Celeste Files: Unlocked Part 12

Unless you're wrong.

"Do you know who Detective Garfield plans to question?" she asked, ignoring her self-doubt.

"The two daughters and their husbands. If the ex is at the funeral home, I think he'll be interviewed, too. If not, I'm sure the detectives will pay him a visit. I know I would."

"Well, you definitely had interesting news for me," she began, "so what's the request?"

"I told you I know the detectives working this case. Clay and I go way back, same with his partner. Both are d.a.m.ned good at what they do. Clay's also very open-minded. I told him you're psychic and he wants you to help them."

Her stomach did a little flip. She moved from the sofa's armrest to sit on the cus.h.i.+on. "How can I help?"

"Clay wants you to go to the six to eight showing and for you to stay until the end. Once the wake is over, the police will take the body. He's hoping you could...I dunno, get a read off the family."

She rubbed her temple where a dull throb began to build. "George, I get readings off objects and have visions or trances. I can't read peoples' minds."

"I get that, I think Clay does, too. But you know these people and could maybe pick up on their body language."

"That I could do."

"Clay also wants you to be at the station when he interviews the family."

She froze. "No way. That I won't do. I don't want Kelly to know that I have anything to do with her mother's body being removed from the funeral home."

"Clay a.s.sured me that they won't know. You'll be brought into the station without their knowledge and sit in a separate room to watch the interviews through a one-way mirror." He let out a sigh. "Between Tracy's murder and what they've found out from the attorney, I truly believe Sandra didn't kill herself. I truly believe in you, Celeste."

While she appreciated that George had faith in her and her visions, taking part in what the detective had planned didn't settle well with her. What if Kelly found out she was the reason the police had reopened the investigation into Sandra's death and Celeste had been wrong this whole time? Or what if she was right and the killer ended up being Lea, or maybe Kelly's own husband? Kelly's family would be torn apart. But if she was right, Sandra and Tracy deserved to have their killer convicted and placed in prison.

"Well?" George asked. "Should I tell Clay you'll help him?"

John walked into the room, his gaze probing.

"Give me five minutes, George. I'll call you right back." After she ended the call, she stood and went to John. "The Chicago PD is now investigating Sandra's death as a possible homicide," she said. When Olivia called for them, she followed him into the kitchen, explaining everything George had told her.

She set her cell phone on the island and tucked her hair behind her ear. "What do you think I should do? I want to help, but I don't know how much help I'll be. I also don't want to run the risk of Kelly finding out about my involvement."

John plated the scrambled eggs he'd finished cooking for them. "If you were Kelly, would you want to know the truth?"

"Of course."

He set a cinnamon roll on each plate. "Here's the thing. When I'm investigating a crime I take into consideration the victim's family, but I'm not worried about hurting their feelings. I've interviewed plenty of family members to rule them out and, while most are cooperative, there've been plenty who've taken offense. When it comes to a murder investigation I honestly don't care if I offend anyone. My main objective is always about giving the victim justice. If Kelly does find out you played a role in this and her family ends up beyond dysfunctional, I doubt she's going to blame you. The blame lies with the killer." He shrugged. "And if she does blame you and you lose a friend, then maybe she wasn't that good a friend to begin with."

She stared at the plate in front of her, but had no desire to eat. Although she and Kelly weren't best friends, she liked the woman. Since moving to Chicago, it had been hard to make friends outside of the people John worked with at CORE, and everyone else she a.s.sociated with either worked for her or were related to her. Still, John had a valid point. If her involvement ruined her friends.h.i.+p with Kelly, at least she could sleep well at night knowing Sandra and Tracy's murderer had been found. At least she hoped to G.o.d the police found him or her. Based on her visions-not evidence-she was leaning toward Lea.

She picked up her cell phone. "You're right. I'll tell George I'll do it." She hovered her finger over the call b.u.t.ton. "You don't mind hanging with Olivia tonight?"

He glanced to their daughter, who had cinnamon and icing smeared into her curls, and grinned. "Not at all."

She let the call go through and placed the phone to her ear. When George answered, she said, "I'll do it. Will you be there?"

"Not at the funeral home. Clay said I could sit with you during the interviews."

Relieved she'd have a familiar face with her, she told George she'd see him later, then ended the call. After setting the phone down, she looked to her husband. "I don't know how you do what you do for a living."

"And I don't know how you deal with having the dead work through you." He pushed his plate away and reached for her. His warm hand brought her comfort and gave her the grounding she needed right now. "We'll get through this. Set up dinner with Maxine. If she can help us figure out how to deal with the unexpected trances, I'm on board. I love you," he said, and ran his thumb along her knuckles. "I married a psychic and need the two of you to teach me how to open my mind to what you can do."

She stared into his eyes and found the support she needed to work through tonight and the tomorrows ahead of them. She squeezed his hand. "I love you, too," she said, and in the back of her mind she wondered about those tomorrows. She'd had baby on her brain for months and wanted to expand their family. Now wasn't the time to bring up the subject, but she couldn't help wonder if John would put a wrench into their baby-making plans, now that her visions and trances had returned. At this point, he didn't trust her to give their daughter a bath.

The quick memory of being held under the bath water emerged.

At this point, she didn't trust herself.

With her stomach in knots, Celeste stood in front of the photo collage Kelly and Lea had made in honor of their mom. There were pictures of Sandra as a child, a teenager, as a young adult and new mom. Kelly and Lea had left out photographs of their father, but had made sure they included pictures of Sandra in her later years, some of them with her holding her granddaughters.

As she looked at the collage, Celeste's heart told her Lea couldn't have murdered her own mother, but her visions had told a different story. That black ma.s.s, the evil it embodied, had led her to believe Sandra's killer was someone close to her. And someone who didn't want Tracy stepping in the way of their inheritance.

Taking in a deep breath, she stepped away from the collage, then moved along the dwindling receiving line. When she approached Lea's husband, Brandon, the man gave her a firm handshake as she expressed her condolences. She'd never met Brandon before and couldn't deny the man was good looking. Tall and trim, he stood next to his wife, his black tailored suit neatly pressed, his white s.h.i.+rt crisp and accented with a dark tie. Lea also wore black, and her dress looked as if it had been custom-made for her slim s.e.xy figure. Between her fair skin and light brown hair and Brandon's darker good looks, they made a striking couple. As Celeste stepped away from Brandon and moved on to Lea, she couldn't help remembering the conversation she'd heard between the two auras and couldn't picture Brandon getting into the position for a game of dominatrix.

"Lea," she began, taking the other woman's hand, "how are you holding up?"

"Honestly, I can't wait for tomorrow to be over."

Brandon wrapped an arm around Lea, then kissed her temple. "Hang in there, honey."

Celeste gave Lea's hand a gentle squeeze. "I've been through this, too, and felt the same way," she said, then walked to the next person in line.

Dale dressed in all black, too. Only his suit looked as if it had been bought off the rack. He gave her hand a limp shake and didn't bother making eye contact. Other than the weak handshake, he made no further acknowledgement. The few times she'd had to endure the man he had treated her the same way. How Kelly, who was sweet, bubbly and outgoing, had ended up with such a jerk she didn't know. Dismissing Dale and his arrogant p.r.i.c.kish att.i.tude, she moved on to Kelly.

Kelly finished hugging the person in front of her. When she met Celeste's gaze, her chin wobbled and fresh tears filled her eyes. "I was hoping you'd come," she said, pulling Celeste into her arms. "Thank you. I'm sure it's not easy to come to these things after having lost your own mom."

Celeste hugged her back. "Don't worry about me. I'm more concerned about you."

Kelly let go of her, then pulled a tissue from her skirt pocket. "I'm okay. I knew today would eventually come, I just didn't realize how many emotional highs and lows I'd have." She shook her head. "Some of the people who've come today I haven't seen in years. It's amazing and humbling to know how many people my mom has touched."

She rubbed Kelly's arm. "I wish I'd had the pleasure of meeting her. She sounds like she was wonderful woman."

A wistful smile tilted Kelly's lips. "She truly was. What's sad is that Avery will never know her grandma."

Celeste's throat tightened with the threat of tears. How many times had she thought the same thing about her mom? At least Sandra had met Avery. Celeste's mom hadn't been able to see her marry or had the pleasure of holding Olivia. So much had happened in the five years she'd been gone. Being here, witnessing Kelly's pain, only reminded her life was too d.a.m.ned short. Tracy's image filled her mind. Too d.a.m.ned short.

Celeste's grief was suddenly dwarfed by guilt. Kelly and Lea clearly suffered, and within the next fifteen to twenty minutes, that suffering would be taken to another level. Because of her.

Aware of the man behind her in the receiving line, she gave Kelly another quick hug, then approached the opened casket. She didn't recognize the dead woman. With her face heavily coated in makeup, a brown wig covering her head, her body slightly bloated-likely from whatever medication she'd been on before she had died-Sandra looked nothing like she had in Celeste's vision. While she hadn't been able to see Sandra in the first trance, during the second one she'd watched her crochet the baby blanket, saw her pretty smile, and the laughter and sadness in her bright brown eyes. That was the image she would take with her. Not the body in the casket.

Celeste made a silent prayer, apologizing to Sandra for what her family was about to be put through, and vowing that she would do what she could to make sure her killer was held accountable. She left the casket and walked toward the back of the room, where she took a seat in a wooden folding chair. After a few minutes, Kelly and her family sat in the chairs at the front, while the funeral home director stood before the casket. He recited closing prayers, then informed the few guest still left that the memorial service would take place at noon tomorrow.

When he finished speaking, Celeste's nervous stomach soured. She slipped her cell phone from her purse and checked the time. In another ten minutes the police were to arrive. Since she wasn't a close friend or family member, she had no reason to remain at the funeral home. Needing to stall for time, she rose, then made her way to the ladies' room. The strong odor of antiseptics and flowers immediately made her eyes water. She'd endure the smell for another couple of minutes, then head out of the bathroom. She figured by the time she said good-bye to Kelly, the police would- Commotion came from the hallway. A man shouted, a woman cried out. Celeste's heart rate accelerated as she rushed from the bathroom. Dale argued with a man she a.s.sumed was one of the detectives George had told her about, while Kelly sobbed against Lea's shoulder. Several uniformed officers blocked the entrance into the room where Sandra's showing had been held. Both the funeral director and Brandon stood next to Dale, each of them holding his arms and pulling him away from the detective.

"This is bulls.h.i.+t," Dale shouted, then shrugged off Brandon and the director. "Can't you let my wife and her family grieve in peace?"

"Detective Garfield," Brandon began, his tone calm yet filled with contempt, "my brother-in-law has a point. If you want to reinvestigate Sandra's death, couldn't you have done it after the memorial service?"

"Screw that." Dale fisted his hands. "How about a little warning? At least if we knew you were coming, my wife and her sister, not to mention their aunts, could've been prepared for this bulls.h.i.+t."

Celeste had forgotten about Sandra's two sisters, who stood near the exit, one of them holding Avery, while the other had Zoe propped against her hip. The sisters' faces were tear-soaked as they gazed at the scene, shock evident in their eyes.

"Mr. Westfield," Detective Clay Garfield said to Brandon. "I apologize for the ill-timed situation. But that doesn't change the fact that we will be removing your mother-in-law's body from the premises for a thorough autopsy."

"On what grounds?" Brandon asked.

"We'd like for those of you present to come to the precinct to answer a few questions," Clay said, instead. "I'll be happy to explain the situation then."

"Unless I'm under arrest, you can kiss my a.s.s." Dale took Kelly by the arm. "We're leaving."

Kelly held her ground. "No." She faced the detective. "The coroner said our mom's death was a suicide. What's changed?"

"Ma'am, I-"

"I'll go to your precinct and answer your questions," Kelly said, her voice rising. "But at least tell me why you're doing this to us?"

"We have new information that leads us to believe your mother's death wasn't a suicide."

Lea gasped. "Are you saying she was murdered?"

"Ridiculous." Dale snorted. "I don't think any of us should answer any more questions without an attorney."

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Brandon said with a sigh. "Knock it off, Dale. And remember, I am an attorney." Brandon took Lea's hand. "We'll cooperate, right?"

Lea leaned against her husband and nodded.

"We will, too," Kelly said, and nudged Dale. "If Mom didn't die of natural causes or a suicide, I want to know what happened to her."

"Fine. But, for the record, I still think this is bulls.h.i.+t."

Kelly looked away from her husband and met Celeste's gaze. Celeste's heart went out to Kelly and her guilt turned into self-loathing. John had told her that during an investigation he didn't care about hurting the feelings of the victims' families, and that his main objective was to give the victim justice. But she knew this family and she did care. She wanted Sandra and Tracy's killer caught. She wanted their families to be allowed to grieve properly. She wanted to be wrong about Lea and the possibility the woman, and maybe even her husband, had anything to do with Sandra and Tracy's murders.

Kelly broke eye contact and walked toward the exit with her husband. As the funeral home emptied, Detective Garfield approached her. "Ma'am. How are you a.s.sociated with the family?"

"I'm Celeste Kain," she said. "George told you about me."

"Really?" The detectives hazel eyes widened slightly. "Sorry, I guess I was expecting someone who looks like the tiny woman with big gla.s.ses from Poltergeist." His small smile softened his lean, weathered face. "Thanks for helping us out tonight. George filled you in on everything?"

"Yes, and I'm nervous about listening to the interviews."

"Don't be. They won't know you're there." He turned to one of the officers. "Head out the back exit and let the coroner's techs know we're ready to remove the body. I'm heading back to the precinct." As the officer walked off, another man entered the funeral home. "Clay, you ready?"

"Did the family leave?"

"Yep, I've got a patrol car following them."

Clay turned to her. "Mind giving me a ride? We've got a fifteen-minute drive, and I'd like to hear more about your visions."

Chapter 12.

SURPRISED BY THE detective's genuine interest in her psychic skills, and curious to hear his take on what had just transpired at the funeral home, Celeste agreed to drive Clay back to the precinct. Once they were in the car, she realized she wasn't going to be asking any questions. Before Clay buckled his seatbelt, he was drilling her about her first vision. After she explained what details she remembered from Sandra's murder, he dragged in a deep breath.

"How is it you couldn't see the killer?" he asked. "And what about Tracy Saunders? George said you couldn't see her killer, either."

"That's a question I keep asking myself," Celeste admitted, then parked in the spot Clay had suggested. "It's weird that I can see so many details in my visions, yet when it comes to the killer I can only feel its anger and hatred."

"Its?" he asked, reaching for the door handle.

She shrugged. "Obviously a flesh and blood person murdered Sandra and Tracy. But the killer I saw didn't resemble a man or a woman. It was like an ent.i.ty of some sort." She let out a shaky chuckle. "Sounds crazy, huh?"

"A little." He grinned. "After being a detective for over twenty years, I'm used to crazy." He opened the door. "Come on. Let's get this over with so you can go home to your family."

She followed Clay into Chicago's 19th District, then into a small viewing room. A female uniformed officer fiddled with the equipment stacked on a table in front of a one-way mirror. On the other side of the mirror, Dale sat at a metal table looking p.i.s.sed off at the world. "Where's George?" Celeste asked.

"He couldn't make it," Clay said.

Disappointed and nervous, she glanced back to the mirror. "You're sure Dale can't see me?"

"No one being interviewed knows you're in here," the officer said.

Clay placed a hand on the doork.n.o.b. "Relax. I'm going to leave you with Officer Moran while my partner and I conduct the interviews."

"And I should be doing what?"

"Whatever it is you do."

She looked to the ceiling and shook her head. When she met Clay's gaze she said, "I'm sure George explained that I'm a psychic, not a mind reader. I can't get inside peoples' heads."

He smiled. "He did, and I understand. But you are our only witness to the two murders." He stepped away from the door. "My colleagues aren't expecting much from you. Honestly, neither am I."

Her temper spiked. She pulled her keys from her coat pocket and moved toward the door. "Then don't waste my time."

Clay caught her by the forearm. "Let me rephrase. I'm one of those cops who'll give anything a shot if it means I can close a case. If there's a chance you can pick up a familiar phrase the killer used, or maybe their body language is similar to what you saw in your visions, we could use those things to dig deeper into that person's background. You claimed to see two women die. I don't know if I believe it, but I'm not going to discount it. Just watch and listen. When we're finished with the interviews, we'll talk." He let go of her arm. "And if you have nothing to add, don't worry about it."

How could she not worry? She'd spent the majority of her life living in a small town. The people there either believed in her, or thought she was as nutty as her mom. She didn't want to look like a fool, or have Clay's colleagues laughing behind her back or giving him a hard time for putting a modic.u.m amount of faith in a psychic.

"For whatever it's worth," Officer Moran began, "I think psychics are cool. You're not going to hear me talking smack about you, no matter the outcome."