Yes, I had to...
"You probably have to swear to keep quiet even after you’re dead.”
"It boggles the mind what people can be led to believe.”
“My dear Julia,” Wallace Tammerlane said, voice low, flicking a look toward Cheney, “I was distraught about what happened last night, nearly worried myself into a psychic block. Are you all right, my dear girl?” “Yes, Wallace, I’m fine, really.” He gave her a longer brooding look. “And this nonsense a few minutes ago, this man waving around a gun.” “He’s here to protect me, as are the two police officers who came rushing in.” Tammerlane said, “Let me get rid of Bevlin and this philistine agent fellow, unnecessary, both of them. I’m with you now. I can protect you. We can go over to Cecile’s for an espresso. I need to talk to you, take you away from all this.
Perhaps August will have something to say.” Cheney said, “If August Ransom is ready to check in, Mr. Tammerlane, perhaps he can tell you who killed him.” Mr. Tammerlane raised dark intense eyes. “It isn’t like that, Agent Stone, isn’t like that at all. August doesn’t concern himself with the past, with what came before—” “He doesn’t care that someone cut his life short? That the same person may be trying to kill his widow?” Wallace said patiently, “Agent Stone, when a person has crossed over, all his past pains, past insults, all of it ceases to be important. Indeed, all of life’s difficulties cease to exist. However, the truth of it is that August doesn’t know who killed him. Whoever it was came at him from behind. He told me only that he heard movement behind him, but he didn’t have time to turn around. He’d been taking cocaine, a regrettable habit of his, but he said it helped him focus, made him understand things he couldn’t have otherwise, and it slowed his reflexes, flattened any fear he might have felt. August felt only a sudden awful sharpness in his throat, then immense cold. That was the end of it, and he crossed over and everything changed. He was in The After. “But he is concerned about Julia. He loves her, has always loved her. He is here for her, not in this room with us, mind you, but close.” “He doesn’t know who hired that man to kill me, Wallace?” “No, my dear, he doesn’t know. Those who have crossed over do not become omniscient. They remain themselves.”
“But he was a psychic,” Cheney said. “Didn’t those abilities carry over to The After?” “No, Agent Stone, they did not. He’s there, you see, no need for those abilities now.” “Perhaps,” Cheney said, his eyebrow arched, “Dr. Ransom could put the word out, ask around with the other spirits, you know. Or maybe he could hang around a bit here, keep an eye on his wife, tell her when evil is closing in on her.” “Evil, Agent Stone? I don’t know that I’d call it evil.” “When someone wants to murder another person, what would you call it?” Wallace shrugged. “Anger, rage, necessity, probably all those things, but not evil. Evil seems to me to be without motive, to exist for its own sake.” Bevlin Wagner surged to his feet, the energy nearly crackling off him. “You said August isn’t here, Wallace. Well, I agree with you. He isn’t here now, but he was before. Then I sensed he had to leave.” Julia jumped to her feet. “He was really here, Bevlin? You’re sure?” “Of course I’m sure. I felt him.” “But why would he leave, Mr. Wagner?” “Who knows, Agent Stone? There’s lots of things for him to do. It isn’t all lying around and singing ‘Kumbaya.’ No, I don’t sense Dr. Ransom at all now, and I would like to. I called to him with my mind voice, trying to call him back, but he said nothing at all. “I do agree with you, though, Agent Stone. If I were August, I’d be here with Julia, not off somewhere counseling some departed soul.” He shrugged, stroked his chin with long thin fingers. “But August always went his own path, and dying wouldn’t change that.” Cheney wanted to throw up his hands and tell the both of them to go away, but one of them might be Dr. August Ransom’s murderer. One of them might have hired the man who tried to kill Julia. Cheney said, “Do you speak to many dead people, Mr. Tammerlane? ” “Yes, of course. It is a gift, a responsibility, and obligation. I will admit that August fades in and out quickly, that it is difficult for him to maintain a link with me, thus I’ve gotten only brief images and spurts of his thoughts. I don’t know why. Neither does he.” “May I come and speak to you tomorrow, sir?” Wallace gave him a penetrating look, a very effective look, Cheney imagined, to make you believe he knew things, things that were beyond you, things not necessarily of this world. Cheney knew he had to try to keep an open mind about this, but when push came to shove, he was a lawyer, steeped in skepticism. It was hard-wired in his brain not to accept anything he couldn’t see, couldn’t manipulate with his hand and his brain. “Of course, if it could be of assistance to Julia.” “Dr. Ransom was your friend and colleague, was he not?” “Yes. Poor August and I were close for many years.” “And Julia, how do you see her, sir?” “She is a dear girl. We were to have dinner Thursday night, but alas—you know what happened, Agent Stone. I will be at home at eleven o’clock. Does that suit you?” Cheney nodded, turned his attention to the prowling Bevlin Wagner. “Are you related to Mr. Tammerlane?” “Related? Goodness no. I’m Croatian. Wallace is from Kansas.” He sounded so insulted Cheney wanted to laugh. He cleared his throat. “Would you also be available to chat tomorrow morning, Mr. Wagner?” He agreed, shooting Julia an intense look. But, Cheney thought, neither man really looked anxious to speak to him. Why was that? Cheney wondered. Because he was FBI? Because one or both of them had murdered August Ransom?
“I can’t begin to imagine what Director Mueller would say if he heard you’d cell-phoned a kidnapped psychic without the cell phone.”
Julia said, “I’ll come out with Agent Stone. He’ll want to keep me within sight at all times. He’s the one who saved me Thursday night, you know.” And it was done. She’d nailed coming with him very efficiently, no fuss at all. Cheney could have told her he actually welcomed her company, and he did want her close, but he liked that smug, triumphant expression on her face. It was better than the empty fear. “I can still ditch you,” he told her when they were finally alone again. “Nah, you can’t get away from me now. Besides, I can tell you all about Wallace and Bevlin.” She lowered her voice to a Transylvanian whisper. “Stuff that will make you shudder and turn pale, roll your eyes back in your head, jerk up in your bed in the middle of the night out of a sound sleep, sweating, your heart booming like a native drum. You haven’t seen their old interview records yet, have you?” “No. It’s Sunday. Frank said he’d get all the files ready for me tomorrow morning. I’ll go over to Bryant Street and look at them before I come here to pick you up. I have this feeling, though, that since you were always their focus, there won’t be a lot of in-depth information on any other players.” “Yes, I was their only focus.” “Yes, I realize that. You wanna know something else? Don’t you think Tammerlane and Wagner could be related—they look like father and son?” “I haven’t really noticed before, but yes, maybe you’re right. They do hang out together quite a bit. Bevlin lives in Sausalito— you’re going to love his house. He asked me to marry him a couple of months ago.” “What?” She nodded. “Yep. And dear Wallace asked me for a date at about the same time. I figured that since I’m no beauty, it was because I’m rich. But both of them are quite well off financially, what with the lucrative book deals and their group consultations that bring in something like a thousand bucks an hour. Maybe they would both like to live in this beautiful house with me.” “A thousand bucks an hour? What a racket.” “A racket? Maybe, but—” “But what?” “Come on back to August’s study. I’ve got lots and lots of tapes, of August and Wallace, even a few of Bevlin on TV. Also some of Kathryn Golden, another psychic medium. You’ll want to speak to her too. Let’s see what you think after you’ve seen them.” “I’m trying to keep an open mind.” Yeah, like I’m going to believe in spirit communication. Not in this lifetime. “The mediums—do they see themselves as something like priests—the great connectors between those left behind and those in the beyond?”
“Something like that. The Beyond is just one name for the afterlife. August always called it The Bliss, Wallace calls it The After. I’ll give you one of the books August wrote.” “And one each of Tammerlane’s and Wagner’s.” She nodded. “Yes, and Kathryn Golden too. Come and watch the videos and tell me August isn’t for real, Cheney.”
~~~
Readers will be moving back and forth between two seemingly different storylines which, ultimately, form together to bring the whole book together...
Julia is the wife of a man who was murdered, with an FBI Agent now--you will quickly note--who finds his mind turning more and more to her when they are apart. Cheney was out on a blind date which was not going well and he goes outside to take a breather. He immediately sees what is happening nearby. A man had moved to attack a woman. He runs to her and saves her life... That's the first attempt...
The assassin, we find, is a perfectionist and an egotist who doesn't believe what happened was possible. And he immediately begins the second attempt, which took place in her home. Julia was more than just a beautiful wife to a famous man. She was intelligent and prepared to act on her own. As soon as the first attack was over, she prepared for a possible second... And not only did she wound the assassin, but she then chased him continuing to try to kill him! He was furious! And even when his boss said to let it go and leave town, he refused... Retribution--thy name is a conceited misogynist. This man will appear over and over as the book goes on, still not giving up his quest!
In another plot, a godfather has seen a ghost. Or, rather, he believes he has found his godchild who is now living in another state. He calls his friend, her father, who immediately contacted Dix and seeks his help to go find the woman and verify whether or not she is his daughter... Dix had been married to her and they had two children. She had disappeared a little over three years ago and Dix had become involved with still another Special Agent. But they were all in limbo since a body had never been found to prove she was dead.
Dix will be traveling and had contacted Savich for guidance. He was invited to stay with Sherlock's parents... The woman was married to a very wealthy man, much older than she was, who was in politics. A decision was made for the Sherlocks to host a party to listen to a political talk about changing his voting plan to vote for another candidate. Dix would be an outside guest visiting, but attending the dinner. It could have been a good plan, but Dix was shocked when he saw the woman. Throughout dinner, he would examine her features, slowly gaining certainty that she was not actually his wife... But as time went by he had a chance to see her diamond bracelet--the exact bracelet he had bought for his wife on their honeymoon... Later, he learned that the woman's brother played for the Atlanta Symphony and lived close to his home town... Was she or wasn't she his wife? Does everybody lie these days? There was no way to let it go... Proof had to be found! And Dix was going to find it! But soon, he had brought his lover, Ruth into the investigation that had to be done... Dix believed that something had happened to his wife--he just wasn't sure what... But he knew he wanted to get hold of that bracelet!
The front door was ajar and so they walked into a small, dimly lit entrance hall. Cheney called out, “Is anyone here?” “A moment,” a man’s shout came from upstairs. “Go into the living room, on the right.” The small front room was all windows that looked toward the bay—the tip of Belvedere, Angel Island, even Alcatraz was in view. Beanbags, all of them bright red, were scattered throughout the room, some in small groupings, some alone. The walls were bare, no bookshelves, no photos, nothing but those dozen or so bright red beanbags. In less than a minute, Bevlin Wagner walked into the living room, wearing only a thick white towel knotted below his waist. “Hi, Bevlin,” Julia said, evidently finding nothing strange in this. He walked up to her, leaned down, and kissed her mouth, then straightened to study her face. “You look beautiful, Julia. I was so worried about you yesterday, you were so pale, so frightened.” She nodded. “I’m fine now. Thank you for taking the time to speak to Agent Stone.” “No problem.” Bevlin, the towel loosening a bit around his waist, nearly mesmerizing Cheney, said, “Agent Stone. I’m pleased you’re keeping Julia safe.” When in psychic Rome, Cheney thought, and shook the man’s hand. He wanted to tug on the towel just to see what he’d do. Bevlin Wagner was dead white, and his burning dark eyes and long black hair made for a compelling contrast. He had very little body hair. “I was in the shower, didn’t want to keep you waiting.” “You’re always in the shower, Bevlin,” Julia said. “Go put some clothes on. We’ll be right here when you get back. I promise I won’t let this dangerous FBI agent search the beanbags.” Those soul-probing dark eyes hit Cheney’s face square on. “I didn’t have time to wash my hair,” Bevlin said. “It looks clean enough, don’t worry,” Julia said. “Get dressed.” Bevlin left the room, whistling Bolero, if Cheney wasn’t mistaken. “He does this exhibitionist thing often?” “Oh yes. It’s sort of his trademark. I don’t know why, since he isn’t all that remarkable a specimen.” “Has he ever lost the towel?” “Yes. He paraded out with his towel once when I arrived before August did. The towel hooked on a doorknob and whipped right off. I looked him straight in the face and told him I knew a really good personal trainer.” “He wasn’t insulted?” “Didn’t seem to be. He said personal trainers were too hairy except for the women, and they scared him.” Cheney laughed. “What’s the deal with all these red beanbags? How long has he been doing this?” “Ever since I’ve known him, and I don’t have a clue.” Bevlin Wagner came back into the room, wearing old gray sweats, his long narrow feet bare. “Agent Stone, I know you’re here to question me about the attempts on Julia’s life.” Cheney said, “Yes, I appreciate your time. Mainly, I’d like to ask you about Dr. August Ransom’s murder. There seems to be little doubt that the attempts on Julia’s life and his murder are connected.” “I don’t know anything about any of it, I’m afraid.” He looked over at Julia and blessed her with his sweeping intense look. “If only I did know something—are the two really related? Okay, maybe, maybe. Wallace and I wondered about that, of course. I must tell you this, Agent Stone, when August visited me last night, he told me he really doesn’t like you, that you might be dangerous, and I should be careful not to anger you. He’s displeased about your being with Julia. He didn’t say so, but I’d wager he’d be much happier if she were with me.” Julia said, “Bevlin, there is no earthly—or unearthly—reason for August to be concerned about Agent Stone. He’s trying to find out who garroted him, after all. Despite what Wallace says, I think August would want his murderer brought to justice.” Cheney said, “Bevlin, what you said, it is what August thinks, not what you think, is that right?” Bevlin walked to the huge front window. “Of course it’s what August thinks.” He paused. “The fog’s finally lifting. I have three clients today. The first one a batty old doll who wants to give all her money to a nice-looking young man who says he’ll set up a trust for her. There’s a big commission for him, naturally. God knows what’s in the fine print.” He shuddered. Julia asked, “What is your role in it?” “I’ve already approached her husband, so to speak. His name was Ralph, owned a large piece of Sausalito at one time. He asked me to call his son, try to keep her from losing every dime he earned. Said those dimes had been too hard to come by to hand them over to a smarmy, good-looking crook. Ralph said he heard she’s not going to be joining him for a number of years yet, so she’ll need all the money he left her. I called the son a little while ago.” He shrugged again. “He was foaming at the mouth. Maybe some good will come out of it, we’ll see. Hey, Agent Stone, maybe you could go pop this crook.” Cheney found himself drawn in, believing for a moment that this very strange man had indeed spoken to Ralph, a very dead person. He couldn’t help himself, whatever Julia thought. “Did you really dial up the dead husband, Mr. Wagner, give him the lowdown?” “Ralph? Well, not really,” Bevlin said. “It was one of my guides who tugged on me, told me to talk to this old geezer, he needed to know what was going on.” “Guide?” “Yes, my guide. I am speaking English, not Croatian, Agent Stone. All of us have guides, all of us. But some of us are too unaware to even recognize that they’re there. I happen to have a good dozen of them, all for different matters, you see. One knows finance, one speaks beautiful Hindi, one has perfect pitch, is very proud of that and is often telling me what he’s listening to at the moment, and the key that’s being played—but he’s not much use, as you can imagine. There’s this one guide, all he can talk about is Egypt, about all the time he spent in the library at Alexandria. “My best guide is a real schmoozer, can chat up those who have passed over, tell me what’s in their hearts.” “Do your guides have names?” Bevlin frowned. “Do you know,” he said slowly, bending those dark eyes on Cheney’s face, “I’ve never thought to ask and they’ve never offered. They’re all very individual, really. I never had need of names to speak with them.” Julia said, “Bevlin, you said yesterday you knew August had been there, but he’d had to leave. But you spoke to him last night?” “Of course.” Cheney asked, “When you spoke to him, was it through a guide?” “Ah, August is different. He isn’t like other people who’ve passed. He already knew how things work, how to get through to me.” “I’ve never heard about guides before,” Cheney said. “I mean, are they dead people who volunteer for this duty?” “That’s a novel thought, Agent Stone. They’re simply—there,” Bevlin said. “Simply there, like when I first realized I could see things other kids couldn’t, a guide told me what was happening. He’s still with me. Sometimes he wakes me up when I oversleep and a client’s coming.” Cheney said, “Can you talk to one right now?” Bevlin Wagner eased down into a big red beanbag and closed his eyes. He sat perfectly still. Cheney felt like he’d wandered into Disneyland Croatia. Bevlin’s eyes slowly opened. They looked dreamy and vague. Odd how that could change so quickly. “I spoke to my first guide. He told me I had the gift but I have to continue to grow before I can truly become what I was meant to be. He said I had to work on being more grounded, and listen to those who know more than I do. He knows I can reach my potential, and he’s doing his best to help me.” “But why did he come to you specifically and not someone else?” Bevlin cocked his head at Cheney. “This might take a while. Please go into the kitchen, have some coffee. I made it this morning.” Then he closed his eyes. For a moment, Cheney was convinced he’d stopped breathing. He took a step forward. “No, it’s okay,” Julia said. “Let’s go to the kitchen. You really don’t want to try his coffee. He has bottled water.” “Yeah, sure.” Still, Cheney kept looking back over his shoulder at the man sitting as still as a tree stump on a red beanbag...
~~~
This series is moving toward 30 books and still going strong... If you enjoy FBI cases... Do check out this one... And, if you haven't tried BookBub...there's free or cheaper great books waiting for you! Catherine Coulter is a wonderful author that you should at least experience once!
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“I can’t begin to imagine what Director Mueller would say if he heard you’d cell-phoned a kidnapped psychic without the cell phone.”
“No, but when they find out, they’ll cheer you for being such a heroine.” Julia saw a couple of tourists in jeans and short-sleeved T-shirts, trying to brave the cold wind, shivering violently. She should tell them the sun would come out, maybe, but instead, she threw back her head and broke into “Tomorrow.”
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