“I lost track, thanks to you people,” Maynard hissed.
“Oh, um, again, I’m sorry, but could you at least tell me what inning it is?” Shawn asked frantically. “I don’t mean to be a pain in the ass, but the person I’m dating is a Red Sox fan.”
“What is he, an idiot?” Maynard scoffed.
“Charley? Absolutely,” she prattled on, standing on her toes in an effort to see inside his apartment. “I told him the only reason the series has lasted this long is because those bums from Boston got lucky.”
“Tell me about it.” Maynard snickered in agreement. Shawn pressed her advantage by pretending to sneak a peek at the game.
“Come on.” Maynard stepped aside, allowing Shawn to enter the apartment.
She stood beside Maynard, who was lost in the game. “Knucklehead is still on the mound, what, are they stupid?” she shouted, all the while glancing around the apartment. She shot a wary look at the trio lingering in the doorway. She jerked her head, encouraging them to enter the apartment. They seemed puzzled, but followed her lead.
“Yes!” she and Maynard shouted when the Yankees scored.
“That’s it,” she shouted in encouragement as the Yankees scored again. She clasped Maynard on the shoulder, pretending to share his enjoyment of the game.
She gulped when the wave of nausea attacked her. She exhaled a terse breath and removed her hand from him.
“Yes.” She clapped her hands, still fighting against the sickening feeling that was swelling inside of her.
“Now we can show them how to play the game,” she said when the inning ended and a commercial began.
“Are those yours?” she asked in a flirtatious manner, pointing to some trophies stuffed in a corner of the room.
“Some of them,” he said shyly. Shawn wandered over to the collection of pictures and trophies.
“Just crap my mother never threw out.”
Shawn picked up a picture with a crumbling, gilded frame. It was a faded black-and-white photo of two teenaged boys in letterman jackets.
“Which one are you?” she gushed, already knowing the answer.
“That’s m-me,” Maynard said with a slight stammer. “And that’s my brother, Gil.”
“Oh, so you were the good-looking one,” she prattled on, handing the photo to Carey.
“Yeah, um, like I said, I really should toss that stuff,” Maynard said just as the game came back on.
“Don’t you dare,” Shawn scolded him playfully. “My dad lettered in baseball. He still has his jacket. Still have yours?”
“I… um…” he stammered, and his ears turned bright pink. “Probably,” he said.
“Bet it still fits,” Shawn cooed with a playful nudge.
“Hell, no.” He laughed. “I-I…” he stammered once again before his face dimmed.
“We have to go,” Carey called out.
“Rats.” Shawn pouted. “Enjoy the game.”
“You can’t stay for the end?” he invited her. “You know, for a cop, you’re not bad company.”
“Oh, I’m not a cop,” she told him, sensing that the information sent a wave of relief through him. “I’m just babysitting these idiots. Nice meeting you.”
Once they had departed the Marshal apartment, Shawn pressed her fingers to her lips cautioning her companions not to speak. They strolled in silence until they were halfway down the block.
“Sorry, he was listening and watching,” she explained. “He did it.”
“Just like that,” Brian said with obvious disbelief. “Why, because you said so? And what was so fascinating about that picture?”
“Two teenaged boys in letterman jackets,” Carey said. “With their nicknames embroidered on the front. One said Marsh, the other said Gil. He’s our guy.”
“Jay,” Brian said.
“What?” Carey threw her hands up in anger. “Ignore him, I always do,” she told Shawn. “When you touched Maynard, what did you see? You looked like you were going to be sick.”
“You were right, he has some serious issues with women,” Shawn said. “He killed her because she laughed at him. You noticed the stammer? He had a speech impediment as a kid, made him an outcast, sports was the only thing he had going for himself. The stammer comes back when he’s nervous or excited. And he didn’t have the flu that day, his brother did. He only pretended to be sick as well, so he could skip school. He sneaked out later that night and got drunk. When he climbed in the window, Gil woke up. Maynard told him to go back to sleep. In the back of his mind, Gil is still wondering if Maynard was involved with the murder.”
“Smart thing, using his love of sports to get us into the apartment,” Carey said. “Still, you didn’t have to call the Sox bums.”
“Oops, forgot you’re from Massachusetts.” Shawn laughed. “But what I said is true. Sports are all that mean anything to him. And for the record, the Yankees are going to win tonight.”
“No,” Carey wailed and the two men cheered.
“Oh, now you believe I’m a psychic?” she asked Brian. “Chill, I don’t do predictions. I’m from New York. They have to win or I’ll never hear the end of it from my, for lack of a better term, girlfriend. Now what happens?”
“Now,” Brian said, “I go back to work on the case, see what turns up.”
“Thank you, Dr. Williams.” Mallory clasped her hand. “Brian, would you mind if I join you?”
“Not at all, sir, I’d love your input,” Brian said. “Dr. Williams, thank you,” he said, hesitating in offering to shake her hand.
“Don’t worry, you don’t have to,” Shawn said graciously. “Most people don’t want to shake my hand.”
“Can’t imagine why,” Brian said with an uneasy laugh. “Just out of curiosity, what should I look for?”
“His letterman jacket. He still has it. Her blood is on it. Or was. He hasn’t looked at it since he hid it that night. He couldn’t give it to his mother to clean, or take it to the dry cleaner because of the blood. He hid it in the back of his closet beneath a loose floorboard. He told his parents he lost it, and he never replaced it.”
“Except now he’s thinking about it,” Carey said. “He might ditch it.”
“Well, it looks as if we have some work to do, boy,” Mallory said.
“Yes, sir.” Brian nodded in agreement.
“Come on, I’ll walk you home,” Carey offered. “Headache?”
“Yes,” Shawn groaned, her temple throbbing in agony.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Carey said sympathetically. “It’s hard enough seeing the things I see at work, but I couldn’t deal with the constant bombardment you live with on a day-to-day basis.”
“It’s what life handed me. What I choose to do with my gift is what makes a difference,” Shawn said. “Besides, seeing someone’s skull cracked open isn’t an everyday event. Mostly I see jumbled images, just small glimpses into people’s lives.”
“In Salem, you were in agony,” Carey noted.
“Salem has a tragic history, so many voices that need someone to hear that they were innocent,” Shawn said. “I can hear them, and I can tell them that I know that they were wronged.”
“You also hear the guilty,” Carey annoyingly pointed out.
“Every job has its downside,” Shawn quipped. “Coming up?” They stood on the steps to Shawn’s building. Carey looked up with an unreadable expression on her face, and Shawn said, “Don’t you think it’s time?”
Chapter 44
Stewart, Massachusetts
1933
Horatio Stratton sat in his chair, staring out at nothing, his clothing soiled from his latest attempt to destroy the garden.
“Where is my son?” a lilting voice asked.
“Leave me be,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the door to the study. He was hiding again, praying that they would leave him alone.
“Where is my son?” she said again, unseen or heard by anyone but him.
“Leave me be,” he repeated
, lost in his own world.
“Never,” a second voice taunted, laughing wildly.
“Then I’ll join you. When my time comes, your trickery will come to an end. You belong to me. I’m going to make the two of you pay for your sins.”
“Do it. End your miserable excuse of a life,” the second voice challenged.
“All in good time.” His insane laughter echoed through the manor, probably startling the meager staff who were toiling about the house. “All in good time.”
Chapter 45
New York City
2005
“I said, don’t you think it’s time?” Shawn repeated. Carey was still staring up at the building.
“I should be going,” Carey suddenly blurted out, shoving her hands in her pockets. “Hey, like you said, she ate the good pizza. I’m going to see if Brian and Captain Mallory need my help.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Shawn sighed deeply, watching Carey disappear in the darkness. Her head pounded violently as she made her way up to her apartment. Her headache grew worse upon entering her home.
“I said stop it!” Faith shouted into thin air.
“What now?” Shawn asked, rubbing her aching temples.
“Fucking Willie keeps screwing with the television,” Faith bellowed like an insane woman.
“Oh, for the love of God, he’s just a little boy.” Shawn was weary of everyone’s nasty disposition.
“Send him into the light,” Faith said.
“You know I can’t do that. As I’ve explained to you time and time again, Willie’s happy here and has no interest in crossing over. Besides, I happen to enjoy the company.”
“Get a cat,” Faith snapped, flinging the remote onto the sofa.
“Yeah, that would be a good idea.” Shawn pulled off her sweatshirt. “Since I’m almost never home, a pet would be perfect. This isn’t just about Willie. What’s up?”
Shawn tilted her head, trying to understand Faith’s muttering. “Come again?”
“I said, the Yankees won.” Faith scowled as the sound of a child’s laughter echoed in the air. “Knock it off, the Yankees weren’t even a team when you were alive, you little shit. Were they?”
“I don’t know,” Shawn growled. Her headache was growing. “And stop telling him he’s dead. He knows. He doesn’t care. He likes it here with me. There isn’t anyone waiting for him on the other side, and like I said, I enjoy his company. We play checkers together.”
“Oh, now that’s twisted,” Faith said. Her jaw dropped. “Shawn? Oh, my God, what happened? Never mind. We need to get you into bed.”
“Do I look that bad?” Shawn allowed Faith to usher her into her bedroom.
“Yes,” Faith’s soothing voice answered, her hands gently guiding Shawn down onto the bed. Shawn parted her lips, needing to say something. Her words were halted by Faith’s fingers pressing against her lips.
“Shh, rest now.” Faith undressed her. “You’re spreading yourself too thin,” she said, tucking Shawn under the blankets. “Maybe we can ditch Scotland, so you can take a break.”
“I can’t.” Shawn rested her aching head against the pillows. “Wait. You’d stay behind just to take care of me?”
“Yes.” Faith nestled beside her. “I’ll even play nice with Willie.”
“That’s sweet of you, but we can’t.” Shawn sighed, praying for the pain to stop. “I’ll be fine, it’s just been a bit much. Salem, Whispering Pines… all of it’s catching up to me. Maybe Scotland will be quieter.”
“Maybe we could switch assignments.” Faith massaged Shawn’s throbbing scalp. “Hawaii might be nice.”
Shawn chuckled. “Namaka’s doing Hawaii.”
“Lucky bastard.” Faith pouted.
“Not luck, just location. It’s the same reason we tend to get the East Coast and the same reason Connor’s working Edinburgh. Why hire someone you have to fly a great distance and provide housing for, when you can hire local talent? It’s just good business.”
“Connor Alysia is working this gig with us?” Faith beamed.
“Oh, man, I keep forgetting how much trouble you guys can get into.” Shawn felt the pain ebbing as Faith’s talented fingers caressed the weariness away.
“Hey, Connor’s a great guy,” Faith said. “And he’s one of the few who hasn’t treated me like a redheaded stepchild since I jumped over the fence. I had no idea when I stopped debunking how many people it would piss off. Still, even though Connor knows the best pubs in the city, I think maybe we should just stay behind. The intensity of the back-to-back shoots isn’t good for you. Or trade for some nice farmhouse, lighthouse, or outhouse even. My mother gave me a quick history lesson on what happened there. This is going to be another very intense shoot. Not to mention that after we wrap, we’re supposed to go to Whispering Pines again. I don’t want to risk your health over a job.”
“I’ll be fine.” Shawn traced the bare flesh of Faith’s forearm with her fingertips. “Thank you, though. I can’t believe you were willing to take time off and play nice with Willie.”
“Well, Willie isn’t that bad. I’m thankful he stays out of your bedroom and doesn’t play in the bathroom if anyone’s using it. Still, I wish he’d stop messing with the remote. Speaking of Willie, I am curious about something.”
“Why he keeps playing with the water in the kitchen? Flushing the toilet when no one’s in there, flipping the lights on and off, or screwing with the television?” Shawn murmured, nestling closer to Faith’s body. “These things weren’t a part of his world when he was alive. He’s just curious.”
“That makes sense, but it wasn’t what I was going to ask.” Faith spooned Shawn’s weary body. “What I was going to ask about was Deb. As much as I want to pretend that she never slept over, I know that at some point she visited your home. Didn’t you say that she doesn’t believe in your gift or ghosts?”
“She doesn’t.” Shawn tingled from the feel of being held in Faith’s arms.
“How is that possible? Even if I had never set foot in Whispering Pines, I’m pretty certain that after one visit here, Willie’s antics would have been very convincing that not only do you see dead people, but one of them is fascinated with flushing your toilet.”
“He didn’t like her.” Shawn yawned, her eyelids growing heavy. “Because he didn’t like her, he never wanted to play with her. Not once in all the times she stayed over did he make an appearance.”
“All the times,” Faith drew out slowly, her tone revealing how truly miffed she was.
“You could just go back to pretending that I never got naked with her,” Shawn muttered.
“I think I will,” Faith said. “Sleep.”
* * *
Hours later, Faith hurried from the bedroom. The sound of the television blaring in the living room disrupted the quiet.
“Shh,” she whispered, turning off the television. “We have to be quiet. Shawn isn’t feeling good.” She looked around for some sign that Willie understood and was going to behave.
“Man, I can’t believe I just did that.” She laughed, knowing that just a few short years ago she would have slapped herself for talking to a ghost. “Thank you,” she said to the empty room. She turned to go back into the bedroom, but a knock on the door halted her. “Now what?”
Faith peered through the peephole. Her heart pounded when she saw the woman waiting in the hall. She opened the door, uncertain what she should say or do.
“Hi,” she managed to say.
Carey’s eyes narrowed. “I wanted to speak to Dr. Williams,” she said coldly as Faith stepped aside, offering her sister a chance to enter the apartment. “I’ll just wait here.”
“Shawn’s asleep,” Faith said quietly, regretting the past and praying there was something, anything she could say that would erase the pain in Jessica’s—now Carey’s—eyes. “She had a rough go at it today. It happens with an intense vision.”
“Yeah, I noticed that in Salem,” Carey answered thoughtfully. �
��And today, she didn’t look good when I left her.”
“Come in?” Faith offered with a jerk of her head.
“Why?”
“Wow, we really are related.” Faith snickered. “Um, well, we could just stand here with me feeling like the bitch of the universe and you agreeing, or you could come in and tell me what you need with Shawn. There’s some pizza left,” she said in a lame attempt to get Carey to enter the apartment. Much to her surprise, Carey did step in. Faith’s heart was pounding as she closed the door.
“No pepperoni?” Carey asked, lifting the lid of the remaining pizza box. “You ate a whole pizza?”
“Yes, I did,” Faith said. “What? Shawn won’t touch anything with meat. I didn’t want it to go to waste.”
“I can’t even pick all that healthy crap off,” Carey muttered. Her head suddenly jerked. She looked down at the gun holstered to her hip.
“I could order a new one,” Faith said in a hopeful tone. It was the first time in years that her sister had acknowledged her presence. Their paths had crossed on occasion, but all of Faith’s attempts to mend fences were flatly rejected.
“No,” Carey said. Her hands and eyes jerked to her hip once again. “What the fuck?”
“Something wrong?” Faith asked.
“Sorry.” Carey shook her head. “I keep feeling like someone’s tugging on my gun. God, I must be tired.”
“No! Bad!” Faith bellowed into the air. “That isn’t a toy.”
“Who in the hell are you talking to?” Carey demanded, feeling yet another tug at her hip.
“Willie. He’s Shawn’s ghost.” Faith shrugged. “So, how about that pizza?”
Carey laughed wildly, rubbing her brow. “I don’t know what I find stranger at this moment,” she said slowly. “Sharing breathing space with you, or that I really believe Shawn has a ghost. This entire month has been beyond funky. Um, no pizza. Just because I’m speaking to you doesn’t mean we’re going to get all warm and fuzzy.”
“Warm and fuzzy?” Faith sneered. “You really don’t know a thing about me, do you?”
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