Page 31 of Last Resort

“He makes it sound like this is some sort of hellmouth that sucks in souls.” Sister Frankie chuckled. “We’re really more of a transfer station or a base camp. Odd as it may be.”

They said goodbye, and Monty promised to stay in touch. Outside, Ben swore the wind had grown even colder.

“What did you make of that?” he asked Monty. “I’m never sure whether other people with abilities see the same things I do.”

“There might be a slight variation of how detailed ghost’s appearance seems from one medium to another, but I don’t think I got any insider information,” Monty replied. “I suspect that Sophia told us a mostly true story.”

“Mostly?” Ben glanced over to his companion, intrigued.

“People tend to put themselves in a good light even when they’re confessing their ‘sins,’” Monty replied. “I think all of what she told us was true—but not the whole truth. I got the feeling that back in the day, she would have still gone along with Tom’s role in the ‘family business’ if he had stuck around and been happy to spend the old man’s money if Tom could have found it.”

Ben thought for a moment, then nodded. “She wasn’t feeling guilt over things being illegal. She was worried thatnotminding would get her in trouble in the afterlife.”

Monty nodded. “Yes, that’s what I got out of it.”

“Still, it’s an interesting perspective. I wonder if the person who sent Erik the poker chips had the same sort of internal struggle,” Ben mused. “They knew about the heist on some level and kept the secret, passing down the chips, but knowing that it was wrong and that they might be putting their heirs in danger.”

“Sounds like a reasonable theory to me,” Monty said as they left the beach and headed across the parking lot toward the lighthouse. “Would you like to come in and warm up?”

Ben shook his head. “Thanks, but I need to get home. Tell Jon I said goodbye.”

He glanced at his watch and figured Erik was still at the shop, so he called Sean.

“You doing anything?” he asked when Sean picked up.

“Depends. What are you offering?”

“I want to see if Tom Raines’s ghost has shown up yet,” Ben replied. “I didn’t pick up anything the day of the murder, but sometimes it takes ghosts a little while to get their shit together.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Sean said in a droll tone. “I met up with some friends, but I was just heading back. I can meet you at the office.”

“See you in a few.” Ben ended the call. He went back over the conversation with the ghost at the convent as he drove and wondered how many other women who had married into the Mob had shared the same misgivings.

He’d seen enough ripped-from-the-headlines Mafia movies and true crime documentaries to have heard tearful women swear they really thought their husbands were legitimately in the waste management business. While he didn’t doubt that most of the wives and mistresses had been kept out of the main business dealings for their own protection—as well as because of the Mob’s well-known misogyny—he had never believed that they didn’t suspect.

I think they knew on some level, even if they didn’t let themselves admit it fully. People can be willfully ignorant in amazing ways if their standard of living is on the line.

As far as Ben had been able to find out, Tom Raines never married. That made sense since he had gone into self-imposed exile. He wouldn’t dare tell a spouse the full truth out of fear of betrayal and for their own safety. The lies would eventually erode the relationship.

Three generations of ruined lives, all for greed. No payoff is worth that.

He parked the car and found Sean in the break room with a cup of coffee. “I need to grab a few things,” he told his cousin and went to get a bag he kept under his desk. He and Erik ran into hauntings often enough that Ben had put a kit together to mobilize faster. The small duffel contained plenty of salt, bottles of iron filings, a couple of crowbars, and chalk for drawing sigils.

“Old Tom might not show,” Ben said as they drove to the unit. “Either because he can’t muster the mojo, or he just doesn’t want to.”

“Never thought ghosts would have a problem getting it up,” Sean snarked.

“Somehow, I knew you were going to go there.” Ben gave an exaggerated sigh.

“Hey—gotta stay ‘on brand,’” Sean teased. “People have expectations.”

“Next thing, you’ll be talking about yourself in the third person,” Ben groaned.

“We’ll let that one slide.”

Ben fished a wrapped hard candy out of his pocket and threw it at Sean, bouncing it off his shoulder.

“Ow! I should call a cop. That’s assault.”

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