He was shaking his head, fixing his gaze back on the computer. He even sat heavily in his chair, and when he accessed the keyboard to flip back to the picture where I was hovering near the ceiling—the best view of me—he kept shaking his head.
“It doesn’t look like you. Your hair wasn’t long like this.”
He turned around in his chair, like he was seeking me out in the room. But I’d shifted to the right of his desk and he wasn’t even looking in my direction.
Yet I could still see how this man had ice in his veins, how he forced himself to calm so very quickly.
He scanned the vicinity, gaze narrowed. “You didn’t expect to be on film. You had no idea that Wendy was one of those kids who’s addicted to the strange. She watches things like ghost programs on cable channels, and that’s where she got the idea to grab a camera and capture your image. I didn’t believe her at first, but now… ?”
I didn’t let his taunting stop me.
“Murderer… ,” I whispered.
In my quickly climbing weakness, my voice didn’t quite sound like Elizabeth’s anymore, and he noticed that, finding me with his glare, locking me into his sights, just as he’d done in the study during his dream.
“I don’t know who you are,” he said, “but you’re wrong. I didn’t kill her.”
I stayed silent, and that seemed to be a very effective haunting technique, too.
“Elizabeth…” His voice got tight. Then he took a moment, his jaw clenching, before he tried again. I could feel the turmoil in him, but I couldn’t identify what it was about exactly.
“Elizabeth tore me apart,” he said, “but when she broke off our engagement, that was nothing compared to what I felt when she was murdered. I’ve wanted to go after whoever it was for years. I hired private investigators, and they’ve come up as empty as the police. I’m not—”
He stopped. But had he been about to say that he wasn’t a killer?
He leaned back in his chair, and by the light of the computer, I could see how weary he was. It looked like he hadn’t been sleeping very well.
Haunted, I thought. But that was the goal.
The thing was, my vibes were telling me that he was unloading the truth right now. Sure, he was a rage-filled guy—in private, it was like he was set to explode at any second—but had he murdered his ex-fiancée?
There was something about him that I couldn’t put my finger on.
I went back to him for more empathy, but when I touched his cheek and swooped inside this time, there was only blackness.
An utter and complete blank.
The son of a bitch had shut me down, and he seemed to know it as I pulled out and he fixed a lethal stare in front of him, right at invisible me again. He might not know just how I worked, but he knew enough to turn off his fear and also block me.
As I stood there, toe-to-figurative-toe with him, that heat from his body, his life force, trickled into me. I hated that he could make me warm. Why was it that the only entities that could do that were two guys who should leave me cold?
Gavin looked extrapugilistic as he got out of his chair, walked over to an end table, grabbed a remote, then clicked on the TV. A program with a bunch of talky doctors came on, but he didn’t seem to care. He just sat at his desk in front of the computer again, and it was like he made a big show out of not giving a shit that there was something with him in the room.
Ignored.
Randy had said ghosts hate that, and for the first time, I understood a hundred percent. Being ignored like this sucked the big weenie from hell, but as Gavin kept doing it, I didn’t give up like some ghosts might. I stuck around, waiting for him to go to sleep, so I could reach into his dreams and see what was playing inside his head that night.
It was a battle of wills as he stayed up. He even went into his bathroom to pop a few antisleeping pills, which was cheating, if you ask me.
Thanks to those, he stayed up all damned night.
I think the contest would’ve lasted a lot longer, too—past dawn, past the breakfast that he had brought up to his room—if Constanza hadn’t knocked at his door a second time, announcing that the family had a visitor. A woman named Alicia who said that she was hand-delivering a parcel of vintage clothing for Farah, and she insisted on giving it to someone in the family before she left.
Knowing deep inside that something was off, I went downstairs before Gavin did.
And when I saw Amanda Lee sitting in the parlor, my ghost mouth almost hit the floor.
15
“Hello,” she said softly to me, just like we’d agreed to meet here and everything was copasetic.
I was still gaping as Amanda Lee folded her hands in her lap. She was wearing a smart linen business suit and tasteful bronze jewelry that looked antique-y. But her totally not Amanda Lee clothing wasn’t what really caught my attention. She’d done something to her face with makeup, and her flat cheekbones seemed even higher, her nose longer, her eyes bigger. And she was wearing fashionable thick-rimmed glasses. She’d even dyed her hair a dark brown and pinned it into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. She was a businesswoman who faded into the woodwork.
So what do you say when someone has such balls of steel?
Before I recovered from seeing her here, Gavin walked in, and I sensed the hackles rising all over Amanda Lee at the sight of the man she thought had murdered the women she loved. But I’ll give this to her—she was a bitchin’ actress, and he didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.
Rising from her seat, she nodded to Gavin, who remained at the entrance to the cream-and-marble parlor, greeting her and faintly smiling like he was waiting for her to explain her presence better than Constanza had done when she came upstairs to fetch him.
“I’m sorry to inconvenience you,” Amanda Lee said, laying on the Virginia accent that she’d shed during her years in SoCal. “But I don’t feel right about just leaving these one-of-a-kind pieces off with anyone, even if Ms. Edgett has already paid for them.”
She sent a discreet glance to Constanza, who stood just behind Gavin.
I think Amanda Lee’s portrayal of “Alicia” included a bit of snobbery, and Constanza only narrowed her eyes at her in return.
Gavin’s smile went tight before he planted his hands on his jeaned hips. “I’ll take the merchandise off your hands. Farah mentioned consulting with a new personal shopper, but I didn’t know she was having anything delivered today.”
“There’s a Chanel evening gown in here,” Amanda Lee said, emphasizing the designer and really pushing the snobby angle. “When Farah saw it, she could barely contain herself.”
I wasn’t big into fashion, but even I recognized “Chanel.” How had Amanda Lee gotten ahold of clothing of this caliber? More to the point, what was she doing with it here?
Gavin motioned to the wheeled dress rack near the sofa where Amanda Lee… er, Alicia was sitting. Garment bags hung from it.
“I would’ve trusted Constanza to accept these,” he said, turning to grin at the maid, who gave him a warm smile in return, then left the room.
Amanda Lee also smiled, but at the maid’s retreating back. Then she aimed the gesture at Gavin. Sugary lemonade sweet.
“I’m on a working vacation from out of state for a short time,” she said, “and when I attended the Locksley Foundation dinner last week, I heard about Farah’s weakness for vintage designs. She mentioned to one of my associates that she was fond of Chanel in particular, and word gets around. So when I came across this exquisite dress for a steal yesterday, I thought of her immediately and arranged a quick meeting. Would you like to take a look at it, Mr. Edgett?”