Ghosts

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

I stare at Natalie’s face, unable to believe my ears. It’s been barely a month since I buried the hatchet with her, the very same police officer who busted my ass on two separate occasions. And now, she’s asking for my help.

This has to go on record as the craziest day ever. And it’s not even noon.

My gaze again falls to the folder in my hands. Chrissy’s picture stares up at me with cold, judgmental eyes, like she’s daring me to find her.

And then there’s AJ’s cryptic warning, which finally registers in my brain. Could this be what he was talking about? It can’t be coincidence that he, Grandpa Bernie, and Great-Grandpa Amos picked this very morning to show up with their doom and gloom prediction about “something bad.”

I should say no. Just hand the folder back, politely decline, and resume my life as a Hill O’ Beans barista. This is a job for law enforcement, not an eighteen-year-old guy with a criminal record and a power he barely understands or can even control.

That’s what I should do.

Shyeah. Who am I kidding? I’m impulsive by nature. Hence the criminal record.

“I’m in.”

The tension in Natalie’s shoulders eases, and she nods. “Thank you, Bax.”

Even now, it still feels surreal hearing my former enemy use my preferred name. Actually, “enemy” is too tame of a word. We hated each other’s guts. Up to and including that mess with the Disney Princess Killer, she treated me like a worthless punk. Against all odds, we’ve been able to move past that. She’s no longer the raving b***h I took a swing at while drunk off my ass.

And if hearing her call me “Bax” is surreal, having her ask me for help on a high-priority case like this one…that’s just nucking futs.

“So what’s the plan?” I ask.

Natalie forces out a long breath, visible in the winter cold. “Because of the urgency of this case, we can’t drag our feet. In anticipation of your cooperation, Captain Callahan has arranged for us to meet with Senator Marsh today.”

“Today?” A gust of icy wind kicks up, chilling my skin. I instinctively pull my jacket’s hood over my head. “I’m working, if you hadn’t noticed. Austin doesn’t know about my…er…well, you know, the psychic thing. I can’t just blow off my shift without a good reason.”

Natalie holds out her hand, and I place the folder in it. “Relax. Our meeting isn’t until eight tonight. I’ll text you when I’m ready to pick you up, and you can meet me outside your townhome complex. Deal?”

“Deal.”

She hits me with the stern look that, until recently, was her usual mode of expression. “Do not, under any circumstances, discuss this case with anyone. And when I say anyone, I mean, at all. Not your neighbors, not Austin, not even Miss McKinney.”

Her mention of Piper sends a wistful pang through me. If not for my awesome coworker and friend, we never would have found the DP Killer in time to save Cheyanne, the ten-year-old girl who lives in the unit right across from mine. The media cited Piper as the one who provided the Phoenix Police Department with Harold Crane’s address. She was lauded as a hero. Because of my psychometric abilities, my part in the case was completely omitted, which suited me just fine. After a few weeks of being in the spotlight, Piper left town on a well-earned vacation.

“I understand,” I reply. “I couldn’t tell her even if I wanted to. She’s visiting family in Wyoming. Won’t be back for a few more days.”

“Is she the only one outside the department who knows about your…” She points at my head.

I think long and hard before answering. Natalie and I aren’t exactly friends. She’s certainly not part of my inner circle, and I’ll be damned before I put anyone who is on her radar. “No, she isn’t,” I finally say with a steadiness that surprises me. “You trusted me enough to bring me into this, and that means a lot. I told you I won’t discuss it with anyone, and I meant it.”

She takes a half-step closer to me, lowering her voice to just above the wind. “I’m trusting you because I have no choice. I was ordered by my superiors to read you in. You helped us catch a killer, and you’ve kept your nose clean since then. It is for those reasons only that we are giving you this chance to work with us again. I will brief you on the parameters of your participation en route, and I will be with you at all times to make certain you don’t violate those parameters.” Her stony scowl, the one I used to have nightmares of, reappears. “If you embarrass me or the department, I promise you will regret it. Comprende?”

This is one scary woman.

Behind me, I hear the repeated jingle of the bell above Hill O’ Beans’ front door. I turn to see a large crowd of customers streaming in for their late morning pick-me-ups. I sigh in relief, as this gives me an excuse to cut this conversation short. “Gotta get back to work,” I tell Natalie. “See you tonight.”

She nods, her expression shifting back to neutral. “Tonight.”

I reenter the shop, smiling as Santa gives me another merry greeting. For the first time in years, I’m gonna enjoy the holidays, no matter how this thing with Natalie plays out. I live in a nice place, surrounded by neighbors who like me, and a girlfriend who—

Who I completely forgot I have a date with. Tonight.

Shit. s**t s**t s**t.

What am I gonna do?

Eight more customers file in. I have no choice but to work through my major brain fart. Thankfully, I’ve gotten so proficient at cranking out Hill O’ Beans’ vast assortment of macchiatos, espressos, and frappucinos that I’m able to work out a plausible excuse for cancelling tonight’s get-together with Sydney.

It’s not until just past three that the momentum finally slows, and I’m allowed to take my break. I flump into a chair next to my customary table in the corner and dig out my cell phone.

Obviously, I can’t tell Sydney the real reason I’m bailing on her. She knows nothing about my ESP, and I convinced her my week-long stay in the hospital right before Halloween was the result of a random accident and not because I was bashed on the head trying to sneak into a serial killer’s house.

Since regaining my freedom, I’ve formed a lot of friendships, some of them close ones. But revealing my abilities to those who don’t know about them is a risk I’m not prepared to take until I know just what being a psychic truly means. The downside to that is, not telling them is basically lying to them. I can rationalize it all I want, that it’s for their protection as well as my own, but damn if the thought doesn’t turn my heart into a lump of shaved ice in my chest.

I start by texting Sydney a heartfelt apology, making up a story about being hit with a sudden migraine, punctuated by a long row of sad-face emojis. A full minute goes by with no reply. I can practically feel my brain sweating. I just know she’s gonna call bullshit on me.

Finally, she puts me out of my misery:

Sydney: NP. Was just about 2 call u. Parents going out tonite, and sitter canceled, so I have 2 watch my little brother. #shootmenow

I have no right to feel this relieved, but I do.

Me: Ugh.

Sydney: Yeah. Text me when ur better.

Me: I will.

Sydney: Miss you already.

Me: U 2. L8R. I follow this with a string of kissy-face and heart emojis.

Sheesh. My “bad boy” days may be behind me, but when did I become such a schmoopy sap?

It’s just past six-thirty when I return to Arbor Vista Townhomes. I sigh as I switch on the lights and head for my bedroom to change out of my work clothes. It’s my first time meeting a VIP, so I should probably wear something nice. I don’t own a suit, so dark slacks and a clean polo will have to do. An extra shot of deodorant may be in order too.

With an ice-cold Coke in one hand, a bowl of Cap’n Crunch in the other, and one eye out for my ghostly relatives, I flip open my laptop and run a Google Search on Senator Marsh. It’s embarrassing that I don’t know one pertinent fact about the man. Even when I binge-watched the news back in October hoping for a break in the DP Killer case, I muted the TV whenever something political came on.

According to Wikipedia, Senator Gareth Marsh is a native Arizonan, fifty-six years old, currently serving his third term. He is a staunch supporter of the police and fire departments and has a soft spot for military veterans. He cites his desire to help servicemen came after his younger brother, Colin, was killed fighting Iraqi insurgents in something called Operation Phantom Fury.

After that is some blah blah blah about his early career in the District Attorney’s office, which I skip over on the way to his personal life. He married Amanda Baker, a woman twelve years younger than him, just before he made his first Congressional run, which he won. Amanda gave birth to their one and only child, Chrystalline—

WTF? Chrystalline? Yikes, could a girl have a more pretentious name?

I open a new browser window and scan a few dozen images of Chrystalline, who thankfully adopted the less-flashy “Chrissy” once she started middle school.

Chrissy Marsh. I know I’ve heard the name somewhere, but I can’t for the life of me remember where. Eh, she’s a senator’s daughter, it was probably on some news program. It’ll come to me.

There are many photos from when she was a child, clad in perfectly adorable little-girl dresses, standing between her proud parents at one political event or another. Over the years, as she grew in height and age, the smiles that graced her face seemed more and more insincere and plasticine. The few she appeared in this year, the last one being in February, reveal a teenage girl who looks like she’d rather be anywhere than at her parents’ side. Guess all that money and power can’t buy happiness.

There’s not much on i********: about her, only a few selfies she posted while yachting off the California coast last year. I will say this—she rocks a bikini, but she’s clearly out of my league. Even if I wasn’t already dating someone, I wouldn’t even make a play for Chrissy if given the chance. Plus, it looks like her expression has been stuck on resting b***h face for two years now.

A buzz from my phone signals a text.

Natalie: You ready?

Me: As I’ll ever be.

Natalie: I’ll be outside your gate in two minutes.

Time to go to work.