A Reason to Believe (6 page)

either. The guy was attractive. So what?

“Hello,” Fitzpatrick said finally, his voice

surprisingly deep. “I’m Kiernan.”

A smattering of applause met the announcement,

and Matt could swear he saw a blush spread

across the high cheekbones.

“Oh, I wouldn’t get too excited yet,” Fitzpatrick

said with a self-deprecating laugh. There were

scattered chuckles. “Let’s see how this goes before

you commit yourselves.” The smile that spread

over his face in response to the renewed laughter

was very appealing. He squared his shoulders,

hooking his thumbs in the front pockets of his

jeans. “I should tell you I’m never sure how these

things are going to go. Sometimes, there are dozens

just waiting for the chance to talk. Other times, I’m

lucky if one or two show up.” He shrugged. “It’s

entirely up to them, and sometimes they aren’t

terribly cooperative. And yes, that is the

disclaimer.”

Amused, the people in the room began to relax.

“It can be frustrating, but they like to remind me

I’m just the mouthpiece. Now, I have this—little

ritual I perform, before I begin. I say a prayer for

guidance and for protection, because it’s always a

good idea to include some credit for the higher

power. If you’ll bear with me, it just takes a

couple of seconds.”

Fitzpatrick lowered his head and closed his

eyes, and the room was so silent you could hear

each shift of weight on a hard chair. He brought his

hands up in front of his chest, rubbing the palms

together briskly. Matt noticed the long, slender

fingers and the fine bones.

Fitzpatrick’s mouth moved, silently forming

words. He made the sign of the cross over his

chest in a gesture so practiced he could only be a

lifelong Catholic, and Matt’s brows shot up. He

certainly hadn’t expected that.

“Okay,” Fitzpatrick said, looking quickly around

the room. “It’s a big group. Like, a convention. I’m

guessing you don’t get a lot of mediums through

these parts.” This time the scattered giggles

sounded anticipatory. “Yes, I see you,” he went on,

clearly having a conversation with someone or

something no one else could see. “Chill. I’ll get to

you.”

He went still, his eyes fixed on a spot toward

the front of the crowd, yet above their heads. A

frown of concentration formed between his dark

brows, but his eyes were bright, his expression

animated.

“I’m getting…some kind of precious stone,” he

said finally, his voice gathering strength. “Like an

opal, or a garnet.” He shook his head. “No, that

isn’t right.” He paused, his eyes brightening. “Oh,

it’s a pearl. But it isn’t the stone, it’s a name.

Something Pearl. Ginny? Virginia?” He paused,

waiting for an answer. “Oh, seriously?” He looked

startled. “That’s a name? You’re sure? Well, I

guess that is a dumb question.” He laughed.

“You’d know. The name she’s giving me is

Virgilia,” he said, his eyes dropping back to the

expectant faces. “Virgilia Pearl.” Someone in the

crowd gasped, and he sought the source of the

sound. “It’s actually Virgilia Pearl?”

An older woman sitting not far to Matt’s right

thrust her hand into the air.

Fitzpatrick pointed at her. “Please stand,” he

said, his smile encouraging. “Someone in your

family got hung with that name?” There was more

laughter.

“Yes,” she answered breathlessly, her eyes

wide with excitement. “My—”

“Please don’t tell me,” he interrupted her gently.

“Let her do it.”

The woman nodded, her hands clasped in front

of her.

He went still again, his eyes bright, clearly

listening. “She’s a parental figure, right? This was

your mother?”

The woman nodded again. Her eyes were bright

with unshed tears.

“She died suddenly, yeah? She’s showing me

something with her head. Like, there was a moment

of excruciating pain, and—” he snapped his

fingers, “—she was gone.”

Her hands were trembling visibly. “An

aneurysm ruptured in her brain.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Fitzpatrick said with sympathy

that seemed genuine, and he smiled slowly. “She

was a kick, wasn’t she?”

She smiled through her tears and nodded.

Fitzpatrick’s grin widened. “She’s showing me

a dog. A collie. Does that mean something to you?”

Again, she nodded. “She’s got the dog with her. It

had kind of an unusual name…” His eyes widened

in surprise and he laughed. It was an engaging

sound. “The dog’s name was Guinness? She’s

showing me a pint.”

There was more laughter from the crowd as she

nodded. “My dad named him.”

“Excellent. All animals should be named after

beer.” Fitzpatrick’s face sobered gradually. “She

knows you’ve been having a hard time with this.”

Tears began to slip silently down her cheeks.

“She’s not been gone very long. Just this fall,

right?” Again, a nod answered the question. “It

isn’t very long at all. You’re entitled to grieve for

her. Losing your mum is hard.” The sympathy in

his eyes was unmistakable, and she responded to it

with a watery sniff. “But she wants you to know

she’s fine. No more arthritis, no more asthma.” His

blue eyes brightened with humor. “She says to tell

you she’s got her dancing shoes on again. Grandma

could cut a rug, huh?”

The woman laughed even as she brought a tissue

to her lips.

“But the main thing you should know—”

Fitzpatrick went on with disarming gentleness, “—

is she isn’t really gone. She knows exactly what’s

happening here. And she thinks you did a fine job

with the way you handled everything.” He paused.

“She knows your brother…well, forgive me for my

bluntness, but he’s kind of a prick. Never fails.

There’s one in every family. She says to tell you—

you did the right thing. He’d have just blown

through it. And she’s proud of you.” Fitzpatrick

paused, his eyes growing distant. “She’s stepping

back now.” His eyes regained focus as he smiled.

“Your mother is cool.”

“Yes,” she said with a grateful smile. “Yes

she…is. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Applause rippled through the room as she sank

into her chair.

Sheila turned her head and pinned Matt with a

look. “See?” she said, her voice pitched for his

ears alone. “He’s amazing. I told you.”

“He’s something.” He still wasn’t buying it.

Fitzpatrick’s eyes darted around the room again.

After a moment he stilled, his head angled to one

side. “I’ve got…a soccer ball,” he said, his eyes

narrowing. “And a
T
name. Taylor, Travis…no,

wait. There’s more than one, but I’m only getting

one name.” He looked confused, his mouth slightly

open. “Tavandish?”

Sheila made a startled sound. Matt straightened

in his chair.

“Tavandish,” he repeated, looking mystified. “I

don’t get it.” A hand inched up hesitantly just in

front of where they were seated. Fitzpatrick fixed

the man with a look. “Do you understand this?”

“Possibly,” the man answered, his voice muted.

“Okay. Please, stand up.”

The man did, his hands grasped at his back. His

knuckles were white. Fitzpatrick looked at him,

then just to his left. “Okay, I’m getting…someone

younger. He’s just to your right. His name starts

with a
C.
”

The man nodded stiffly.

“Chet?” Again there was a stiff, responding nod.

“Okay,” Fitzpatrick said, still looking mystified.

“But he isn’t alone, and he keeps saying

‘Tavandish.’ Tavandish…oh, wait. Is it the name

of a school?”

A murmur traveled through the crowd.

The blue eyes were wide as they studied the

man standing before him. “It’s the name of a

private school.” Again, the man nodded. “Oh.”

Fitzpatrick’s voice softened and his face saddened

as he looked slowly left to right, as if scanning a

small crowd. “That’s why there are so many of

you. You were a sports team. That explains the

uniforms.” A woman not far from Matt made a

broken sound. Fitzpatrick looked back at his

audience. “How many of you are attached to the

name Tavandish?”

A startled mutter moved through the room as the

two rows directly in front of Sheila and Matt, fully

twenty people, rose to their feet. Kiernan

Fitzpatrick took them in with somber eyes filled

with sudden, weary understanding and aching

compassion.

“Oh,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry…”

* * *

softly. They were still seated as the animated

crowd filed from the room.

“So did anyone in a five-state area who can

read a newspaper,” Matt countered. He’d slouched

down in his seat. “Twenty-two kids from an

expensive private school, killed in a crash? That’s

big news. Don’t tell me someone couldn’t have

done some research. And here’s this guy, offering

an opportunity to speak to dead loved ones. You

don’t think it likely some of those poor people are

going to turn up?”

“He knew their names. He knew how old they

were.”

“All of which appeared in the news reports.

Give me a break. He’s good, I’ll give him that.

Quite the performer.”

“My God, you are so fucking stubborn. Even if

someone had done their research, how could he

know which parents would be here? They weren’t

all here.”

He shrugged. “Some of it has to be guesswork.”

“Okay, smart guy. Explain pulling the name

Virgilia out of the air for me, will you?”

“Obits.”

She eyed him balefully. “Obits. Like someone

was checking back for months, reading the local

obits, because they were coming to this town.”

“You think the idea some dead person only he

can see was talking to him more likely?”

“I seem to remember you telling me a little story

just yesterday…”

“Excuse me,” a soft voice said behind them, but

Matt was so irritated at Sheila he didn’t pay

attention.

“Listen, don’t make me sorry I told you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t, if you’d stop being so

damned mule-headed for one second…”

“Excuse me,” the voice came again, more

insistently. “Detective?”

Matt stiffened. Sheila looked over his shoulder,

her eyes going so wide a slender rim of white

appeared around the hazel irises. Matt sat up and

turned his head quickly.

The young woman who had introduced

Fitzpatrick was standing behind them, her

expression impassive, but Matt could see

amusement in her eyes.

“You are a police officer. A detective, right?”

Her voice was studiously polite.

Matt frowned slightly. “I…yeah.”

“He’d like to speak with you, if you have a

moment.”

“He…who?”

The young woman smiled at him even as Sheila

nudged him with her elbow. “Of course, he’ll

speak to him,” she answered, ignoring the look

Matt shot her way.

The dark-haired woman nodded. “He’ll come

out here, but we’re going to wait until the rest of

the room has cleared. All right?”

Sheila nodded again and the girl turned and

quickly walked away, dark hair swinging.

“Why in the world would I want to talk to him?”

Matt muttered. “I think he’s a damned fake.”

Sheila pursed her lips. “Is that right…

Detective?” she asked pointedly.

Matt frowned. Okay, it was a bit odd. At no

point in the afternoon had he done or said anything

to identify himself as a police officer. It was just

enough to pique his curiosity.

It took another five minutes for the room to

finally clear. When Kiernan Fitzpatrick stepped

through the curtain, Matt found himself rising to his

feet as he approached.

There was something undeniably appealing

about Fitzpatrick. His coloring was vivid and

striking, and the body hinted at beneath his casual

clothes looked trim and muscular. Unconsciously,

Matt’s eyes moved over his form, pausing at the

decent-sized soft bulge at his groin before he

realized what he was doing. Startled, he forced his