“Guy’s not a dumbass,” he said as he opened his car door. “He pretty much had most of the story figured out. I just filled in a few,
very
selective details.” He looked over his shoulder. “Where to?”
“First Hoyt’s, then Sundahl’s, then a check on Winston.”
With his shoulders slumped, Roy climbed into his cruiser. “After that, I’m going home to Bev.”
As the sheriff shut his car door and started the ignition, John sighed and did the same. While anxious for any information that might help lead them to the second killer, he couldn’t help the punch of disappointment. It would be hours before he saw Celeste.
He needed to see Celeste.
A woman you’d die for, or die without.
Chapter 15
Celeste shoved the dusty box from the guest bedroom closet across the hardwood floor. Kneeling on the area rug, she traced the letters she’d printed on the side of the box three years ago.
Mom.
Overwhelming sorrow squeezed her heart. She missed seeing her mother’s face. She missed hearing her voice, her laughter.
“What are you doing?”
She jumped. “Will, you scared the crap out me.”
“Sorry.” He leaned against the door jamb. “I was just in the basement figuring you’d be baking.”
She should be in the basement kitchen or experimenting with her recipes, but she needed answers. “Not tonight. I’ll get up early tomorrow.”
He walked into the room, a frown lining his face. “What’s in the box?”
“Some of mom’s things she’d saved over the years. Old high school yearbooks, pictures, cards...journals.”
“Does dad know about this stuff?” he asked, and touched the lid, but didn’t remove it.
“I’d told him about the box when I’d found it the day I’d cleaned out mom’s closet for him. He’d said to do whatever I wanted with it. I swear I’d mentioned it to both you and Eden.”
He winced. “Now that I think about it, you did. Why are you going through it now?”
“The trances. I was hoping mom had something in her journals that might help me understand why I’m having them or maybe even learn how to control them.”
“Why didn’t you read her journals before?”
“Why didn’t you?”
Sighing, he sat on the bed. “It hurt too much, it still does.”
“For me, too,” she whispered, and grabbed his hand. “Wanna help me go through them now?”
“I thought John was coming over.”
“He called and said he’d be late.”
“Oh.”
She caught his disappointment as he stared at the box, along with the grief that still lingered in all of them. “Go work in your studio. John will be here in about an hour. You don’t need to babysit me.”
“Celeste,” he started to protest.
“You’re thirty yards from the house. All of the windows and doors are locked. Nothing is going to happen to me. Actually, I think John and Roy are being way too overprotective.”
“Lloyd doesn’t think so.”
She rolled her eyes. “He’s as bad as they are. Now either help me read through mom’s journals, or go to your studio. The gallery opening is coming up and I know you still have a few things to finish.”
“I do, but...”
She pulled her cell phone from her pocket. “I’ll call if I need you.”
“No, I’ll just wait downstairs.”
“And pace a hole in my rug? Uh-uh, go home.”
“Okay, but, um, considering this is the room I’m going to be sleeping in tonight, could you at least move the box back in the closet when you’re finished. I don’t want to look at it.”
Bleak sadness filled his eyes. Her throat clenched and she nodded. “I understand, but don’t worry. You might not need to sleep here anyway.”
“Why?” he asked, then he widened his eyes. “You and John are...” He shoved off the bed, a red blush creeping up his neck and staining his cheeks. “I don’t want to know.” He stopped and turned.
“Actually I do. What are his intentions?”
“Intentions? Seriously, Will, you sound like dad. It’s not a big deal, just a sorta fling.”
“Seriously, Celeste, you sound like Eden,” he mocked. “And she’s had way too many
sorta
flings, where you...you...”
Her temper flared. First Roy, now her brother? “Where I live like a fricking spinster, collecting creepy gnomes and wasting my life in this small town.”
He frowned. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re not wasting your life here.”
“Bullshit. Eden’s in Chicago living the life she’d always wanted. She has a successful career, friends,
flings.
Dad’s down in Florida golfing, fishing, and according to Roy, has had more dates in the past six months than I’ve had in three years. And you.” She stood, and pointed a finger at him as a tear slipped down her cheek. “You’ll be gone soon, while I...”
He hugged her, awkwardly patting her back. Will was a great guy, but clumsy when it came to expressing emotions. Just like their dad and Eden. She knew this, knew how sensitive he could be, and regretted her outburst.
“I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that. I’m sorry. I’ve been stressed out lately,” she said, trying to soothe him. Will tended to brood. He’d likely go into his studio and dwell on everything she’d said, rather than work on his painting.
He stepped back and held her at arms length. “I can’t believe I didn’t see any of this before.”
“What do you mean?”
“I always thought you liked running the diner. Living here. Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you just tell dad?”
She pulled away, and leaned against the wall. “I couldn’t. He needed me to stay, so I stayed.”
He slumped on the bed and ran a hand through his hair. “When mom’s cancer became bad, Eden refused to move back to help, and I was totally useless. I couldn’t stand watching mom die, and I couldn’t stand watching dad deal with it. But you gave up your career, your dreams to come home to help. God, Celeste, I feel like such an ass because I don’t even
know
what those dreams are.”
She sat next to him, and nudged him with her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. They weren’t all that great anyway.”
He nudged her back. “Tell me and I’ll decide.”
She thought about the stack of recipes she’d perfected over the years. “Not today.”
“Then will you at least promise me that you’ll talk to dad? He would never have asked you to take over the diner if he knew how much you hated it.”
“I don’t exactly hate it and I’ve made my choice with dad, just as I did with John, who’s going to be here in an hour. So go. I want to look through some of mom’s journals before he gets here.”
He moved for the door, then hesitated. “You’re a great person, and I, um...”
“Go,” she said, saving him from having to express himself any further. She knew he loved her, the words weren’t necessary. “And if I find out you’re worrying about me, rather than working, I’ll give you a noogie.”
“You haven’t been able to do that since I outgrew you.”
“Wanna test it?” she asked with a grin.
He acted as if he were considering it, then smiled. “Some other time. Call if you need me.”
After she heard the front door slam shut, she released a deep sigh. What happened between her and Will might come back and bite her on the ass. She knew he wouldn’t call Eden, but he might call their dad. She didn’t want her dad to know how she truly felt. It would break his heart.
She stared at the box.
He’d had his heart broken enough.
Pushing that thought aside, she lifted the lid off the box. The scent of her mom’s perfume, delicate, and slightly stale from age, whispered through the air. Tears stung her eyes. She fought them back, along with so many memories, and sifted through the box. She didn’t want to reminisce tonight. Reminiscing would lead to the grief she hadn’t dealt with, nor wanted to. After three years, her mother’s death was still like an open wound that hadn’t healed yet.
When she found the journals, she placed them on the bed. There were only five. Five black and white composition notebooks held her mother’s thoughts, her secrets. She grabbed the oldest, then sat on the rug and began to read.
Forty minutes later, she closed the journal, her mind spinning. She hadn’t known her mother as well as she’d thought.
Before moving to Wissota Falls, her mom had lived in Baltimore. That hadn’t surprised her. Both her mom and dad were born and raised there, and still had plenty of family in the area. The big surprise? Her mom had worked as a psychic consultant, to both the local police and the FBI. Even more surprising, her mom had been in love with another man before she’d met her father.
Why hadn’t she told her about him? She’d joked about past boyfriends, but never mentioned this man. And why hadn’t she told her she’d used to be a psychic consultant? Better yet, why had she stopped?
She returned the box to the closet, then made her way to the kitchen for a much needed class of wine. There was one person, other than her father, who might have the answers to her questions.
Roy.
She picked up the phone and called him. He answered on the first ring.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Got a sec?”
“Who’s watching out for you?”
“Will,” she lied, “And John will be here soon.”
“Good,” he said, and released a deep sigh. “After today...”
“I didn’t mean to worry you, and John filled me in on what happened. I’m sorry about Curtis.”
“Me too. So what’s up?”
Now this didn’t seem like a good time to bring up her mom, or her journals. Roy and John had been through enough, she didn’t need to dredge up the past. Her curiosity could wait until later.
“Nothing. Just checking in to see how you are.”
“Celeste, don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”
She smiled as she took a sip of her wine. “You know me too well. Okay, I was looking through my mom’s journals, hoping I’d find something in them to help with the trances I’ve been having.”
“Go on.”
“You knew my mom before she met my dad.”
“I did.”
“Well, there’s a name that keeps popping up and I was wondering if you could tell me anything you know about him.”
“Sure, hopefully I can help you out. What’s the name?”
“Ian.”
*
When his private line rang, Ian Scott stilled his fingers above the keyboard of his laptop. He stared at the phone, his stomach clenching with dread, and answered on the second ring.
“It’s Roy.”
He would have relaxed, except he’d talked to Roy less than twenty minutes ago. “What’s wrong?”
“I just got a call from Celeste, and
you’ve
got a serious problem.”
“Me?” he asked not missing Roy’s emphasis, then it hit him. Roy had told him that he’d suspected John’s interest in Celeste had gone beyond the investigation. He’d had a hard time believing him considering John’s past, but in a small way, he’d been pleased. John deserved a good woman, a woman who could finally help put his demons to rest. And Celeste deserved a good man. She’d gone too long without a relationship. She was young, bright, beautiful, and had wasted too much of her life catering to everyone else. But if John hurt her...
“What did
he
do?”
“Who?”
“John.”
“Oh, this isn’t about him. It’s about
you.
”
“Me?”
“Yep, see, Celeste’s trances had her rattled enough she finally decided to look through her mom’s old journals hoping to find some answers.”
“Janice kept journals?”
“Appears so.”
“Did she tell you what was in them?”
“Your name.”
He shut his laptop closed, then pulled a bottle of Scotch from his desk cabinet, along with a glass. “Explain.”
Roy did, and when he finished, Ian asked, “Did Janice mention anything about the investigation she’d been working on with me...with the FBI?”
“No, not a word. More like how it had emotionally impacted her.”
“That’s good.”
“Not really. I’d rather have that than Celeste asking me who Ian is and why her mom never mentioned she’d been in love with him before she’d met Hugh.”
He swore under his breath, then downed the Scotch he’d poured. Wincing from the burn—Scotch should be sipped and savored, not pounded like a shot—he set the glass aside. “What did you say?”
“I told her Bev and I were about to sit down for dinner, that it had been a long day, and we’d meet in the morning to talk. Look, with everything we’ve been dealing with here, she caught me off guard.” He sighed. “I didn’t know what else to say. Hell, I don’t even know what to say to her tomorrow.”
“Where’s Hugh?” Ian knew Celeste’s father would flat out tell her what she wanted to know. He’d always wanted to but Janice had been adamant about keeping the truth from Celeste, a condition Ian had hated but endured out of respect.
“Fishing in the Florida Keys. I spoke with him before he left for the trip.”
“Good. Meet me at the Eau Claire airstrip tomorrow morning. I’ll be there at seven.”
“Hold on a sec, what are you doing?”
“What I should have done years ago,” he said, ignoring the protective edge in Roy’s voice before he changed his mind.
“You promised Janice.”
“She’s dead.” He grimaced at the thought. He’d loved her once, and hadn’t loved another woman since. And this might be his last chance of finally having something other than the legacy of his agency.