Part 11 (1/2)
She nodded. ”Dead.”
He blew out a breath and finished uncorking the wine. ”The way you saw it?”
”Unfortunately.”
He looked at her again, and hardened his jaw. ”Please tell me you didn't actually see her?”
”G.o.d, no.” As she placed pizza on their plates, she told him how George knew Detective Joe Foster, and how the Milwaukee detective had handled the crime scene. ”George and I left for Chicago before the forensics investigators finished working the scene. Before we left, Joe did tell us that there was no sign of forced entry, and, except for Tracy's office, nothing in the house was out of place. He also said there was bruising along Tracy's face and shoulders that suggested someone held her under the water.”
”What did the detective say about Tracy's office?”
”It was ransacked.” She bypa.s.sed the pizza and reached for the gla.s.s of wine. ”The problem is, it'll take them time to sort through the office to figure out what the killer was looking for.”
Olivia came over and, calling for him, raised her arms and reached for John. He scooped her up, took a seat on the chair in front of the island, then picked up his slice of pizza. ”But you know,” he said, craning to take a bite of pizza before Olivia put her fingers all over it.
”I think I do, and George agrees. He told Joe about Sandra's suicide, and that we both think the killer wanted to make sure no one was aware that Sandra was Tracy's mother. If I didn't suspect Sandra was murdered over the adoption papers, I don't know if the Milwaukee PD would've made the connection in time.”
”In time for what?”
”Sandra's cremation.”
He raised a brow and gave Olivia his crust. Within seconds their daughter had coated it with drool. ”So is this detective going to contact the Chicago PD and ask them to reinvestigate Sandra's suicide?”
”Joe said he would. On the drive home, George told me Joe promised to keep him in the loop. Although George believes him, he's contacting a few detectives he used to work with when he'd been with the Chicago PD.”
”If George doesn't get anywhere, you could always call Jessica.”
Jessica Russo was a Chicago homicide detective and married to Dante, an agent who also worked for CORE. But Jessica was pregnant and due in a few weeks. ”I hate to bother her, but I would bother her partner.”
John took the mushy crust Olivia offered him and placed it on his napkin. ”Yeah, Alex is a good guy. He'd help.” He wiped Olivia's face and hands, then kissed her clean cheek. ”Were the forensics investigators able to come up with a time of death?”
”They're thinking two to three days ago, but will know more after the autopsy.”
He set Olivia on the floor. ”I don't think you have to worry about the Chicago PD reinvestigating Sandra's suicide. The time of Tracy's murder is too coincidental to ignore. What I'm wondering is how they're going to handle it.”
”Handle what?”
”The wake is tomorrow, the memorial service is Monday. If the ME missed something during the original autopsy-if there even was one-they'll need Sandra's body. I can't imagine that'll go over well with the family.”
”Oh, G.o.d. I feel horrible, like this is my fault.” She shoved the plate of uneaten pizza aside. ”It's bad enough Kelly and her family have to deal with their loss. Now they'll have to deal with a murder investigation.” She rubbed her temple. ”What if I'm wrong? That means I put this family through h.e.l.l over nothing.”
”I think Tracy has made it clear you're right on track.” He reached for his gla.s.s. ”Are you still planning on going to the wake tomorrow?”
”Yes. I'm hoping my guilt won't show.”
He reached across the island and took her hand. ”Let's get Eden to watch Olivia and I'll go with you.”
Keep Olivia close to you or John, until Sandra and Tracy's murders are resolved.
”No,” she said, quicker and harsher than she'd meant. ”Thanks, but it's okay. I'd rather not bother Eden. And I'd rather Olivia stay close to one of us. I trust Eden, not whoever killed Tracy and Sandra.”
He tightened his grip on her hand. ”What aren't you telling me?”
”I'm sure it's nothing, but last night, before I fell asleep, I saw the black figure surrounding Olivia.”
He glanced away and looked to where their daughter sat on the floor playing with a couple of plastic storage bowls she'd pulled from the kitchen drawer. ”What did Maxine have to say about that and what happened last night?”
”That neither of us should worry about me not coming back from the light. If it's not my time...” She shrugged. ”She does want to work on helping me control the trances. As for Olivia, she thinks what I saw was my subconscious messing with me. If you remember, we argued hard about the trance and you brought up one of my worst fears-going into another trance when it's just Olivia and me. But I think Maxine's right. What happened to Tracy has me paranoid.”
”Me, too. And I'm sorry again for some of the things I said last night.”
”Only some of them?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood. She didn't want to discuss murders or visions, or worry about the what-ifs should she go into another trance. Tired and not looking forward to the next two days, she wanted to curl up on the couch with her two favorite people and pretend everything was normal.
John chuckled and stood. Still holding her hand, he came around the island, then pulled her into his arms. ”Okay, I'm sorry for everything I said.”
Olivia tugged at her pants. Celeste looked down and saw that their daughter was hanging onto John's jeans, too. ”I think someone feels left out.”
John picked up Olivia. ”Since we're both paranoid, let's agree that Olivia stays with one of us at all times.”
”How's that going to work out when I have to head into the bakery and you have to chase after bad guys?”
”I don't know,” he said, resting his cheek against Olivia's curls. ”But your dad does happen to own a private criminal investigation agency, and I do happen to work for him. If the police don't give us the answers we're hoping for, I predict CORE will be lending a hand to both the Milwaukee and Chicago PD.”
Us. ”Thanks for sticking with me on this and for continuing to believe in me.”
”Believing has never been a problem,” he said, caressing her cheek with his thumb. ”Not understanding what you can do is. I love you and what we're building together.” The love and sincerity in his eyes made her throat tighten. ”You can't change being psychic, but maybe I can meet with Maxine, too. Maybe she could tell me what to do if you're in a trance, or the signs to look for before you go under one?”
”I think that's a great idea. Maxine mentioned today that she'd love to meet you.” Relieved John was willing to take the extra steps to help her transition back into the psychic world, she moved to her tiptoes and gave him a kiss. ”This means a lot to me. Thank you.”
Olivia pa.s.sed gas, making a special moment all the more special. While her daughter giggled and John laughed, Celeste reached for Olivia. ”On that note. How about I give Miss Stinky Pants a bath.”
”I've got it,” John said, s.h.i.+fting Olivia away. The movement was subtle. If anyone else were in the room they wouldn't have noticed. But she had.
”Go relax,” she said, testing him. ”You've been with her all day. I'll take care of bath-time.”
He avoided her gaze and instead gave Olivia a loud raspberry at the crook of her neck. While her daughter giggled, John turned away. ”You didn't eat anything. Have some pizza, and I'll take care of her bath.”
She stared at her husband's retreating back, disappointment piercing her in the heart. He didn't trust her to bathe their daughter, even with him home. She would never do anything to hurt Olivia.
The black figure surrounding Olivia's blond head rematerialized. As she shook off the memory, she couldn't shake off the resentment suddenly burning its way through her belly. For the unknown killer, for John and for her psychic gift that could put them all in danger.
Chapter 11.
CELESTE PULLED THE tray of cinnamon rolls from the oven, then set them on the stovetop. When John was in town on Sundays, she liked to spoil him with a big breakfast. Since she was still irritated with him for making it clear he didn't trust her to give Olivia a bath, she'd been tempted to not bake the homemade rolls. The only reason she had was because she'd wanted one and because Olivia liked them, too. John could eat a bowl of dry Cheerios, for all she cared.
”Something smells good,” John said, as he came into the kitchen carrying his tablet, which he'd been reading a book from all morning. ”Are you making omelets, too?”