“Yes, and what I found looking into their school records was that several of them had Winslow as an advisor.”
“Well, that might not be unusual, but it is telling if he was seducing his students. David exposing him could have ruined his career. His life.”
“Yes.”
“Look,” Sophie said, picking up the picture and squinting. “It’s a little hard to tell, but I think Masters is wearing the cuff links here, but he’s missing them in some of the other photos we’ve seen, taken a little earlier. And I think I remember that Winslow was wearing them in the portrait.”
“Is that unusual?”
“No, but they look more like something a teacher would wear, not a student. Masters’ records showed he wasn’t exactly a stellar student, not the kind that received awards of that caliber.”
“I’d have to go look, but I see where you’re going, that Winslow gave his cuff links to Masters?”
“It’s a hunch. No way to tell for sure, though.”
“Grab your stack of files and let’s get digging. Maybe later we can find some cake somewhere to go with the take-out. We should put candles in it and pay tribute to your birthday and the moon,” he said only half-joking.
“As long as David Masters shows up tonight, that’s the main thing. If he can give us what we need to solve Patrice’s murder that would be better than cake.”
“Well, it’s your day,” Gabe said lightly. “Make a birthday wish, and who knows what might happen?”
I wish, Sophie thought, that this was all over. I wish life could get back to normal. I wish. . . .
She cut off the thought ruthlessly. Wishing had ever gotten her anywhere. Shaking her head free of wishes, she opened the files and started working instead.
* * *
Sophie really did like the Chinese take-out, and due to her tendency to stuff herself when she was nervous, she approached the reading room with her stomach rolling.
On the sly, Gabe had ordered cake, as well. With candles. She’d had some of that, too.
But now, with tributes to the moon and the day of her birth nearly over, they were quiet as she took a seat at the new table delivered only a few days before. She hadn’t sat in this spot since the night of Patrice’s murder.
“This feels strange.”
“What kind of strange?”
“Scary strange. Sad strange. It was only a few weeks ago I was sitting here with Patrice and everything changed, just like that.”
She took out her deck, finding comfort in the familiar feel of the worn cards in her hands, her fingers shuffling and directing them with practiced expertise.
“I’ve never been able to do that,” Gabe said, watching her.
“What?”
“Shuffle. I’m one of those people who just messes them up on the table and then puts them back together again,” he said with a self-effacing grin.
“You can do that coin flipping thing, but you can’t shuffle?”
“Two entirely different skills.”
She smiled, relaxing just a little. “I could teach you the finer points one of these days.”
“I’d like that,” he said, pulling the chair on the other side over to the corner, behind her. Sitting by herself for few minutes in silence, she became exasperated, feeling silly.
“I have no idea what to do,” she complained. “My contact with Eliza was just dumb luck. David Masters seems to show up whenever he wants to. I don’t know if I really control this or if it just happens.”
“Probably a little bit of both. Use the photos,” Gabe guided.
She set down the cards and pulled the photos of David, Percy and some of their other friends from her bag and put them on the table.
“I just wish it all felt less random.”
“All you have to really do is believe, Sophie. Spirits are attracted to the energy of things they recognize, patterns and people. Certain emotions, including belief, and the desire to contact them, is attractive. Frustration, anger, confusion, they push away rather than attract. Can you put out the cards you drew for David that night?”
She found the cards in the deck, having thought about them a million times, and studied them again. “The Knight of Wands,” she said. “Impulsive and reckless. A bringer of messages.”
“Five of Swords. Discord and danger,” she repeated, memories of the night she’d dealt the cards overcoming her. She could almost hear Patrice’s worried voice echoing hers. . .Danger?
The memory choked her for a minute, but she pushed it away, laying the Lovers and the Three of Hearts on the table, one crossing the other.
“Heartbreak, betrayal.”
“The Queen of Swords?”
She paused and stared at the card, confused. She’d forgotten that one. Considering what they knew now, and what they suspected, she supposed the card could refer to a gay man? A “queen”? But that didn’t feel right.
“So what about it, David? Who is the Queen of Swords?” she asked the room congenially, trying not to sound like an idiot. Without preamble, David Masters walked into the room much the way he did the night Patrice was killed, and took his place by the table. He looked solemn as always, his hand placed over his middle, as if trying to stem the flow of blood.
“Hello,” she said, trying to be calm in spite of her heart slamming in her chest and her head spinning a bit, though not as much as before. He didn’t respond.
“Okay, well, we know about Percy. We found him in Perkins. He killed you, right?”
She shuffled the cards and took a deep breath, opening her mind to his messages, letting her intuition tell her when to draw again.
“The Hierophant and the King of Cups?” she asked. “That makes sense. This is how you saw him, a mature man to whom you had an emotional connection, but it was a secret. He was also a man in power, a teacher, who took advantage of you. He didn’t want the court finding out that you were lovers?”
More.
The connection between them was stronger now, and she was compelled to continue laying out cards around the King.
“The Sun, the Moon, and. . .the Star,” she said, holding her hand to her throat as emotion swamped her. “Oh. He was the sun, the moon and the stars to you. You loved him. It wasn’t just a tawdry affair.” She blinked tears away, continuing.
“But your relationship was about to become public knowledge. It would have hurt you both. He couldn’t allow that, in his position. Seducing a student, he would have lost everything,” she said, trying to understand.
More.
Urgency built up in her mind like pressure on the sides of her skull.
“David,” she said weakly, closing her eyes. “Stop it. I can’t think if you push me too hard. It hurts.”
Almost immediately, the pain in her head stopped, the pressure letting up. She dealt more cards were placed around the King of Cups. All of them unerringly positive and reflective of a close, loving relationship. Of trust and intimacy. Hope.
“Okay, I get it. You loved Percy, but what else?”
Sophie’s eyes widened as the cards flew from the table and only the Queen of Swords remained. She shivered as the room became colder.
“There’s someone else here,” she said under her breath, looking at David who continued to watch the cards. “Your killer. Not Percy.”
No.
“Then who?”
The Four of Pentacles came up in response. In the Morgan-Greer Deck, a woman sitting in front of a rock wall, covered in gold coins. Symbolic of greed and selfishness, the wall separated her off from everything else. She was apart from it all. Above those she disdained.
“Okay, so a woman. And not a very nice woman, obviously.”
The room spun around her, becoming darker, until she felt as if she were mired in a black fog of evil.
“Two of Cups, Five of Cups, Eight of Cups. . .” her mind struggled to find the messages. . .a degraded relationship, sadness, tears, someone leaving, painful separation.
“Percy di
dn’t care about people knowing—he was going to leave someone for you—a woman,” she said as the last part of the puzzle clicked into place.
At the same time, the dark shape formed around her, appearing to lunge at her, making her fall backwards in the chair. The tumble to the floor knocked the breath out of her, she thought, finding it hard to catch her breath.
She heard Gabe’s voice calling to her, but he seemed distant, outside of the sphere of darkness that encompassed her and David Masters.
“Percy was married. He was going to leave his wife for you. He didn’t care if anyone knew. He didn’t kill you,” she said, struggling through each word even as she felt the air choked from her.
Yes.
“Oh, David. His wife killed you. Or had you killed. She couldn’t lose what she’d attained. And all this time Percy has been blamed. You need people to know the truth.”
Suddenly the fog disappeared with a shriek and Sophie sucked in fresh air with great relief. Disoriented, she blinked as Gabe helped her up, back to her chair.
“Sophie, you need to stop this, now,” he said.
She waved him off, the pressure in her head alleviated. “He’s still here. There’s more.”
Alone. Alone. Alone. The word reverberated inside her skull as she sat back in her chair.
“Yes, you’ve been alone, all this time. Percy was suspected of murder, and then he killed himself.”
She turned to face Gabe, who had pulled his chair up to her side. “Is it different for souls who commit suicide? What comes after?”
“No one can know for sure, of course. There are various taboos associated with the taking of one’s own life. Almost every major religion views it as a cardinal sin, and it stands to reason that ghosts of suicides might be separated off or somehow punished in the afterlife.”
“So David has been alone all this time, waiting for Percy, who wasn’t able to find him in the afterlife because he killed himself. David wants him back,” Sophie said her heart aching for David Masters and for Percy Winslow. “Percy didn’t kill himself from guilt; he killed himself from a broken-heart.”
No.
Sophie looked at David. “No? Then what?”
The Queen of Swords quivered where it sat on the table, and she knew David had to be using every ounce of spiritual power he had to get her to see.
And she did.
“She killed them both. She made one look like a random act of crime and one look like a suicide. None of the history has been true. She killed Percy because if he went to court, everyone would know, and she’d be disgraced. She’d have lost everything.”
Her head and heart lightened to a degree that told her she was right, and David looked up, meeting her eyes with a heartfelt plea. She reached out, grabbed Gabe’s hand.
“He wants me to find Percy. I don’t know what to do,” she said, gulping breaths.
Gabe squeezed her fingers, didn’t let go. His voice was calm, smooth and soothing.
“Remember Eliza,” he said, and she nodded. She remembered her Aunt reaching out in a similar way, and steadied her breathing, gathering her focus again.
Reaching down to the floor to find the King of Cups, she set it on top of the table and whispered, “Percy Winslow, where are you? David needs you.” Using everything she had, she sent her heartfelt plea out to the ether.
Nothing happened for long moments, but the second time she repeated the request, the entire atmosphere in the room changed. Gabe murmured something as light shimmered in front of them, a hazy form that didn’t quite take shape.
While no visual image of Percy appeared, it was clear from the look on David’s face that the love of his life had finally found him again. Sophie stared in amazement as the endlessly bleeding wound in his gut disappeared as her ghost stretched out his hands to greet his long lost love. She could feel the warmth of their gratitude, but Sophie needed more. She needed help for Patrice.
“David, please. Don’t go yet. Can you tell me anything about Patrice?” Sophie said desperately, but it was clear the ghost’s focus was elsewhere. She felt the gossamer thread that connected her to him dissolve, like a bubble bursting around them, a cool breeze sweeping around the room and then settling.
Dizzy, she dropped the cards she was holding, sagging in the chair. Gabe’s hands, sure and steady, were on her shoulders supporting her as she let the moment pass.
“I guess you were right,” she said sadly, feeling drained and weepy from the emotional adventure. “They are only interested in solving their own problems, not in helping us with ours.”
Gabe drew her in, resting her head on his shoulder. “Perhaps because they can no longer solve their problems without our help, but we can. We’ll find it, Sophie. We know it’s there now. We just have to look for it. We have a lot more information.”
“But we are no closer than we were.”
Exhausted, she fought tears and lost, sobbing her frustration and sadness on Gabe’s shoulder. She would never find Patrice’s killer.
When she was done, he pulled back, holding her face in his hands, looking closely to see if she was okay. The gentle touch was intimate, caring.
“I’m sorry. I hate falling apart like that,” she said, pulling back slowly. She’d had enough emotional upheaval for the moment, and couldn’t handle the new emotions that Gabe seemed to set off for her. She was also still with Roger, at least as far as she knew.
“It’s normal that it would take a lot out of you. That was one of the scariest things I’ve ever seen. And one of the most wonderful. You did an amazing thing.”
She nodded mutely, still feeling like crap. “I really want to sleep.”
“That’s a good idea. We can deal with this more tomorrow.”
Why bother? She thought disconsolately. She’d gone through all of this so that two ghosts could have their happily ever ether, but none of it had helped her at all. She hadn’t helped Patrice. She wanted to be happy for David and Percy, but it was asking too much at the moment.
As she walked to the stairs, she spotted a slip of paper on the floor. Picking it up, she flipped it over to find a note Stewart had left for Mags; apparently he’d left it for her earlier in the week. She started to crumple it up when her eye spotted something that stilled her. Standing transfixed, she stared, hardly able to believe what she was seeing.
“David did help, after all,” she said, her heart lighter. The note had been sitting on the counter. She’d seen it, but paid it no mind. David must have put it in her path. “Gabe, he-”
“I wish you hadn’t found that,” Stewart said a second before his fist came down heavily on Gabe’s neck, causing the professor to fall to the floor, out cold.
Chapter Fifteen
“Stewart! You,” she said, crossing to help Gabe, but Stewart put a hand up, stopping her. “One more step and I’ll crush his throat with my foot.”
She stopped. He’d killed once that she knew of, maybe twice. The coldness in his eyes showed her that he’d be happy to do it again.
“I thought for sure you were just losing your mind,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ve run a lot of scams in my day, and I figured that’s what you were up to. But I’ll be damned if you can’t really talk to ghosts,” he said with a grin.
“Why are you here? How much did you hear?” she asked again, looking around the room for some kind of weapon.
“I’d come by to see you. I didn’t expect a show.”
“Me? When?”
“Just before you came down. I knew you’d let me in, and I thought it was time to settle this all once and for all. I’d kill you, set it up like a suicide, and put a bow on the whole affair. But then you weren’t alone, and I knew I’d have to be more creative.”
Sophie’s hands went cold. Tears burned the inside of her eyelids.
“You killed Patrice,” she said.
“I did. I had to. Andrew is so dear, but so weak. He wasn’t about to do it.”
Her mind went blank with rage and her body
propelled forward. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do. Hit him, scream at him, something. He’d taken Patrice from her, and he had the balls to smile at her? To sound pleased with himself?
She barreled into him, sending him backwards a few steps, but he simply cursed and pushed her back, striking out. The back of his hand slammed into her cheek as she fell back to the floor, half-falling over Gabe. Closing her eyes against the pain in her cheek, she moved her jaw, and hoped nothing was broken. The second kick to her midsection hurt more.
“Will be hard to prove suicide now – do you think they’ll believe I beat myself to death?”
He grinned, kneeling down, taking something from his pocket and wrenching her head back by her hair.
“I was going to use this, but figured we’d have a little fun first,” he said malevolently, pouring something bitter and vile down her throat. She coughed and choked, nearly throwing it back up.
“That should keep you quiet while I go out for a while. Be back soon,” he promised, his lips close to her ear.
The world seemed to dissolve into ripples, her eyesight blurring, doubling, and tripling as she lay on the floor, unable to move, watching him. He dragged Gabe somewhere, and she tried to move, to help, but couldn’t. Her midsection hurt terribly.
Stewart had always been so. . .mild. So full of positive energy and enthusiasm. But it was all deception. That he could kill someone in cold blood still seemed so unreal, but the note was proof. The “S” he’d signed to the note in the shop matched perfectly to the one on the receipt found in Noble’s the day of Antoine Noble’s murder.
“Who are you?” she asked, seeing forms, spirits, take shape around her, all seeming to peer closely, as if intrigued with watching her.
“Be back soon,” Stewart chirped, and she barely heard him, watching the spirits close in around her until she felt like she couldn’t breathe, and everything went dark.
“I like this – it will be very dramatic. Your last stint on the front page, I think,” Stewart’s voice met her again as she emerged from blissful darkness, her muscles set on fire, her limbs turning cold then hot, her head throbbing. When she tried to fold herself double, she couldn’t. Her body refused to follow the direction of her mind, as if her bones had been turned to noodles.
Past Tense Page 23