“I changed my mind.” Detective O’Connor’s tone said to leave it alone. I wanted to comment on it, but he didn’t give me the chance. “You were saying something about the picture?” He gestured toward the family portrait.
“Uh …” I glanced at Mandy, who shrugged. Suddenly I placed a hand on my forehead my eyes closed tight. “I’m getting something. Something to do with this picture isn’t right …” I peeked out of the corner of my eye at Michael.
“Here, his hands,” Michael said, coming close to pointing at the picture. My body warmed at the buzzing tingle of him against me, and I tried to focus on what he was talking about and not what he did to me by his nearness.
I closed my eyes again and raised my voice, “His hands! Look at his hands.”
Detective O’Connor shoved me out of the way so he could look. “His hands do look a bit wrong. Like they are tightened, almost like he’s ... holding her in place?”
I met Michael’s gaze for confirmation. Michael inclined his head. “That’s it! She’s not there by choice.” My brow furrowed as I turned to Mandy. “What kind of relationship did she have with her parents?”
Mandy’s eyes flickered confusion. “Great. Better than most. At least that’s what her parents said, and her friends confirmed it.”
“Then why is the dad hurting her in this picture?” I pointed a thumb at the one in question. “If they had such a loving relationship?”
“We aren’t perfect.” Mr. Granes, of course, took that moment to come back in with Mrs. Granes, or Janet, as he’d said. “Detective O’Connor, good to see you.” The detective nodded in return before Mr. Granes continued. “That day we had been fighting. Clarissa thought she was too old for family portraits and didn’t want to be there.” He placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder, giving her a reassuring look.
“I see.” I drew out, not sure what else to ask. I’d had my fair share of fights with my dad. When I was a teenager, I could drive even the nicest person to drink. My parents were saints for dealing with a kid like me. So, for most parents to have a disagreement with their kid was normal. Healthy even.
Michael didn’t seem to like Mr. Granes’ answer though. He passed by me and strolled through the foyer. He seemed to be taking in everything around him like he could see something we couldn’t.
“Ask to see her room,” Michael commanded, and I repeated the request in a less do-as-I-say tone.
Detective O’Connor made an irritated noise in his throat.
“Are you okay, detective?” I asked, holding up my purse. “Want a lozenge? I’m sure I have one in my bag somewhere.”
“No, I want you to stop wasting our time and do your job,” Detective O’Connor snapped, putting his hands on his hips, his hand a bit too close to his gun for my comfort.
“I am doing my job, and the spirits require I see her room.” I narrowed my gaze at him, daring him to argue.
Mrs. Granes seemed taken back, her hand on her chest as she stared at me. “I’m sorry, who are you again?” She then turned her questioning gaze to Mandy.
Mandy stepped between us. “Mrs. Granes, Jane here is a consultant for our department. She uses an unorthodox method to find things we might have missed. I ask you to please indulge her for a few moments.” Her gaze went to Detective O’Connor too, making her partner frown.
Mrs. Granes nodded, still clutching the front of her shirt. “Very well. If you must, but I don’t know how you will find anything new. Nothing has changed.”
“Thank you.” Mandy gave her best professional smile and ushered me up some stairs. I could only assume she remembered the way from last time, but still, it was unsettling to have the parents trailing after us.
When we stopped at a room near the end of the hall, Michael made a comment that made my blood run cold. “The door. Look at those marks.”
Discreetly, I tried to search for what he was pointing out. There were scuff marks on the outside of the door and old holes that had been poorly filled in. They’d put a lock on this door.
Mandy opened the door and ushered me in. I stood in the doorway of the missing girl’s room with the parents looking in from the outside. Could it get more morbid? Oh wait, it could. The looming angel standing in the middle of the room was just the cherry on top.
I skimmed the room, taking in the lavender bed set and the desk by the window. Everything was meticulously in its place. Odd.
“I can still feel her presence.” I held my hands out in front of me as if feeling something. Good thing I watched a lot of psychic shows or this would have been hard to fake. “Clarissa was living here when she went missing, right?”
I glanced at Mandy and then to the parents who nodded. Something wasn’t right here. I smelled a fish, a big, stinky fish that screamed that this bedroom did not belong to a twenty-two-year-old girl. It was too clean. It didn’t even look like she had been there. Nothing left out on the desk. No clothes on the floor.
“Did you notice?” Michael asked me, sliding his fingers against the top of the desk.
“Yes, I see,” I murmured, turning my back on the parents. Everything seemed to be coming together now. There were things that the parents had left out. Important things.
“What do you see?” Mandy asked quietly, coming close to me. She cast a cautious look to the parents, but I wasn’t worried about them. They should be worried about me.
“Yes, what do these all-knowing spirits tell you?” The sardonic tone in Detective O’Connor’s voice irritated me.
“Are you going to question everything I do?” I shot back at him.
“Anything that seems kooky.”
“Great,” I said, dryly. I turned back to the parents and said, “So, how long did you wait to call the cops before you realized your daughter had run away from home? Was it before or after you removed the locks from her door? Or after you cleaned up her room?” Anger pulsated through me as I asked my questions. How dare they lock up their grown daughter? She’s an adult. Old enough to make her own decisions. Live where she wanted. And so what if bartending might not be the most glamorous jobs? It was a living.
Okay, I was projecting now but still, the nerve of them.
“Jane, what are you talking about?” Mandy asked me, surprised by my outburst.
“Yes, I would like to know as well.” The fury coloring Mr. Granes voice was not lost on me. Hit a nerve, did I?
Detective O’Connor stepped between us, his hand up to stop Mr. Granes. “I apologize for this. I did not agree to use this person in your daughter’s case. But believe me, I will remedy that now.” He tried to grab me, but I pushed past him to point at the parents.
“I’m talking about mommy and daddy dearest keeping their daughter hostage. No wonder she ran away.” I gestured around the room. “I’d be running from the house screaming myself if I were in her situation.”
“Detective,” Mr. Granes shouted. “What is the meaning of this? You brought this stranger into our house to make accusations at us when our daughter could be hurt or being held captive somewhere.”
“Mr. Granes.” Mandy tried to calm him down, but it was Mrs. Granes who broke down.
“You have to understand,” Mrs. Granes said between sobs. “Clarissa is a disturbed girl. She needs our protection. She needs us.”
“So, you just lock her away? That’s your answer?” I yelled at her, her tears not making a dint in my steely gaze.
“That’s enough!” Detective O’Connor yelled, trying to grab me again. “These people have been through enough without you making accusations.”
“We did what was best for our child. Do you have children?” Mr. Granes growled, and though he couldn’t see him, Michael stepped between us.
I’d be grateful for his show of chivalry if anybody else but me could see him. All his move did was block my view. I sighed and waved at his body hoping the contact would make him move.
“I don’t, Mr. Granes, but I do know how Clarissa might feel and this.” I gestured vigorously. “This is not the answer.”
“Get out of my house,” Mr. Granes hissed, his breath fogging up his glasses.