With Her Last Breath (25 page)

“Ask Ed.” If only she could break away, warn Maggie and Beth…

But the red silk scarf tightened around Celeste’s throat and the man smiled coldly. His other hand caught hers as she reached to grasp the metal hand bars attached to the concrete. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Brent Templeton, late of San Francisco, and a very special friend of Maggie’s sister, Glenda. I met Maggie five years ago and I knew I had to have her.”

Maggie’s locket…her sister…the dog…The images swirled around Celeste and the words, “Tell me you love me.” Then she saw this man slide the needle into a woman’s arm, and a bright splash of copper-colored hair fell back, the hazel eyes sightless in death. He grew strong as he punished and hurt, careless of the pain to others, feeding off it….

The beast within sensed her natural fear of dying and fed on it, enjoying her like a cat playing with a trapped mouse.

Celeste balanced on the edge of the safety, the water black and waiting below. He moved closer, peering into her face. “Ed says you see things, that sometimes you work for the police. What are you seeing now, mind reader? Tell me.”

The shadows moved inside Celeste’s mind. “You killed Maggie’s sister…She’d become a liability. You wanted
Maggie and when you couldn’t have her, you ruined the person closest to her.”

The silk scarf jerked tighter as he hissed, “I suppose you should know. You’re not telling anyone. Maggie ruined my life. She went door to door, stalking my friends, embarrassing them in public, calling newspaper reporters, and then she went after my wife—my rich wife. Evelyn put Maggie off, but she believed her. Without Evelyn’s money, I couldn’t pay my creditors, and they came after me—see how pretty I am now? Maggie gifted me with this limp. It can be fixed, but that takes money, too. Well, Maggie made me this way, and I’m going to kill her very slowly, then use that dog to get a start on a new life, breeding her and selling the pups—not much money, but it’s a beginning.”

If only Celeste could break free, to warn Maggie—

“You want to warn her, don’t you? Well, you can’t. I won’t let you,” he crooned as he pushed her back nearer the open space in the seawall, and the drop into the lake.

For a moment their minds ran together and then Celeste blocked his intrusion, masking her expressions until he could see nothing inside her.

Fear rose in icy ribbons, not for her own death, but for another’s. “Don’t kill Eugene.”

“I don’t know him. But if he’s between Maggie and me, I might. You’re not asking for your own life. Why?” he asked almost absently.

“Because I knew you were coming, and that I was the price for Maggie and Beth’s safety. What do you know, inside you, I wonder? Do you know that Maggie will be your undoing? That if you have to murder me, you should leave to save your own life? Because if you stay, I will give my power to her and she’ll be even stronger than before.”

For a moment Brent looked puzzled, and then he muttered, “Ed said you were crazy, witch woman.”

Celeste fought desperately, but he was stronger, forcing her closer to the very edge of the concrete walkway, the opening in the seawall and the drop into the water.

As he gripped her scarf and forced her over the railing, she knew—he intended to make her death look like an accident, the scarf catching on the railing, twisting in it, acting as a noose when she fell. “I’ll haunt you forever, Brent Templeton. I’ll be in your every nightmare, your every breath, and—”

“Time’s over.” Almost clinically, as if he were creating a work of art, Brent reached out in one smooth movement, gripped her hair, and slammed her head against the concrete abutment.

Someone was falling into space. Was it she?

A silvery flash tumbled past her and a man cursed bitterly.

In the heartbeat before she died, Celeste saw Iowa cornfields again and her parents, her father’s big, strong, safe hands reaching out to her. Alyssa was beside him and the woman called Monique—the Frenchman’s love. Celeste asked for their help to save Maggie and Beth.

Silky and strong and eternal, something sailed past her, and she willed that gift and a warning message to Maggie.

And then she saw nothing.

B
rent watched the mourners file into Alessandros Restaurant. The psychic seemed to have had the friendship of the entire town.

“Giving her power to Maggie. That’s a crock. The dingbat wanted me to believe that if I stayed, I’d die. Maybe that works with the paying morons, but I’m not buying. I’ve hunted her for too long to be scared off by gibberish,” Brent muttered, keeping behind the rags serving as curtains in Ed’s upstairs storage room. The fool was frightened of Brent, and worse, he wasn’t neat. He didn’t understand order. The room had been a pigsty. Now it was barren, but clean and orderly.

The morning after he’d killed the psychic, Brent had been up early, waiting…waiting. The sound of police sirens had preceded the red lights that flashed in his upstairs window, breaking the gray dawn. On their way to the channel, people hurried to see what had happened.

Ed had given Brent a full account of how a fisherman headed out of the harbor into the lake had found the psychic’s
body floating in the channel, how the police had lifted her upward and placed her in a body bag to be transported to the county medical examiner. Photographs were taken, flashes of light in the gray seeping dawn. A small piece of her scarf had been retrieved from a handrail on the channel, and first guesses were that she’d stumbled somehow, probably trying to free her long scarf that had tangled on the handrails. Bending over, she’d probably bumped her head on the concrete, and had fallen. The long scarf had caught somehow, hanging her. Eventually the scarf had torn, and the dead woman had dropped into the water.

The newspaper’s lengthy front-page account of her life, from Iowa farm girl to Blanchefleur’s resident psychic, listed her death as accidental. The town council was already debating placing a plaque dedicated to her at the site.

Watching mourners on the street below, Brent reached to straighten the curtain and paused. Lorna Smith-Ellis, dressed in couture black, strode into the restaurant as if nothing could stop her. From Ed’s description of Lorna, Brent hadn’t expected her to mourn. Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she was there to make a point. And maybe he could use her; the rich had their fancies and their fantasies, and he had experience satisfying their whims, ingratiating them to him.

A covey of the town’s elderly moved slowly into the restaurant and then—

There was Maggie, Nick’s arm around her, his other arm around Beth—Ed had pointed her out to Brent earlier. Maggie leaned against Nick, trusting him. The big black Lab stayed close to Maggie, and she occasionally reached down to pet it.

Bitterness churned inside Brent, eating at him. “You and Alessandro are lovers. Don’t lie to me, Maggie. You’ve been unfaithful. And you’ve not only wrecked my life, but you’ve stolen my dog. No one takes what’s mine and gets away with it.”

From his vantage point, Brent watched the rest of the mourners enter the restaurant. His dog obeyed another man,
a man who slept with Maggie. That dog was his, and so was the woman.

He reached for his flask and cursed again. It had gone into the harbor when he’d killed the witch. His initials were on it, but only Maggie would recognize it and soon she wouldn’t be saying anything.

He thought of the psychic’s expression, the almost calm way she slid into death. Later a chill, a sense of being watched, had wrapped around him. Yet nothing had moved in the night, and he had been alone as her body had slid into the harbor. “It’s nothing. No one is watching me. She’s just gotten to me, that’s all.”

But then, he’d always been able to deal with anyone crossing him. Including Maggie.

Maggie ignored the heat of the afternoon sun, signing for the truck’s deliveries at the back door of Journeys. It was only a day after Celeste’s funeral, but on the first week of August, tourists were thick in Blanchefleur, making the most of their time before school started, and the shop needed attention. Beth didn’t want to leave Celeste’s house yet, holding the older woman close to her for as long as possible. But the bricks of candle wax for the shop wouldn’t tolerate the heat if left to stand on the wooden platform, and Maggie carried in one heavy box to the storeroom.

She felt Celeste inside the shop, vibrant and soft and sweet. Maggie held that image in her mind, rather than the sodden corpse pulled from the harbor, the torn scarf still tight around Celeste’s throat.

The night after Celeste’s death, Maggie’s nightmares had stalked her in vibrant horror, a blend of her father’s death, Glenda’s, and now Celeste’s. Beth had stayed that first night at Nick’s, and the sound of Maggie’s screams had brought her running.

It was childish, but Maggie hadn’t cared. “I want everyone in this bed now. I want to know that everyone is in one place and safe.”

“I’ll move,” Nick had said, but Maggie had reached to grab that shaggy hair and tug him back down to the pillow beside her. “Down. Beth, on my other side. Scout is already at the foot of the bed. Now, no one move.”

Maggie had lain still for a full five minutes, her hands locked with Nick on one side and Beth on the other.

It had been a long, restless night for everyone.

This morning, the telephone rang in Celeste’s shop, intruding on Maggie’s thoughts, and she automatically picked it up. “Journeys. We’re closed for business now. Call back in two weeks.”

A man’s coarse breathing sounded over the lines.

“Ed, I am in no mood to play games. Beth said you’d been doing the breathing act, but she’s not frightened of you anymore. You call her or me again and you’re going to have real trouble.”

The man didn’t stop and Maggie slammed down the line. When the telephone rang again, she didn’t answer.

She stepped out on the platform and found Lorna in the shadows, her red sports car parked by Maggie’s truck. The brim of a large straw hat and enormous sunglasses almost hid Lorna’s pale face. A tight black top cut at the midriff revealed buffed arms and a flat, muscular stomach. Her hip-slung shorts led to legs developed by exercise, and on her feet were high-top, laced athletic shoes.

“I’ll miss that old woman,” Lorna stated rawly. “She saw me through some rough times with dear old dad—he was afraid of her. Whatever I hated in him, I seemed to search for in my ex-husbands, and she helped me through that, too. For whatever reason, she liked you. But she’s gone now, and I want Nick. Why don’t you just move on down the road? If you need money, I’ll pay you.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. And you don’t really want Nick. You don’t have to prove anything to your father now.”

Lorna stiffened. “I can make things rough, little girl.”

Maggie ignored her and picked up another box of wax. With a hiss, Lorna hit Maggie’s shoulder, spinning her
around. Without her hat and sunglasses, Lorna’s expression was fierce. “What do you want to bet that I can run you out of town and get Nick, too?”

“Okay, Miss Smith-Ellis. I’ll bet you can’t run me out of town, and if you can’t, you sign over that land to Nick for its sale price.”

Lorna’s cold blue eyes lit as she latched on to the bet. She thrust out a hand to shove Maggie’s shoulder. “I’m ready now. This could get rough. Just between you and me?”

Maggie wasn’t getting pushed around for a second time in her life; she knew that Lorna wouldn’t stop until she’d tested Maggie thoroughly. “Okay.”

Lorna sneered. “I can handle you by myself.”

“Then do.” Maggie had had threats before, and Lorna didn’t frighten her. She let go of the box and Lorna leaped back to keep her feet from being crushed. With a hiss, she lifted her hands in a karate position, and Maggie shook her head. “I wouldn’t. But you touch me again, and I will.”

She hadn’t expected Lorna’s fast, expert move, that sent Maggie flying in the air and landing on her back.

“Had enough? Ready to leave town now?” Lorna’s disdainful sneer took Maggie back up to her feet and into action.

“Let’s try that again,” she invited coolly. “Nice moves, by the way.”

Moments later, Maggie stood inside the softly lighted shop. The shadows and scents seemed to quiver, reminding Maggie of Celeste’s distaste for violence. “Celeste, I did not hurt her. I defended myself. She was off balance in that kick, and fell from the platform. She’s mad and she’s bruised a little. I jumped down to see if she was okay and she knocked me over. I had to defend myself.”

Maggie rubbed her back slightly. “Okay, so Lorna is good, mean and sneaky. Landing on that old stack of boards wasn’t exactly like that of feathers. And I’m sure she didn’t like being tossed into the dirt. So we’re even…for now. Rest, Celeste. I’m going to be okay and so is Beth, and just maybe Lorna, too—because you seemed to care for her.”

The music of the wind chimes in the front of the store slid through the closed door, and the summer sun caught the little goddess spinning within her cage of silver pipes.

The hair on Maggie’s nape rose as if chilled, and she stood very still. Nothing came to her, only the waiting sense that Celeste was warning her.

“Go ahead,” Beth said. “Nick is depending on you to help him at today’s wine festival. I’ll be fine.”

In the shadows of Celeste’s yard, Beth’s face was too pale, a week of sleepless nights shadowing her eyes. She scanned the flowers and scented herbs running around the yard, rich with color in the first week of August. A cascade of red impatiens seemed to tumble from a whiskey barrel, a squirrel perched on top. Lavender bloomed in a bright patch, waiting to be picked and dried in bundles.

Beth held Earth close, the cat purring heavily. “They found a scrap of her scarf on the ladder’s handrails. She must have hung on the channel wall for a time before dropping into the harbor. When he motored down the harbor, Maurice Livingston saw her body just floating, bumping against that concrete wall. I don’t understand why Celeste had to go out that time of night, why she didn’t wake me, if she wanted to walk. But then, she never did. I went all through that with the police.”

“So did I. Celeste thought that someone from my past might cause her death. I went all through that, and couldn’t think of anyone who would want to go to that much trouble, now that I’m away from them. I thought it better not to mention what she’d said. Maybe I was wrong. But San Francisco is a long way away in both space and time for me.”

“Yeah. Some stuff is better not told. I understand.”

Wind and Fire came twining around Beth’s legs and she bent to pet them. “And I don’t understand why she had to wear that silly scarf—her hangman’s noose, Maggie. And no one was around to help her get free. I don’t know why she had to be buried in Iowa. How am I going to talk with her?
But I’m going to run her shop and live in her house and take care of her damned cats, because I promised.”

Maggie took Beth’s hand, lacing their fingers. For the week since Celeste’s death, she’d stayed close to Beth, mourning their friend. They’d cried and slept together. “You love her house and her cats, and you can talk to her whenever you like. I don’t want to leave you.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m always fine—except for that one night at Nick’s, the day Maurice found her, when we all stayed there. For the last week, you’ve stayed here, and that’s enough. Nick has had this wine festival scheduled for months, cultivating customers to come to it, and he’s going to need help. And that Jeff character, Celeste’s nephew, is arriving today. He’s supposed to collect her family things. I wonder how she—”

“It’s only for a day. We’ll be back tonight. I’ll stay at Celeste’s with you.”

“I do not need a baby-sitter,” Beth stated firmly, then added more gently. “Just call me when you get back in town, okay?”

She laughed shakily. “That was something, wasn’t it? The three of us in Nick’s bed, you between us. I don’t think another guy would have put up with that. Maggie, you’ve got to do something about your nightmares—they’re worse.”

“I know. I can’t help it. I think Celeste’s death has stirred them.”

Beth shook her head. “They were always bad.”

“I have to go. We should be back around one or two in the morning. Nick has some pre-meetings with buyers before the festival starts at three. It’s only for one day, and only three hours away if you need me.”

“Scoot,” Beth said with a tired smile. In the distance, a low rumble began to get louder. Then an old big Dodge pickup, road dust covering the green finish, came over the street’s hill and stopped in front of Celeste’s house. Between the dents, areas of dull brown said the metal had been patched.

The arm draped outside the window was big and tanned and masculine. The man who leaned his head out of the win
dow was young and gorgeous. “Hey, ladies,” he called, “is this Celeste Moonstar’s place?”

“Iowa license plates,” Beth noted sullenly and crossed her arms over her chest. “Probably that Jeff guy.”

“Probably. Are you Jeff?” Maggie asked.

“Yes, ma’am. Jeff Ingmar. Pleased to meet you.” He got out of the pickup and stood and stretched, all six feet, five inches of pure, fit, prime male, wearing only faded bib overalls and work boots. His broad, bare shoulders gleamed golden tan in the light, and muscles flexed as he lifted his ball cap and replaced it on a mop of long, curling blond hair. He began a slow amble up the walkway to the women. “Nice place. It’s like her.”

The goddess chime suddenly caught the breeze, tinkling within the silvery pipes, and Beth stopped drooling long enough to whisper unevenly. “That’s Jeff. Celeste’s
little
nephew?”

Jeff towered over them, his blue eyes warm and friendly as he took Maggie’s hand. She liked the feel of his hand, safe and big and callused. He carried with him that same sense of solid friendship and warmth, of clean living and a loving, good heart, that had been Celeste’s. This was the husband Celeste wanted Beth to have, and Maggie liked him already.

Beth’s breath caught, and Jeff’s eyes were already taking in her blouse, tied at the midriff, and her tight, cutoff shorts. His gaze strolled down her bare legs to her bare feet. “You’ve got nice feet. Pretty. I like those toe rings. But I’d rather you didn’t ever wear long scarves, if you don’t mind.”

For the first time since Maggie had known her, Beth seemed to struggle for words. Then she said firmly, “You’re staying here tonight.”