .” Aubrey sighed. “For one, what you’re suggesting, even if that’s what I’m doing with these cases, it won’t fix us.”

  “And two?” Piper wriggled her brow. “Where there’s a one, there’s always a two, honey.”

  “I’m starting to lean more toward not fixable.”

  Piper was silent, shuffling a few folders. “Then let’s just move forward with what we might be able to resolve. I’m hesitant about what a sit-down with that rogue ex-commando will accomplish, but if you feel strongly about it, fine.”

  “I guess we’ll see. Besides, it was Levi’s idea to put our heads together. Dissuading him when he thinks he’s onto something is never a good idea.”

  Piper offered a look. “Kind of like taking the bone away from the dog?”

  Aubrey nodded, and both women looked at the wall clock. “Of course, had I known you’d asked Trevor Beane’s mother to come in, I would have told Levi and Dan to arrive later.”

  “I have my instincts too, Aubrey. And the break in the Lily North case didn’t happen until we interviewed then-suspect Errol Pope with you in the room. I thought a one-on-one with Trevor’s mom might prompt a lead. Your kind.”

  “Fine with me, but you explained my role, right? The mom was still willing to meet with me after . . .”

  Piper’s expression suddenly reeked of avoidance.

  Aubrey started over. “When it comes to family members, people who are not suspects, you explain me, give them an option. That’s our agreement, Piper.”

  Any chair swiveling ceased, and the deputy chief focused on her desktop. “I’m aware of our agreement.” She finally looked at Aubrey, smiling her crooked smile. “Sue me. I didn’t have time when it came to Mrs. Beane.”

  “Piper!”

  “Look,” she said, sighing. “It’s a given that all parents of missing children are terrified. Some come more unstrung than others. A few might even lash out, considering the circumstances.” She tapped her fingers on the desktop. “As for Mrs. Beane, I suspect, on average days, she’s the one holding high court at the church social.”

  “Great.” Aubrey slumped back in the chair, hardly in the mood for incredulity.

  A young woman knocked on Piper’s open door. “Mrs. Beane is here.” Behind her was a white-haired woman whose colorless bob read more like a life statement than being ag
e related.

  “Mrs. Beane . . . thank you for making the trip from Philly. Please, come in.” Piper was out of her seat, guiding the woman to the chair next to Aubrey’s.

  The moment she sat, the space began to buzz with spectral energy.

  “Fabulous,” Aubrey muttered.

  “You say something, Aubrey?”

  “Uh, no. Not really.” Her gaze flicked around the room, and Aubrey had to give in to the notion that Piper’s idea was on point. Along with the woman came an obvious presence. It wasn’t her son; it wasn’t Trevor Beane. But it did swoop fast, stealthy and with a wide wingspan—like a bat. Frankly, it made Aubrey want to duck. Her glance tracked to the corners of Piper’s office. She’d seen this presence before.

  “Aubrey?”

  She looked between Piper and the woman, who held out her hand. “Sorry.”

  “I said this is Trevor’s mother.” Piper smiled tightly.

  “Connie Beane.” As the woman repeated her name, Aubrey shook her hand. “Piper said you work here as well. Are you assigned to my son’s case? Do you have something new?”

  Other than the bizarre presence that followed you in here and a “paper-thin” connection? Not so much . . . “Not exactly new information.” Aubrey glanced at Piper. “I work in more of a freelance capacity with Piper’s team. I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

  The woman’s expression drifted to annoyed. “I’ve answered every question they’ve asked a dozen times over—the local police, the Philadelphia task force on missing children. The CMEC. Never mind hours of interviews overseen by the deputy chief here. It’s all in my son’s file.”

  “Mrs. Beane, Aubrey profiles cases a little differently. She’s actually had some amazing results. If you could just bear with us and—”

  Aubrey had the sudden sensation of walls closing in—claustrophobic, almost a choking sensation to her neck. She thrust a hand to her throat and stood, sitting again in an antsy whirl of motion. Both women stared. The impressions faded, though Aubrey was now sure of one thing. The entity in Piper’s office was the same male presence that had turned up in her living room. The apparition who didn’t belong, who insisted she look closely at the ghost gifts made from green construction paper.

  The ghost’s words filtered in, just as they had in her living room. “Ask her about Derek . . . go on . . . do it!” Aubrey leaned back in the chair, not appreciating the tone. Command was everything when it came to strong-willed spirits, and Aubrey was about to demonstrate who was in charge. But before she could, a finger poke was applied to her back, and she lurched forward. “Hey, what gives!”

  The two women offered queer stares.

  “Uh, back spasms . . . they tend to pop up out of nowhere.” She cleared her throat and smiled at the white-haired woman. “Mrs. Beane, can you tell me about Derek?”

  Connie Beane looked between Piper and Aubrey. “Seriously?” she said to Piper. “You bring me all the way to Boston to talk to a woman who hasn’t even done her cursory homework on my son’s case.”

  “I’m sure Aubrey meant to be more specific, Mrs. Beane,” Piper said. “I’m certain she’s well aware that Derek is Trevor’s older brother.” She shot Aubrey a “get it together” look.

  On the mention of Derek Beane’s name, images flashed through Aubrey’s mind, among them was a sheet of ice. Like her last visit to Piper’s office, a myriad of hockey terms filled Aubrey’s head: blue liner . . . sin bin . . . wrist shot . . . suicide pass . . . She took a guess. “He played hockey too . . . right?”

  “Plays . . .” The woman batted her eyes. “Derek plays for the Anaheim Ducks. All Trevor wanted was to follow in his brother’s footsteps. Derek’s even put up a $50,000 reward for his brother’s return. Again . . . all in the interviews I’ve given. I don’t understand. Every agency has asked nearly as many questions about Derek as they have Trevor—if he had any enemies, the people he knows, or if he bets on hockey games, gambles. For goodness’ sake, I even told them that he spent his high school years training here in the Boston area. What does any of it have to do with Trevor’s disappearance?”

  And another sharp poke was delivered to Aubrey’s back. She jutted forward, this time having to grab on to the edge of Piper’s desk. “Knock it off,” she hissed.

  “Excuse me?”

  Piper shot her a warning look.

  “Uh, Mrs. Beane. Sometimes an investigation works better for me if I get information directly from the source, as opposed to reading it from a report.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” Aubrey repeated.

  “Yes. What difference could it possibly make?”

  Her mouth gaped. If Aubrey offered a psychic reveal, not only would Connie Beane be heading out the door, she’d be on her way to suing Piper’s task force for negligence. “It just does. It’s how I roll.” She smiled at the woman’s cold stare. “Like Piper said, if you could just bear with me. About your older son . . . Derek,” she said with more command. “You noted that he trained here in Boston. Where? When was that?”

  “Keep going, lady . . . finally. You’re on the right track . . . I knew it years ago, when we first met.”

  First met? Aubrey glanced around, but nothing beyond a few words revealed itself. There were no telltale hints, no scent of aftershave or cigarettes or even the backwash of booze on her palate. It seemed like cigarettes and booze might go with this particular spirit. She tasted nothing but could hear something crack or pop. Gum? The damn ghost was chewing gum. In addition to the little she could surmise, Aubrey also didn’t feel like the entity connected to anyone in the room, not directly.

  Mrs. Beane offered a languishing sigh. “Derek trained outside Boston more than a dozen years ago. Ninth grade through his senior year. It was a big decision, but there’s a skate club in Sudbury. They’ve produced a number of professional hockey players, Olympic-grade athletes. Derek had that kind of talent—unlike some boys whose parents bought their way into the program.”

  “In Sudbury?”

  The woman nodded.

  “I’m from Surrey,” Aubrey said. “Interesting. That’s not too far from where I live.”

  “Fascinating, Miss Ellis. Does it get me any closer to getting my other son back?”

  “What do you mean by parents who ‘bought their way into the program’?”

  The sigh repeated. “You know—people with money and influence. People whose sons didn’t have talent like Derek’s. Money won’t buy everything, but it can secure your child a spot in a program like the one at Velocity Skate Club. Is that the information you were after?” Connie Beane’s lip twitched, and her body language oozed anger. She exhaled, staring at her clasped hands. “I apologize. I don’t mean to come off as so acerbic. I’m sure you understand how stressful this is. If my boys were here, they would have stopped me sentences ago. They’re both wonderful people, good boys.” She withdrew a package of Kleenex from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. “Champions in so many ways aside from sports.”

  “In what way, Mrs. Beane?”

  She rolled her teary eyeballs. “I was being figurative, Miss Ellis. I just meant—”

  The feel of a finger dug into Aubrey’s back. “No. Be literal. Very literal. How were your boys champions aside from sports?”

  “Please, Mrs. Beane,” Piper prompted.

  “Well, for one, Trevor worked with kids with Down syndrome, taught them how to skate, play hockey. Despite his dedication to such a rough sport, Trevor was . . . is,” she corrected, “a very sweet, passive boy. He’d be any mother’s dream.” She paused to blot her nose. “As for Derek, nowadays he’s involved in all sorts of charitable causes through the Ducks. Of course, years ago, he was as likely as Trevor to champion the underdog. I remember one boy in particular . . .”

  The pressure eased in Aubrey’s spine, but it was as if the spirit were breathing in her ear . . . down her back. The male entity that had followed Connie Beane loomed large, dominating Piper’s office.

  “This one
boy, he wasn’t very talented and not well liked by the others. Oww!” Connie Beane’s hand flew to the top of her snow-white head. “I’d swear someone just pulled my hair.”

  Piper widened her eyes at Aubrey, who inched the dialogue along. “Please, Mrs. Beane, go on.”

  She glanced around and refocused on Aubrey. “This boy’s parents literally bought him a spot on the team by making a huge donation. I believe it paid for a new rink. But really, it only added to his troubles. The other boys saw right through it, teased him mercilessly. Derek befriended him—or at least he tried. The boy was quite troubled.”

  The entity moved again, buzzing steadily in Aubrey’s ear—not words. It was noise, a stream of angry emotion escaping through whatever connected this world to the next—or maybe the one in which he was stuck. Aubrey’s pulse quickened, and she sensed an all-over prickling of sweat, a small wave of nausea. Really, she just wanted to leave.

  “Aubrey, are you all right?” Piper asked.

  She closed her eyes and then looked at Connie Beane, focusing on the son who had gone missing. But her mind was being nudged, like a hockey puck in the mud, to another place—she saw a large house and marble-clad entry. A pinging noise she couldn’t place echoed. She smelled frozen cold. She’d been in this house before.

  The voice, more distant, spoke again. “And just to make it interesting . . . that Arizona kid . . . I know about him too . . .”

  Aubrey stifled a gasp. She wanted to demand the rogue specter quit with the cat-and-mouse game. But it all vanished—the images, the sounds, the smell of frozen air, the voice, and the popping gum. It all cracked like thin ice. Aubrey kept her composure and turned back to Trevor’s mother. “What, um . . . the boy Derek befriended; do you happen to remember his name?”

  The woman exhaled, a sound of frustration. “It was so many years ago; it wasn’t as if Derek became best friends with the boy. I just recall the stories, how the boy’s parents constantly left town, left him home alone. I believe he got into a good bit of trouble just trying to get their attention. It was Eric, maybe. No . . .” Then she looked directly at Aubrey, Connie Beane’s fingertips fluttering over her mouth. “Oh, good Lord, I don’t know how I could have forgotten this part—the boy, he’s dead. And his name was Eli, Eli Serino.”