Page 52 of Whispers at Dusk
They were back on the Krewe jet, moving from country to country. Only they weren’t alone this time. François Bisset and Detectives Edmund Taylor and Jeanne Lapierre were with them. The three men were napping in the back.
He and Della had dozed off along the way, though they’d had time to return to their lodging, pack and catch a few hours of sleep.
It had been a long night.
And they had boarded the plane just after seven o’clock. Della had fallen asleep. On his shoulder. He had nodded off as well and awakened to find her head resting against him. Something a little bit too powerful and frightening had stirred within him. But she’d woken up and quickly apologized, and he’d assured her it was fine.
Strange. And maybe all right. As a killer had once said, she would have been a great sacrifice for their ridiculousMaster. She was a beautiful woman, but many women her age were beautiful. Hers was something greater; it was in the energy she exuded in her longing to right what wrongs in the world she could while still being able to laugh and tease and smile. He had, naturally, felt an attraction to her from the start. Now, when she touched him, it soared.
But in life, the one thing he had learned to do was control his feelings. He couldn’t get over the anger he had felt when his partner was killed, and how he’d forced himself to tamp it to go forward—to remember always he was seeking justice and not revenge.
He dared to care for her. And as for attraction...
He had learned the hard way to control his emotions. And his libido, and still...
Yes, having her sleep with her head on his shoulder and her body against his had been a little too...nice.
But even that was beginning to seem okay. The days they had known one another had been the longest and most intense he had ever known.
And they were onward with part of the case solved, but it seemed the hard-core part of it was just beginning. He’d been right about there being more than one killer. And he wasn’t happy about being right.
But while the liaison and detectives were with them sleeping on the plane, Jon Wilhelm was elsewhere.
He’d be working with the Norwegian legal system, handling the murders that had taken place there.
And the murderers who had both confessed their guilt.
He noticed Della shrug, bringing him back from his tirade of thoughts. “I told you, my father thought the world was incredible, that we all needed to appreciate one another, and he knew how to travel.” She grinned. “There were a few times, when I was young, that we slipped onto a train at night in one country, closed the compartment doors, and pretended it was full, and used the train as our hotel for the night. But as for the Orkneys...they brought me to Scotland for my twenty-first birthday. I’d fallen in love with some of the great ghost stories regarding the underground in Edinburgh.”
“And? Do your parents know about your ability with the dead?”
She nodded. “Yeah.” She shrugged thoughtfully. “They were great. At first, I don’t think they believed me. They were worried that my having survived a killer had fractured my mind. They wanted me to go to therapy.”
“That’s kind of the way it goes,” he said. He waited for her to say more, but she went on about the therapist. She’d say more when she was ready, he thought.
She smiled. “So, I acted completely normal with the therapist—a nice woman. I didn’t mind spending time with her, and I went to work and I went to school, and then...”
“Then?”
“A friend of my dad’s passed away. I saw him at his funeral. He told me it was important I get to his wife. He’d left papers and policies behind, but they weren’t in the regular vault. He’d gotten a new one not expecting a heart attack. So, I told the widow, and she told my folks everything I said was true. She thought it was exceptional and wonderful. And my folks talked to me again—I should say they listened to me and accepted it all. Then I had to explain it wasn’t like I could call anyone up on a cell phone. Some stayed, some for years, some just until something was solved, and some not at all. But now...now they’re just glad it helps in my work. The good thing, though, was that they had faith in me. I know my work scares them, but they don’t try to stop me. So, give. Who, um, wasyourfirst?”
“What? My first? Now that’s a really personal question!” he teased.
She looked away, grinning, and groaned softly. “Not talking sex. Your first ghost? I know Krewe members who talked to the dead from the time they were little kids. That must have been difficult to explain and to understand and...to exist in a world where most people don’t talk to the dead.”
“I think we all talk to the dead in our hearts,” he said, smiling ruefully. She was far more of an open book than he was, Mason knew. And she was just right for him at this point of his life—and definitely just right for the case they were working together. Each day he was more amazed by their ability to read one another.
“Let’s spill. I told you my story—it’s your turn.”
“Oh, so risqué!” he said. He couldn’t help himself.
She groaned. “Ghosts! Not risqué. So? You tend to be Mr. Keep-it-all-in. But please! You need to share a little bit. We’re strange team members, part of an even stranger team.”
“Okay. I’ll talk! But, hmm, still hurts a bit,” he admitted. “When I was a kid, we had a neighbor. Nicest man you’d ever want to meet. You lost a ball in his yard, no problem. Halloween? He was out with all kinds of candy and gifts—dressed up, always, to entertain whatever kids came by. I found out later in life that his pregnant wife had been broadsided in a horrible car accident. The baby was lost. His wife was in a coma. He never socialized much, just went to the hospital every day. But he didn’t become bitter—he just tried to make life better for others. Anyway, there was some gang activity in the area, and he was out one night and was caught in a drive-by shooting. I didn’t see him at his funeral, but a few weeks later we were visiting my grandfather’s grave, and I saw him. I wandered off... Crazy, I was a kid, but I wasn’t scared. He was a nice man. I figured if he had been cruel or evil alive, he’d be cruel or evil dead—but he’d just been a good man. So, anyway, long story short—too late, I know. He realized I saw him. And he said to come visit him often. He was going to wait—wait for his wife. He hoped she’d wake up and maybe have a good life even with him gone, but he was going to wait until he could be with her again. Your turn. You told me about your folks, but what about your first?”
“No, wait!” Della protested. “What happened? Did his wife come out of the coma? Did she start another life—what happened?” Della demanded.
Mason shook his head. “She never came out of the coma. But...” He paused, smiling at her. “Somehow, she was with him. And he waited to see me at the cemetery again. And he introduced me to her and said he had to tell me goodbye, but never to be afraid. He said what I had was special and needed to be used for all the good it could do.”
