“Aww.”
“Do you have a cover story to tell your daughter?” He waggled his eyebrows. “What I'm asking is, can you stay over for breakfast?”
She took the key and held it in a tiny fist. “I have my ways.” She smiled. “And I like my eggs sunny-side up.”
“So, are we done with the theoretical discussion of crime scenes? I have official business to attend to.” Officer Jerkface turned and looked right at Piper.
Inside the observation room, Piper gasped and took a step back, walking once more through the chilly air of George. A few seconds of heart-pounding horror later, she apologized to George and chuckled with embarrassment. Officer Jerkface wasn't looking at her after all. He was using the one-way mirror to inspect his mustache.
Inside the other room, Pandora cooed, “I just love having access to an expert for my research.” She got up and came over to stand next to him at the mirrored glass, directly in front of Piper, whose eyes she eerily seemed to be staring into. “Real-life crime is so fascinating,” Pandora Lee said. “People have this darkness inside them, this molten core of evil, and they don't even know. People have no idea what they're capable of.” She fluffed the shiny hair at the crown of her head.
“Honestly, the impulse killers don't scare me,” Officer Jerkface said, still facing the mirror and seemingly staring at George. “What scares me are the ones who plot. The ones who plant evidence.”
Pandora turned to the tall man and reached up to pat his broad chest. “But you're so big and strong! You don't have anything to be scared of.”
He turned, smiling, and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “See you in two hours,” he growled.
They turned and left the room, clicking off the light on their way out.
The adjacent observation room fell into darkness.
Piper's body had felt weightless while she'd been observing, but now her awareness of gravity returned. The purse was heavy on her left shoulder. What was Pandora Lee up to, with her questions about concrete evidence and planting murder weapons? Was she the one who'd killed George and then hid the candlestick holder in Otis Plummer's apartment? Did the two of them even know each other? There had to be some reason Otis kept bubble tea at his place. And how long had Pandora Lee been involved with the police officer?
Piper turned toward George, expecting to find him softly glowing right beside her, but found only more darkness. He had walked off again. Now she would have to find her way out of the police station on her own—hopefully without being caught and searched.
The candlestick holder in her purse had never felt heavier.
Chapter 17
Day 11
Monday, November 7th, 9:37 a.m.
Office of Dr. Vicki Walsh
Dr. Vicki Walsh was uncharacteristically speechless. Piper felt a twinge of pride. The therapist must have heard some real doozies in her office, but Piper's thirty-minute confession had given the older woman something to think about. A whole lot of something.
The decision to share her problems with her former therapist hadn't come easily to Piper, but she'd wound up there on Monday morning because she was rapidly running out of options.
On Saturday night, when Piper had found herself alone and deep within the Copeland Police Department, she'd thought she and Winnie could deal with the issue by themselves. She called to beg her friend to drive over and either pick her up in the parking lot or post bail for her release. Winnie had laughed on the phone, assuming the part about bail was a joke, but the truth was Piper had no idea if she could get in trouble for having broken into a police station. Was there a charge for such a thing? It would be like wearing a mask to enter a bank and then insisting the bank accept an anonymous cash donation. Backwards. Definitely sketchy, but… illegal?
With Winnie on the way, Piper sought the exit. Luckily, both of the security doors allowed her back out with neither an official police card swipe or a not-so-official ghostly hand swipe. She avoided detection and made it out the front door, back to where Teddy was still preoccupied with snapping up moths. She waited for Winnie, lurking in the shadows to avoid bumping into Officer Jerkface, Pandora Lee, or anyone else who'd do more than raise an eyebrow at the petite dark-haired girl and Boston Terrier loitering near the bushes.
When Winnie pulled up in her Lexus, Piper jumped in before it had even stopped moving. They drove while Piper caught up her best friend on recent events, starting with the dog park date with Otis. Otis had been adorable, but she'd chickened out and not told him the truth about speaking English until it was too late. She'd awkwardly kissed him, and he'd been horrified for some reason. He'd recoiled as though deathly allergic to her.
Why had Otis been so jumpy? Was it because of the visitor who'd come to his apartment door? Or the candlestick holder in his pantry? There had to be a reasonable explanation for everything. Winnie and Piper would put their heads together to suss it out. And they would need cookies and ice cream.
After a quick stop at Copeland's only late-night supermarket, the two girls and Teddy returned to Piper's house to pore over the facts. It would have helped immensely to have George there with them, at the very least nodding if they were on the right track, but he didn't materialize. He'd made multiple appearances since sunset that day, from Otis's pantry to the police station, but it was possible he'd met his limit. Were there limits? What did Piper know about ghosts?
Desperate for information, the girls hit the internet. Winnie showed Piper the website she'd found for people dealing with ghosts. They dove in. As with most internet quests for information, they didn't stop until sunrise, and they weren't much wiser than when they'd begun. Yes, the people in the online ghost-seeing community believed ghosts were real, but there was no one-size-fits-all explanation for the phenomena. The circumstances surrounding a haunting were as unique for ghosts as they were for living people. There was no handbook, no helpful book called Ghost Hauntings For Dummies.
They dozed for a few hours Sunday morning before continuing the internet research extravaganza, fueled by junk food and caffeine. Winnie kept getting sidetracked on the ghost messageboard, offering her thoughts on other people's hauntings despite having never seen a ghost herself. It was a Winnie trait to not let lack of experience stand in her way.
Piper kept checking her phone, hoping to get a message or phone call from Otis. He didn't even know her phone number or real name, but hopeful feelings are stubborn like that, especially when the boy in question is so cute and probably, almost certainly, ninety-nine-percent innocent of murder. The candlestick holder had to be planted evidence. It just had to be. Pandora had practically confessed to her cop boyfriend.
At dusk on Sunday, Winnie got excited and called Piper to come see something. She swore she'd seen ghostly George Morrison in the backyard pool. Piper joined her at the window, flicked on a yard light, and illuminated a chubby, surprised-looking raccoon. Piper had to admit the well-fed raccoon did bear more than a passing resemblance to the deceased author.
Later that night, no closer to a solution than they'd been the day before, they agreed it was time to get some outside help.
Piper, being in possession of the potential murder weapon, was understandably worried about becoming a suspect herself. She was reluctant to go directly to the police again, because Officer Jerkface could have others involved. There was no knowing how deep this conspiracy ran.
The girls narrowed their potential allies down to two professionals who could be counted on for discretion and secrecy. One was Piper's family's lawyer, and the other was Dr. Vicki Walsh.
But now, in the sobering light of Monday morning, the confidante Piper had chosen was acting—for lack of a better word—weird.
Piper muttered under her breath, “I should have gone with the lawyer.”
Dr. Walsh tucked some brown curls behind her elfin ear as she tilted her head and turned her hazel eyes up at the ceiling. “Piper, what makes you think you shouldn't have come here?”
Piper shrugged. “I
would have gone to my father's lawyer, but he wasn't available until next week, and I didn't want to wait that long.”
Dr. Walsh took the insult in stride. “I'm glad you didn't wait.” She cleared her throat, held up a finger to ask for a minute, and poured a glass of water from the pitcher before slowly drinking it. She had the air of someone stalling for time.
Did the therapist regret being so inquisitive when they'd seen each other at Halloween, when they'd talked on Piper's doorstep? The discussion hadn't lasted more than ten minutes, but Dr. Walsh had dug right in as she always did, asking Piper if she'd been seeing ghosts. Piper had lied, but now the whole tangled mess was finally getting aired out in the therapist's office.
“Thank you for trusting me with the truth,” Dr. Walsh said. “Honesty is of the utmost importance.”
Piper shifted guiltily in the wingback patient chair. “I'm sorry I lied to you on Halloween,” she said. “But George Morrison really was there in the house with me that night. He was dressed as the Cowardly Lion and helping me hand out candy.” She paused. “Okay, now that I'm saying it out loud, I hear how crazy I sound.”
“I don't like that word. Crazy. It's almost as bad as normal.”
“Right.”
Dr. Walsh glanced around the room. “Is your ghost friend here with us right now?”
“No. He only comes out at night, after sunset.”
“But he could still be here, just not visible.”
Piper squinted and carefully looked for George. The room was decorated in calm, sandy shades with a terra cotta tile floor. The walls were lined with glass-doored bookshelves and bland prints of desert scenes or alpine meadows dotted with wildflowers. There was only a single image of the ocean, and it sat squarely above and behind the doctor's head. Someone who knew about feng shui had decorated the walls of the office, and someone who didn't understand feng shui had deposited far too many sharp-needled cactus plants on the windowsills.
There was no visual sign of George Morrison inside the therapist's office.
“He's not here now,” Piper said, rubbing her forearms and then tugging her earlobes. “Even if I can't see him, I can sense when he's around, either on my skin or as a sort of absence of sound in my ears. Like when you float in a sensory deprivation tank and all you hear is your heartbeat.” She nodded as though agreeing with herself. “We're alone.” Something tickled her throat and made her cough.
“How is your health, Piper? I see dark circles under your eyes.”
Piper explained how she and Winnie had been drinking too much coffee and staying up late using the internet. She assured the doctor that she had not been drinking or taking drugs.
Dr. Walsh glanced down at her notes. “But you are dating my son, Otis Plummer. We need to discuss the ramifications of that. Everything you and I discuss in this room is confidential, of course, but he is my son.”
Piper swallowed hard. She'd raced through the description of her date with Otis, how she'd lied about being able to speak English then bolted without an explanation.
“I'm not currently dating Otis,” Piper said.
“You're not planning to see him again?”
“He doesn't even know I stole his candlestick holder.” She let out a strangled laugh. “Which was crazy.” She quickly corrected herself. “Not crazy. Perfectly reasonable, seeing as how a ghost made me do it.”
Dr. Walsh made a note in her book. “If this ghost told you to jump off a bridge, would you?”
Piper rolled her eyes. “Luckily there aren't any bridges in Copeland. We'd need some rivers for that.”
Dr. Walsh set down her pen. “How long will your parents be out of town?”
“This has nothing to do with them.”
“Don't be so sure,” the therapist said cryptically. “Many conditions are exacerbated by loneliness.”
Conditions? Piper uncrossed and recrossed her legs, shifting in the therapist's tapestry-upholstered wingback chair. It was the same chair Piper had sat in two years ago, when she'd been adjusting to small-town life in Arizona. Once comfortable, with its embracing arms and tactile fabric, the chair was now scratchy and claustrophobia inducing. You can never go home again.
“I don't have a condition,” Piper said with a throaty growl. “I just got swept up in something bigger than me.”
“A conspiracy?”
“You tell me,” Piper retorted. “It seems to me that your family is connected to this whole mess. And maybe you are, too.”
Dr. Walsh looked amused. “Copeland is a small town. Sometimes a coincidence is just a coincidence.”
Piper crossed her arms. “Well, your ex-husband pushed me down, and that's a fact.” Her anger was rising, her speech picking up speed. “If you think about it, he's the one who started this whole thing. If your ex hadn't been skulking around inside the Morrison house doing God knows what, the door wouldn't have been unlocked, and I never would have stepped inside and been there to call the police. I wouldn't have been in the same building as a dead body. No body, no ghost, no problems.” She fixed her therapist with an acidic stare. “What was your ex-husband doing inside there, anyway? He claims he was cleaning, but I don't buy it for a second. The living room carpet was coated in half an inch of dust. Carl Plummer didn't even plug in the vacuum cleaner, let alone clean the house like he claimed he did.”
Dr. Walsh's shifting facial expressions gave away something, some revelation, but Piper couldn't figure out what.
“Interesting,” was all the older woman said.
Piper took a deep breath and tried to blow out her rising irritation. “I know you know something,” she said. “You're not a very good therapist.” The woman looked hurt and dismayed, but Piper continued. “I came to you for help, but you're just stonewalling me. And after all the money my parents paid you over the years.” She looked pointedly at the seascape painting above Dr. Walsh's head. Only it wasn't a painting. It was a photograph of a three-member family on the beach—Dr. Walsh's family, taken years ago, before the divorce. Piper's words were bitter and mean. “You couldn't even save your own marriage and hold your family together, so I don't know why I thought you'd be able to help me.”
A whimper escaped Dr. Walsh's lips.
Piper immediately regretted what she'd said and apologized, but it was too late. Dr. Walsh swiveled in her chair and sat stiffly in silence for a full minute before slowly turning around.
Piper expected to be thrown out, or at least scolded, but instead, Dr. Walsh said, “I do want to help you, Piper, but there are limits to what I can divulge.” She winked. Twice.
Piper moved forward, to the edge of her seat. “Can I get a hint?”
“Shrimp,” the doctor said.
“What?”
“Dear old Carl would never admit it, but we were married, and I know the man. It was probably shrimp.”
“Is shrimp code for something? Some Realtor staging trick?”
“Sort of,” she said heavily. “If I know Carl, he was sneaking around the house, stuffing the curtain rods with frozen shrimp, which would thaw and make the place smell worse over time. It's one of his tactics to get homeowners to drop their price or accept a lowball offer.”
Piper's jaw dropped. “That's why he was there that night! And why he lied to the police about it.”
Dr. Walsh only nodded. “We're divorced for a reason.” She hastily added, “Not that I don't have my own flaws. I accept some of the blame for the marital breakdown, but Carl had Grand Canyon–sized flaws.”
Piper took it all in and moved on to a burning question. “What about your son, Otis? Did he inherit those same flaws?”
Dr. Walsh smiled. “My son is pure of heart. When he was twelve years old, he started a business doing odd jobs around the neighborhood, and he reserved one day a month to help people who couldn't afford to pay him. That one day turned into several days per month, which wasn't great for his college savings plans, but people noticed. One person in particular. The old man who used to own the Roa
drunner Café. And that is how my son inherited a failing business that is now turning a modest profit, thanks to his hard work and a bit of luck.” She rapped her knuckles on her desk. “Knock wood.”
Piper leaned forward and rapped her knuckles as well. She smiled, thinking about how people found some Taiwanese superstitions to be so strange, yet Americans had their quirks as well.
A peaceful moment passed before Piper asked, “Can you think of why Otis would have the candlestick holder? Or who would try to set him up by planting it in his apartment?”
“You should ask Otis yourself. I've already said too much—far too much—but I know for a fact there's a perfectly logical explanation, and I'm one hundred percent sure he put the candlestick holder in that pantry himself. It's unlikely anyone planted it there.” The pitch of her voice rose. “Where is the item right now?”
“Somewhere safe.” Piper shifted to rest her chin on her palm in what she hoped was a casual pose. “So, Otis doesn't hang out with Pandora Lee, or her daughter, Coco Lee?”
“Not that I know of, but my son is an adult who doesn't always tell me everything.”
“When you see him again, can you tell him I'm sorry?”
The mood in the room shifted as Dr. Walsh gave Piper one of her tough-love looks that felt like a kick in the pants. “Tell him yourself.” And just like that, the ride they were on shifted directions and they were no longer peers exchanging information on equal footing. Dr. Walsh sat in the doctor's chair, with the wheeled feet and the wooden hand rests, and Piper was the troubled youngster in the scratchy wingback chair.
The doctor glanced up at the clock. “I'm afraid our time is up for today. Same time next week? We'll discuss this ghost you've been seeing. I'd like to discover what he symbolizes to you.”
Piper snorted. “George doesn't symbolize anything. He's George.”
“Perhaps your father. Or another authoritative figure from your past.”
Piper squirmed and pushed herself out of the cloying wingback chair. Dr. Walsh continued listing off what the ghost might be a symbol of. She didn't believe George was real. She'd diagnosed Piper as a lonely girl with psychological problems manifesting as hallucinations. The whole session had been a waste of both time and money.
Witches and Ghosts Supernatural Mysteries Page 14