Three
“What makes Gwen think that Ballinger was murdered by paranormal means?” Judson Coppersmith asked.
He was on the porch of the small cottage, tilted back in a wooden chair that was propped on its two rear legs. The heels of his running shoes were stacked on the railing. He held the phone tightly to his ear so that he could hear his brother over the dull roar of the breakers crashing on the long strip of beach.
There was a storm coming in on the Oregon coast, and the little town of Eclipse Bay was going to take a direct hit. He was looking forward to it. With luck the energy of the gale would prove distracting, at least for a while. He needed a distraction. Lately the days seemed endless and the nights were even longer.
The layers of gray that surrounded him—from the leaden sky to the weathered boards of the cottage—went well with the gray mood that had descended on him after he’d made it out of the flooded caves. He wasn’t sleeping well, which was a good thing because when he did sleep, the dream was intense. And it was getting worse.
“Gwen is a talent,” Sam said patiently. “Like us, remember?”
Oh, yeah, I remember you, Dream Eyes, Judson thought. He’d encountered her on only one occasion—a month ago when he’d driven to Seattle to meet Sam’s fiancée, Abby Radwell—but he wasn’t likely to forget Gwen Frazier.
The four of them had gone out to dinner together at a restaurant in the trendy South Lake Union neighborhood of the city. He’d taken one look into Gwen’s witchy green-and-gold eyes and immediately started contemplating a long hot night spent amid sheets made damp with sweat. He had convinced himself that the attraction was mutual. There was no way he could have been wrong about the energy that had sparked in the atmosphere between them that night. No way. There had certainly been no doubt in his mind that Gwen was exactly the distraction he had needed to get his mind off the damn dream.
But the vision of a night of sexual relief had gone down in flames when Gwen had looked at him and said those four little words. I fix bad dreams.
It was at that point that he realized he had completely misinterpreted the look in her mysterious eyes. She hadn’t seen him as a potential lover. She had viewed him as a potential client—vulnerable and in need of her professional expertise.
He now had a new four-word rule. Never date psychic counselors.
“Gwen sees auras, doesn’t she?” he said into the phone. “Dead bodies don’t have auras, so I don’t understand how she could pick up much at a crime scene.”
“Abby says that Gwen’s talent is a lot more complex than she lets on,” Sam said. “Don’t forget those two have known each other since they were locked up in high school together.”
“Locked up?”
“After their psychic talents started to manifest, Abby and Gwen both wound up in a boarding school for troubled youth, the Summerlight Academy,” Sam explained. “In Abby’s case, her family figured she was psychologically disturbed. Gwen ended up there after the aunt who had raised her died. It’s a long story and not a happy one. Abby says there were bars on the windows.”
Judson exhaled slowly. “That had to be rough.”
“Knowing Abby and Gwen has brought home to me the fact that you and I and Emma don’t always appreciate just how damn lucky we were to grow up with parents who managed to deal with the paranormal side of our natures.”
Meeting Abby Radwell had changed a lot of things for his brother, Judson thought. Sam had fallen for Abby like the proverbial ton of bricks after Abby had hired him to investigate a case that had involved murder, revenge and a rare psi-encoded book.
The couple had announced their intention to marry immediately. Willow Coppersmith had flown into a mild panic. Claiming some rights as the mother of the groom, she had beseeched Sam and Abby to wait until she could plan a more formal wedding.
A compromise had been reached. The wedding was scheduled for the end of August, less than three weeks from now. Judson was pretty sure that the negotiation had been Abby’s doing, not Sam’s. Abby had struggled all of her life to find a real family. Now that she was about to join the Coppersmith clan, she wanted to start off on the right foot with her new mother-in-law.
The gala celebration was going to take place at the family compound, Copper Beach, on Legacy Island. The normally secluded enclave in the San Juans was now abuzz with activity as Willow and the wedding planner she had hired exercised their remarkable talents for organization to pull together a large-scale event in a short span of time.
Judson suspected that there were probably no more than five men on the face of the planet who would have enjoyed the commotion associated with the planning of a big wedding. Sam was not among those five, but he was the groom, so he was stuck coping with the hubbub created by the constant comings and goings of caterers, photographers and florists.
Judson felt a little sorry for him, but he figured Sam could handle the situation. In any event, he knew that in his present mood he would not be good company. Also, in his present state, it was best to avoid Willow. She had a mother’s intuition. If she found out about the recurring dream and the sleepless nights, she would freak. That was the last thing anyone—especially Sam and Abby—needed.
“Look, I understand that you want to take a break before we decide what we’re going to do with Coppersmith Consulting,” Sam said. “But this is a family situation. Abby says that Gwen is really upset about Ballinger’s death. Gwen wants an investigation, and she’s not going to get that from the local cops. All we’re asking you to do is make a quick trip to Wilby and figure out what happened to Ballinger.”
“What if it turns out that Ballinger was murdered by paranormal means? What the hell will Gwen expect me to do about it? It’s not like this is one of our old agency jobs where I can go in, analyze the scene and turn the problem over to Spalding so that he can make the problem go away. Regular cops and prosecutors don’t think much of the woo-woo stuff. They need hard proof to build a case, and that’s not always available.”
“I’m aware of that,” Sam said.
“It’s why we don’t do much private work, remember?”
“I know, but this falls into the friends-and-family category,” Sam said.
“I get that, but that still begs the question. What will Gwen Frazier expect me to do if I determine that her friend was murdered but can’t find any usable evidence?”
“You’ll think of something,” Sam said. “You always do. This is very important to Abby. She says Gwen needs closure.”
“Closure for what?”
Sam cleared his throat. “Evidently Gwen has a history there in Wilby.”
“This thing is starting to sound more complicated by the minute.”
“Two years ago, Gwen was one of seven subjects in a research study conducted by the dead woman. The study was designed to try to find a way to prove the existence of paranormal talents.”
“Safe to say that the study was a failure,” Judson said. “No way to prove what can’t be scientifically measured. The Coppersmith R-and-D lab has been working on that problem for years.”
“Sure. But that’s not the big story about what happened in Wilby two years ago.”
“There’s more?”
“Turns out one of the research subjects in the Ballinger study, a guy named Zander Taylor, was a serial killer who specialized in stalking and killing people who claimed to be psychic. Until he arrived in Wilby, most of his targets were probably frauds—a mix of storefront fortune-tellers, tarot card readers, mediums and assorted scam artists.”
A flicker of awareness arced across Judson’s senses. Something that might have been curiosity stirred inside him. It was the first time he had felt anything other than the weight of the gray since he had returned from the island. He took his feet down off the railing and stood.