Sixth Sense (A Psychic Crystal Mystery) (16 page)

Katherine put down her soup spoon. “Did that give your mother any comfort? You said they never contacted him, not even once?”

“You really think people can contact the departed?” Jack raised his voice and unbuttoned the collar of his polo shirt. “My father was dead. I saw him in the casket. There’s no way he was ever coming back. I knew that, but my mother was convinced she would see him again, could see him again, that their ‘love’ could survive and thrive beyond the grave. The only thing that thrived was Madame Hydrangea’s bank account. Besides what she was paid for those fruitless sessions, she recommended several bogus investment schemes, and she took my mother for almost everything she had, including my dad’s police pension, which was supposed to support us, and it was all for nothing.”

Katherine blew out a breath. “You were only ten years old, Jack. You wished she could. You wished with everything you had that Madame Hydrangea could bring your father back, didn’t you?” Katherine stared knowingly into his eyes. Kate could see she was right. Jack had been hopeful, but when his hopes were dashed, he’d turned angry.

****

Jack picked up the remainder of his fried fish sandwich and finished it in one swallow. Damn woman was perceptive as hell, and it was making him uncomfortable. It was like she had a window into his soul. It went beyond spooky and bordered on irritating.

“Jack, talk to me.”

“Why do I even have to talk, when you can read my mind?” Jack took a drink of his iced tea and then set down the glass. “I was the man of the family. I was supposed to take care of my mother. That woman took advantage of her, and I let it happen.”

“Be reasonable, Jack. You were just a boy. No one would have blamed you. And so to you, all psychics are fakes?”

“Aren’t they?”

“Do you think I am?” Katherine looked at him directly.

“No, not you. I’ve seen you in action. I can’t explain whatever it is you’ve got, but you have something powerful. I don’t know what it is, but your gift is real. You’re nothing like Madame Hydrangea.”

Kate bit her lip, reached across the table, and placed her cool hand on his warm one. She smiled and felt Jack’s body relax.

“It’s nice to finally know the source of your distrust of mediums.”

Jack looked apologetic. “I didn’t mean anything personal.”

“I told you before, I’m not a medium,” said Kate. “I don’t do séances. Although I don’t discount them. But Madame Hydrangea? She does sound like a kook.”

“She was more than a kook. She was a crook. And a lecherous old lady who preyed on vulnerable widows and children. She gave me the creeps, too. Her hands were always cold and clammy.”

“She put her hands on you?” Katherine sounded shocked and disgusted.

“More than once,” Jack admitted. “I never told my mom. Her heart was already broken.”

“So you let her think—?”

“That maybe she really was communicating with ghosts. But I guarantee my father would have turned over in his grave if he thought that woman was anywhere near my mother. He wouldn’t have fallen for her black magic. And neither did I.”

Kate choked. “You think Madame Hydrangea was a witch?”

Jack clenched his fists. “Not a witch. I don’t believe in them.”

“And that’s how you feel about psychics? You lump us all together as crackpots and crazies?” She sighed.

“I don’t think you’re crazy, Kate.” Jack reached across the table for Kate’s hand and rubbed the inside of her palm softly. “In fact, I think you’re pretty wonderful.”

Kate inhaled a deep breath, but she didn’t pull her hand away. “Even though I’m prying into your life, forcing you to reveal your deepest, darkest secrets?”

“Even then.” Jack twisted uncomfortably in his seat. If there weren’t other patrons on the patio, he would have come around the table, taken Kate into his arms, coaxed her back into the hotel, into his bed, to do more than kiss. In fact, he’d been trying to find a way to make that happen since their trip to Sydney. But serial killers, murders, and mediums kept getting in the way. His feelings for Kate were growing bigger every day, as was his need for her.

Kate gazed into his eyes with a pensive look on her fabulous face. He was sure she could read him, but he had no clue what she was thinking. Was she as turned on as he was by this foreplay? What was going on in that complicated mind of hers?

“Did your mother ever remarry?” she asked softly.

“No. My dad was her one true love, and she’ll follow him to the grave, alone. I don’t believe in that kind of commitment. It’s not real. Love is an illusion. All you get is hurt when you fall in love.”

“Jack,” Kate admonished, dropping his hand, breaking the mood. “That’s a terrible way to live your life.”

“It’s gotten me this far.”

****

Katherine stared out at the ocean, her pulse still racing from the touch of Jack’s fingers. He was at war with himself. He scoffed at love but he made no secret that he desired her and wanted her in his bed. She wasn’t misreading the signals. And she was more than ready for him. She recalled what Juliette had told them.
Your love is very strong and so will your passion be, when you finally come together.

What she was starting to feel for the man across the table from her was a combination of things. Lust, certainly, but even more, the stirrings of love, or what she thought was love. But Beauregard Lee Jackson Hale was as stubborn as a mule. Still, she loved the big ox. There it was. Her feelings for him had grown that big and important, and they weren’t going away. She’d dreamed about him—them—every night, how they’d be together, in bed and out. Yet she was everything he didn’t want. He wasn’t looking to fall in love. And despite what he had told Psychic Juliette, he wasn’t looking for marriage. He was definitely not looking for her.

Katherine had insisted on separate rooms at the bed-and-breakfast, for propriety’s sake. Now she was beginning to regret that decision. Sharing a room would have forced them together, presented another opportunity to get closer. That was what she really wanted.

After lunch, Jack inquired about the reverend at the front desk.

“Most likely he’s at home, since it’s a weekend,” said an attractive young woman behind the desk—Chastity, according to her nametag. “But you can usually find him at the church in the center of town. You really should go hear him preach. It’s very moving. He’s so spiritual, so pure. It’s a truly cleansing experience. He touches your soul, that man. His words will wipe all your sins away.”

“Sounds like someone’s been drinking the Kool-Aid,” Jack whispered to Kate. “I think we should meet the man at his home, in case things get heated. The reverend probably won’t be forthcoming at his church.”

“How long have you known the reverend?” Jack asked Chastity.

She got a dreamy, glazed look in her eyes as she sighed and smiled. “Oh, I’ve only just moved here a few months ago, but he made me feel very welcome. He takes a personal interest in every member of his flock, makes us all feel special, and takes the time to make us feel at home and loved.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “I’ll just bet he does. Hey, can you give us directions to his house? Have you ever been there?”

The clerk blushed. “Everyone knows where the reverend lives. Here’s a map. Let me show you.” Chastity took a map from behind the desk and explained the route to Jack.

“Well,
Chastity
, you’ve been very helpful. Thank you.” Katherine and Jack got into his car and followed Chastity’s directions to the reverend’s house. Estate was a better description of the place. It looked like a French chateau. It was set back quite a distance from the road, and beyond the house they could see, smell, and even hear the ocean.

“Wow,” Jack said. “Look at this place.”

They drove by a stucco sign imprinted with the words
Âmes Sur la Mer.

“Souls by the sea,” Katherine translated.

“The pretentious joker even named his estate. It puts your mansion to shame.”

Katherine laughed. “I don’t live in a mansion.”

“Yeah, you do. Compared to where I was brought up. My whole house could have fit into your kitchen.”

“I’m sure it was lovely.”

“It’s all my dad could afford on his salary. He was proud of it. Now I get to see how the other half lives. The psychic business must be booming, or maybe the reverend has some very grateful followers.”

Jack steered the car up to the circular driveway that crossed the well-manicured lawn at the front of the house, where he parked under a canopy of oaks and Spanish moss.

“No valet?” Jack teased.

“Well, the reverend wasn’t expecting us,” Kate reasoned.

The two stepped out of the car and walked to the front door. Jack rang the bell, and his attention was drawn to the high-tech security cameras. Katherine smoothed her skirt.

Suddenly, the door opened and a tall, imposing man Katherine assumed was the Reverend Carter Coulter appeared. His cape, with the wingspan of a vulture or a vampire, cast a giant shadow across the front porch. An evil aura emanated from the reverend.

Katherine was blown back by the reverend’s powerful presence, and Jack caught her to keep her from falling.

He’s reading me without my permission. How rude. There’s something unholy about this reverend.

“May I help you?” the reverend asked. His eyes widened when he saw Katherine.

Jack tensed. “Are you Reverend Carter Coulter?”

“Yes,” the reverend answered curtly.

“We would like to discuss something of a personal nature with you, Reverend Coulter,” Jack said. “May we come in?”

The reverend turned his evil countenance on Jack. “How did you find this place?”

“We got directions from a woman at our bed-and-breakfast. One of your flock. Her name was Chastity.”

“Ah, Chastity,” sighed the reverend, his thin mouth twisting up at the corners.

“Well, I don’t do psychic readings without an appointment. You’ll find what you’re looking for at our Welcome Center.”

“That’s not why we’re here,” said Katherine. “We want to talk with you about an adoption you were involved in thirty years ago, in Atlanta.”

The color drained from the reverend’s already pale face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His eyes bored into Katherine’s and shot out a blast of power that knocked her back again.

She recoiled, then regained her composure and stood firm. “You signed papers and signed a baby over to my father, Judge Tyler Crystal. My parents passed away earlier this week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The pronouncement was delivered in a monotone that suggested he was most definitely not sorry. And he didn’t seem surprised.

“I have the paper right here.” Katherine held out the document to the reverend, who glanced at it and frowned.

“Well, you might as well come in,” said the reverend, ushering them inside. “Let me get a closer look at that piece of paper.”

Katherine sensed he wanted to get a closer look at her. The man was old enough to be her father. His unwavering stare made her uncomfortable.

Jack and Katherine followed the reverend into his cavernous den.

While she felt the reverend’s eyes assessing her, she noticed Jack looking around with cop’s eyes, probably analyzing possible escape routes in case they were cornered. She saw his right hand rest on his weapon, a motion that did not escape the reverend’s notice.

“Are you licensed to carry that firearm?” the reverend asked.

“I am,” Jack replied, not giving away the fact that he was a cop—an off-duty cop, but a cop.

The reverend steepled his hands, then flexed them, releasing a hot stream of negative energy.

“Have a seat,” he said, directing his guests to a sleek leather couch in front of the fireplace.

Genuine Italian leather, Katherine discovered when she sat down. Soft and expensive. She doubted it got very cold in Florida, but maybe the reverend needed a fire to warm his cold-blooded heart. His aura was suffocating. It blanketed the room like a malevolent fog. She wrestled to maintain her internal balance.

Kate scanned the room. Her expert eye lingered on several masterpieces hanging on the muted walls. She had studied these paintings in art school and learned more about them in her job as an art dealer at the gallery. Some of these painting were of questionable provenance. But there was no doubt they were all originals, all of museum quality. One, in particular, had gone missing from a small European museum three years ago. And coincidentally it—or a damned good copy of it—had ended up in this very house.

The reverend fixed his soulless black eyes on Katherine’s. “Are you an art aficionado?”

“Kate majored in art history,” Jack explained. “I don’t know a Rembrandt from a Renoir, but Kate used to sell paintings for a living.”

“I’m very proud of my collection,” said the reverend, gazing at Katherine. “It took me years to accumulate it. What do you think of the Monet?”

“It’s fabulous,” Katherine admitted, now openly staring at the painting in admiration. “I’ve never seen anything like it. How did you come by it?”

“At auction,” the reverend said.

“And the Chagall?”

“It found its way into my house through a French art dealer. I love the French. They so easily part with their treasures.”

Katherine pursed her lips. She’d never seen anything like it in any museum. She wanted a closer look.

“You like Chagall?”

“I love the way he explores fantasy and mysticism in his paintings,” Katherine said. Her parents owned an original Chagall, a wedding scene, which held the place of pride in the Crystals’ living room.

“As do I. We have that in common, among other things.”

“Reverend Coulter,” Katherine began, trying to direct the reverend’s attention back to the pertinent matter, placing the document in his hands. “About this document.”

The reverend appeared to study it.

“I don’t recall ever having seen this.”

“But isn’t this your name on this piece of paper?”

“It appears so. Perhaps I did help one of the wayward girls who wandered into Casa Spirito, found herself in trouble, and didn’t know where else to turn. We’re a very forgiving community. But that was a long time ago.”