In the wee hours of the morning, Nick approached, waking me from a nightmare about bombs and guns and people trying to find their way home through a blinding sandstorm. I instantly knew where those images had come from--Detective Simms's head. How odd that I should be getting thoughts from him, a guy still breathing. I felt so sad that his memories haunted him. "Whew. Thanks for waking me up."
Someone's here to see you.
I sensed Brett Ray and heaved a sigh before I spoke to him. "Oh my God. Is Cooper still blocking you?"
Unlike Nick, with whom I'd communed for years, Ray was new to my world, which meant we hadn't developed any sort of ghost speak yet. So he expressed himself through images as he'd done the other times we'd interacted.
Tonight he showed me two people talking through glass, like in a prison visiting area or something. Only one was using the telephone that would let them hear each other. That told me that Cooper hadn't lowered his barriers.
"Okay. I get it. What do you want me to tell him?"
Ray next showed me a photo of my grandmother who'd died six years ago, as well as a map of Texas. I also saw a ring with a red stone in it and a can of apple pie filling, which no self-respecting chef would use, with the word Comstock on it.
"Grandmother, Texas, Ruby, Comstock." I tried to piece the puzzle together. Couldn't, so I went over all I knew about Cooper's parents' parents, thinking out loud. "Cooper called his mom's parents Betty and Sol Weeks, so they're probably out. Are you trying to tell me something about your parents?"
I felt a rush of relief.
"But they don't want him in their lives. Or has something changed?"
I now saw an anonymous grave with the words loving grandfather on it. "Oh wow. Is your dad dead?"
In answer, another presence moved into the room. I thought I might've sensed him before. He felt older than Brett Ray, but eerily the same. Could that mean Ray and his father had reconciled in death? I felt a rush of affirmation that was nothing but good and might mean Cooper's grandmother now wanted to mend fences.
"Are you saying I need to tell Cooper to contact his grandmother in Texas and her name is Ruby Comstock?"
Ray's father gave me the equivalent of a ghostly thumbs up, which was more about uplifted spirits than anything to do with hands.
"Texas is huge, you know. Can you give me an address?"
Emptiness was my only reply.
"Nick?"
No answer. Apparently all spirits had left the building.
Great. Just great. Something else to figure out.
* * * *
My parents left before I got up Saturday morning, nothing new. I made myself some toast and sat in Dad's usual chair to eat it, scanning the newspaper headlines. One, in particular, caught my eye, an article about a rodeo accident in Nacogdoches, Texas. A bull had stepped on a fallen cowboy, killing him.
Moments later, I ran across information about a well-known Hollywood actress from that very same city, who'd donated a bunch of money to cancer research. Was someone trying to tell me something?
I knew what and who just seconds after when I saw the word Nacogdoches a third time, this mention in a letter to Dear Abby. Curiosity piqued, I went straight upstairs to my laptop and Googled Ruby Comstock in Nacogdoches, Texas. A white pages site obliged me with an address and phone number.
If I'd misread clues, both Cooper and I would look like idiots if we ever went there. But what could I do but share with him what I'd been told?
Cooper was clearly watching for me when I walked into Chick-fil-A just in time for his dinner. As always, his grin made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. After asking me if I wanted to eat something, which I didn't, he grabbed a chicken sandwich and a drink. Of course I sneaked in a kiss as we settled into the same booth as before.
"I have something to tell you, but first I want to know why you're still blocking your dad."
Cooper winced. "He came to you again?"
I nodded. "And will probably keep on coming if you don't open up some doors."
"Damn it, Mia. I don't know what to say to him."
"Well, I know what to say to you, at least I think I do." I gave him all the details of my conversation with his deceased dad and grandparent the night before, if you could even call our communication that. "Do you think I'm right?"
"Seems to be adding up."
"So what are you going to do?"
"Visit a woman I hope is my grandma Ruby in Texas, I guess."
"When?"
"Can you go tomorrow?"
So he wanted me along. I couldn't hide my smile. "Yes. I have her number if you want to call her." I began digging into my hobo bag.
Cooper stopped me. "No. We should go unannounced and get a feel for the place. If the vibe isn't right, we'll leave, no harm done. How far is it to Nacogdoches, anyway?"
"Just over a hundred miles."
He acknowledged my answer with a nod, but his expression told me he had some qualms about dropping in on a grandmother who'd never made any effort to contact her grandson. I honestly couldn't blame him. We'd both need a good shot of courage to get it done.
Night had closed in by the time I left at eight. On my way home, I stopped by the restaurant to get takeout for my dinner. I loved Tagliaro's, from the gorgeous courtyard seating to the pristine kitchen. Located in the outskirts of Martinsburg, it stayed busy, especially on weekends. The Tagliaro reputation and a couple of good write ups by well-known food critics had resulted in a five star rating that kept diners coming. And we never got bad reviews on the internet.
Tonight I slipped in through the backdoor, acknowledging the spiritual presence of the chef who'd helped my parents open the place twenty-five years ago. Berthold Caputo had been the real thing, as Italian as my dad's parents who'd immigrated in the early 1900s. I thought he lingered because he'd loved the place in life.
"Buona note." I kept my voice low. Though I'd told Mom and Dad that Bertoldo was hanging around, I hadn't mentioned his visits to anyone else.
As was normal for most Saturdays, I found the kitchen in controlled chaos. I saw servers coming in and out, their arms laden with either empty dishes or full ones. Ben Mills, sous chef, smiled a greeting. "What's your pleasure, Mia?"
"Chicken parmesan, I think."
He nodded and got busy. I headed to the office, where Dad worked on his computer, no doubt entering the day's receipts. I gave him a hug from behind. He patted my hand. I went in search of Mom, who I spotted mingling with diners up front. As always, I absorbed the beauty that was Tagliaro's. Raised in the restaurant as I had been, the clink of silver against china was music to my ears, as were the muted conversations of our happy guests.
I waved to Tony, the bartender, and to Gina, the hostess, on my way to my Mom. She gave me a side-armed hug when I got to her. "Everything okay?"
"Uh-huh. Just getting myself some dinner."
"I'll put it on your tab," she said with a teasing laugh.
I smiled politely at the diners she'd been talking to and made my way to the kitchen once again. There I sat on a stool and watched everyone until Ben handed me my food. To say it smelled like heaven didn't come close to describing the amazing aromas coming from the plate.
Not wanting to eat in the break room all alone, I dragged my stool to a corner so I'd be out of the way as I ate. After that, I helped Dad, who summoned me back to his office. He wanted to make changes to the menu, something I always did for him. His computer skills were limited to correspondence and spread sheets.
When I finally finished printing off new menus, it was closing time. I grabbed some bread sticks to-go and put them in a Tagliaro take-out bag as I left. With my radio blasting, I hit the road, noting that the rural two-lane I always traveled to get home was unusually deserted for a Saturday. The smell of garlic tickled my nose, so I slipped a hand into the sack to steal a break stick that I was really too full to eat. Just as my fingers closed around one, a woman came running out of nowhere and streaked across the road in front of my car. Screaming, I stomped the brake, but I ran right through her anyway.
Through her?
Yeah, I realized, breaking into sobs of relief. She was nothing but a ghost. As fresh as that young spirit I'd seen at the hospital, but still just a spirit. With my heart hammering painfully in my chest, I eased the car to the side of the road and put it in park. I rescued my food sack from the floor where it had fallen when I stopped and set it back in the seat. Then I closed my eyes. Immediately, I saw her again, clear as day, a full-body apparition. Were those fresh bruises on her arms? Was that blood all over the front of her blouse?
Opening my eyes, I absorbed my surroundings. I saw that the car faced west. To my right lay a gravel road bordered on each side by woods. No, it was a drive, and it curved, disappearing into some trees and making it impossible to see what lay at the end of it. A graveyard, I wondered? A country church? A house? I looked for a mailbox, but didn't see one. I looked for a distant light that might indicate life beyond the woods. Didn't see that either.
Gathering my courage, I backed up the car and headed down that narrow, overgrown drive. My pampered car struggled a little with the terrain, but I didn't stop until I glimpsed a clearing ahead. At least I thought that's what it was. I was pretty sure I saw buildings, too, and was that a car?
Terror suddenly gripped me.
Only an idiot would try to trail what she truly believed was a freshly made ghost. Who knew what horrors lay ahead? Did I really want to drive right into them?
Knowing I did not, I hit the brake again. Then I shifted into reverse and backed out the way I'd come in. Though a call to 9-1-1 might've been in order, I had no intentions of making one.
I could just hear myself: "Hi, I'm a medium. I don't know where I am, but I just I saw a ghost run out of the trees, which means her killer could be mutilating her dead body as we speak." Yeah, right. If the police even followed up on my crazy call, they'd probably wind up crashing down some poor farmer's door and scaring the heck out of him.
For the first time in ten years, I hated what I was, what I could do. I rolled down the window and put my head out, shouting into the night. "Leave me alone!" Then I looked both ways, shifted into drive, and drove like hell to Marty Bookman's.
I made a couple of wrong turns I blamed on my shattered nerves, but still got there before Cooper did. Though there were lights inside the house, I didn't knock on the door, choosing to sit in my car instead. The moment he pulled into the drive and parked to the side of the concrete--probably so vehicles in the garage could get out--Cooper jogged my way. I met him at the curb.
After taking one look at my face, he pulled me into his arms. "What?" The word felt warm against my hair.
"I'm totally freaking out."
He leaned back slightly so he could get a better look at my face, frowning when he did. "Let's go inside."
I resisted. "Should we?"
"Marty's parents are obviously up. As for Marty, he's out with Brynn and won't be back for hours."
"I know. Let me call Mom, okay?" I did, telling her I was with Cooper and would be home soon. She automatically told me to drive carefully on my way there, something she always said.
One thing about my parents that I truly loved was their trust in me. We were tight, probably because they'd both made such an effort to understand my gifts. I kept no secrets that mattered; I couldn't. They knew me inside and out, and we respected as much as we loved one another. For that reason, they seldom fussed when I changed my plans. Always calling to tell them probably helped, too.
Cooper took my hand, which had an oddly calming effect on me. We headed to the front door. I wondered briefly if he had a key, but didn't ask. I did put into words something I'd been curious about for a while. "How long are you going to stay here? Aren't you worried that you're imposing on them?"
"Of course I am. But every time I talk about leaving, Mrs. Bookman shushes me."
"It must feel odd staying here when you have parents and a perfectly good bedroom right across town."
"Yeah, and even odder that I feel more comfortable in this house than there. It hasn't been easy trying to be someone I'm not for eight years. It was like I was stuck in someone else's life, and the part didn't fit me."
I nodded, feeling worse for him than ever, if that was possible. Though I'd always known I was lucky to have parents with open minds, I'd honestly had no idea just how much.
Cooper gave me a quick kiss on the porch and then opened the door. I stepped inside first, noting the parquet floors of the foyer and a side table with a bouquet of yellow fall flowers in it. I touched one. Silk, though they looked very real. Stairs, ahead of us and slightly to our left, ascended to the second floor.
To the right a door opened into what appeared to be a formal living room. I could hear a TV coming from somewhere in the back of the house. The door to our left was closed. A couple of words popped into my head: happy and warm.
Cooper took my jacket and led the way to a huge den, where he introduced me to Marty's parents, Caroline and Larry.
Mr. Bookman gave me a grin and a nod. Mrs. Bookman jumped right up and engulfed me in a hug. "Cooper has told us so much about you, Mia. And you surely know Marty is your number one fan."