Chapter Nine

Giving her statement threw her a curve ball. The deputy was a little nervous, but completely professional. No snide remarks, nothing but direct questions with the occasional follow up probe. Sam was tied up outside for a while when she finished, so she grabbed an apple from the kitchen and headed up to her room to collect her thoughts and throw some tarot cards.

As she suspected earlier, the frantic energy of all the people on the grounds worked at cross purposes with whatever force amplified psychic vibrations at the lodge. Emma methodically read on each of the major players and found no surprises. Mike Foyle, the lawyer, was a wild mix of emotions, with a Tower in his base. That fit since his world had been turned upside down and had yet to turn upright.

Wesley Vaughn had mostly swords, the suit of air and intellect and of hidden conflict. At the center of his issues was a Queen of Cups, a woman Emma took to be Audrey. His concern for his wife and his obsessive behavior showed Audrey to be pivotal for him, secondary only to his massive ego. Audrey had a scattered reading, and the Tower, the card of total upheaval and destruction, appeared at the end of her spread instead of the beginning.

Weak undercurrents of worry tickled Emma’s mind as she read on the disturbed woman. She had several visions of mirrors—big, small, flashing in and out of her consciousness—as she completed Audrey Vaughn’s tarot spread. There was more to her then she showed the world. It made Emma wonder if the insane behavior was some kind of act. She slipped a card from the deck in confirmation, and it was the seven of swords. Emma smiled ruefully. Something was definitely going on behind the façade Audrey projected. Again, worry ate at her.

For confirmation’s sake she did a second spread on Audrey, using a different deck, and nearly identical cards surfaced. Emma made a few notes on the pad she’d used earlier in Sam’s briefing. She turned to Lou Preston, the sheriff, and the first card out was Death. It didn’t normally mean Death, just sweeping change, however, her fingers tingled when she touched the card and a shiver followed. The next few cards—ten of swords, three of swords, and the Tower—gave her a sense of foreboding.

Wondering if it simply indicated Preston’s involvement in Heath’s death, she pulled another card. The three of wands, picturing a merchant, his back to you as he looked out to other shores, gave her the impression he knew what had happened but was not directly involved. He looked the other way and had profited. Emma made a few more notes on this, hoping to mine the angle when they finally had a crack at the sheriff.

Last Emma did readings on the lodge, the spirits, and Brad Heath. Nothing unusual surfaced, but Heath’s reading gave her the same impression as Preston, that while not involved in Jen’s death, he had known, and profited. A conspiracy of silence, she thought, reshuffling the deck. The current sheriff and the caretaker knew something, and no doubt that got the caretaker killed.

That brought the crime very close to home, as Sam had surmised. Five people here on the grounds at the time of her death, none admitting to anything, but if her read was on target, at least one of them knew the truth...and was murdered as a result. And one additional person, the first one to respond to the crime, was also involved.

Emma sat back and folded her arms, considering each of the people at the house that night. Mike claiming ignorance, Wesley claiming his wife Audrey was not with him as he’d once said, Audrey’s recent secret meetings with Mike and the allegedly incriminating pictures. Lora off in another country doing missionary work, as if seeking atonement. Emma threw a spread on Lora, but came up dry. This left her pondering Audrey.

What motive could Audrey have to kill Jen? Did Jen know the father of Audrey’s dead child, maybe? Emma tossed a few more cards on motive, and came up with all wands. The suit of fire, covering passion, desire and will. Whatever Audrey felt for Jen at the time of the death, all those hot drives fired up the blood. Emma hoped she’d have a chance to talk to Audrey under better circumstances, to see if she could confirm what she saw in the cards.

Taking all that into account along with the spirit warning left Emma in a quandary. It was obvious a man was involved, because the spirit of Jen referenced a ‘him.’ And the necklace? Her first night here she had the connection to the word, and Audrey’s channeled information also referenced the necklace along with truth? Maybe if they found the necklace it would be in possession of the killer? More confusion. It made her head hurt. She put up the cards and drifted to the window. Outside, sunset approached.

She decided to tour the house again and see where the energy drew her. Before she could go her cell rang, the tone indicating her boss Eric.

“Hey chief,” she said, “checking up on me?”

“If I was, I’d ask my spirit guides. Cheaper than using the phone.”

Some of her headache began to recede. The familiar, friendly voice helped. She’d felt so alone and hadn’t realized what the isolation was doing to her state of mind. “I’m glad you called. I need a break. I’m at a dead end.”

“Cold cases are full of dead ends. Are you sure that’s what’s really bugging you?”

Most days she loved Eric like a brother, he never felt like a boss, but his uncanny psychic ability had a way of getting on her nerves sometimes. “Don’t go there.”

“I thought you’d like him when you saw him. Had a feeling.”

“Don’t be a cliché. It’s not Sam, it’s the case.”

“I’m in the airport right now,” Eric said with good humor. “I’m looking out at my plane, which has yet to board, and one of my spirit guides says to me, ‘Eric, your girl’s in trouble, give her a call, mate.’”

Emma groaned. For the hippest Medium on the psychic scene, Eric could be a serious dork. “None of your guides have an English accent.”

“It’s Australian.”

“It’s horrible,” but she laughed again as her mood began to lift. “I like him, Eric. Too much. We’d never work.”

“Because he used to be a cop?”

The many reasons tumbled through her mind, the avalanche gaining speed and power as they piled up. There was one that seemed to encompass the others, though, and explained her ambivalence and confusion best. “Because he likes neat packages and is afraid of coloring outside the lines and I live outside the lines in a very messy way. You know how that judgment makes me feel.”

“Are you certain he’s judging you? Or are you judging him?”

“I don’t know, but it is what it is. The physical attraction’s strong. He’d be good for a fling. Only he’s the kind of guy that likes long term and keeper style relationships.” Okay, now she was definitely being judgmental, but Sam came across to her that way and it was all she had to go on.

“Give yourself a chance to try a keeper. You might like it. Can’t live your whole life using disposables. For one thing, it’s not green.”

“You called me for counsel on my love life, Dr. Phil?” He’d done it before and been right. There was that waiter from the 21 Club, and the personal trainer-slash-actor she’d met on the flight to Miami last year. He’d nailed both of them and saved her from disaster with each. “Or is something else on your mind?”

“How’s the case? Do you need anything?”

“Everyone’s lying, for all kinds of unknown reasons. A guy’s dead they thought was alive. We found his body in the lake along with someone else we have yet to identify. I’m having serious spirit contact and visions but nothing adds up.” She gave him some more details but didn’t go too far. She didn’t want too much information to lead him. He was the professional medium and dealt with the dead on a routine basis, and often worked best with minimal facts. If anyone knew what to do next, it was Eric. “I need some direction. I was going to take a house tour again, check for any changes in energy.”

“That’s a good idea. You’ve had enough going on in a short period of time. There may be newer hot spots in places that were inactive. Try relaxing a little. Don’t push so hard. And if Jen is coming to you more than anyone else, then go to her. Find the source, go to it, and let it come to you. Also, increase meditation time to keep your head clear and your defenses up. Keep that amethyst on you that I gave you before you left the city.”

She’d left the stone in her suit case. Eric was big on crystals but unless stones were set in jewelry, or large enough for table top use during readings, to her they were a nuisance. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You haven’t unpacked it, have you?” He snorted in mock disgust. “And Sam?”

Emma wished Eric here in person to help, or to go take a coffee break and kvetch session with, but it was just her, and Sam. And the ghosts. Outside the sky darkened.

“Fly safe,” she said, ignoring the question since there was no good answer, and preparing to hang up.

“Give him a chance Emma. And don’t penalize him for the things that make Sam who he is.”

“Hanging up now, chief,” she said, half joking as she disconnected. For once she was glad for the intensity of the lodge, it was a great way to take her mind of Sam. She wound her way through the house but most rooms remained as they had on her first time through.

Downstairs, the kitchen had a strong pull, but ultimately she found herself drawn to the study and the portrait of Jen. In the fading gloom of the evening, Jen was more ghostlike than ever. Was there a new desperation to her expression, or did Emma imagine that?

She reached out with her intuitive senses, but drew a blank. She wasn’t surprised. Things were sporadic at the lodge, coming on with great force then going cold for stretches of time. Maybe the spirits had to conserve energy, hoard it to break through to the living in a meaningful way? Despite all they had, to Emma there were more questions and gaps than answers. Each new event or contact only made the situation murkier. She resisted the urge to push hard, taking Eric’s advice to relax, to go to the source so the source could come to her.

“What did you do before you died, Jen?” she whispered to herself. “And what does your necklace have to do with your death?”

If the ghost searched still, did that mean it was hidden somewhere on the grounds? If that was the case, maybe the killer didn’t have it. So what good would finding the necklace do other than satisfy the ghost? Back to nonsense again. Pressure built in her skull but Emma held the frustration back until it died down to a dull ache. She was about to go grab her tarot cards and try her luck again when Sam materialized in the doorway.

“Most of the crowd has cleared out. This is going to be a long process. Want to hit the diner for some food? We can compare notes.”

He was solemn, sturdy and real man sexy in his faded jeans and rust colored henley. She’d follow him anywhere, she realized, admitting at last that she’d lost her edge. Dinner in a public place would serve to keep her on task better than an intimate dinner for two in the quiet solitude of the lodge. She needed space. Between them. Between her and the events. Anything to try and knit back the shreds of perspective and self preservation that were so fast coming undone.

“Sounds great. Let me grab a few things and we can hit the road.”

~ * * * ~

Lou Preston pulled the tab top to the Coors light, flicked off his police scanner, and took a long swallow of the ice cold beer. It was a hell of a thing, after so many years, a psychic’s tip leading the cops to Brad Heath. Lou didn’t believe in psychics. But this Emma Bishop, she spooked him the first time he laid eyes on her. He knew she’d be trouble. Something about the way she looked at him, like she could read all his sins printed plain as day across his chest.

He tipped the can again. Yep. Felt someone had walked over his grave the day she showed up with Sam Tyler in the station. And Sam, there was a whole other problem. Super-nerd turned super-cop couldn’t leave well enough alone. Had to be like Keith, digging into things he shouldn’t. Lou picked up the remote for the fire place and punched up a blaze. It cast an orange glow over his cabin’s sleek log walls. Most normal people would consider the brand new five bedroom six bath home a mansion, but here in swanky Meyerville, it was still poor man’s digs.

With all that Tyler had—fame, fortune, the lodge—you’d think he’d be smart enough to stick with that. But no, he thought crossly, he picked right up where Keith Vaughn left off. Men of privilege had time to screw around wherever, whenever and however they wanted. Guys like himself had to scrape by, work every angle, watch every step. Still, he’d managed to score and score big. Game wasn’t over yet, and no one knew how to play like Lou Preston. He’d set up his back door a long time ago, and this morning, he’d made ready should he need it. Nothing to do now but sit tight and let things roll out. Wouldn’t do to jump the gun.

His cell phone vibrated and he glanced at the number on the display. He’d expected it to be the mayor’s number again, or the station, or any of the deputies who’d been trying to raise him on his day off. He’d ignored them all. The minute he heard they’d be diving the lake Lou knew exactly what they’d find. This number surprised him. He fumbled for it, clumsy from the five beers he’d downed already.

“Audrey, it’s been a while,” he said.

“Lou, I saw him. I swear to god. They all think I’m crazy but I’m not. I saw Keith. He’s coming for us.”

She sounded high, and strung tight with anxiety. He hated it when she acted this way. Lou sighed deeply. “Keith’s dead. It’s okay, you were keyed up about them finding Brad Heath after all this time.”

“Brad,” she said softly, almost a question. “I didn’t see Brad. It was Keith. He’s back and he’s angry. We need to talk, Lou.”

Lights cut through the exterior darkness, flashing a wide swath through his custom windows as a car made its way up his drive. Normally he’d hang on her every word, but he’d been expecting someone to come out and roust him. Time for the show. “Audrey, I have to go. I’ll call you later. Take a pill and go get some rest, okay?”

He hung up before she could respond, and made a hasty retreat to the kitchen to stash the beer in the fridge. On his way back, he stopped in the half bath for a few shots of mouthwash. Even on his day off it wouldn’t do to be perceived as drunk. He’d played possum as long as he could. Now it was time to be the sheriff again. Thunder rumbled in the distance, signaling yet another storm. When would it end? He recalled thinking the same thing five years ago.

He opened the door and hit the lights to the parking area beside his three car garage, and was surprised to see Audrey’s cherry red corvette. She must have called him from the road. He had to clear her off before one of the deputies came to roust him, or worse, that prick Meyer. Lou came off the steps to meet her, wondering how he should play it after the last time they were together. When he reached her car, he found it empty. Backing away from the car he reached for the piece he kept in an ankle holster. He’d about made it when he heard the blast from a gun. A flash of hot pain registered through his system. Then everything went dark, and seconds later, dead.