Perfectly Matched

  I motioned for her to sit. “I tried calling you today, but you didn’t answer.”

  “My cell?” She pulled out a phone that had been tucked into her ample cleavage.

  Ew. “Your work. I don’t have your cell number.”

  “But—”

  I cut her off. “Long story, Annie. What do you want from me?”

  The night was peaceful with barely any wind, and it reminded me of the calm before the storm. I shuddered and focused on the sound of the crickets chirping, the waves lapping.

  Annie opened her purse and pulled out wads and wads of paper. All of them said “Lucy Valentine.”

  Tears shone in Annie’s eyes. “The energy will not leave me alone. I was up all night, obsessed with writing your name over and over. I didn’t sleep. I haven’t eaten. I have to do a reading on you.”

  I noticed the lights on in one of Dovie’s guest rooms and hoped that meant she’d badgered Preston into staying another night with her. Em’s room was dark, and I wondered if she and Marisol were off doing their reconnaissance mission.

  “Go ahead,” I said. “Do you need more paper?”

  She shook her head and pulled out a fresh pad from her purse. Taking a few deep breaths, she murmured something under her breath I couldn’t understand. I took it to mean that she was opening her channels.

  After a second, her pen, firmly in hand, began to move across the paper. Even though I’d seen her work before, it always fascinated me. She wrote three words, then the pen fell from her fingers.

  She stared at the notepad, then said loudly, “That’s it? Three words? You’re freaking kidding me!”

  It took me a second to realize that she was talking to the energy.

  Annie shoved the wads of paper bearing my name back into her purse, cursing the whole time.

  “What’s it say?” I asked, nodding to her pad. I was fairly good at reading upside down, but the writing was terrible and I couldn’t decipher it.

  Annie slid it over. “Makes no sense to me.”

  I glanced at the words.

  NOT SAM BLACKIE

  “Does it make sense to you?” she asked.

  “Not really.” Of course I understood the Sam part, but what was blackie? And what did the phrase mean as a whole?

  “Well, it’s yours. I cannot even freakin’ believe the hell I’ve been going through over three words. That’s some energy looking out for you.” She stood up.

  I tucked the paper into my pocket and followed her across the porch, my crutches thunking with each step.

  At the steps, she said, “I’ll guess I’ll see you Sunday. Unless the meeting’s canceled now that we know what happened to Bethany.”

  Leaning against a column, I studied her carefully. “How did you know the little girl’s name?”

  She lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “Google.”

  I must have looked shocked, because she said, “It really doesn’t matter now that we know she’s passed on, does it?”

  “How’d you know what to look for?”

  “Well, when Dr. Paul mentioned that he saw a Maine license plate, Graham suddenly got this vision about a shallow grave... I typed in Maine, missing girl, and kindergarten into the search box, and up popped Bethany Hill, age five, missing for two years.”

  “When was this?” I asked, my mind spinning with the details she spewed.

  “Last night.”

  “You were with Dr. Paul and Graham last night?”

  She pursed her lips. “Yeah.”

  Without me. Apparently, they’d met to talk about Bethany’s case and decided not to include me. There shouldn’t have been a stab of hurt, knowing how they felt about me, but there was. It was like a knife in the back. “I see.”

  “Nothing personal,” Annie said.

  “Of course not.” She would have to be deaf not to pick up my sarcasm. “What else did you learn? About the case?”

  I knew I wasn’t going to break my word and Google the case, but Orlinda had wanted us to learn from each other so I saw no harm in asking Annie.

  “Not much,” she said, dismissing me with a wave. “There were never any suspects. The truck was never found. Her parents split up not long after the abduction. The case is still open.”

  And it would remain open even after Graham led the police to Bethany’s body.

  Because there was still a killer on the loose.

  She frowned and looked around. “Do you hear that?”

  I glanced left and right. “Hear what?”

  “I keep hearing someone say ‘Hidden hollow.’”

  I scrunched my nose. “A spirit?”

  “They don’t talk to me. There it is again. Do you have your TV on?”

  “No.” I glanced behind me at my screen door. There was a small shadow sitting in the doorway.

  Ebbie’s tail swished side to side and there was a knowing look in her eye.

  Could it possibly been Ebbie’s voice that Annie had heard?

  Annie shook her head. “Weird. Anyway, maybe I’ll see you Sunday.”

  “Maybe.”

  As I watched her drive off, my emotions warred. Hurt, angry, frustrated, sad.

  I thought about Bethany. About how I’d been unable to find her.

  And about how I was now determined to bring her killer to justice. I would never give up.

  The taillights disappeared as Annie turned toward the main road. I probably should have told her about Ebbie.

  But then again, she probably should have told me about the meeting last night.

  Turning to go back into the house, the piece of paper Annie had given me fluttered out of my pocket. I bent down and picked it up, once again staring at the words.

  NOT SAM BLACKIE

  What in the world did it mean?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Early the next morning, I was once again watching Sean sleep. This time I was lying in bed next to him. He’d been tossing and turning for at least an hour, so I knew he was almost ready to wake up.

  The automatic coffee maker had already made its first pot, and the scent was slowly luring me out of bed.

  Thoreau nudged my hand as I sat up, and I patted his head. Ebbie glanced at me from atop my pillow (where she’d spent the night), and there was no sign of Grendel. Odysseus had long since gone to sleep, happily hidden inside his plastic igloo.

  The first rays of morning light had slipped underneath the drawn shade, and the forecasters had predicted another scorching hot day. There was talk of probable brownouts across the city, and officials urged everyone to conserve as much energy as possible.

  Which was kind of hard to do when it was going to be over one hundred degrees outside.

  For the sixth day in a row.

  I glanced at Sean’s hand by his side. I bit my lip. I probably shouldn’t do what I was thinking about doing... But I wanted to know.

  I wanted to see.

  Slowly, I leaned over and poised my hand atop his. Already I could feel the sparks. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and pressed my palm against his.

  Sean’s hand jerked under mine. My eyes flew open, and I found him watching me.

  My heart raced, and I was dizzy as I tried to figure out what I’d just seen.

  “If you’re going to have your way with me while I’m sleeping, might I suggest other body parts other than my hand?”

  “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to see...”

  The sheet fell from his chest as he sat up. My gaze skimmed right over his scar and focused on the taut muscles, the tanned skin.

  “See what?” he asked.

  “What was in store for us.”

  “And?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what it is I saw. It’s too cloudy.”

  Cupping my chin, he said, “Everything is going to be okay.”

  “Promise?”

  “Cross my malfunctioning heart.”

  I smiled. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

&nbs
p; “I expect you to.”

  I batted my eyelashes. “And speaking of holding... What are those other body parts you would suggest to me? You know, for future reference.”

  He laughed. “I could show you. You know, for future reference.”

  The pets scattered as he pulled me into his arms.

  An hour later, I was still cuddled next to his side when my eyes flew open.

  “What is it?” he murmured.

  My heart pounded. “I just realized what I saw when I touched your hand.”

  “The clouds?”

  I rolled onto my side and looked him in the eyes. “It wasn’t clouds.”

  “What then?”

  “It was smoke. Lots and lots of smoke.”

  ***

  Sean was in the shower when Dovie blew through my front door an hour and a half later, carrying a basket in one hand and a gift box in the other.

  Preston scuffled along behind her, looking like she needed an IV drip of caffeine.

  I knew the feeling. I’d barely slept last night.

  “Well,” Dovie said after giving me a tight hug and a peck on the cheek, “aren’t you the perfect picture of death warmed over?”

  “Oh, the flattery,” I teased as I poured a generous amount of coffee into a mug. I held the carafe up to Preston, but if possible, she lost even more color to her already ashen skin tone.

  “No thanks.”

  Talk about death warmed over.

  Dovie rubbed Preston’s back. “Preston’s going to make an appointment with her doctor today. Aren’t you, dear?”

  Preston pressed her cheek against the cool countertop. “Yes,” she droned.

  I knew Dovie would wear her down. I’d called Cutter yesterday afternoon, but the airport had been fogged in, and he hadn’t been able to get a flight out last night. He vowed to rent a car and drive down the coast to another airport if he had to. He was bound and determined to get back here as soon as possible. Preston had no idea he was on his way, and I warned him not to tell her that I let on she was sick.

  Dovie held up the basket. “I brought fresh waffles, but first...” She slid the box across the counter to me.

  The pipes in the walls quieted as Sean turned off the shower. I wasn’t worried about him being caught au naturel. He’d learned the lesson to always wear clothes when there was a chance Dovie might pop in.

  “What’s this?” I asked, shaking the package.

  Ebbie hopped up on the counter and sat next to Preston’s head. “Pretty kitty,” she murmured.

  “A surprise!” Dovie said, her eyes aglow.

  Preston dragged herself upright and scratched Ebbie’s ears. “Brace yourself,” she said to me.

  “Oh you.” Dovie gave her a little shove.

  I balanced my weight against the counter and used both hands to reluctantly pull the top off the box. A beautiful sea foam green crocheted blanket was nestled in tissue paper. I lifted it out and held it up.

  “Isn’t it gorgeous?” Dovie cooed. “A friend of mine made it.”

  “A baby blanket?” I asked. “Isn’t this taking things too far?”

  Dovie dismissed me with a wave of her hand. “Phooey. It’s not a baby blanket. It’s a kitty blanket. For your new addition.” She patted Ebbie’s head.

  Preston mouthed, “It’s a baby blanket” behind Dovie’s back.

  “Well, thank you,” I said, smiling. “I’m sure Ebbie will love it.” I folded the blanket in half, set it on the counter, then picked up Ebbie and put her on top of it. “Perfect.”

  A little of the light dimmed in Dovie’s eyes.

  Preston, however, managed a smile. She slid off her stool and walked over to the couch and proceeded to lie down.

  Dovie threw me a worried glance.

  I shared her concern.

  “And I have this,” Dovie said, pulling an envelope out of the basket. She slid it over to me.

  “What’s this?”

  “A little advancement from the Lucy Valentine rental fund.” I groaned. That’s what she called the rent money I gave her every month—the money she socked away.

  I opened the envelope. There were ten crisp one hundred dollar bills.

  “You’ll need some cash until you can get a new ID and your credit cards replaced. Just let me know if you need more.”

  I hopped around the counter and gave her a kiss. I slid the envelope into my purse and went for the basket of waffles. I was starving.

  As I pulled a plate out of the cabinet, a shrill ring came from the counter near the fridge. I turned and hopped over to the cell phone charging there. It was the throwaway phone Sean used to contact Sam. I picked it up and answered before it could switch to voicemail.

  “Lucy,” Sam said, his voice high, “is Sean around?”

  “Just getting out of the shower.”

  “I need to talk to him.”

  Sean appeared in the bedroom doorway, wrapped in a towel.

  Dovie fanned her face, and I rolled my eyes at her.

  Though, really, Sean was face-fan worthy.

  “It’s Sam,” I said, holding out the phone.

  I saw the worry in his eyes as he took the cell from my hand.

  Preston popped her head up from the other side of the couch. She, Dovie, and I eavesdropped shamelessly on Sean’s side of the conversation.

  “What? When?” His eyebrows drew downward, and his lips set into a thin line. “Where?” Shooting a glance at me, he said, “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “What doesn’t?” I whispered.

  Sean said, “There was a fire last night at 869 Maple.”

  Why did that sound so familiar? Then it hit me like a sucker punch to the stomach. “One of your foster homes?”

  He gave a sharp nod.

  “Did Sam live there, too?” I asked.

  “No.” Then into the phone, he said, “Sam, I’ll meet you there in forty-five minutes.”

  Drawing in a deep breath, he disconnected the call, and said, “It doesn’t make sense. Sam never lived there.”

  “But you did,” Preston said from the couch.

  I gasped, my eyes growing wide. My pulse hammered in my ears.

  NOT SAM BLACKIE.

  “What?” Sean reached out for me.

  I held up a hand and hopped one-footed to the mantel where I’d put Annie’s note under a picture frame.

  Tears flooded my eyes. “Not Sam,” I whispered.

  “LucyD,” Dovie said, “what’s going on?”

  I hopped back into the kitchen and met Sean’s gaze. “Who’s Blackie?”

  His eyes flew open wide, and he took a step backward as if I’d just shoved him. “What did you say?”

  “Who’s Blackie?” I shoved the note at him.

  “What is this?”

  I quickly explained Annie’s visit the night before.

  Sean’s jaw worked side to side, and the sheen of moisture in his eyes was unmistakable.

  “Who’s Blackie?” I whispered.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I am. It’s the nickname my mother used to call me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It was bedlam at the scene of the fire on Maple Street. The media was out in full force, and dozens of firefighters and police milled about. Onlookers crowded the sidewalks and front porches.

  Sean, Sam, and I stood at the street corner, looking on in silence.

  Thankfully no one had been hurt in the blaze, but there was barely anything left to the house. It lay in blackened ruins.

  Sean’s jaw was locked in a clench, while Sam looked ravaged.

  I was still reeling from the revelation that Sean’s mother had been the energy bothering Annie, and I also took some satisfaction in that.

  Annie deserved to be bothered.

  A lot.

  I was grateful to Sean’s mom.

  On the way here, I shared with Sean what Dr. Paul had said about the spirit surrounding Sean. He hadn’t said anything in reply, and we spent the rest of the drive
over in silence.

  When he fell in love with me, he probably hadn’t counted on all the psychic baggage that came along. Even more of it now that I had psychic sidekicks and more and more abilities.

  I was starting to wonder if it would be too much for him to handle.

  Maybe not right now... But someday.

  Was Cupid’s Curse at work?

  Sam shifted his feet and said, “We couldn’t have known.”

  It was a sentiment that had been voiced several times over the past hour.

  We couldn’t have known it was Sean the arsonist had been after all along.

  That the fires hadn’t been targeting places that related to Sam but to Sean.

  Everything from the DCF fire to Sam’s house—where Sean had temporarily lived for a few months. Someone had researched Sean’s life. Knew it inside out.

  Eating at me was the fact that it should have been Sean in hiding not Sam. Yet, we’d been oblivious to the danger.

  Why hadn’t the arsonist simply burned down my cottage?

  Why was he toying with us?

  Despite the heat, I shivered. I couldn’t help but feel that we were pawns in some evil game.

  One of the firefighters on the scene broke away and walked over to us. As he neared, I could see it was Curt Meister. And he didn’t look happy to see us.

  Dark ash dusted his coat, his helmet. His face shield was pushed up atop his helmet and his scowl would have made me shudder if I didn’t already have the chills.

  “Damn it, Sean,” he said tightly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  Angrily, Sam said, “Wait a second, Curt. You don’t understand. The arsonist is after Sean.” Sam explained about the relevance of the house that had burned down, and how Sean was tied to the other places on the list.

  Curt swore under his breath. “Go home, Sean. I’ll try to steer the investigation in another direction, but your name keeps coming up. You’re making things worse for yourself being here.”

  I nudged Sean with my elbow. “We should go.”

  Sean looked at me, long and hard. Finally, he nodded. He turned on his heel and walked away.

  Sam followed, jogging to catch up to him.

  I said to Curt, “You’ve got to catch this guy.”