A touch of love

by Conn, Phoebe

  "Sure." Jesse took the glass she handed him and followed at a slow enough pace to allow him to take a peek into the large formal dining room. It was far too much house for one woman, and he wondered if she was lonely.

  He opened his mouth to ask, and then thought better of it. When Aubrey sat down at the glass-topped table, he chose the place opposite her, thinking he would be smart not to get too close and spook her.

  "I'm sure you must be surprised to see me again.''

  "Very." Aubrey pulled an empty chair around in front of her so she could prop up her bare feet and get some sun on her legs. "I thought we had said everything we could possibly say last night."

  Jesse ignored the sarcasm in her voice. "I tried an experiment after I got home. I'm hoping you can explain what happened."

  "What sort of experiment?"

  Jesse pulled a snapshot of Peter Ferrell and his family from his shirt pocket. "This same photo was in the paper, but it didn't look nearly as clear. It's the one Pete and Marlene sent out with their Christmas cards the last year they were around to celebrate the holidays. Pete wrote the date on the back, and maybe the fact he had handled it has something to do with what I felt. Anyway, last night I sat down with the file my aunt showed you, and when I came across this photo I got the strangest sensation. You know how you shiver sometimes and people will say someone's stepped on your grave? It was like that."

  "Perhaps you were seated in a draft."

  "Hey, you're the one who says intuition can be enhanced. Don't laugh at me."

  That he appeared sincerely insulted astonished Aubrey. "I'm sorry. It's just that you made no secret of what you thought of my ideas yesterday. I find it difficult to believe you've changed your mind overnight."

  Jesse nodded. "I can understand that. I was rather obnoxious yesterday and I apologize for it." He wasn't about to beg for forgiveness though, and abruptly changed the subject. "Have you ever been to Andersonville?"

  4 'No, why?"

  "It was a Confederate prison and a notoriously barbaric one. About thirteen thousand Union prisoners died and were buried there. It looks like a park now, but when you walk through it," Jesse paused, then shrugged slighdy. "It's difficult to explain, but it's as though all those men are screaming still, even though all you really hear is silence."

  Aubrey took a long swallow of tea, then set her glass down on the table to make room for a large black cat who appeared out of nowhere and jumped into her lap. "This is Lucifer," she said as she gave the big tomcat an affectionate cuddle.

  "That your familiar?"

  "I don't practice witchcraft, Jesse."

  That she had at last used his first name pleased him. "You've got to admit that's a black cat that would make any witch proud."

  "True, but I'm no witch." As she stroked her pet, Aubrey mulled over what he had said about Andersonville. Surely the poor souls buried there would be uneasy. That their screams would still echo more than a hundred years after they had died wasn't impossible.

  "Perhaps you did feel something unusual at Andersonville. Are you saying that you experienced a similar eerie sensation from the photograph of your cousin's family?"

  "Yeah, I sure did. I tried to put it back in the file, to get rid of it, to get it out of my mind, but I couldn't. The feeling was too intense. I figure if I can sense something strange when I don't believe in intuition, let alone psychic phenomenon, then you ought to be able to detect a hell of a lot more. Here, will you try?"

  Reluctantly, Aubrey held out her hand. "I don't claim to be psychic, Jesse. How many times must I remind you of that?"

  The instant she raised the snapshot to get a closer look,

  Lucifer let out a howl and leapt from her lap. "So much for his opinion,'' she quipped. She closed her eyes for a moment, took several deep breaths, and exhaled slowly. When she opened her eyes, what greeted her was not the smiling faces of Peter Ferrell and his family, but a hideous scene of torture and death. She stared at it, fascinated despite the horror. The images sharpened with terror and then blurred into a bright blood red which dissolved into glowing flames.

  Chilled clear to the marrow despite the warmth of the sun, Aubrey swallowed hard before she spoke in an anguished whisper. "They were murdered,'' she assured her rapt companion. "The parents were shot in the head, and the boys beaten to death. Then all the bodies were tossed in a shallow grave and set on fire. The killers panicked though. They filled in the hole too soon. There's enough left of the bodies to identify them all."

  Jesse waited for her to say more, not really believing Aubrey could actually extract so much grisly detail from the photograph. At the same time, her obvious fright assured him that she could. She hadn't gone into a trance, nor done anything odd. She had simply viewed the snapshot with intense concentration. When she set it on the table and looked away, he picked it up, half expecting to see the images she had reported, but he didn't.

  "They disappeared one evening about suppertime. Mar-lene had made a salad and put water in a kettle to boil for spaghetti. At first the police tried to convince us that the family had just skipped town to avoid paying debts, but they didn't have any unusual debts and nobody goes to the trouble of starting dinner on the night they plan to run away.

  "Pete was a successful accountant. Marlene did a lot of volunteer work and was on the PTA board at the boys' school. They were all involved in AYSO soccer and Little

  League. They weren't the types to just pick up and leave without packing any of their belongings or telling anyone good-bye. But wait a minute, you said killers. We told you the only suspect was Harlan Caine, but the police failed to tie him to the Ferrells' disappearance. Are you sure there were two men involved?''

  Aubrey nodded as she rubbed her upper arms briskly, but she couldn't shake the awful chill. "I couldn't see their faces clearly. They were just menacing blobs, but there were two of them." She gagged as a wave of nausea began to assail her. "I'm sorry, I'm going to be sick."

  Startled, Jesse turned as Aubrey leapt to her feet and sped by him into the house. She had looked a little pale, but her comments had seemed so matter-of-fact he hadn't realized she had been sickened by what she had seen. He waited five minutes, then five more before leaving his Stetson on the table and following her inside. He knew she wouldn't want him snooping around, but he could always say he thought she might have passed out and wanted to be sure she was all right.

  He didn't bother to call out her name as he walked through the dining room. There was a study on his left and he paused a moment to look over the crowded bookcases that filled one whole wall. Several shelves were devoted to New Age philosophy and, while the subject had never interested him in the past, he was gready intrigued now. He hoped Aubrey would let him browse through her collection to see what he could find out about psychic abilities. An Apple computer and printer sat on a desk by the windows, and he realized he would be wise to ask to read the book she had written before he borrowed any others.

  His most immediate task, however, was to find her. His boot heels echoed with a dull thud as he walked on into an entry hall. It opened on his left into a spacious formal

  living room. He then glanced up the wide staircase on his right and wondered if he should search the second floor, but seeing there was another room past the stairs, he tried it first.

  Like the rest of Aubrey's home, the den was as exquisitely decorated and as neat as a furniture showroom. Besides the door leading to the hall, the den had two others. The first opened into a large walk-in closet, the other led to what he assumed must be a bathroom. He knocked lighdy.

  "Aubrey? Are you okay?"

  "No, I think I just died. Please go away."

  "Come on out and lie down on the couch. That will make you feel better."

  Aubrey doubted that her sudden attack of queasiness would ever abate. She splashed her face with cold water and reluctandy opened the door. "I think what I need is fresh air. Let's go back outside."

  Because she still looked far from w
ell, Jesse didn't challenge her on that request. That was the second time she had rushed him out of her house that day, and he had the distinct impression that she didn't feel comfortable having him there. Hell, he wouldn't hurt her. If she wanted to invite him upstairs to see her bedroom, he would assume she wanted him to try out the bed with her in it, but he wouldn't have tossed her over his shoulder like a caveman and carried her upstairs.

  It was clear Aubrey wasn't going to ask him to share her bed, though. He had never met a woman who displayed so little interest in him as a man. That wasn't at all flattering to his masculine pride, but he could scarcely utter the complaint aloud.

  When they reached the patio, Aubrey sat down and again propped up her feet. She picked up her glass of iced tea and held it against first one flushed cheek and then the other. "Intuition provides only subtle hunches. Sometimes

  I hear a voice which offers a brief warning, such as, 'Don't forget your umbrella/ or it might urge me to buy something in the market I'm sure I don't need. Then when I get home, I discover it's precisely the item I require. I've never experienced anything like this, though. I feel as though I've come down with the plague/'

  Jesse wasn't certain how to take her comment about voices, but decided to let it slide for the moment. "Is this the first time you've tried something like this?"

  His eyes were lit with a sympathetic glow, and she found it surprisingly easy to confide in him. "Yes. I wasn't lying about not being psychic. I'm not, or at least I wasn't until today."

  "Maybe you just never tried."

  "I've done experiments with Trisha where we've taken turns going into another room and drawing pictures for the other one to reproduce. I'm better at sending images than receiving them, but neither of us has particularly impressive ESP."

  Extrasensory perception was something Jesse had always put in the same catagoiy as magic tricks. He thought it was the work of clever illusionists, nothing more. When Aubrey fell silent as she tried to compose herself, he felt an annoying twinge of guilt. Maybe he had tried to take advantage of her by asking her to look at the photograph, but he had never expected it to make her physically ill.

  Her lashes were spiked with tears, but there were no dark smudges beneath her eyes. Maybe she wore waterproof mascara because of the pool. What kind of woman bothered to apply mascara and lipstick before going out to trim her bougainvillaea? he wondered. Then he knew: one with the class to take the trouble to look her best even when no one else was around.

  His earlier preoccupation with her legs now made him ashamed. Guinevere was curled up nearby, but still observ-

  ing him with a wary glance. He smiled at the dog, then felt silly for caring what she thought of him.

  "Actually, being able to sense vibrations, to pick up meaning from objects is called psychometry, not ESP," Aubrey remarked, softly reminding herself, rather than instructing him.

  "Well, whatever it's called, I believe you saw something I didn't." Jesse tapped the edge of the photo on the table as he thought out loud. "They had to have been killed at home and then taken somewhere else and buried. My aunt can't sell their house because it can't be proven Pete and Marlene are dead. They'd owned it for a number of years so the mortgage payments aren't large and they're being paid out of the estate. It's a nice day for a drive. Why don't we go out to the valley and see what kind of vibes you can pick up there?"

  Appalled by his suggestion, Aubrey swung her feet off the chair and turned to face him. "What a wonderful idea! If I get sick to my stomach looking at a photograph, what sort of reaction do you hope I'll get at a murder scene? Do you know how to treat someone having convulsions, or can you do CPR? Maybe we should just telephone ahead and have the paramedics meet us there."

  "I'm sorry. That didn't sound very nice, did it?"

  "No, it certainly didn't."

  "Like I said, I'm sorry. It's just that my Aunt Edith is the only relative I have left, and I'd like to see her son's killers get the justice they deserve. If you can help us, then I'm going to continue to encourage you to try. Don't accuse me of using you either. It's just the only possible way I can see to trap the killers."

  Aubrey was exasperated that Jesse was so dense. "Look, I might see the murderers' names written in a bloody scrawl ten feet high, but if the police can't read that gruesome graffiti too, what good is it going to do? They need evidence

  and witnesses. Unless we can provide those, there's no point in going any further with this."

  While Jesse flinched at her gory imagery, he was not a man who was easily discouraged. He simply took a new tack. "What were you planning to do today, just work in your yard?"

  1 'Yes, and there's lots more to do."

  Jesse disagreed. "Your yard is so damn perfect it could be on the cover of a seed catalog. What you need is to relax, lady. Go on upstairs and change your clothes. You're coming with me out to Pete's house. I'll promise you now that if you feel even the slightest bit of discomfort I'll let you sit in the truck, but I want to take a look around myself."

  As he rose to his feet and plunked his hat on the back of his head, Aubrey sent an appraising glance up Jesse's impressive frame. He was again wearing Levi's and a blue plaid Western shirt that came close to matching his eyes. The look in those bright blue eyes was now an extremely determined one.

  "Just what are we playing here, the old 'Me Tarzan, you Jane' bit?"

  That question made Jesse laugh. "No. I guess the type of women I know like taking orders. I didn't mean to insult you though. Will you please come out to Pete's house with me? Even if we don't find anything of value, I can promise you a nice afternoon."

  That he would change his tone so quickly surprised Aubrey. Now that he was being so polite, she was reluctant to refuse his request. There was another consideration, too. What if she really did possess a psychic talent she had never before been called upon to use? Didn't she owe it to herself to test its range? Besides, he was right, it would be nice to get away from home for a change. She spent far too much of her time there, and all of it alone.

  "Do you promise I won't have to get out of your truck if I can't handle visiting the house?"

  Jesse held up his right hand. "You have my word on it."

  "All right then. Give me a few minutes to dress. If you'd like to swim, there are some men's trunks in the cabana."

  Jesse turned to note the small structure at the far end of the pool. It was easily large enough to hold a dressing room and bath as well as the pool's heating system. "Yeah, maybe I will."

  "I won't be long."

  Jesse knew women though, and thinking that unlikely, he went to get himself a pair of trunks.

  Aubrey took a couple of aspirin, then hurriedly showered and washed her hair. When she entered her bedroom to choose something to wear, she couldn't resist crossing to the window that faced the pool. Jesse was swimming laps, and she sat down on the window seat as she continued to towel dry her hair. He was an excellent swimmer, and she soon became so fascinated by his effortless rhythm she completely lost track of the time.

  He had the fluid grace of a natural athlete, and she thought it a great pity that he had not taken up baseball, tennis, or golf—any sport but bull riding which she still thought must only appeal to the mentally deranged. Jesse didn't seem the least bit deranged, though. He was so attractive it was no wonder Edith Pursely was so proud of him.

  As for her own opinion, she still felt numb where men were concerned. Jesse was handsome; she could appreciate that fact, but he didn't raise her pulse rate. When he paused at the shallow end of the pool and looked up at her, she was embarrassed to have been caught spying on him, but managed to wave as though her actions had been perfectly natural.

  Jesse broke into a wide grin when he spotted Aubrey at

  the window. Apparently she was a lot more interested in him than she let on, and that pleased him no end. She had a purple bath towel wrapped around her, and with her damp curls she looked so delightfully feminine he was immediately inspired t
o climb out of the pool and walk toward the house. When he stood directly below her window, he called out in a stage whisper.

  "Do you know why cowboys make such good lovers?"

  "I hadn't heard that they did," Aubrey replied. The question was such a silly one she couldn't help but laugh as she sent an admiring glance down his barely clothed body. If appearance meant anything, then she knew Jesse would be incredible in bed. He was not only tall, but well built—so perfect a physical specimen he could easily have earned a living as a male model, or a stripper, which she thought he might find more suited to his talents. She was wise enough to know looks weren't all that a man needed to please a woman, though.

  "I'm the one trying to tell the joke here," Jesse complained with all the righteous indignation he could muster.

  "I'm sorry. All right, why do cowboys make such good lovers?" Aubrey held her breath, hoping he wouldn't have the audacity to claim they were all hung like bulls.

  Jesse again flashed his most charming grin. "It's because we only have to stay in the saddle eight seconds to be a champion."

  Relieved that his answer was merely suggestive rather than just plain dirty, Aubrey broke into lilting peals of laughter. "That's absolutely awful. In a rodeo, does a cowboy only have to stay on a horse or a bull eight seconds to win the prize money?"

  "It would be the longest eight seconds of your life," Jesse shouted.

  "Is that part of the joke?" Aubrey called down to him.

  It was Jesse's turn to laugh then. "No, it wasn't supposed

  to be." He shook his head as he began to back away. "Hurry and get dressed. We can't waste the whole afternoon fooling around here."

  Aubrey watched him walk around the pool to the cabana. The man had great buns, she thought with a small knowing smile. "Eight seconds," she whispered to herself as she got up. "That might be long enough for a bull, but certainly not a woman." She was smiling though, and that was an expression she seldom wore outside of her seminars. And when she joined Jesse downstairs ten minutes later, she was smiling still.