In the Blink of an Eye (34 page)

He shakes his head, following her into the front room. The weather is the last thing on his mind at this point.

He doesn't waste any time getting to the point. Seated beside her on an antique sofa, its seat too narrow to be comfortable, he says, “I came over, Julia, for a couple of reasons. I guess the most important one is to apologize for the way I yelled at you this afternoon.”

She bows her head so that he can't see her expression.

“I didn't mean to lash out that way,” he says. “It's just that Dulcie . . . she's all I have. Nothing is more important to me than my daughter. And when I thought about what could have happened to her . . . well, I guess I went off the deep end.”

“I don't blame you. I didn't realize I shouldn't have left her up there asleep while I was in the basement. It didn't seem like that big a deal at the time. I kept checking on her, and she promised to stay in bed and wait for me if she woke up. Besides, I figured I could have heard her calling me if she needed me. I left the basement doors open, and her bedroom window was open, and it was almost directly above—”

He curtails her guilt-ridden tirade with a brisk “I know all that. Look, Julia, it's not like I stand over her bed every time she's asleep. It's not like I don't let her out of my sight. I didn't mean to blame you for doing something I very likely would have done myself. And I'm sorry. But . . . that's not the only reason I'm here.”

“It's not?” She looks up at him, her eyes expectant. “Why are you here?”

“Because I talked to Dulcie after you left with your—with Andy.” For some reason, he won't let himself label him her boyfriend. And anyway, she never has.

“Look, thank him for what he did when you see him, okay? For me. Thank him for me,” Paine says. “Because I didn't think to do it when he was here, and the way I acted . . . well, I'm sure I must have come across as ungrateful, and I'm not. If it hadn't been for that guy . . .”

“I know.” She gives a slight shudder, holding her coffee cup steady in her lap with both hands.

“Anyway,” Paine goes on, “Dulcie told me some things, and I don't know what to make of them. I'm hoping . . . I thought maybe you could help.”

“What kinds of things did she tell you?”

He takes a deep breath. “Some of it I've heard before—the same stuff that I told you on Saturday. But now . . . she says you think her mother's spirit is in the house. She says you think Kristin is there, and that you and Dulcie can see and hear—”

“I can't see her,” Julia interrupts. “Only Dulcie can.”

“But . . . I just don't get it. She's blind, Julia. I know you tried to explain it before, and forgive me if I seem a little thick, because I'm trying really hard to understand. If all this spirit stuff is real—” Seeing her wary expression, he quickly shifts gears, asking simply, “How can she
see
anything?”

“The best way to explain it, Paine, is that I'm clairaudient, but I don't need my ears to hear what I hear. It comes from inside my head. The same is true with Dulcie's clairvoyance. Whatever she's seeing isn't necessarily there, in front of her. If you or I were beside her, we quite possibly wouldn't see the apparition.”

“I've never seen a ghost in my life.”

“And I have. But I don't often connect with energy in a visual way. Your daughter seems to.”

“How do we know it isn't a figment of her imagination?”

“We don't.” Julia looks him in the eye. “But I strongly doubt that it is. I've felt the same energy, Paine, and I've heard it. I've seen her, too.”

“And was it her? Kristin?”

“The vision wasn't very clear, and it only lasted an instant, but I did see blond hair.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“Not then. But once, when I asked the spirit to give me a name, I got a strong
K
sound at the beginning and an
N
at the end. The rest was garbled. But that isn't unusual.”

“So it sounded like it was saying its name is Kristin.”

“It could have been. But I don't . . . I can't tell. I keep asking myself why, if it's her, I can't feel a strong sense of her.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Most likely because Kristin and I were virtual strangers in our adult lives, Paine. We once knew each other so intimately—more intimately than I've ever known another person in my life. She was like a sister to me.”

He nods, recalling the framed photo upstairs. “But you grew apart.”

“People do.” A faraway expression in her eyes gives way to something else. Something darker. “What is it that you want from me, Paine? Why are you here?”

He opens his mouth to answer her, uncertain what he's even going to say, but she doesn't give him a chance. She goes on, “I've done everything you asked me to do. I stayed away from you after we first met. I came back when you asked me to, and I tried to assess Dulcie's gift. I could have told you lots of things about her, things that you obviously decided you didn't want to hear. Then I left today when you asked me to. Now you're back.” Her voice wavers. “I just don't know what you want.”

“I'm sorry, Julia. I guess I want you to tell me that my daughter is okay. That she's going to be okay. That . . . Look, when she climbs out a second-story window because a ghost tells her to—and she insists that the ghost is trying to save her from somebody who's sneaking around our house—well, what the hell am I supposed to think? Either my daughter is losing her mind, or . . . or I am. Because that would mean that this is real. All of this stuff I never believed in. All of this stuff I swore was impossible.”

“It's real, Paine,” Julia says softly. She reaches out and touches his arm below the short sleeve of his T-shirt. “I'm positive it's real.”

A shiver slips down his spine. Mostly, because of dread that steals over him yet again. But there's something else, too. Julia's warm fingertips on his bare skin . . .

When was the last time a woman touched him there? Anywhere?

Until now, Paine has barely noticed the unfulfilled needs left by three years of self-imposed celibacy. But now is not the time to be seeing Julia as anything other than a friend. A friend whose help he desperately needs.

“Julia,” he says, “Dulcie told me that the lady—the apparition—had long blond hair. And that she was covered in blood. On one side of her face. If it was Kristin . . . what does it mean?”

“I don't think . . .” Julia takes a deep breath. “I tried to tell you this before. The first night you were back—that I don't think Kristin's death was an accident, Paine. The more I think about it, the more certain I am that she was murdered.”

Hearing Julia speak the words aloud with such conviction, Paine feels something snap inside. For the first time, he allows himself to accept his own suspicions as a probability. Miraculously, he doesn't buckle beneath the weight. His voice is steady as he asks Julia, “But who here in Lily Dale would possibly want Kristin dead?”

“Maybe when she was here, she got tangled up with some drug dealer,” Julia says. “I told you she changed right after she arrived. She was brooding about something.”

Paine thinks back. “Maybe. But after rehab, she was committed to staying clean. She wanted to be a good mom to Dulcie. I can't believe that within a day or two of flying back East she slipped that far. She was an addict, but . . .”

Julia starts to speak, then breaks off, hesitating just long enough for Paine to look up sharply, realizing that she's about to share something significant. “It could have been something else, Paine.”

“Like what?”

As he listens to Julia's account of a long-ago Halloween night, he finds himself picturing the two little girls in the photo on Julia's dresser. He can see them so clearly—Kristin, headstrong, yet oddly fragile; Julia, protective, sweetly nurturing.

Paine realizes that the first time Julia brought up the possibility that Kristin was psychically gifted, what bothered him most was that if it were true, Kristin kept it from him.

Damn it. She kept so much of herself from him. That there was one more hidden element—such a significant element—angered him. And Paine took his anger out on Julia, since she was there and Kristin wasn't.

Now . . .

Now that he's set aside his skepticism and opened his mind to a realm of new possibilities . . .

He finds himself treating Julia with new respect.

“I think it's important that Kristin said she saw something at the foot of the stairs, just where I have felt the energy strongest,” Julia tells him. “If it's Kristin's energy I'm feeling there now, then it makes sense that she's drawn back to that spot because it had such an impact on her in life.”

“What do you think she saw there?” Paine asks her.

“Something that scared the hell out of her.”

“A ghost,” he says flatly. “A lady ghost, since she asked you if you saw ‘her.' ”

“Most likely. My theory is that until that moment, Kristin never had a supernatural experience. Or if she did, there was nothing jarring enough to frighten her. But whatever she saw that night was disturbing enough for her to do her best to separate herself from Lily Dale and everyone in it.”

“But she had no say in that. Her father bought a place in Florida when he made so much money off the book and became a celebrity. It wasn't Kristin's decision to go. And she came back here every summer with her parents.”

Julia nods. “But it was never the same. She never seemed comfortable here again. I think maybe she was afraid of what would happen if she accepted her gift. I think she was afraid of what else she might see.”

“She was upset when Iris bought the Biddles' house,” Paine remembers suddenly. “Really upset. I remember her arguing with her mother on the phone when Iris told her about it and when she hung up, she became really withdrawn. She didn't want her mother living there. She said it was because she didn't think Iris could keep up a place like that on her own—she wanted her to buy a condo in a retirement community somewhere.”

“That sounds like Kristin.” Julia smiles faintly.

“But maybe there was more to her reasoning. And she didn't want to fly back here to help Iris get settled in, either,” Paine muses. “She only came because Iris asked her to, and there was nobody else to do it.” He looks at Julia. “So you're thinking that something happened to Kristin in that house when she was back here that summer? That maybe she saw something there again?”

“Maybe.” Julia nods slowly. “And if that's true, then maybe whatever it was somehow led to her death.”

“How are we supposed to figure out what happened to her?”

Julia throws up her hands helplessly . . .

Just as Dulcie's terrified shriek pierces the air.

“
M
IRANDA . . . LOOK!”

Startled by the sound of Kent's hushed, but urgent voice, she snaps out of her reverie about Andy to see her partner pointing at the small screen on one of their video cameras. This one is on a tripod and aimed toward the lilac tree.

“What is it?” she whispers to Kent, stepping closer to peer over his shoulder at the screen. Just moments ago, she was comfortable in a short-sleeved T-shirt with only her sleeveless khaki work vest over it. Now she becomes aware of an icy chill in the air, as though the temperature has suddenly dropped a good twenty degrees.

“See that ecto?” Kent asks softly.

She does. She sees it vividly on the screen.

She looks up at the tree itself. As expected, the ectoplasm is invisible to her naked eye. There's no sign of the spirit form captured by the camera's infrared lens.

“It's taking shape.” Kent's voice is barely audible.

Miranda nods, watching the screen as a human form becomes visible. It's barely defined by arms, legs, a head, yet what she can see is distinctly female.

“It's all right,” Kent calls softly to the apparition. “You can show yourself. We won't hurt you.”

Miranda shivers, hugging herself, suddenly uneasy.

“Come closer,” Kent coaxes. In a low voice, to Miranda, he asks, “Is your tape recorder on?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Maybe we'll get that music again on tape.”

“Well, you should shut up so that it'll be clear if we do,” she hisses.

He scowls but falls silent.

Miranda listens to the steady chirping of the cicadas. A slight breeze stirs the air, rustling the leafy branches.

Then another sound reaches her ears.

Car tires on gravel.

Turning around, she sees the arc of headlights swinging over the yard and house as a car slows and stops at the curb just in front.

“Looks like we have visitors,” Kent mutters.

Recognizing the car, Miranda tugs his sleeve. “Hurry—grab your stuff. Let's get out of here!”

R
UPERT IS ALMOST
sound asleep when the harsh, abrupt ringing of the telephone pierces the air. He starts, sits up, rubs his eyes, disoriented until he sees Nan beside him. Oh. He's in the back bedroom with her.

The phone rings again.

Nan doesn't stir.

Rupert touches her cheek gently, in dread. It's still warm. She's just deeply asleep.

Rising, he hurries into the kitchen and lifts the receiver, glancing at the clock. It's late. Who would be calling at this hour?

“Rupert?” a vaguely familiar voice crackles over the line, as though crossing a great distance.

“Yes?”

“It's Pilar.”

His heart sinks. Now what? “Pilar. Aren't you supposed to be on vacation?”

“I am. I'm on a cruise ship. This is a terrible connection, but I . . . can you hear me?”

“Barely.” He catches sight of a pile of mail on the otherwise uncluttered countertop. He left it there after retrieving it from the box earlier, forgetting to even look through it, much less open it.