My stomach hurt and my chest felt tight, but I managed to return his smile. “Will it lessen your high opinion of me?”
“Possibly.”
I batted my eyelashes. “Then they’re all Marisol’s.”
“I thought so.” Smiling, he thumbed through one of them. He now seemed wide awake. “What were you looking for?”
“Rick Hayes.”
“Find him?”
I pointed to a stack I’d set aside—the issues that had articles on Rick. “But I feel like there should be more.” I realized I wanted him to be guilty simply because I didn’t like him and I wanted someone to blame for Mac’s disappearance. But there were no skeletons in Rick’s past. It didn’t mean he was innocent, but it made proving him guilty that much harder.
I hated admitting that might be because he wasn’t guilty.
Fred Ross’s words floated through my head. I think whatever happened, it was Mac’s choice.
Now that Sean was wide awake, it would have made perfect sense to move the magazines and laptop into my room, where there was abundant space to spread out. But I liked this closeness, his knee touching mine. I could pick up the faint scent of his toothpaste, could still taste his kiss on my lips.
I glanced at him.
Home.
All my life my home, my heart, had been with my mum. Now … I felt it shifting, making room to include Sean. Here, tucked away in this closet, the air moist, warm, I felt safe. Loved.
He looked up, caught me staring. Seemed to know what I was thinking. Smiled.
I smiled back, wondering how long I could keep us in here, instead of facing the world outside.
Not long, I knew. So I was determined to enjoy it.
Sean flipped a page. He held up the magazine. “Who drew the heart around Mark Wahlberg?”
“Marisol.”
“Ri-i-ght,” he said, drawing the one syllable into three.
“I’m not kidding! He’s not my type.”
I smiled at memories of Em, Marisol, and me crowded together on this floor. We’d spent hours flipping through the pages of these magazines, declaring who was going to marry whom. Marisol still had dibs on Mark Wahlberg—a proclamation renewed when he posed for those Calvin Klein underwear ads a few years ago. For a fleeting second, just for that memory alone, I was glad my mother never threw anything away.
“Who did you have a teenage crush on?” Sean asked.
“You first.”
He skimmed the magazine as he said, “No one.”
“Liar.”
“All right.” He smiled. “Wonder Woman.”
“No pressure there for me.”
He laughed. “Now you.”
“Dewey Evans.”
“I think I just fell in love with you all over again.”
Though it was said lightly, my heart melted. I was so lost in mush and gush that I jumped when Sean said, “Whoa!”
“What?”
“Look.” He spread the magazine in front of me and tapped a picture.
It was a photo of Rick and his fourth wife, Esmeralda, taken on the red carpet at the 1989 Grammy Awards. Rick hadn’t changed much over the past twenty years. I suspected he may have had some work done on his face. A lift here, a tuck there. “What?”
“Do you recognize her?”
Her? Esmeralda? I scanned her flawless face, her long dark hair, her emerald eyes. She was gorgeous, but I’d never seen her before.
Sean said, “Shorten her hair.”
I still didn’t know who it was.
“Put her in a housekeeper’s uniform and give her a British accent.”
My eyes widened. “Esme!”
“Interesting, don’t you think, that Rick’s fourth wife is now working as his family’s housekeeper?”
Very interesting—but did it have anything to do with Mac?
Sean suddenly tipped his head, listening. “Is that your phone?”
Sure enough, I heard the Hawaii Five-O ringtone. I jumped up, ran for the night table where my phone was charging next to the little box of trinkets where Mum had found her ring. “Aiden?”
“Sorry, Lucy, I know it’s late. I mean early. But I have news I thought you’d want to hear.”
Sean sat on the edge of the bed. Dark smudges colored the skin under his eyes. I pressed my hand into my aching stomach again.
“What kind of news?” I asked, my heart racing. It was four in the morning. Nothing ever good happened at four in the morning. It was the worst time for a phone call.
“The Boston Police Harbor Patrol responded to a distress call from a small boat taking on water near Thompson Island. It was Rourke’s boat.”
Suddenly four in the morning was my favorite time of day to get a call. Unless … “He didn’t get away, did he?”
I could practically hear Aiden’s smile. “Not this time. Boston police have him in custody.”
29
“Have you slept at all?” I asked as Aiden drove. We were on our way to see Orlinda Batista, the woman who had brought Mac’s hideous sweater to the consignment shop.
Dark gray clouds crowded the sun out of the sky. It was just past nine. I was operating on pure adrenaline and caffeine.
“Did you? You don’t look like you did.”
“Such flattery,” I said, sipping from my Dunkin’ latte. “Stop. I’m blushing.”
He popped an orange Tic Tac into his mouth and smiled. “I got in a couple of hours on a cot at the office. You?”
“About the same,” I lied, knowing he’d worry if he knew I hadn’t slept a wink. “How much did you tell Orlinda about me?”
Orlinda Batista lived in Hingham, but we were meeting her at her office in Plymouth. She was a psychologist who was squeezing in our visit between patients and had made it clear her time was limited.
“The usual. How your abilities work, what we’re hoping to accomplish. She readily agreed—she’d heard of you before and seemed eager to meet you.”
I was eager to meet her, too—especially if she could help me find out what had happened to Mac.
Sean had hitched a ride with my father into the city for his meeting with Catherine Murphy and Mary Ellen Spero—the meeting Meaghan had set up in hopes of clearing Tristan’s name. Now that he was behind bars, would Meaghan back off? Or double her efforts?
The shock Sean experienced yesterday now presented a new problem—he wouldn’t be able to drive for a while. When he remembered that fact this morning, he’d been in such a grumpy mood I was glad when Aiden called about going to see Orlinda.
“Any Rufus sightings?” Aiden asked.
“Not a single one.” Again, the image of Rufus stuck somewhere, his leash snagged, came to me. I tried to shake it loose, but it wouldn’t go away. I could see him, sitting there in snow-covered woods, trapped, straining on his leash, his pink bandanna the only color amid brown tree trunks and startling white snow.
A sob caught in my throat. I bit my lip hard and tried to focus on anything else, but my mind wouldn’t cooperate. I kept seeing that bandanna as if it were glow—
“Oh!” I cried, straightening. Coffee sloshed.
“What’s wrong?”
I smiled so wide my cheeks hurt. “Nothing. Something is finally right. I can find Rufus! Or I think I can. I’d forgotten he was wearing a bandanna.”
“Wouldn’t Mac have bought that for him?”
“No, Christa bought it. I remember Jemima saying something about the color.”
“Do you want me to turn around?”
It was tempting, but we were so close to Orlinda’s office now and we wouldn’t be there long. Plus I had a bigger problem. “Christa’s probably in school. I’ll have to wait until she gets out.”
“Why don’t you see if Jemima will call the school and arrange for Christa to get out of class for a couple of minutes to meet with you?”
It was a good idea. Christa wouldn’t want to wait—she was probably worried sick about Rufus (I knew the feeling). I dialed Jemima, but
no one answered. I left a message for her to call me back and why.
I could barely contain my excitement and finally—finally—some of the weight I was hauling around lifted from my shoulders.
Orlinda Batista’s office was in an old three-story house that had been converted into a medical office building on Route 44, a few blocks from Plymouth Harbor. Original wooden floors sloped as we found Orlinda’s office on the first floor. A receptionist checked us in, while a couple who were already waiting checked us out, probably wondering what we were being treated for. I could imagine the guesses, what with Aiden’s no-nonsense cop look and my look-what-the-cat-dragged-in appearance.
It wasn’t long before we were called back, earning us disgruntled looks from the other couple, who obviously put a lot of faith in the first come, first served motto.
“Please have a seat.” Orlinda Batista remained behind an old metal desk stacked high with medical charts. She studied me as we came in, and I tried not to flinch under the scrutiny.
Around sixty or so, she had an earth-mother look about her with plump cheeks, kind blue eyes, shoulder-length wavy brown hair, purple tunic, and colorful beaded necklace. There was no offer of a handshake, and her wheelchair caught me off-guard. “You’re here about Mac Gladstone?”
“As I explained on the phone, he’s missing,” Aiden said, holding out my chair for me. I sat.
“I don’t know if this will work,” I added. “I’ve never tried to read energy from a consignment shop item, but I wanted to try.”
Orlinda rolled away from her desk. The wood floor squeaked under her wheelchair as she stopped next to my chair. She smiled kindly. “I think, Lucy, there is more to your abilities than you’re aware.”
I shifted in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable with the way she was looking at me. “Oh?”
She glanced at Aiden. “I’m sorry, I hate to rush, but my time is limited. Are you ready?” she asked me, holding out her palm.
“Think of the sweater you brought to I’ll Take Seconds, the ugly orange one with the colored confetti.”
Her eyebrows dipped. “Ugly? I knitted that sweater.”
Aiden coughed and bent his head to hide a smile.
“I, ah—”
She burst out laughing, a loud booming bark that sounded like a sea lion. One of her bottom teeth was charmingly crooked. “I’m kidding. Sorry,” she said. “I find so little humor in the day.”
I couldn’t help a small smile.
Orlinda held out both her hands to me.
“I only need one,” I said.
“Take both,” she said softly but insistently.
I took both.
Dizziness mixed with relief mixed with anxiety (would I see Mac?) as images raced in my head. It took me a second to sort them out as they flashed between locations, sort of a slide show on fast forward. Orlinda was obviously thinking of more than one item.
One of the visual slides was very clearly Mac’s orange sweater in a pile at a Goodwill shop downtown. The other was a black coat hanging in the closet of an expensive Beacon Hill hotel room, and the other was a pair of sneakers on a man walking a dog up the cobblestoned streets around the hotel.
I tried to pull my hands away, but Orlinda held on tight. “Wait,” she said in a whisper. “Relax. Breathe, Lucy.”
She closed her eyes and held on to my hands. My palms warmed under her touch and tingles went up my arms, down my sternum, and pooled in my stomach.
“There.” She opened her eyes.
Aiden said, “Did you see anything, Lucy?”
I stared at my hands, wondering what had just happened.
There were many things to work through, with not just what I had seen but also what I had just felt. There was only one thing I knew for sure.
Mac Gladstone was alive. And he had Rufus.
There was something else nagging me about that vision, but I was having trouble concentrating, with the tingles and all.
“I’m sorry,” Orlinda said, “but I have other patients I must see to, and you have a long day still ahead of you. Don’t overlook the obvious, Lucy, and you might want to cut back on the coffee.”
She asked nothing of what I might have seen … yet I couldn’t shake the feeling she somehow knew.
Aiden stood, a confused look on his face as he glanced between me and Orlinda. I followed him to the door.
“I’ll meet you in the waiting room,” I said to him.
He looked like he was going to protest but walked off.
“Orlinda?” I turned to her.
“Yes, dear?”
“I hope you don’t mind my asking, but what happened to your legs?”
She smiled as though I had just passed some kind of Princess and the Pea test. “I was struck by lightning when I was twelve. It left me paralyzed.” Her words hung between us.
“I’m very sorry.” I tried to wrap my head around what she was saying between the lines.
“Don’t be. Sometimes from the ashes a gift rises.” She rolled forward and pulled the door open wide, dismissing me. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Lucy.” Warmth glowed in her eyes. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again.”
It wasn’t until I was back in the car that I realized for the first time in three days my stomach didn’t hurt.
* * *
I was stuck on why.
Why would Mac disappear, leaving his family behind? And his dog, too—at least temporarily.
Aiden had gotten an emergency call and dropped me off at Mum’s house. I was trying to figure out what to do about Mac. My first instinct was to drive into the city and find him and get some answers.
It was my second instinct, too.
But I fought against them. I needed time to think. To figure it out. Because I felt as though I was missing something big.
I let my thoughts drift to Orlinda Batista, but I didn’t let them linger. What she had said—what she had done—wasn’t something I had time to think about now.
Glancing out the kitchen’s big bay window, I spotted Thoreau running through the snow. He sniffed his way along the fenced-in yard. The pool had been covered for the winter and the gardens looked tired, worn. Beyond my mother’s music studio, the land dropped straight down into a dark roiling ocean.
I needed to pack. Now that Tristan was behind bars, it was safe to go home again. Although I was glad I’d be sleeping in my own bed tonight, I was going to miss being here. It felt safe. I felt safe. Loved.
Behind me, Mum stood, hip propped against the counter, scoring the skin of a grapefruit so she could peel it. She was whistling the Beatles’ “Yesterday.” Soft overhead lighting bathed the kitchen in a comforting glow. In here, my mother’s style shone through. Concrete countertops, a soft red on the wall—the same color as her aura. High-end Wolf appliances, yet a secondhand kitchen table with mismatching chairs. It was as if the term “shabby chic” had been invented solely for her.
Opening the cupboard, I searched through the mugs. I finally settled on one that read: “I’m not a doctor, but I’ll take a look anyway.” I opted for decaf tea.
I lowered onto a counter stool and waited for the teakettle. Grendel was sitting in the window, keeping an eye on Thoreau while watching the seagulls.
“You’re quiet,” Mum said. “Are you still worried about Sean?”
“Just thinking.”
“About Sean?”
“Mostly Mac.” Reluctantly, I told her about my reading—the Mac portion of it, at least. I hadn’t planned to, but I needed to get it out, talk about it.
Her knife stilled, and the grapefruit rocked on the counter. “He’s alive?”
I nodded. “I think I need to go to that hotel and see if I can find him. Hear his side of things. The police have to be notified. His family. And I can’t figure out why he did it—why he’s continuing to do it.”
My gaze settled on her hands as they set about expertly sectioning the grapefruit. She preferred to eat it like an orange, rather than to scoop it out. ?
??Where’s your ring?”
“I’m having it resized and cleaned.”
“Where?” I asked.
Waving her hand, she said, “In town. You wouldn’t know the place.”
“Try me.”
“What’s with the questions, LucyD?”
“What’s with the evasiveness?”
She smiled. “I’m not being evasive. I told you it needed to be cleaned.”
“You and Dad didn’t break up, did you?”
“There’s time left today.”
I froze, then smiled. She was teasing me.
“Stop worrying so much, LucyD.”
Easy for her to say. “It’ll take me some time to get used to.”
“Understandable. But remember, it might not last. I don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
“Can you say ‘dysfunctional’?”
She laughed.
My cell phone rang. I pulled it from my pocket.
It was Jemima and her voice sounded strained as she said, “Christa is absolutely refusing to do a reading, Lucy.”
The kettle whistled, and I filled my cup. I watched in horror as Mum took celery, carrots, and an apple from the fridge and pulled a juicer from a cabinet. She wouldn’t.…
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Jemima said. “I’m sorry. I’d really like to be of more help. I hate to admit it, but I miss that stupid dog more than I thought.”
… She would. Mum dropped the celery and carrots in first. I couldn’t watch. I took my mug over to the kitchen table. Grendel flicked an ear at me as a hello before turning his attention back to Thoreau.
Jemima sounded sincere, which took me by surprise. I didn’t want to say anything about Mac—or Rufus at this point. Not until I knew more.
Mum whistled in between the mechanical pulses of the juicer.
“And Christa didn’t mention why?” I thought for sure she’d want to help.
“No. It’s strange, too. She loves Rufus and was heartbroken when she heard he had run away. She’s never had any issues with your gift before now. Unless Rick has gotten to her.”
There was an underlying bitterness when Jemima said her husband’s name that I found interesting in light of what Sean had uncovered last night.