“Very,” Casey agreed. “If someone wanted to stay as inconspicuous as possible, this is a good place to do it.”
Marc nodded, glancing down at Hero, who was sniffing the length of the deck. “It also tilts the scales slightly in favor of Paul Everett being alive. If someone killed him, why do it out in the open, on a road in his car where a passerby could witness it? Why not kill him here, where it’s private, then clean up the mess, toss the body in the trunk of your car and drive it to the ocean to dump it? There’d be no evidence of a murder at all.”
“Unless the murder wasn’t premeditated,” Casey pointed out. “If Paul met someone for an illegal dealing of some kind, it would explain the seclusion of his car’s location. And if that meeting ended violently, the rest of the police’s suggested scenario plays out.”
“True.” Marc frowned. “It just doesn’t feel right. I’m not sure why.”
Casey’s lips curved slightly. “Maybe because it sounds like a low-budget B movie. Besides, I don’t think Paul Everett was an idiot. And only idiots drive out to deserted, sinister places in the middle of the night to meet someone, even for illegal purposes. Paul wasn’t some random drug dealer who hid in alleys to make a drop.”
“That would be the low-budget B movie part,” Marc said, chuckling. “I agree. From all the info Ryan’s given us, Paul Everett was a smart, white-collar businessman.”
“Whose murder is starting to feel more staged by the minute.”
“Casey?” Claire’s voice echoed from inside the empty house.
“Coming.” Casey glanced at Marc. “Keep looking around. Let Hero keep sniffing out all the smells. If you find anything, make a couple of scent pads. I’ll see what’s up with Claire.”
Marc nodded.
Casey went back inside, going straight to where she knew Claire would be—in the master bedroom.
“What are you picking up on?” she asked.
Claire had been standing by the window, staring into the room, her brows knit in puzzlement, her expression shaken. She looked uncharacteristically off balance.
“Contradictions,” she replied. “There are conflicting energies in this room—and throughout this house. Dark and fervent, light and joyous. It’s exhausting to be here. I’d guess Paul Everett felt the same way—like he was being torn in two. The pull is especially strong in this bedroom. He went through some powerful emotional struggles in here.”
“Probably because he and Amanda spent some powerful emotional hours in here.” Casey eyed Claire’s face. “But that’s not what’s got you so weirded out. What is it?”
“Paul. His energy,” Claire said. “I’ve never experienced anything like it. His energy keeps clicking in and out, like a light switch being flipped—on, off, on, off. It’s not just weird. It’s creepy. I don’t understand what it means.”
One of Casey’s brows rose. “You’re not talking about an identical twin scenario, are you?”
“No.” Claire gave a hard shake of her head. “Nothing like that. This is all Paul—here and then gone. Like some binary energy I can’t wrap my mind around.”
Casey pursed her lips. “What can I do to help you get a clearer picture?”
“I’m not sure. As you well know, this isn’t an on-command ability. I either sense it, feel it, or I don’t. And it doesn’t come with an instruction manual.” Claire dragged a frustrated hand through her long blond hair. “The only thing I can suggest is that we bring Amanda in here. She might trigger something stronger, clarify this strange intangible energy. Also, I know that Paul’s personal items are at her apartment, but maybe she has something of his that she carries around, something meaningful to the two of them. This isn’t about just Paul. It’s about him and Amanda as a couple.”
“I’ll get her.” Casey left the house and walked back to the van. Amanda was sitting in the backseat, just as they’d left her. Only her head was bowed and she was openly weeping.
Casey’s gut knotted.
“Amanda?” she said quietly through the slit in the window.
Amanda’s head came up. Her cheeks were wet with tears and her expression was haunted. “I just spoke to Dr. Braeburn. He’s head of the pediatric bone marrow transplant team at Sloane Kettering. Justin’s fever spiked. Not a lot. But enough. Dr. Braeburn isn’t sure whether it’s because the antibiotic isn’t doing its job or because it’s the parainfluenza that’s getting worse. There’s no antibiotic treatment for parainfluenza like there is for CMV. Most people just fight it off. But with Justin’s lack of an immune system, he can’t…”
“Do you need to get back?” Casey asked at once.
Amanda swallowed and shook her head. “No. Dr. Braeburn said that, right now, they’re not making any change in Justin’s antibiotics and there’s no imminent danger. My little guy is still holding his own. He’s a fighter. And Melissa is right by his side. Frankly, the doctor thought it was far more crucial that I continue trying to track down Paul. And, much as my instincts are to rush right back, the truth is I’m not doing Justin any good hovering over him and getting hysterical. I’ve got to help him. I’ve got to find Paul.”
Seeing the determination on Amanda’s face, hearing the firm tone to her voice, Casey got her first real glimpse of the strong woman beneath the grieving mother. Amanda Gleason was nobody’s doormat. She’d do what she had to. And she was ready to face whatever she had to about Paul.
“Can you come inside, please?” Casey opened the door. “Claire thinks it might help her.”
“Of course. That’s what I’m here for.” Wiping the tears off her face, Amanda slid out of the car and preceded Casey to the front door.
Claire was standing in the middle of the master bedroom when they walked in. She glanced up, clearing her expression of anything negative or alarming, and acknowledging Amanda with a compassionate look. “How are you holding up?” she asked.
“Not great. But I’m not the concern here. Justin is. Did you sense anything from your tour of the cottage?”
Claire explained the same thing to Amanda that she had to Casey—omitting the unnerving part and sticking to the conflicting energies she was picking up.
Amanda gave a sad nod. “That doesn’t surprise me. If Paul was wrestling with something ugly or illegal and keeping it from me, it probably was gnawing away at him—that is, if he actually cared about me at all.”
“He did.” That Claire said without hesitation. “One of the positive energies I can pick up on is love. There was genuine emotion here, especially in this bedroom. I can sense intimacy, passion and tenderness. But it’s all tangled up with guilt and a dark, underlying purposefulness. I can’t promise you there was no manipulation involved in Paul’s relationship with you. I can only tell you that he was torn—and that he did care for you.” Claire pointed at the area on the long wall. “What was there?”
“Paul’s bed.”
A nod. “That explains why the emotions
