Chapter 4
Chapter Four
________________
ANSON
Expecting I have nothing more to contribute to the conversation, Rae Lee doesn’t seek a response. She directs her attention anywhere but at me.
I drink in her profile. Her pert little nose. The shape of her eyebrow over a big blue eye. There had been something undeniable about her heart-shaped face when we glimpsed one another at the bar. That, for as alluring as she was, Raleigh’s closed-off expression meant her interest lay in a single night. She wouldn’t linger in my bed. Wouldn’t anticipate us exchanging numbers. Wouldn’t expect flowers or a dinner date… And the air of mystery about her allowed me to turn her into a fantasy that fulfilled my needs.
I pretend I still have something that makes my life worthwhile besides the dedication to the force. Whenever anyone forces me to admit I don’t, I become fixated on my anger. One of the few things able to help me emerge from the depths is tossing a ball around in the backyard with Angeline’s son. Although even the kid has a girlfriend and he’s begun pestering me about why I don’t.
An odd sense of déjà vu washes over me. It’s similar to what I felt when I asked Rae Lee to my place last night: not being ready to let go of her. The overwhelming desire to spend a few more hours in Rae Lee’s company takes charge, protesting my rationality.
“Cancel the ride. I’m taking you to get something to eat.” I open the passenger side door.
“Why?”
“Because after all that, I can’t leave you on the curb, disturbing what little peace the Turners still have.”
Also, if something happens to her, nobody is pinning it on me that I left Rae Lee here. She could get run over. Or the ride share driver is a psycho who wants her for his collection. I’m a cop, worst-case scenarios fill the empty spaces in my mind.
She grudgingly stands and wipes the grass off her bottom. We ride in silence, making the trek to the lunch car diner feel longer than it takes.
Inside, a waitress escorts us to a booth and brings over two waters. At my insistence, Rae Lee orders a club sandwich. Toasted rye, mustard, light mayo, and the pickle to the side. She won’t add a soft drink, which sticks me as odd because we’re being bombarded with retro-styled Cheerwine advertisements decorating the prefabricated walls and Pepsi sponsors the menu boards above the counter.
I order a cup of coffee for now and a cinnamon bun to go. I’m not hungry. The pastry is meant to relax Rae Lee, so she doesn’t notice she’s the only person eating and perhaps, if I’m lucky, let me in on what she thinks she saw. I’ll have it for dessert tonight.
The psychic groans, pressing the on button to wake her phone to no avail. “Stupid battery is forever draining itself.”
“Carry a charging brick.”
“I used to. Those drain just as fast.”
“Maybe you should make sure they’re both fully charged before leaving the house.” She’s a psychic. Didn’t she see this coming?
Rae Lee blinks at me. The gears in her mind turn a sarcastic combination of “why didn’t I think of that” and “duh, you idiot.”
Which is what I am for believing a liar. Apparently, I’m also a sucker because she has no way to call for another ride and that leaves me chauffeuring her home.
The waitress drops off my coffee. I empty a sugar packet into the mug. Rae Lee still hasn’t spoken when the spoon I’ve stirred with creates a soggy brown stain on a paper napkin. “What brought you out last night that made you feel you couldn’t be yourself?” I lift the cup to sip. “I’m not judging.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Trying to understand how the woman I took to bed last night wound up being the medium I contacted to try to answer Mrs. Turner’s prayers.”
She sighs. “My cat died.”
I blink and place my mug back on the laminate table. That’s not what I expected to hear from Rae Lee at all.
“Your cat?” I scoff.
“ Mm-hmm… Your turn, Detective. Unless picking up random strangers is part and parcel for you? I’m not judging either. I just don’t really want to know that what’s got your panties in a wad isn’t that you feel duped. It’s that I’m hookup number ten this month, and now you’re worried about what happens when numbers one through nine march into this diner and ruin your upstanding reputation.”
“You’d rather carry on the fairy tale that you’re number one?” I lean against the Naugahyde seat back, threading my fingers over my stomach.
She shrugs. At first, I think she’s indifferent to my opinion of her. Except then she leans forward and says, “You know, being the way I am isn’t a day in the fucking park. I’ve dealt with judgmental as fuck people who think I’m a fraud all my life. So seriously, fuck you right up your dry fucking ass for trying to slut shame me when you’re obviously as big a fucking whore as you’re trying to make me out to be. You’re the only fucker I’ve fucked lately and thank fuck for that. I didn’t ask for, or need, your chauvinistic shit.”
My brows raise and my lips pinch, taking the beating down I deserve. In her shoes… Nah, I am just as angry that her first impression of me is that I’m a manwhore.
Silence fills the air. Rae Lee grabs her things to go. Not that I blame her. I hadn’t given her much of a chance before we met, so my reaction to her intentional miscommunication is the way I’d treat a habitual offender. I open my mouth, intending to make amends with a lackluster sorry. I mean, who cares that this woman got it wrong and casual sex isn’t my norm? I’ll probably never see Rae Lee Chatham again.
That’s what you thought before.
“This week marks the anniversary of the death of someone I loved,” I blurt.
Weirdly enough, Angeline used Rae Lee for a case. It’s what prompted me to pick up the phone to call her when Mrs. Turner was insistent we’d find her daughter buried in the neighborhood like the other girls.
“Drinking to forget is a common bond.” The faint smile I’m treated to is the same as the one with a hint of sorrow that crossed her face when I got her name wrong.
“So you were drowning your sorrows at Sweet Caroline’s?” I confirm.
“More like drowning out the noise.”
My forehead pinches, not understanding.
“Paul, my cat, was sick. It was finally his time. But animals don’t show themselves to me. I don’t have whatever that ability is.” She flicks her wrist. “When my defenses go down, everyone gloms on. They take advantage of my sadness, wanting to be heard, and I don’t really want to listen.” She makes a slashing movement. “Like sometimes I need them to cut it out.”
I want to ask if she means dead people, but of course she does.
I’ve been a cop for a long time. I’ve encountered a lot of individuals who, right or wrong, are convinced the unexplained equates to the paranormal. Their unwavering conviction that it cannot be anything else is mind-blowing. They accept it as God’s honest truth. So what if it seems like an act? My reluctance to accept Rae Lee’s “gift” doesn’t make it any less true for her. What it will do is keep putting her on the defensive. She won’t mention any details she omitted, and without specifics, the Turners don’t get their answers.
Our waitress delivers Rae Lee’s sandwich. I let her chew and swallow a few bites before bringing up the things that bugged me during her walk.
“Why were you glad the Turners didn’t have any more children?” My hands splay on the table, an open plea for her to be honest.
“I didn’t say that.” She wipes her mouth.
“You did.”
Even if it wasn’t my job, after fucking it up last night, I’d been paying close attention this morning. Her relief was palpable when Rae Lee said “oh, good.”
I kick my chin up. “Why would you wish for the Turners to remain childless? Was there something, some sort of sign?” I somehow refrain from rolling my eyes.
Rae Lee washes down the next bite with water. She leans back in her seat. The rigidness of her posture isn’t lost on me. Her arms straighten and she clutches her hands between her knees. “Listen, I can only go on what the dead show me. Everyone has their own reality, even them. They project the truth of the life they led. My experience with the dead has taught me to tread lightly. I’m uncertain if the emotions they portray are real or their interpretations of their traumas.”
“But you think something happened to the kid… Beforehand.”
“I don’t know for certain.”
“But if you took a wild guess? Isn’t that what you do? Make your best assumption.”
“I go on what they show me and how they make me feel.”
“And how did Pearl make you feel about Mr. Turner?”
Clearly uncomfortable, Rae Lee studies the empty parking space outside the window. She rubs a hand from the side to the front of her neck. It drops to her lap and then she’s clutching her middle. “Pearl doesn’t trust him.”
“Did he touch her? Inappropriately?”
“I can’t be sure.” Her words are quiet. “I had an awareness. A prickling sensation on my inner thighs. One that a kid shouldn’t know about. If anything happened, it was when she was younger.” Rae Lee regards me with unease.
“I’ll check into it.” Though I doubt the initial investigation left a stone unturned.
“But how do you prove a child’s been molested when she’s presumed dead and he’s cleared of suspicion? It’s tangential. A fragment of her past. And while it is relevant to Pearl—”
“It’s irrelevance to finding out what happened to her was problematic. So you sent Turner away.”
“Pearl wasn’t going to talk to me. This little girl is trapped between wanting her mommy and feeling like… like Mrs. Turner took Mr. Turner’s side. She’s too angry when her mother’s new husband is in the room and she’s set on hurting Harvey and Susan.”
I cock a brow. Is Rae Lee trying to tell me that the ghost of a missing twelve-year-old is responsible for her mother’s miscarriages?
“The dead show me things that living people find hard to believe. Things that are hard to describe. Sort of like how, for you, the emotion of crime comes together almost indescribably at the scene.”
I wipe my palm over my forehead. “Yeah, I get it.” Even in photographs, the brutality can be beyond comprehension if you don’t have the full picture.
I share what I’m comfortable Rae Lee knows about Pearl’s case—most of which she could glean from the internet. “She’s the only victim her age from around the same time frame we haven’t found. Are you certain it isn’t possible the same guy murdered all four girls?”
“Yes. Franklin Pruitt didn’t take Pearl.”
“How did you come to that conclusion?”
“In previous situations, I’ve seen more than one person. The deceased I’m being asked to contact tell me they aren’t ‘alone’.” Rae Lee holds up finger quotes. “They present themselves to me along with a consciousness, a perception, of the other victims. Or their killer, if the person who murdered them has also passed. You said the guy responsible for killing those three other girls died by suicide. Either they would’ve been with Pearl today or he would’ve made himself known. Oppressively. So I don’t think the cases are linked.”
“Are you positive?”
“No, but as much as I can be. What I do is instinctual. I’m not an idiot. I know what I discover isn’t admissible in a court of law, but my findings are similar to police work. Don’t you ever go with your gut?” she asks rhetorically.
“Yeah… and most recently, it led me astray.”
“No disrespect, Detective Ames. But, if you’re going to keep muttering beneath your breath about what happened between us, I’m going to be honest; I’m one hundred percent certain another part of your body led your decision-making last night.”
I pick up my coffee and bring it to my lips to hide the grin I can’t help cracking at her cheek.