Lost Souls by J. Bishop (the giving tree read aloud txt) 📗

“We’ll see about that,” said Trick. He entered the bedroom. “Nothing in here.”

Mason peeked out the large window that led out onto a small porch, and slid the sliding glass door open. Stepping out, he could see the other decks of the surrounding apartments, one of them being Cissy and Chad’s. A crushed cigarette butt lay on the concrete. Another chilly tendril traveled up his spine, and he tuned in, trying to determine its source. The sensation felt different than what he’d picked up on in the parking lot that morning, but it was no less disturbing. He wished Mikey were there. While he could detect and communicate with spirit, Mikey had the empathic gifts in the family. She could walk into a room and tell you if something or someone bad had affected the area. He wondered what she’d get from this apartment, but he sensed it wouldn’t be good.

“Mason?” Trick called from inside.

Mason took a last look around and returned to the living room, shutting the door behind him. “Where are you?”

“Bathroom.”

Mason walked down the hall and into a bathroom that was adjacent to a bedroom. “What is it?”

Trick nodded toward the toilet.

Mason grimaced. “If you’re going to show me an unflushed toilet, then we have sunk to new lows.”

Trick snorted with disgust. “Just look, you idiot.”

Mason eyed the bowl, and saw two cigarette butts floating in the water. He looked back up at Trick. He thought of the one on the patio. “Could be from a maintenance man.”

“Could be.” Trick hooked a thumb in a belt buckle. “But this state is so anti-smoking, I’m guessing Miss Vicki out there would threaten a smoking maintenance guy with a firing squad.”

Mason couldn’t argue that.

“You’re the one with all the woo-woo stuff,” said Trick. “What’s your gut telling you? Don’t forget, someone was watching us outside the restaurant earlier. What if they’re a smoker?

“I saw a butt on the patio, too.” That tendril of cold became a spike, and Mason couldn’t deny Trick’s logic. “It’s a long shot at best.”

“I like long shots. It’s when we’re at our best.”

Mason sighed and stretched his neck. “How about you use that so-called charm of yours to ask Vicki to get us a plastic bag?”

Trick grinned and smacked him on the arm. “You check out that pretty mustache of yours in the mirror. I’ll be right back.”

Chapter Eight

Cissy Howard stared at the clock, watching it tick over to the next minute. Rolling onto her back in the bed, she stared at the ceiling. She’d told her parents she’d wanted to take a nap, but she hadn’t slept a wink; her mind wouldn’t still as she replayed her life over the past year. Chad’s new job, the move to San Diego, the initial excitement, the planning for a family, and the fun of discovering a new city, but then circumstances had changed. Chad had begun to work longer hours, leaving Cissy home alone. She’d joined a neighborhood women’s group, a local gym, and worked part-time at a nearby bookstore, but had failed to make the close, personal relationships she’d missed from home. Everyone was nice, but many of the women she’d met were mothers and their time was spent with their children or other mothers. Her loneliness had caused her to take out her frustrations on Chad, and she’d made him feel guilty.

Looking back now, she wished they’d handled their issues differently. Instead of working through them, she and Chad had become more distant. Chad had chosen to spend more time at the office, and Cissy wondered if she’d pushed him away. But she wouldn’t take all the blame. Chad had to shoulder some of it. He’d been the one to stray, not her, even though it would have been easy for her if she’d wanted to. There had been opportunities.

Thinking of Chad, her eyes welled, and she couldn’t stop the images from flashing in her mind of her husband dead on the couch, a garish wound in his head, the police arriving and her hysterical sobbing, the questioning of the detectives and seeing the dubious looks on their faces, and then realizing she was the prime suspect. Within a day of the funeral, she’d been arrested, and had sat in a jail cell until her parents had bailed her out. And now there would be the long wait while her attorney and the state prepared to take her case to trial, and either prove or disprove that she’d killed her husband. It was overwhelming. How had she found herself in such a desperate place in a ridiculously short period of time? How had everything gone wrong so fast?

Sniffing, she wiped her eyes, and tried to think of something else. Somehow, she’d figure out how to get out of this mess. Other women had faced worse and managed, and she would too.

She thought of Trick, who was on his way over with his former partner turned private investigator. Trick was determined to prove her innocence, and she prayed he could do it. Based on her history with him, she knew he was tenacious and stubborn, but also charming and persuasive. He could be someone’s best friend or worst enemy if either worked to his advantage, and if he’d been the least interested in commitment, Cissy might have still been in Texas right now, and not here, facing life in prison.

Hanging her elbow over her face, she took a deep breath and moaned into her arm. What the hell had happened to her?

**

Mason stood at the door to the hotel room and waited with Trick. After Trick knocked, an older woman with silver-streaked short brown hair opened the door. Her clothes hung loosely on her body and Mason guessed she’d lost weight from the stress of the last few weeks.

Seeing Trick, she smiled, though sadly. “Hi, Trick.”

A tall man came up behind her. His eyes creased when he saw Trick, but he pulled the door wider. “Hey, Trick,” he