Celeste Files: Unlocked Part 6

"Combine that with the need for money and we have a possible murder suspect."

"Yet no evidence," Maxine reminded her.

"I'm already working on that. I called Ian and asked him to look into Sandra's phone records, bank and credit card statements."

"You didn't tell John, then."

Regret gnawed at her as she looked away. "No. I was going to, but the timing wasn't right." She glanced to the unicorn clock. "Speaking of which, I need to go to work."

Maxine rose, then walked her to the parlor door. "Don't wait too long to tell him."

"You don't understand," Celeste said.

"I understand more than you think. Remember, I've been married more times than I care to admit."

"Did your marriages end because of your gift?" Celeste asked, then shook her head. "Sorry. That was a rude question and clearly none of my business."

"You're fine." Maxine put an arm around her shoulder. "And no, my marriages didn't end because of my gift. I simply picked the wrong men for me. Promise me one thing," she said, handing Celeste her parka. "Don't allow what you saw today to affect how you treat Lea. You could be wrong."

"And if I'm right?"

"I don't want you to end up like her mother."

Thank G.o.d for her job. Dealing with payroll, placing orders for supplies the Sugar Shack would need for the following week, then helping with the two wedding cakes due tomorrow afternoon kept Celeste's mind off what she'd seen at Maxine's. But after she picked up the girls from the daycare, her stomach grew more and more nervous as she neared Kelly's townhouse. Maxine suggested she could be wrong about Lea. While that was possible, how could she not conclude that the woman had murdered her own mother? She'd held Lea's pen and had felt the woman's hatred and greed deep within her bones.

She had hoped Ian would have something for her to go on by now. When she'd called him after she had left the Sugar Shack, he'd told her that Rachel, CORE's computer forensic a.n.a.lyst, had been swamped with regular cases, but would work on hers later this afternoon. He'd also mentioned his disappointment that she hadn't confided in John. Ian and Maxine both needed to mind their own business. Once she had concrete evidence she could present to her husband, she'd tell him the truth and worry about the consequences later.

She parked the Jeep, then sent a quick text to Kelly to let her know she was here and needed help with the girls. Right now, she needed to concentrate on maintaining a poker face in front of Lea, not on how John might react once she confessed what she'd been doing behind his back.

Both Kelly and Lea exited the townhouse. Celeste pressed the b.u.t.ton to open the Jeep's gate, then climbed out of the SUV to grab their daughters' diaper bags. As soon as she'd picked up the girls from daycare, she'd placed the wooden pen back into the Coach bag. Guilt might have nagged at her when she'd originally borrowed the pen, but not anymore. If anything, she'd love to find a way to take another item from Lea and use it for a reading. This last one hadn't given her as much information as she'd hoped. Although her suspicions about Lea had been confirmed, an argument over money and black auras weren't enough.

"How'd Zoe do?" Lea asked. "Did the daycare people follow my list of instructions?"

"As far as I know," Celeste answered, grateful she didn't have to make eye contact with the woman, since Lea was hauling Zoe from the Jeep and handing her to Kelly so she could remove the car seat. "According to Nina, Zoe had a blast and even took a two-hour nap."

"That's good to hear. Zoe never naps at the current daycare I use. Maybe I'll consider switching until my au pair returns to the States." Lea finished taking out the car seat. "I'm going to run this inside," Lea said. "Be right back."

"How about Avery?" Kelly asked, after Lea walked away.

"She napped, too. So did Olivia. Sounds like the girls played hard. How did everything go for you two?"

"Fortunately Mom had the foresight to make her own funeral arrangements. We only had to deal with a few things. The attorney was a different story."

"It was a waste of time," Lea said, approaching them. She took Zoe from Kelly. "We weren't even allowed to look at the will."

"Oh, no. Why's that?" Celeste asked, then held Avery while Kelly removed her car seat.

"Because not all parties were present." Lea shook her head. "The attorney was a jerk. He wouldn't tell us who we were waiting on, either."

Kelly set the car seat on the sidewalk, then shut the door. "We've been trying to figure out who it could be."

"I still think it could be Brandon," Lea said.

"Mom wouldn't have put Brandon in her will. She never liked either of our husbands. I still think it's Dad. Although I have no clue why she'd include him after the way he walked out on her." She sighed and picked up the seat. "I'll be right back."

After Kelly left, Celeste asked, "I thought Kelly said your mom divorced your dad?"

"She did, after she caught him having an affair."

"Are you talking about Dad?" Kelly asked when she returned.

"Unfortunately."

Kelly shook her head and took Avery from Celeste. "Yeah, I think what hurt our mom the most was that the other woman wasn't any younger than her. I think she could've justified the affair if he'd chased after a girl half his age. You know-newer, younger model, and all. But to take up with a woman his own age? That was a slap in the face for her."

Which meant the relationship wasn't just physical, but emotional.

"He's an a.s.shole," Lea said. "And he doesn't deserve a thing from Mom. I have a hard time believing she'd leave him anything." She let out a breath. "Sorry, Celeste. It's been a long day. Thank you again for taking Zoe." Lea picked up her Coach diaper bag, then turned to Kelly. "I'll see you inside."

When Lea left, Kelly said, "Lea's never been good with showing her emotions. Instead of being a blubbering mess like me, she shows her sadness through anger."

"Everyone deals with their grief differently. I think she has every right to be angry. You just lost your mom, and now it sounds like you two are forced to deal with your father."

Kelly shifted Avery to her other hip, then picked up the diaper bag. "Don't get either of us wrong. It's not like we don't love him, we just don't like how he treated our mom."

Unsure what to say, Celeste glanced inside the Jeep and noticed Olivia had taken off her shoes and socks, and was now pulling at the straps of her car seat. "I better get going. Is there anything I can do to help you out tomorrow?"

"No. I think we're good, thanks. Since it's Sat.u.r.day, Dale will be around if I need to leave."

"When is the wake?"

"Sunday. My mom arranged for one showing, and since she'd chosen to be cremated, the memorial service will be held the next day. The obituary will post later today in case you plan to come."

"Of course I'll be there." Celeste rested a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Why don't you let me take Avery to the daycare for you during the wake and funeral?"

"That's okay. Lea and I decided to bring the girls with us. Our aunts are coming into town and want to see the babies, so they can help out if they get fussy."

"If you change your mind, I'm here for you."

Kelly's eyes filled with tears. "Thank you." When Kelly hugged her, Avery latched onto Celeste's curls. She and Kelly both laughed as Celeste took care of Avery's iron grip. "You're a good friend," Kelly said, and gave her a watery smile. "I really appreciate knowing I have you in my life."

After they said their good-byes and Celeste drove home, the guilt returned. Not only was she keeping secrets from her husband, she was trying to discover if her friend's sister was a murderer. The way Lea had acted outside of Kelly's townhouse had been genuine. Finding out that Sandra had disliked both of her sons-in-law and the reason why she'd divorced her husband had doubt creeping in and taking root. While it was possible the black aura had belonged to Lea, there had been no mention of murder or of speeding along her mother's death. Maybe what she'd witnessed had been nothing more than husband and wife not only counting on money, but counting down the days until Sandra died. Although horrible, their conversation in no way made either of them killers. Maybe she was wrong and Sandra had committed suicide after all.

As she slowed to stop at a red light, her cell phone rang. She checked the caller ID, then quickly answered. After she greeted her dad, she asked, "Well, was Rachel able to find anything?"

"Does the name and number of not only the private investigator Sandra used to locate her secret daughter, but the daughter herself work?"

Chapter 7.

CELESTE PLACED THE empty clothes baskets into their small laundry room, then smothered a yawn with her hand. She popped her head around the corner and smiled when she saw John lounging on the couch, Olivia snuggled at his side and drinking her bottle. Yeah, she should probably nix the nighttime bottle, but it wasn't as if her daughter would be taking one when she was in kindergarten. The bottle made Olivia happy, which made her happy-and bedtime easier.

"I'm thinking about taking a soak in the tub," she said, then moved toward the couch. She smiled and touched Olivia's blond curls, which her daughter had inherited from her. Hopefully she'd come to appreciate them, and not do as she'd done and spent countless hours with a flatiron.

"Need any help?" John asked. "I'm good like that."

She chuckled, then leaned down and kissed him. "I know how good you are," she said, then kissed him again.

"You're not so bad yourself." He frowned. "At least I think so. It's been so long, I can't remember."

"h.e.l.lo? How about last night?"

"Oh, yeah. It's all coming back to me."

She gave his arm a light slug. "You're not helping yourself."

"Probably not. But like I said, I can help you with your shower."

"Tub."

"Right. Since when? You hate taking baths."

"Mama," Olivia said, holding the empty bottle out to her.

She smiled at her daughter, then bent and kissed her cheek. "I just feel like soaking in the tub," she said, moving into the kitchen. After she rinsed Olivia's bottle, then placed it in the dishwasher, she poured herself a gla.s.s of chardonnay. "Let's put her to bed, then I'll go for a quick soak."

"I have her. You go and relax."

The control freak in her didn't care for the idea. "No. I'm always there at night-night time," she said in a silly voice, and tickled Olivia's belly.

Her daughter's squeal of laughter helped relieve the heaviness she'd been carrying with her all day. "Come here," she said, scooping up Olivia. "Let's go say our prayers before we go to bed."

John stood and followed her into their daughter's bedroom. Together they said the 'Now I lay me down to sleep' prayer she'd learned as a child. For an adult, it was a morbid prayer. Why she continued with it, she didn't know.

Once Olivia was tucked in her crib, she headed toward their bedroom door. John snagged her arm. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You seemed a little distracted at dinner and now you're taking a bath."

"Did I? I'm sorry." She circled her arms around his waist. "We were busy as the bakery today, then I ran into a problem with a supplier. I also told you about the interview-"

"Which you said went fine."

"It did, but I was distracted. Maybe I should interview her again."

He kissed her forehead. "Or maybe you should let your new manager handle it."

She nodded. "I'm starting to think I have control issues."

He laughed. "Starting?"

She grinned. "Whatever."

He gave her rear a squeeze, then kissed her lips. "Go soak. Call if you need me. I am good with a washcloth."

"So you've reminded me," she said with a grin.

When he headed back into the living room, she picked up the gla.s.s of wine she'd left on her dresser, then went into their master bathroom. While the tub filled, she washed off her makeup. After she toweled her face dry, she looked at her reflection and hated what she saw.

A liar.

After she'd spoken with Ian, then returned home, she had called the private investigator and set up an appointment with him for tomorrow morning. She'd made no mention of Sandra or her secret daughter, Tracy Saunders, but had kept her reasons for seeing him vague. Minutes ago, when John had mentioned noticing she'd been distracted during dinner, she could have fessed up then, but had chickened out. What was even worse was that she'd lied to him earlier and had told him that she'd likely be gone most of tomorrow because she had to go into work.

She dropped the hand towel on the counter, then began undressing. On the bright side, the private investigator might be able to give her something concrete-what, she didn't know-that she could present to John. If that ended up being the case, by this time tomorrow there would be no more lying. There might be bickering, but at least she would no longer have to carry around the guilt that had been slowly tightening around her neck.

After setting the wine gla.s.s down on the edge of the garden tub, she tested the bath water, then settled herself inside. The steam clung to her face while the hot water relaxed her muscles. She couldn't remember the last time she'd soaked in the bathtub, and as she lay in the water, she wondered why she didn't treat herself to this small luxury more often. Life was busy and the idea of lounging in a bath for twenty or so minutes had always seemed like a waste of time. As it was, she should be on her computer scheduling her employees' hours, or working on the new menu she was planning for the spring. She should also be making a list of what she'd discuss with the private investigator and thinking about how she would approach him.

According to Ian, George Landry was a former Chicago detective, who, after thirty years of service, had retired nearly a decade ago to become a private investigator. Ian had said that George had worked both Vice and Homicide when he'd been with the Chicago PD, then later had taken an interest in cold case files. Considering the man's work history, she hoped he would be open-minded once she explained that she was psychic. Since Sandra's phone records of calls to George had dated back to last year, he could be the link she needed to help her figure out who had wanted Sandra dead.

Right now, she had two suspects-Lea and her husband, Brandon. But what about the third party the attorney had forced them to wait on before the will could be read? And how could she accuse Lea or her husband based on what she saw while holding the woman's pen? What had she seen anyway? The strange, out-of-focus auras had left her with more questions than answers. The conversation between them had been confusing and in no way an indication of murder or a plan to kill Sandra. Sandra's name hadn't even been mentioned, neither had the secret of the daughter Sandra had given up for adoption. The only clear thing she'd gained from the vision had been an overwhelming sense of evil.

Her heart rate quickened. Her mind filled with the image of the all-white room. The unease that had followed, the sense of claustrophobia, of being trapped. The way the black aura had risen to the ceiling and shifted from a smoky figure into a glutinous form. How it had coagulated at the center of the ceiling, then spread, bubbling and oozing over itself, until it had stretched to each corner of the room like a fast-growing cancer. Goose b.u.mps crawled along her skin, despite the heat of the water.

The image she could deal with, the malice and hatred that had surrounded her in the white room was something she wished she could erase from her memory. She didn't want to believe that Lea could be so hateful or ruthless enough to have killed her own mother over money. Twice today she'd witnessed Lea with her daughter, Zoe. The woman had shown obvious love and affection for the child, and hadn't acted like the cruel murderer who had terrorized Sandra, taunting her with a gun and with the threat of killing Sandra's daughter and granddaughter. Maybe she was wrong about Lea. Maybe she should consider Sandra's ex-husband. They'd been married for thirty years. Maybe he'd found out about the daughter Sandra had given up for adoption, and had worried about his two daughters losing out on their inheritance to the long lost half-sister.

She slid further into the water until it lapped at her chin. With the tips of her toes, she shut off the faucet and closed her eyes. Maybe the third party the attorney had been waiting on was the secret daughter, Tracy. She might have skipped the meeting with the attorney because she had been too intimidated to go. When Celeste had learned that Hugh Risinski, the man who had raised her from birth, wasn't her real father and that Ian was, she'd been devastated and confused, and hadn't known how to react or process the situation. Even two years later, she still couldn't bring herself to call Ian, Dad. While she loved him and cared about him, a large part of her still resented his reasons for allowing another man to raise and adopt her as one of his own. Tracy might feel the same. After all, the woman had learned about her mother, only to discover she also had two sisters. Two sisters who might resent her existence.

Celeste might have only known Kelly for a short time, but she couldn't see Kelly being involved in her mother's death. When Kelly wasn't working or taking care of Avery, she was helping her mom. Based on the way she'd looked and acted this morning, on how grateful she'd been to have Avery's blanket returned, Kelly was taking Sandra's death as expected. Lea, on the other hand, hadn't worn her grief on her sleeve. Again, that didn't make her a murderer. Not everyone allowed their emotions to show, especially in front of strangers.

Celeste's temples throbbed with the onslaught of a serious headache. d.a.m.n, so much for a relaxing soak in the tub. She couldn't shut down her mind long enough to let the stress of the day go for even a few minutes.

Keeping her eyes closed, she tried to find a happy place. She thought about her daughter, her dimpled smile and bluer-than-blue eyes. She smiled when she remembered how fascinated Olivia had been this evening when Celeste was rearranging the laundry room and had pulled out the box of John's baseball hat collection. As she remembered how adorable Olivia had looked trying on the hats, music drifted into the bathroom. Her eyes still closed, Celeste grew frustrated. The melody from a piano, likely the background music from whatever John was watching on TV, was beautiful but if he didn't turn down the volume, he would wake up Olivia. Although tempted to climb out of the tub and tell him, she wasn't ready to leave the hot soothing water. Her mind might not be able to relax, but her body certainly had and her limbs had grown heavy.

The melody continued to play. While she didn't recognize the piece, she found the song both haunting and comforting. Calming. Peaceful. She imagined the piano keys. Saw long lean fingers dancing over them. Pictured the chords rising from the ivories and floating in the air.

A doorbell rang. The music stopped. Disappointed, and anxious to go back to that safe place, she let the tune continue to play in her mind. The doorbell rang again. Now irritated by whatever John was watching, Celeste opened her eyes and gasped.

She sat on a piano bench, her fingers hovering over the keys. But they weren't her fingers, they were long and lean like the ones she'd envisioned, and bare of her wedding ring. She glanced to the sheet music, where someone had penciled in notes and symbols, and recognized the melody as the one she'd been listening to. Only...she didn't know how to read music. How could she know the difference between C minor and F major? How could she- There was a knock at the door. As if someone had tied strings to her limbs and was controlling her movements, she rose from the bench. Panic gripped her by the throat as she was moved across the room. Her peripheral vision became an out-of-focused blur, creating a tunnel effect and making her nauseous. Although she heard her footsteps, she couldn't feel them. Oh, G.o.d, she couldn't feel a d.a.m.ned thing. Not the warm water, not the hard tub. Instead, she floated through the cozy room filled with antique furniture, lamps and knickknacks. Left behind the beautiful sage and olive-green Victorian style area rug covering the hardwood floors, and entered a small foyer. As she neared the wooden door, golden light streamed through the decorative leaded gla.s.s windows on either side of the doorframe. Her body stopped and the tunnel vision grew alarmingly worse as she was quickly turned to the left. As it dissipated and the foyer came into focus, she realized she stood in front of a full-length mirror staring at a reflection that didn't belong to her.

Terror tightened her chest.