A Song of Forgiveness Page 6

  “Sure...” Then out of nowhere, I blurted, “I had an offer to sing at another funeral.”

  I don’t know why I told him. Maybe to see his reaction.

  “Absolutely not,” he growled. “Not until we can figure out how to drive the shades away. You can’t risk it.”

  I wobbled my lips into a crooked line. “I turned it down already, but they offered really good money. I haven’t got a lot coming in from band bookings lately.”

  “Hey, if you need money—”

  “I’m not desperate yet.” I looked back at the two shallow holes in the ground my feeble explosions had made. “You know, if you could cross to the next plane, this would be a whole lot easier. Right now, my cat and I are the only ones who are fighting the shades on that front. And I don’t want Nygard in the fray.”

  “I’m sorry my skills don’t include inter-plane travel. I didn’t get that gift granted to me. I can fight and I have other talents and I’ll do whatever I can to help and support you, but unless you have a connection with someone who grants travel passes, I’m stuck on this plane.”

  His voice sounded more annoyed than I could recall it being since I’d reconnected with him. There had been a few times at the university when he’d taken that tone, but not often. He was usually a level-headed guy.

  “I know. I’m not blaming you. It’s just hard to be the only one with a skill that may or may not be enough to defeat them on that level.”

  “I’m sorry. I know it’s not reassuring, but there must be more who can make the transition. We just need to find them. So far as Nygard goes, I’m glad he was able to follow you. If he hadn’t, you might not have made it.”

  “And that shade nearly killed him. I don’t want his death on my hands.”

  Gavin chewed on his lip a couple of moments. “Did you ever think he was meant to be there?”

  “Not you, too. Astrid said something similar. That he was a special cat with powers and predetermined for me or some such bullshit.” I crossed my arms and kicked at the dirt, wanting to take out my aggression on something other than Gavin.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Did you just say bullshit? I don’t think I’ve ever heard such language from your mouth.”

  “Yeah. I’m human and when I get frustrated, colorful words slip out.” I glared at him, defying him to challenge it.

  He laughed. “It’s all right with me, hot chica.”

  “What is with the chica thing?” I demanded. Why had he started calling me that?

  “It means girl. I thought of you that way when you were taking my class, maybe to remind me you were off limits. I guess it stayed with me and it suits you. Although you’re more woman these days, and I like it.”

  “Am I still off limits?”

  He wound his arms around my waist and pulled me to him. “Definitely not.”

  My stomach dipped and I shivered as he leaned into me, his mouth moving closer to mine. The touch was light on my upper lip, then sliding down to cover my whole mouth with his. A taste of malt from the beer lingered on his lips and combined with the scent of sandalwood and sage. It proved to be an arousing blend that brought my blood rushing and heat rising through my body.

  I wanted him. Had wanted him for years and thought he was totally out of reach. Now here he was...

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and pushed my hips closer to him, pressing against his hot, firm body. A groan of desire came from his mouth and I shivered at the sound. How much room was there on the truck bench?

  With deliberate strength, Gavin pushed back from me, his lips pulling away from mine. His fingers lingered on my throat for a few beats before he cleared his throat and stepped away.

  “Gavin?” I asked, my voice raspy with desire.

  “Not now. Not here. This isn’t the place, Gillian. I want our first time to be special.”

  “Well...” I gazed pointedly at the truck seat. “This would be pretty memorable.”

  “Not as much as you think,” he said with a laugh. “I left car-seat sex behind me years ago and gear shifts are a pain in the—”

  “I get the picture,” I said, feeling the mood vanish in that moment. He was right. This wouldn’t have been the place.

  With a sigh, I stepped away from the cab, grabbed my water bottle, and took a few sips. “So far as finding others, I’m working on it using the internet, but I haven’t found any forthcoming spirit escorts. Or guides, for that matter. I have one that might be able to see the shades, but the reference is so vague I can’t be sure. I’m trying to get her to talk about it more.”

  “That’s promising.”

  “Without revealing more about myself, it’s hard to draw her out, but I’ll be careful what I say.”

  He nodded, then pulled a mat out of the back of the truck. “Why don’t you show me what moves you’ve got?”

  “Here?”

  He shrugged, spread the mat out on the ground, and said, “Why not? We’ve got a cushion and we’re already covered with dust, so it’s as good a place as any.”

  Not to mention chilly and starting to get dark, but what the heck? You don’t fight the enemy under ideal conditions, do you? I took a place on the mat, bent my knees, and crouched down, inviting him to come at me.

  An hour later, we packed up the truck and started back to Reno. We were tired, really dirty, and I had a couple of bruises on my legs that would really turn colorful by morning. Not that Gavin was unscathed either. I nailed him a couple of times. He was better and bigger than me, but I felt I’d held my own against him.

  I figured now was a good time to mention that I was planning to go out of town the following weekend with Janna. At first, he didn’t say anything although his mouth twitched a bit and I thought he was irritated.

  “You know, that’s not a bad idea. Wish I’d thought of it first. But a little R and R with your best friend would be good for you.”

  “I know you wanted to train some more.”

  “We can do it Friday afternoon, chica. Unless you have something else to do.” He flashed a smile of assurance at me.

  “Friday is fine. Are we coming out here again?”

  “Probably. Think about what you felt when you were successful with the cast. That’s what you need to recreate each time. Maybe write the steps down.”

  “I didn’t miss anything,” I said through gritted teeth. I had done it exactly the same.

  “Right. Well, maybe work on your mindset then. Meditate or see if there’s a spell to enhance your energy flow. Maybe you should bring Nygard.”

  “No! Leave him out of this.”

  “Okay. It was just a stupid idea. I’m sorry. Do you want to get dinner?”

  “Not really. At the moment, I want to go to my Jacuzzi tub and soak for a while. I feel totally gritty.”

  Between the dirt, the fine dust, and the sweat, I desperately needed a bath. So did Gavin.

  He shrugged but didn’t say any more on the way back.

  SIX

  My morning started off with a bang, literally. I’d barely woken up and couldn’t imagine who would be pounding on the door. Pulling on my bathrobe, I carefully picked my way downstairs with Nygard leading the way, his tail high and bushed out.

  I paused to peek through the windows and was surprised to see Moss and his partner, Dave Hernandez, on the front step. What the heck?

  Swinging the door open, I said, “Moss, Hernandez— Good morning. I’m sorry, I was still in bed at this late hour. What can I do for you?”

  “May we come in?” Hernandez asked politely, and I stepped aside to let them pass.

  “Sit, please. What brings you here?”

  Moss eased down into the armchair I usually used while his partner took the sofa. I sat on the arm of the other chair and waited.

  “We’re following up on the missing person case of Roger Mitchell for Deputy Bancroft,” Moss said. “So far, we haven’t got a lead on him. He hasn’t been at work or his home for at least three weeks now.”

  “Th
ree weeks? So possibly that snowmobile has been buried up there that long?”

  Moss nodded. “It’s possible. We’re speculating that he might have had the accident, then hiked back to the road to get help. It doesn’t look like he took his own vehicle to the meadow so we can speculate someone dropped him off and he was supposed to get picked up later. But, no one has any information on who might have dropped him off or where he is now.”

  “Have you asked his girlfriend?” I rubbed at my eyes trying to piece together why he was telling me this.

  “Yes, Bancroft and I talked to her the other day. She broke off the engagement after the party you mentioned. She indicated you were the reason. Seems she didn’t realize Roger was as obsessed with you as he was until she saw you at the party and saw his behavior. Oddly, she blames you for it.”

  “What? I did nothing to encourage it.” What the hell had Roger told her?

  Moss waved his hand. “That’s not a concern. Bottom line is that she hadn’t been in touch with him in the past few weeks, so she had no information to offer.”

  “I see. So, why do you think I know anything?” Now, I felt nervous, shifting my legs around and sliding into the chair. Did they think I was connected in some way?

  “It’s not that we think you know where he is,” Hernandez cut in. “We are just playing a hunch.”

  I stared at Hernandez, my face reflecting the confusion I felt, then I faced Moss.

  “Relax, Foster. I just thought that maybe you could read something of Mitchell’s to get an idea of where he might have gone. If he vanished of his own free will, then he had to plan it.”

  My lips tightened as I understood what he wanted. “I don’t want to do a psychic reading on anything of Roger’s. I don’t want to know what he was thinking or planning. Besides, unless the object was directly related to his planning or disappearance, I wouldn’t get anything useful from it.”

  His gaze rested on me for a few beats as he seemed to think about what I said. Hernandez shifted his position on the couch and turned to look at the fireplace at the end wall of my living room as if it were the most interesting object in the place.

  “I understand that you’re upset with Mitchell and he has caused you some problems. But I’d hoped you could help us out on this. We haven’t found any leads and Incline’s search of the area hasn’t turned up anymore that helps us figure it out. Could you at least try as a favor to me?” He cast a hopeful smile and actually blinked his eyes at me.

  I sighed and shoved to my feet. “I need a cup of coffee. Either of you want one?”

  Moss raised his hand while Hernandez shook his head.

  I trudged to the kitchen and put on the coffeemaker, adding a little extra to the grounds. I needed it strong this morning. As it perked, I grabbed a cookie from the cupboard and nibbled on it as I considered what Moss wanted. I thought we were about even on favors, but it wouldn’t hurt to have one to call on from him.

  But damn, the idea of reading one of Roger’s personal objects made my skin crawl. While he had been less obvious at our public performances, that gig for his engagement had been really uncomfortable and revealed a side of him that I found repulsive.

  I poured the coffees, carried them back to the living room, and handed Moss his cup. As I sipped, I watched the two detectives. Hernandez’s Latino handsome looks and easy manner made him the more accessible of the two. Moss was the bad cop in the scenario, although I’d worked with him more than Hernandez and he’d been tough, but never obnoxious. I knew he hadn’t put much credence in the paranormal and for him to believe me, and ask this of me, was a huge stretch for him.

  “One object.”

  Moss blinked and raised an eyebrow. “One?”

  “Yep. Make it a good one. I really don’t like doing this and I have to warn you, I may get nothing from it. Not all objects are charged. Better yet, maybe you try for a few objects and let me pick one I might get a reading on. Avoid common objects unless you can imagine them being something emotional for him.” I kept my voice to an even, business tone, not wanting to give away any of the turmoil I felt at agreeing to do this.

  I went on, “Ideally, something from the snowmobile would probably be the most useful to know what his mindset was after the accident.”

  Moss shook his head. “That won’t happen. It’s all in evidence at the moment.”

  “Evidence? Why—?”

  “Right now, the case is being treated as a missing person, but with little to go on, the only clues we have are in the snowmobile, so until we can rule out foul play or some other possible crime, it’s held as evidence.”

  “Oh. Okay, I see.” Foul play? Did they suspect something more serious than he walked away? For that matter, hadn’t I? I’d felt something wrong at the scene before I even knew the thing was abandoned. “So, I’ll take a look at whatever you round up and see if any of it wants to reveal anything to me.”

  Moss grinned, finishing up his coffee. As he and Hernandez rose to go, he said, “I’ll have something lined up in a couple of days. I’ll call you. Thanks for the coffee.”

  Hernandez lingered a moment after Moss walked out the door. “Thanks for doing this. We know it’s a lot to ask.”

  I shrugged. “Let’s hope I don’t regret it.”

  I poured a second cup of coffee and took it upstairs, then began getting ready for the day.

  After I’d dressed, I still had about thirty minutes before leaving for work, so I checked the chat room to see if anything more had turned up. Another message from CaraG tagged onto the previous block.

  It sounds like you might have encountered something similar. Maybe we should compare notes.

  I quickly sent her a private message: CaraG, I think that might be a good idea. How personal are your encounters?

  A tingle of excitement shot through me. If she had actually come face to face with a shade, then maybe I’d found someone else who could battle them. Where did she live anyway? I clicked on her name to bring up her profile and saw that she simply showed UK. United Kingdom, I presumed. England. Not exactly close enough to be too useful. But it was a start. If she could see them, there were likely others.

  I set the computer to sleep, then bounded down the stairs to work. As I secured the house, I thought about the upcoming interview with Gayle Trumbull. I’d done everything I could to try to misdirect her impression of me in the answers I’d given her. I could only hope I wouldn’t slip up.

  TELEVISION CAMERAS and lights surrounded the set where I would be talking with the reporter. I used the term loosely. I considered her at a level with a gossip monger. A pair of dark blue armchairs, positioned at angles to each other so that the occupants could face each other and the cameras, flanked a small glass coffee table. On it, a green ceramic vase filled with butter-yellow and golden daffodils accented with a sprinkling of paperwhites hinted at the spring to come.

  I’d dressed casually, but professionally for this interview. I didn’t want to look or sound like a kook while we talked. My dark green sweater over a collared blouse looked conservative and somewhat collegiate. I’d worn black slacks and boots to complete the image.

  Gayle entered the set as if she owned it, which she may have for all I knew. Her stylish dark red suit reflected the latest fashion trends and I suspected it was provided by one of the boutique shops in town for a line or two of advertising in the show’s credits. Everything about her reflected flashy, stylish, and in control. If she were a better reporter, she could write her own ticket in New York or Los Angeles. As it was, she seemed intent on making the splashiest, most absurd rag mag news possible.

  “Are you ready?” she asked as she came up to me, flashing a false smile and moving close for a fake hug.

  “As much as I can be,” I replied, pulling back from her.

  She motioned to the chair on the left of the set and headed toward the one opposite it. The director moved into position and the cameras came to life as their operators shifted them around to get angles on th
e two of us. They were using two cameras, one set on each of us, but they could pull back easily to get a wide angle.

  We settled, the director gave us the sign, and Gayle launched into her opening remarks. I sat back, trying to stay calm and collected as she introduced the show, then turned to me. “Gillian Foster is a local musician, often seen at shows around Reno and Sparks. While she usually plays with her three-piece band, she also does solo gigs. We’re going to talk about a few of those solo jobs she takes today. Welcome, Gillian. I’m delighted to finally have you on my show.”

  “Well, it’s a thrill to be here, Gayle,” I replied with honey dripping from lips as I smiled. I may have even affected a slightly southern accent for the day.

  “To begin with, can you tell us when you first started playing music?” A safe enough starting question.

  “I was about five when I began playing piano and I loved singing even then. As I got older and better at it, I entered a couple of talent contests and won one when I was thirteen.”

  “Did that launch you into a career?”

  That one was off script, but still easy enough to answer.

  “Not exactly, but it did provide a little prize money and more opportunity to perform. I kept entering contests, but it wasn’t until college that I formed a band.”

  “You’re a local girl, right?”

  “I am,” I agreed.

  “So did you go to school here?”

  I was pretty sure she knew I did. “Yes, I graduated from UNR with a degree in music. No surprise, is there?”

  She laughed as if I’d told a stunning joke.

  “So, here you are, a musician with a degree, performing with a band for mostly local events and private parties. How then, did you get involved in singing at funerals?” She turned a quizzical look to the camera like she had revealed a big secret.

  “Well, Gayle, like most musicians, the work isn’t too steady. I actually have a full-time job, but I look for jobs to supplement my income. So, I had notices up at local music stores, grocery stores, and the like for any singing jobs. Mostly, I get private parties, birthdays, weddings, that kind of thing. One day, a lady called and asked me if I’d sing at her father’s funeral. He specifically asked for a song performed live. He’d been a musician and this was his last request. How could I say no?” All true, not a single bit of dodging in that answer.