Page 9 of Fragments of the Past

I kick my chin up. “Why would you wish for the Turners to remain childless? Was there something, some sort of sign?” I somehow refrain from rolling my eyes.

Rae Lee washes down the next bite with water. She leans back in her seat. The rigidness of her posture isn’t lost on me. Her arms straighten and she clutches her hands between her knees. “Listen, I can only go on what the dead show me. Everyone has their own reality, even them. They project the truth of the life they led. My experience with the dead has taught me to tread lightly. I’m uncertain if the emotions they portray are real or their interpretations of their traumas.”

“But you think something happened to the kid… Beforehand.”

“I don’t know for certain.”

“But if you took a wild guess? Isn’t that what you do? Make your best assumption.”

“I go on what they show me and how they make me feel.”

“And how did Pearl make you feel about Mr. Turner?”

Clearly uncomfortable, Rae Lee studies the empty parking space outside the window. She rubs a hand from the side to the front of her neck. It drops to her lap and then she’s clutching her middle. “Pearl doesn’t trust him.”

“Did he touch her? Inappropriately?”

“I can’t be sure.” Her words are quiet. “I had an awareness. A prickling sensation on my inner thighs. One that a kid shouldn’t know about. If anything happened, it was when she was younger.” Rae Lee regards me with unease.

“I’ll check into it.” Though I doubt the initial investigation left a stone unturned.

“But how do you prove a child’s been molested when she’s presumed dead and he’s cleared of suspicion? It’s tangential. A fragment of her past. And while it is relevant to Pearl—”

“It’s irrelevance to finding out what happened to her was problematic. So you sent Turner away.”

“Pearl wasn’t going to talk to me. This little girl is trapped between wanting her mommy and feeling like… like Mrs. Turner took Mr. Turner’s side. She’s too angry when her mother’s new husband is in the room and she’s set on hurting Harvey and Susan.”

I cock a brow. Is Rae Lee trying to tell me that the ghost of a missing twelve-year-old is responsible for her mother’s miscarriages?

“The dead show me things that living people find hard to believe. Things that are hard to describe. Sort of like how, for you, the emotion of crime comes together almost indescribably at the scene.”

I wipe my palm over my forehead. “Yeah, I get it.” Even in photographs, the brutality can be beyond comprehension if you don’t have the full picture.

I share what I’m comfortable Rae Lee knows about Pearl’s case—most of which she could glean from the internet. “She’s the only victim her age from around the same time frame we haven’t found. Are you certain it isn’t possible the same guy murdered all four girls?”

“Yes. Franklin Pruitt didn’t take Pearl.”

“How did you come to that conclusion?”

“In previous situations, I’ve seen more than one person. The deceased I’m being asked to contact tell me they aren’t ‘alone’.” Rae Lee holds up finger quotes. “They present themselves to me along with a consciousness, a perception, of the other victims. Or their killer, if the person who murdered them has also passed. You said the guy responsible for killing those three other girls died by suicide. Either they would’ve been with Pearl today or he would’ve made himself known. Oppressively. So I don’t think the cases are linked.”

“Are you positive?”

“No, but as much as I can be. What I do is instinctual. I’m not an idiot. I know what I discover isn’t admissible in a court of law, but my findings are similar to police work. Don’t you ever go with your gut?” she asks rhetorically.

“Yeah… and most recently, it led me astray.”

“No disrespect, Detective Ames. But, if you’re going to keep muttering beneath your breath about what happened between us, I’m going to be honest; I’m one hundred percent certain another part of your body led your decision-making last night.”

I pick up my coffee and bring it to my lips to hide the grin I can’t help cracking at her cheek.

Chapter Five

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RAE LEE

Cautious not to spill, I take an overflowing bowl of strawberry shredded wheat to the table. If it sloshes, there’s no one to lick up the sweetened milk anymore.

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