The Lost (Echoes from the Past Book 9)

by Irina Shapiro

  “What is it?” she asked him as she reached for his hand, but she could already guess. They’d never discussed it, but now the possibility couldn’t be ignored.

  “Quinn, when will we know?” Gabe asked, his voice thick with apprehension.

  “I don’t know, but we’ll be ready,” she promised. “We’ll see the signs and address the situation right away. We have a few years, though. We can still protect them.”

  “But we won’t be able to protect them forever,” Gabe replied. “Only one of them might inherit your ability. Or both.”

  “Or neither,” Quinn said. “Seth is not psychic, so it does skip a generation here and there.”

  “One can hope,” Gabe said.

  Quinn turned out the light and snuggled against Gabe. He wrapped his arm around her and fitted himself to her body, offering silent comfort. She didn’t want to think anymore or worry about something she couldn’t control that might not be an issue for years to come. She allowed her mind to drift, but one final thought registered before she succumbed to sleep. She would ring Drew in the morning.

  Chapter 38

  Having dropped off the children at nursery school, Quinn walked to a nearby café, ordered a cappuccino, and took a seat at a table by the window. She felt a desire to be around people, even though she didn’t know anyone. The upbeat atmosphere of the café helped to dispel some of her nervousness as she pulled out her mobile and selected Drew’s number.

  “Morning, Quinn,” Drew said when he finally answered. “Sorry I haven’t been in touch.”

  “Does that mean you haven’t had much luck?” Quinn asked, her stomach clenching with anxiety.

  “On the contrary. I’ve made some real progress,” Drew reassured her.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you tell me what you’ve been able to discover?” Quinn asked, her cappuccino forgotten. There was a noise on the other end and then what sounded like the creaking of springs.

  “Are you still in bed?” Quinn asked. She glanced at her watch. It was nearly nine thirty, and she’d assumed Drew would be up and about.

  “Thought I’d have a bit of a lie-in,” Drew grumbled. “Been under the weather.”

  “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I actually need to get to the office. One of my clients is demanding an urgent meeting.” Quinn waited patiently until Drew’s mind returned to the case.

  “Right. Sorry. I digress. So, I paid a visit to the hostel where Brett stayed and was able to learn that he shared a room with a Swedish student named Swen Persson. With a little persuasion, I was able to get Swen’s contact information.”

  “Have you spoken to him?” Quinn asked breathlessly.

  “I have. Swen remembers Brett quite well. Thought him a total wanker,” Drew said. He was huffing and puffing, as if he were getting dressed while speaking on the phone.

  “Was he able to provide you with anything more useful than that?” Quinn asked.

  “He was, actually. Swen had rented a car for the duration of his stay. A silver Nissan Sentra. He doesn’t recall the registration, of course, but he was able to provide me with the name of the rental company. He said that on the morning Brett checked out, he thought the car was parked in a different place than he’d remembered leaving it, but he also admitted that he had been drinking the night before and might have forgotten exactly where he’d parked it. He did, however, mention that the car appeared to be cleaner. He assumed it must have rained heavily during the night.”

  “Is that enough evidence to go on?” Quinn asked, disappointed. She’d expected something a little more promising than a drunken tourist’s hazy version of events from more than two years ago.

  “It’s a start. I was able to run the registration number, and the make and model came up as a silver Nissan Sentra. It stands to reason that Brett had borrowed the car without Swen’s permission and had it cleaned before returning it.”

  “So, what now?” Quinn asked.

  “Now the grunt work begins,” Drew said. “I’ve printed out a list of carwashes located between Jo’s address and the hostel, using every possible route from point A to point B. There are thirty-seven.”

  Quinn’s mouth opened in shock. Thirty-seven. That was quite a lot. “Say you locate the carwash Brett visited on the night of the murder. How would that help?”

  “If we are very lucky, they might have some sort of proof that Brett was there. A recording on their security camera, a credit card receipt with his name on it, or an employee who can recall seeing blood would go a long way to proving our case.”

  “And how likely is that?” Quinn asked.

  “Not very. Realistically, no carwash would keep footage for that long. Most small businesses override old footage every thirty days. Also, I strongly suspect Brett was smart enough to pay in cash.”

  “So, is it even worth the bother?” Quinn asked, now really deflated.

  “It is, because if I can pinpoint the carwash, then I can locate the CCTV cameras in the vicinity and possibly even trace his route from the scene of the crime to the carwash.”

  “How would that help?”

  “I have a mate on the force who can be persuaded to check the CCTV footage for that night. If we could get an image of Brett driving the car, we’d have something more than just idle speculation to present to the police.”

  “But an image of Brett driving Swen’s car proves nothing unless we can conclusively show that the car he was driving is the one that hit Jo,” Quinn pointed out.

  “You are absolutely correct,” Drew said. “Which is why I need more time. Look, Quinn, as far as we know, Brett knows nothing about this and is blithely going about his life. Correct?”

  “Correct,” Quinn replied.

  “Time is not of the essence.”

  “No, it’s not,” Quinn agreed.

  “So, give me the space I need to work this case. I know you’re anxious. Jo was your sister, and this is your brother we’re talking about, but you need to let me do my job. The only way we can convince anyone to reopen this case is if we can present them with irrefutable evidence, none of which I currently have.”

  “I understand,” Quinn said. “I’m sorry if I made you feel pressured.”

  “You haven’t. I should have given you an update, but I’ve been a bit busy. Personal stuff,” Drew added gruffly. “I’ll ring you on Sunday, regardless of what I discover. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Quinn rang off and took a sip of her lukewarm cappuccino. Drew had found quite a lot in the short time he’d been investigating the case. She had to be patient. And she had to act natural, especially when speaking to Seth. He’d called the night before and left another message, asking her to call him back. Quinn stared at her phone. She’d call Seth later. She simply couldn’t bring herself to speak to him just yet. She longed for the uncomplicated company of a good friend. Perhaps Jill would be free to meet for lunch. They hadn’t seen each other in weeks and hadn’t even had time to catch up on the phone. The prospect of seeing Jill lifted Quinn’s spirits.

  Chapter 39

  Quinn and Jill met in a small restaurant near her office building in the City. She’d resumed her career as a forensic accountant after her vintage clothing shop had failed and had steadily moved up the ladder in her firm. She looked smart in a business suit and silk blouse, her dark hair pulled back into a neat bun.

  “Quinn!” Jill exclaimed when she hurried inside the restaurant. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “You too, cuz,” Quinn said.

  Jill settled into her seat and let out a long sigh. “I’m so glad you called. I needed to take a break and actually leave the office. I’ve been working on an audit for weeks, and I have yet to untangle all the threads of this company’s finances. I do miss the shop sometimes,” she said wistfully. “It wasn’t profitable, but at least my head didn’t feel like it was going to explode.”

  “Perhaps you�
��ll try again someday,” Quinn said.

  “I don’t think so. The days of chasing dreams are over. I need a steady income. Not everyone’s husband is a bestselling author,” she teased.

  “Being a bestselling author is not as profitable as you might imagine,” Quinn replied.

  “Is Gabe working on something else?” Jill asked once they placed their order, both of them foregoing wine, something that would never have happened in the past.

  “He’s interested in Renaissance Italy,” Quinn said. “The Borgias and all that. I think he has a historian crush on Lucrezia Borgia. I guess it could be worse. He could have developed a fascination with Amelia Dyer.”

  “And who’s she when she’s at home?” Jill asked.

  “She was a notorious serial killer who was rumored to have murdered over four hundred babies and children at a baby farm she worked at.”

  “Why do you think some people feel the urge to kill?” Jill asked, hitting uncomfortably close to home with her innocent question. “Although, I tell you, there are days when I come close to an act of violence myself. Brian and I had a massive row yesterday,” she confessed.

  “What about?”

  “He’s been offered an amazing new job,” Jill said, the corners of her mouth dipping.

  “Is that a bad thing?” Quinn asked.

  “It is when it’s in Beijing. The contract is for three years. The company will cover the cost of the move, provide us with a three-bedroom house rent-free, and even cover the cost of Olivia’s school. At the end of the three years, Brian has the option to extend the contract for another three years.” Jill sighed. “It’s an incredible opportunity for him, but I don’t want to go. My life is here, Quinn: my family, my friends, my own career. I mean, if this was somewhere in Europe, I might be persuaded to give it a go, but this is China,” she moaned.

  “I take it Brian really wants to take the job?”

  “He does. He says the money we’ll save while there will enable us to buy a bigger house once we return, and if I don’t work for the next three years, it would be the right time to have another baby.”

  “Do you want another baby?” Quinn asked.

  “I do, but the thought of being cut off from everything and everyone I love frightens me. What would you do if Gabe suggested such a move?” Jill asked.

  “I don’t know. I was reluctant to agree when he wanted to move us north to be closer to Phoebe,” Quinn confessed. “Berwick-upon-Tweed is not that far, but it might as well have been on the moon. I was so relieved when Phoebe decided to sell the house and move into a retirement community. My home is here. In fact, I’m working on a new case for Rhys.”

  “I thought you were done with all that.”

  “I was, but I’m doing it as a special favor to Rhys. The skeleton was found on his property in Hertfordshire.”

  Jill laughed. “And I bet there’s an Echoes from the Past special in the works.”

  “There is. It’s to be a Christmas episode.”

  “That wily old devil,” Jill said, still chuckling. “He always knows how to reel you back in.”

  “It didn’t take much persuading. I enjoy teaching and doing research, but there’s nothing like an archeological site to get me going. To unearth a skeleton that had been buried for hundreds of years and have the opportunity to learn about the person’s life and death is like nothing else in the world. It’s magic,” Quinn finished.

  “So, why not do it?” Jill asked. “Why not go on a dig like you used to?”

  “Because we have three children,” Quinn replied with a grin. “Can you imagine dragging those three along?”

  “Maybe you don’t need to,” Jill replied as she tucked into the grilled salmon salad the waiter had placed before her.

  “What do you suggest I do with them?” Quinn asked, picking at her own salad.

  “Your parents would love to have them for the summer. Leave the kids in Marbella and go off on a dig, just you and Gabe. Rekindle the romance,” Jill suggested, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

  “What makes you think it needs rekindling?” Quinn demanded with mock severity.

  “Aw, come on, Quinny. When was the last time you and Gabe went away for a romantic weekend or an actual holiday? When did you last go out for a meal without the kids?”

  “We went to Rhys’s house and dug up a skelly. That was plenty romantic,” Quinn replied, grinning. “But you’re right. It’s been a while since we’ve done anything for ourselves. I do miss spending time together without having to constantly cater to the needs of the children. I’m not sure my parents can handle them for that long, though. It’s a lot of work.”

  “Ask them,” Jill suggested. “I bet they’d love it. There’s only so much tennis one can play and so many boozy lunches one can have on the veranda,” she quipped.

  “You know, you might just have something there,” Quinn replied. “There’s time enough to make the arrangements before the end of the school term. And what about you? What will you do?”

  Jill looked thoughtful, her earlier amusement forgotten. “The selfish part of me wants to refuse outright, but maybe China will be good for us. We both work long hours, Olivia barely sees us, and we’ve been putting off having another baby for a while now. Three years is not such a long time,” Jill said. “Not when there’s so much to be gained.”

  “I’d miss you.”

  Jill nodded. “Funny how life takes you in directions you never expected. Even a month ago, the prospect of moving to China was about as likely as us picking up sticks and decamping to Timbuktu, but suddenly it’s a very real prospect and a surprisingly lucrative one.”

  “You’re the accountant, Jilly. Follow the money.”

  Jill glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry, but I need to get back to the office. See you at Mia’s birthday party,” Jill said as she reached for her purse.

  “Lunch is on me,” Quinn said. “You go on. Thank you for meeting me on such short notice.”

  “I’ll miss you, Quinn,” Jill whispered, her eyes growing moist. “When did we turn into these responsible grownups?”

  “When we weren’t looking,” Quinn replied, her own eyes prickling with tears.

  Chapter 40

  November 1777

  Long Island

  “You weren’t supposed to stay the night,” Ben said when he found Jocelyn alone in the yard the following morning, hanging the laundry. His displeasure was easy to detect in his narrowed gaze and gruff tone. He stood closer to her than Jocelyn would have liked, but she made no move to distance herself, shrugging off his jealousy.

  “The weather had turned. Derek didn’t think the ferry would be running,” Jocelyn said.

  “The weather was fine here,” Ben retorted. “It took you a long time to get back, if you left just after breakfast, like you said,” he observed, watching her closely for any sign of deceit.

  They had finally arrived in Milford in the late afternoon, and Jocelyn had gone straight up to her room, claiming fatigue, but she had been desperate to be alone for a time to calm down and gather her thoughts. She couldn’t bear to face Hannah or Ben in her raw emotional state and had needed to put some distance between herself and Derek, who now knew the truth, or most of it.

  Derek had stopped the cart and they’d sat shoulder to shoulder, leaning against the thick trunk of an ancient oak. He hadn’t interrupted or given vent to his own feelings; he’d just listened, and then held her while she cried, offering silent support and understanding. It had taken her a long time to calm down and feel ready to resume their journey, the food Derek had offered her left untouched, her stomach in knots. But she had felt better, lighter, for having told him. Somehow, knowing that he didn’t judge her helped her to feel less responsible, his quiet understanding assuaging some of her guilt.

  “The road was muddy after the rain,” Jocelyn said, wishing Ben would just desist with his interrogation. “It was slow going.”

  “That’s why I hate going to New York Cit
y,” Ben said. “It’s not worth the journey, and once you get there, it’s dirty, congested, and overrun by the British. I’m happy to stay right here and leave the traveling to Derek. He grows restless after a time and makes up excuses to visit the city. Would you like to take a walk later?” Ben asked, seemingly less upset now. “I have to go into town to fetch a cask of ale from the Blackwell Arms. I would have thought Derek might like to take this opportunity to visit Lydia, but he’s expressed no desire to go. Ma will be making quite a feast for Thanksgiving,” he said happily. “Do you like Thanksgiving?”

  “I’m sure I do.”

  Ben tilted his head, his gaze sympathetic. “Surely something must be coming back to you, Alice.”

  “Little bits, yes,” she admitted reluctantly.

  “It’s been more than a month since the shipwreck,” Ben pointed out.

  “Has it? I apologize if I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

  “I think you know by now that I don’t want you to leave,” Ben said. “Besides, we might have more room here soon.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I think Derek intends to propose to Lydia by year’s end. Seems her campaign to make him jealous has worked. She told Felicia Painter that her father means to offer Derek a partnership in the tavern. Derek would love that. He never wanted to farm.”

  “What makes you think Derek is ready to wed?” Jocelyn asked, her hand stilling on the shirt she was hanging on the line.

  “Just something he said to Ma last night after you had retired.”

  Jocelyn felt a hollow ache in her chest at the thought of Derek marrying Lydia. He wasn’t hers to lose, but somehow the idea of him belonging to another woman made her want to weep. She’d lost so much already; she didn’t want to lose him too. He was the only person she truly trusted and had assumed he’d be there to protect her should the need arise. Ben cared for her, she knew that, but Ben’s emotions would always get the better of him, and his mistrust and jealousy would be his undoing. He was too intent on his own needs, believing them to be synonymous with hers, and would continue to pressure her whether she was ready or not.