He leaned his cane against the gray stone wall of the bridge and crossed his arms. I could tell by the tight line of his mouth that I wasn’t going to like what he was about to say.
He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but it has to stop. I know you think I’m being unreasonable. I know you think I’m not considering all the possibilities.” Mac held up his hand when I started to respond. “Let me finish. I need to consider not only how to solve these murders but also how to keep innocent people safe.”
I broke into his lecture to defend myself. “I want to keep innocent people safe, too. I think Tish was innocent. Certainly she didn’t deserve to be murdered. It’s bad enough that Sara was killed, but whoever did it is now attacking others.” I stopped, realizing I had just made his case for him.
Mac smiled. It was the slow smile I had loved long ago.
“Then you understand why I am asking—no, begging—you to step away from this case?”
“I understand.” I looked away from him at the murky stream below.
“I don’t think you do.” He grabbed my shoulder and forced me to look at him. “I don’t know if it was you or one of your gang of amateur spies that did it, and it doesn’t matter.”
My heart raced in panic at the thought that he’d found out we had broken into Sara’s house to have a séance.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I shrugged my shoulder free.
“Lisa Harkness told me this morning that everyone in town thinks you know who killed Sara and Tish. Apparently, the story goes, now that you’re back you’ll be ‘assisting’ the police in the investigation using your psychic powers.” He threw his hands in the air and walked a few steps away.
“I didn’t start that rumor, Mac. I didn’t have anything to do with it.” But I thought I knew who had. Either Lisa had misinterpreted my meetings with Andrews, or Vi had been working her own angle on the case. It would have been nice to know I was being set up as bait.
“I don’t want you hurt.” Mac turned back to me and lowered his voice. “When I think of you walking into Tish’s house, unarmed, with a murderer probably only a few seconds away . . . I just want to shake you for being so stupid.” He grabbed my arm and shook it to demonstrate and threaten.
I flinched a bit at his intensity.
“I said I understand.”
“I know what you said. I also know that you won’t stop until this is solved. I don’t know why you’re mad at me, but don’t let it cloud your judgment.” His eyes had gotten dark, and I couldn’t look away. “I need you to consider one thing—your friends and family are involved now. You might think you can protect yourself, but can you protect all of them?”
“Got it, Mac. I’ll back off.” I took a step away from him and rubbed my arm. “I’ll get the rest of them to back off.”
“I’m going to hold you to this.” His eyes were the steely gray of Lake Michigan before a storm.
“Just get to work.” I turned away from him and listened while he clomped up the trail the way he had come.
23
I walked the rest of the way to Message Circle after Mac left. There had been no kissing. Maybe my dreams were not as predictive as I thought, although that one had felt like it was telling me something.
Message Circle was formed in the 1940s, when so many people flocked to town for messages about loved ones that it became easier to do group readings. Grandma always felt that vibrations were high in this section of the woods. Whether it was from a cache of crystals buried there or some other confluence of energy, messages came frequently and in bulk.
By the time I came along, Message Circle had become more of a “free taste” kind of service. The mediums and psychics would do short, free readings for anyone in the audience, and these inevitably led to paying sessions. I couldn’t remember what the summer hours were, but I was pleased to find it deserted.
I sat on the boulder centerpiece of the circle and waited. I had never personally received a message here—only the ones that Tish or one of the other readers had passed along during the daily circles. One had been from my grandfather, telling me to keep an eye on my grandmother. That was the year before she died. The rest were from unidentified sources, telling me that they sensed great talent. I always suspected my mother had planted those readings. The place was deserted now and peaceful.
I had come here often after my grandmother died, hoping for something, anything from her. Wishing she were still alive to tell me what to do with the dreams and visions, but mostly wishing she had passed on the secret to blocking them.