Celeste Files: Unlocked (16 page)

“But I don’t know. I have my suspicions. Now I can only hope the police will take another look at Sandra’s suicide.” She finished her wine. “I’m going to have to go soon. John is anxious to hear about what happened in Milwaukee. What I’ll tell him about the detectives and what they found at Tracy’s are all things he understands.”

“Naturally. Most people can’t make sense of what you and I can do or see. They, like John, rely on the tangible. They need to see or touch what’s presented to them in order for their minds to determine if it is real or not. Since he can’t see what you do, he has to go on faith and the belief that you aren’t lying to him.”

“I know John believes me, otherwise he wouldn’t have been as angry as he was last night. You were right. Ian was right. I should have told John from the start.” She pushed her glass away and shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now. He knows what’s going on. I just wish I did.”

Maxine offered her more wine. After Celeste declined, the woman topped off her own glass. “You know exactly what happened. I think what’s bothering you the most is that you weren’t able to control it. Before you slipped into this trance, did you have any of your usual physical signs?”

“Nothing. I wasn’t nauseous or scatterbrained. I
was
tired, though, and all I kept thinking was how relaxing a long hot bath would be. The weird thing is, I couldn’t tell you the last time I took a bath over a shower.” Celeste thought back to last night. “I wonder if it’s possible that Tracy planted the idea of a bath in my mind. Back in Wisconsin, before I met John and realized my visions of women being murdered were real, I would wake up in random places throughout my house. One night I woke up under the kitchen table, my arms and legs tangled in the chair spindles. Later, I found out that the girl I’d dreamed about that night had been found bound to a tree.”

Deciding she could use a little more wine after all, Celeste reached for the bottle. “I’m fine with being psychic, and I truly hope I can help give Sandra and Tracy justice,” she said, filling her glass a third of the way. “But I don’t like that my visions are controlling me physically. Here’s the reality. My mind might have been joined with Tracy’s, but last night, my body was in the bathtub and I was underwater when John found me. If he hadn’t, could I have drowned like Tracy? Would I have snapped out of the trance the moment water entered my lungs? And how in the hell do I prevent another trance from happening?”

“Yes, we’re right back to the reason you came to me in the first place.” Frowning, Maxine looked toward the large kitchen window that overlooked the backyard. “I need to think on this and do additional research. In the meantime, I want you to continue to watch for physical signs. Know your body, Celeste. And you might want to refrain from taking long baths for a while.”

“Ha, ha.” Celeste half-smiled. “As it is, I’m afraid to give Olivia a bath. I even had anxiety about driving today and was glad George drove us to Milwaukee. I’m really worried, Maxine.”

Maxine touched her hand. “I know, darling. And I wish I had answers for you. Go home to your husband and, for now, do as I suggested. Know your body and listen to what it tells you. I also think you should come over again and perform another reading. We’ll conduct an experiment. I have plenty of objects in my house we can use that have history to them. Instead of using the scribble method to ground you, we’ll use John.”

“No offense, but I don’t think John will want to sit in on a reading.”

“I’m not talking about your husband in the physical form. Your love and spiritual connection to John should be all the grounding you need.” Maxine grinned. “I would love to meet him, and your daughter. Maybe you’ll have me over for dinner?” Chuckling, she raised her glass. “Or better yet, come here and cook. I have this big beautiful kitchen and it deserves to be used by someone with culinary skills, which I lack.”

“That sounds nice, but we’ll have to keep the parlor closed. Olivia would destroy—

The black figure filled her mind, its dark mass undulating and rolling over itself. As it moved, growing larger, it revealed a small head covered in golden curls.

“Celeste,” Maxine said, her voice firm and filled with alarm. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. Before I fell asleep last night I saw the black mass surrounding Olivia.” The same fear that had gipped her then, squeezed her chest tightly. “Do you think it means anything?”

“I’m not sure,” Maxine said, concern clear in her eyes. “You and John had argued about your ability and he’d made his concerns for Olivia clear. I’m sure it was your restless subconscious worrying about your daughter.”

“You’re probably right.” She finished her wine. “I better go. Thanks for the wine and the advice.”

Maxine led her to the front door. When they reached the foyer, the older woman handed Celeste her parka. “I’ll be around tomorrow if you need to talk, and would love for you to stop by on Monday after the memorial service. I’d like to hear how things went.”

Celeste slipped into her coat, then retrieved her car keys from her pocket. “Sounds good. I’ll call you.”

Maxine pulled her into an embrace. “I know this is a confusing and stressful time for you. What you experienced with Tracy was a beautiful and magical thing. I envy you for that.” Instead of releasing her, Maxine tightened her hold. “For your peace of mind, as well as mine, please keep Olivia close to you or John, until Sandra and Tracy’s murders are resolved.”

Celeste pulled back and stared at her. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No. I’m worried there might be something you’re not telling yourself.”

*

When Celeste entered the condo, the zesty aroma of garlic, Italian spices, pepperoni and sausage made her mouth water and her empty stomach growl.

“Mama?” Olivia called from the living room, followed by the pitter-patter of her little feet along the wood floors.

“In here,” Celeste said, taking off her coat and then hanging it in the closet. When she turned, she grinned as Olivia, wearing a big dimpled smile and nothing else but a diaper, came to a wobbly stop at the end of the hallway.

“Hi, cutie-patootie.” Her daughter giggled and came running for her. “Where are your clothes?” she asked, scooping up Olivia and giving her a kiss.

Olivia babbled, her face serious, and explained the situation in baby speak. Unfortunately, Celeste didn’t speak baby and the only word she could understand was
Dada
. “Did Daddy take your clothes?” she asked, and headed into the living room to find John. “Or did Olivia?”

“Dada,” Olivia said, then looked to John, who rose from the couch, with accusation in her eyes.

“Don’t blame Daddy,” John said, approaching them. “I’m not the one who pooped their pants and got it all over the place.”

Celeste wrinkled her nose and kissed Olivia’s forehead. “Eww. Did you have a blowout?”

Olivia giggled, then squirmed and complained when her blocks caught her attention. She sat her daughter on the floor, then gave John a kiss and hug. “Bad day?” she asked.

“Nope. We had fun together. Well, until the diaper incident. It was so bad I almost had to call for reinforcements.”

“Wuss.” She grinned. “How is it that you can handle walking a crime scene but not a little poop? What would your coworkers think?”

He furrowed his brows. “You do have a point. Let’s keep this to ourselves.”

“I will, especially since you took care of dinner. Did you eat?” she asked, and headed for the kitchen.

“I fed Olivia, but waited for you.” He pulled out a bottle of wine. “Want a glass?”

“Just a half. I had some wine with Maxine and don’t want to wake up with a headache in the morning.” She considered what went on today and what might happen tomorrow. “Never mind,” she said, and pulled two plates from the cabinet. “Make it a full glass.”

When he met her gaze, his eyes probed hers. “You found Tracy?”

She nodded. “Dead.”

He blew out a breath and finished uncorking the wine. “The way you saw it?”

“Unfortunately.”

He looked at her again, and hardened his jaw. “Please tell me you didn’t actually see her?”

“God, no.” As she placed pizza on their plates, she told him how George knew Detective Joe Foster, and how the Milwaukee detective had handled the crime scene. “George and I left for Chicago before the forensics investigators finished working the scene. Before we left, Joe did tell us that there was no sign of forced entry, and, except for Tracy’s office, nothing in the house was out of place. He also said there was bruising along Tracy’s face and shoulders that suggested someone held her under the water.”

“What did the detective say about Tracy’s office?”

“It was ransacked.” She bypassed the pizza and reached for the glass of wine. “The problem is, it’ll take them time to sort through the office to figure out what the killer was looking for.”

Olivia came over and, calling for him, raised her arms and reached for John. He scooped her up, took a seat on the chair in front of the island, then picked up his slice of pizza. “But you know,” he said, craning to take a bite of pizza before Olivia put her fingers all over it.

“I think I do, and George agrees. He told Joe about Sandra’s suicide, and that we both think the killer wanted to make sure no one was aware that Sandra was Tracy’s mother. If I didn’t suspect Sandra was murdered over the adoption papers, I don’t know if the Milwaukee PD would’ve made the connection in time.”

“In time for what?”

“Sandra’s cremation.”

He raised a brow and gave Olivia his crust. Within seconds their daughter had coated it with drool. “So is this detective going to contact the Chicago PD and ask them to reinvestigate Sandra’s suicide?”

“Joe said he would. On the drive home, George told me Joe promised to keep him in the loop. Although George believes him, he’s contacting a few detectives he used to work with when he’d been with the Chicago PD.”

“If George doesn’t get anywhere, you could always call Jessica.”

Jessica Russo was a Chicago homicide detective and married to Dante, an agent who also worked for CORE. But Jessica was pregnant and due in a few weeks. “I hate to bother her, but I
would
bother her partner.”

John took the mushy crust Olivia offered him and placed it on his napkin. “Yeah, Alex is a good guy. He’d help.” He wiped Olivia’s face and hands, then kissed her clean cheek. “Were the forensics investigators able to come up with a time of death?”

“They’re thinking two to three days ago, but will know more after the autopsy.”

He set Olivia on the floor. “I don’t think you have to worry about the Chicago PD reinvestigating Sandra’s suicide. The time of Tracy’s murder is too coincidental to ignore. What I’m wondering is how they’re going to handle it.”

“Handle what?”

“The wake is tomorrow, the memorial service is Monday. If the ME missed something during the original autopsy—if there even was one—they’ll need Sandra’s body. I can’t imagine that’ll go over well with the family.”

“Oh, God. I feel horrible, like this is my fault.” She shoved the plate of uneaten pizza aside. “It’s bad enough Kelly and her family have to deal with their loss. Now they’ll have to deal with a murder investigation.” She rubbed her temple. “What if I’m wrong? That means I put this family through hell over nothing.”

“I think Tracy has made it clear you’re right on track.” He reached for his glass. “Are you still planning on going to the wake tomorrow?”

“Yes. I’m hoping my guilt won’t show.”

He reached across the island and took her hand. “Let’s get Eden to watch Olivia and I’ll go with you.”

Keep Olivia close to you or John, until Sandra and Tracy’s murders are resolved.

“No,” she said, quicker and harsher than she’d meant. “Thanks, but it’s okay. I’d rather not bother Eden. And I’d rather Olivia stay close to one of us. I trust Eden, not whoever killed Tracy and Sandra.”

He tightened his grip on her hand. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, but last night, before I fell asleep, I saw the black figure surrounding Olivia.”

He glanced away and looked to where their daughter sat on the floor playing with a couple of plastic storage bowls she’d pulled from the kitchen drawer. “What did Maxine have to say about that and what happened last night?”

“That neither of us should worry about me not coming back from the light. If it’s not my time…” She shrugged. “She does want to work on helping me control the trances. As for Olivia, she thinks what I saw was my subconscious messing with me. If you remember, we argued hard about the trance and you brought up one of my worst fears—going into another trance when it’s just Olivia and me. But I think Maxine’s right. What happened to Tracy has me paranoid.”

“Me, too. And I’m sorry again for some of the things I said last night.”

“Only some of them?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood. She didn’t want to discuss murders or visions, or worry about the what-ifs should she go into another trance. Tired and not looking forward to the next two days, she wanted to curl up on the couch with her two favorite people and pretend everything was normal.

John chuckled and stood. Still holding her hand, he came around the island, then pulled her into his arms. “Okay, I’m sorry for
everything
I said.”