Forty-Four Box Set, Books 1-10 (44) (150 page)

Maybe Charlie Modine did need to come to terms with his own suicide at some point, but I couldn’t blame him for wanting to find his wife’s killer first. That was his priority. And it was mine, too.

I saw a sudden movement out the corner of my eye. A shadow swept down the sidewalk across the street and then turned at the corner. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw that black leather jacket and those boots. I stepped back toward the door, out of view.

I was the paranoid one now.

“Is something wrong?” the priest said.

“No, it’s nothing.”

“May I give you some advice, Abby?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Talk to your friend instead. Tell him I’m here and that I will hear his confession. Tell him it’s not too late to repent. Tell him God’s love is great.”

I nodded, but I knew what Charlie Modine’s reaction would be.

“I’ll do what I can, Father,” I said.

“I know you will, my child. I will pray for you.”

As I walked back to the Jeep I thought about Father Grady and why he was still here. Some ghosts, like Charlie Modine, seemed earthbound because they were haunted by something, because they had unfinished business. Others, like Jesse, were here because they wanted to stay close to the things they loved.

I was sure Father Grady belonged to that last group.

CHAPTER 38

I had been awake for a while and had reached a decision. I was going to come clean.

But first, cinnamon scones.

“Hey,” Ty said groggily, reaching over and stroking my hair. “What are you doing up so early?”

“We’re burning daylight, pardner,” I said, kissing his cheek. “Meet me in the kitchen in half an hour.”

I mixed the dry ingredients and put then aside, and then pulled out a stick of cold butter and sliced it into squares. When I added it into the flour, I mixed it only until it looked crumbly. Then I folded in a beaten egg, cream, and half a bag of cinnamon chips and divided the dough onto a baking sheet covered with parchment paper.

I put the scones in the oven and it only took a few minutes before the smell told me I had succeeded. I breathed it in, like a player standing at home plate admiring the homerun he had just hit.

I was brewing some Kona from Back Street when Ty walked in with one hand hidden behind his back.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, pulling out a bouquet of long stemmed roses nestled in baby’s breath.

They were beautiful.

“Ahh,” I said. “You didn’t have to do that. But I’m glad you did.”

I kissed him and put the flowers in water while he ate.

“These are right,” he said, talking and chewing all at the same time. “Maybe we should think about opening a bakery instead?”

“Nice of you to say.”

He reached for another and I filled up two mugs with the coffee, added cream and sugar, and brought them to the table.

“Aren’t you eating?”

“No, not yet,” I said. “I’ll bring one with me. Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something before I left.”

“You’re really missing out. Okay, what’s up?”

I told him. I told him about what the man with the tattoo said and Charlie Modine’s reaction and my talk with Father Grady.

I watched Ty’s face and body language as I spoke, the serious line between his eyebrows deepening, especially when I talked about the killer. When I finished, I let out a long breath and braced for the worst.

But his reaction wasn’t at all what I was expecting. Surprisingly, he reached over, pulled my hand to his lips, and kissed it.

“I’m sorry you have to go through this,” he said gently.

His eyes were kind and sincere, full of emotion.

“What’s wrong?”

“I was worried, you know, how you’d react,” I said. “That you’d be angry because I didn’t tell you right away.”

“Abby, I’ve known for a while that this is who you are. As amazing as your cooking is, I think that this stuff is really your true calling, or whatever. Helping ghosts, helping people. And I’m all in. Just a few months ago there was that girl who would have died in the dark by herself if it wasn’t for you. And that bus full of kids… That’s the stuff of superheroes.”

I looked up at him.

“And my role, well, I’ve come to realize that I’m here to love you and support you in any way I can. I’m here for you and with you.”

I could feel the water pooling in my eyes.

“I love you,” I said, brushing away the tears.

He took me in his arms and held me tight. Standing there in that moment, I felt completely loved and beyond the reach of any killer.

“So I’m all about you helping people, but for me my main concern is your safety,” he said. “I need to feel that you’re safe. That’s all I’m asking.”

It seemed fair.

“So you think I need a gun?”

“Well, given how well the mace worked, I’m gonna say no. I don’t think so. Not yet. But to be on the safe side, you shouldn’t be alone. I’m going to talk to David, we’ll take shifts. Just until this thing blows over.”

I was going to argue, but I didn’t.

“Okay,” I said.

“You still have no idea who this guy is?”

I shook my head.

“What about Kate?” Ty said, pouring us a little more coffee. “It seems like this could be right up her alley. Finding people is part of what she does.”

“Yeah. I thought of that. But I wanted to keep her out of it. She’s got enough going on.” I let out a laugh. “That’s how these things always start, me wanting to keep you guys out of it. And then it all goes to hell. I guess it’s that time. Maybe I’ll give her a call, see if she has any ideas on what to do.”

He rinsed out his plate and the cups and put them in the dishwasher. Then he rested his arms on my shoulders.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave so soon,” he said, kissing me again.

“I think I have a few minutes,” I said, losing myself in his eyes.

CHAPTER 39

I dragged myself through the front door just before midnight after a marathon shift at the restaurant, my feet and back screaming. I stood in the shower till the hot water ran out, trying to scrub away the smell of scallops and oysters and clam juice that clung to me like a second skin. When I closed my eyes, I could still see the lobsters begging for mercy.

As I walked down the hall toward the kitchen, I noticed David was already asleep, which was not like him. The last I had heard, he and Liam were supposed to be “closing down the clubs.”

Used tissues were scattered over the bed and on the floor and I hoped it was allergies and not something more serious. I closed his door over.

I grabbed a beer from the fridge, downed some Advil, plopped on the sofa, and called Kate.

She was in Colorado working on a story. I knew there was a time difference but I couldn’t remember how many hours ahead they were. I hoped I wouldn’t wake her.

She answered on the first ring, alert and happy.

“Hey, Abby, I was just thinking of you. I’m glad you called.”

“How’s Denver?

“Good. It’s a lot like Bend, weather wise anyway,” she said.

“What are you working on?”

“I’m doing a piece on marijuana legalization here.”

“Rocky Mountain high, huh?”

It was a tired joke but that’s how I was feeling.

“Yeah,” she said. “Looks like lots of states are going to follow Colorado’s and Washington’s lead. It’s spreading like wildfire. Or weeds.”

I guessed we were both tired.

“It’s kind of weird that Oregon wasn’t in on that, huh?”

“It’s just a matter of time,” Kate said. “It’ll happen. Alcohol and cigarettes kill more people than the population of India and they’re legal. How’s a little pot going to make things worse? It’s absurd. Always has been. But I think people are finally starting to open their eyes. I mean, the stuff can be taxed, which is going to be huge. And the cops will have that much more time to focus on real crime.”

Same old Kate. I missed her enthusiasm. I missed her fire. I just missed her. I toasted her silently and took a long drink of the beer.

“What about you?” she said. “How’s life treating you?”

I gave her the rundown. Ty. David. School. Work. When I got to the weather I knew I had run out of small talk.

“And how’s the ghost world?”

“I’m glad you asked,” I said. “I’m working on something and I could use your help.”

I gave her the brief version of the Charlie Modine story and the tattoo man I had seen in my visions and then in real life.

“I’m convinced he did it, but I don’t have one piece of evidence that I can take to the police.”

“Too bad you can’t just film your dreams and show them to the cops,” she said. “That would be proof enough. Do you have a name?”

I didn’t answer right away. I was embarrassed to tell her the truth.

“No.” I sighed. “I don’t even have a name.”

“Well, I don’t know what kind of help I can be. I mean, you need a name. If you get one, I have contacts that can run it through the system.”

“Well, I’ll just have to get his name then.”

She was quiet.

“Kate, you still there? Did you fall asleep?”

“No, I was just thinking. There’s a chance that the tattoo might be enough. Enough to get things started anyway. Maybe one of the people the cops were looking at had a tattoo. From how you described it, it sounds pretty unique. You think you can draw it?”

“Already did. I’ll send it to you.”

It seemed like a long shot, but it was more than I had.

“Give me a few days and let me see what I can dig up,” Kate said. “Meantime, you work on getting that name, all right?”

“Sounds good.”

“Oh, and one more thing.”

“I know. I know. I’ll be careful.”

CHAPTER 40

Chef Dubois handed me the first part of the test, five pages of multiple choice and short essay questions. I reminded myself that I knew my sauces, in and out. The information was in there. I just had to calm down, access it, and put it on paper.

Two hours later I sat with Miguel out in the dining room, my mind completely drained. He had spent most of the break staring at me.

“What?” I finally said.

“It’s just that you kind of look like
caca
,” he whispered.

“I look nothing like Kaká,” I said, referring to the Brazilian soccer player.

“You know what I mean. I’m worried about you.”

I sighed.

Me too, I thought.

CHAPTER 41

The night shift dragged on like an Oscar telecast. We had a total of three customers in two hours and my brain was about to capsize. I had my textbook open and was trying to study about carbohydrates and fats, but all I could do was watch the clock, which never seemed to move.

“So you’re all about the ink lately, huh?” Mo said, bringing out a box of paper cups.

She opened it and I helped her restock.

“Yeah, it’s for this thing I’m working on.”

She gave me a strange look.

“You know, a ghost thing.”

 “Well, really wish I could help you out, Craig. But like I told David, I’ve never seen a tat like that before, and you know I’ve seen my share. I think it’s a personal symbol, a custom. Have you seen it up close?”

I nodded.

“Professional looking?”

“I don’t know. What does a professional tattoo look like?”

Mo turned and shoved her arm in front of my face.

“Is that one new?” I said.

“Pay attention, Craig, I’m not here to share. The point is, these are all professional. I get that you can’t see the colors, but that’s not the main thing. The big difference between the wannabes and the pros is ink penetration. The quality. See the outlines, the even depth of the ink? Amateurs can’t do this. The ink is hard to control and wants to bleed in depending on the area. Only the pros can control it. That’s why homemade tattoos look so, well, homemade.”

“Okay, that helps. I think it was professional then.”

“That’s a plus,” she said. “If the artist is proud of his work, he might advertise. Have a photo up on the wall or in his portfolio. Is the guy a local?”

“No, I think he’s from back East.”

She shook her head.

“Good luck with all that. Normally I’d say you don’t have a snowball’s chance in Cancun of tracking it down, but you’re the one who sees ghosts. So all bets are off.”

She kicked the empty box toward the back.

“Hey, how’s the new band going?”

Mo and her old band had parted ways and after a few months of going solo she got invited to play with Yo Mama, a Portland based all-girl group. They seemed to be making a name for themselves.

“It’s going,” she said. “We’re sort of like Metallica with PMS. Ah, hell, Metallica does have PMS. It’s hard to explain. But we rock.”

I smiled. She said it in that cool Mo way, but I could tell she was happy. In that cool Mo way.

“Okay, Craig. Enough with the chit chat. Let’s close early. It’s been a morgue in here all night and that ain’t gonna change in the next hour.”

“I won’t try to talk you out of it,” I said.

When I got in the Jeep a few minutes later, I smelled the familiar smoke.

“I got him,” he said, his eyes wide and swimming with excitement. “I got him. I know where he’s staying.”

CHAPTER 42

“Okay, I’ll take it from here,” I said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ll take it from here. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“No way!” he said. “I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not. I got it, Charlie, and you’re going to have to trust me.”

I gave him a serious glare and held it.

“I don’t understand,” he said, blowing out smoke. “But okay. Just be careful.”

I was surprised he hadn’t put up more of a fight. Because there would have been one. There was no way he was coming along. I needed to have a clear head and that wasn’t going to happen if Charlie Modine got close to the man who killed his wife.