Page 20 of Ghostmaker

“Rage and grief have no time limit,” Ten said gently. “You’re allowed to feel any way you like about your mother.”

“Thank you, Tennyson.” Christie reached for a tissue from the box on the table and dabbed her damp eyes. “I could tell that the psychic was getting off on hearing about what my mother had done, you know, like the way a serial killer gets off on his victim’s fear. This is going to sound completely out of left field, but I think he was the one ringing my mother’s doorbell last night.”

Cope had been thinking the same thing. “Why would he do that?”

Ten shook his head.

“When I met him yesterday, I felt hit by a burst of emotion. Almost like a concussive wave like with an explosion. I felt a deep-seated need for revenge and one phrase echoed in my brain.”

“What was it?” Cope asked. He hadn’t felt anything of the kind, just a deep sense of foreboding, like he was in way over his head.

“Vengeance is mine,” Carson and Ten said at the same time.

“Deuteronomy 32:35. The rest of the passage is, ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay. In due time their foot will slip; their day of disaster is near and their doom rushes upon them.’” Cope couldn’t believe the Sunday School classes his father insisted he attended were finally paying off. “It’s talking about how God will be the one to avenge wrongs, but it almost seems as though the psychic is taking God’s role for himself.” Cope knew what he was saying sounded crazy, absolutely banana crackers, as a matter of fact, but it felt like the right answer, somehow. “Whoever’s heard of a psychic who comes after people who have wronged their clients?”

“Not just an avenging psychic, but one who has the power to compel his clients to reveal their deepest, darkest secrets,” Ten said.

“And then uses them to what?” Carson asked. “What did your mother think was going to happen if she opened the door?”

“She thought the person ringing the bell was a sex pervert. I thought it was a version of Ding Dong Ditch, but you don’t usually ring the doorbell again and again like the person did last night. What do you think he wanted?”

“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” Cope asked.

“My mother is terrified this person is going to come back again tonight.” Christie dabbed at her wet eyes again. “Is that what’s going to happen? Is this person going to come back again? Or maybe be lying in wait for her when she gets home from her night of Bingo?”

Cope had no idea what was going to happen. “I don’t know. Ten, what do you think?”

He shook his head.

“The reason I came to you is because I thought you could help me. What the hell do I do? I might be angry with my mother, but I don’t want some amped up sex pervert hurting and killing her.” Christie’s pleading eyes locked on Cope.

“Can you afford to go to a hotel tonight?” It was the only solution Cope could think of.

Christie nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Get your mother and do that for the night. Tell her she needs to skip Bingo.” It wasn’t much, but it was the only thing Cope could think to suggest. “My and Ten’s husbands are members of the Salem Police Department. We’ll speak with them and get back to you later today.”

“Okay,” Christie took a deep breath. “I’ll do that and wait for your call.” She stood and began zipping up the back of her T-rex costume.

“One last thing,” Cope began, “why did he have you sign a non-disclosure agreement?”

“I didn’t think to ask. I wanted the reading with him so badly that I did what he asked and signed the paper.”

“Did you read the document?” Cope asked. He had a very bad feeling about this.

Christie shook her head. “Like I said, I just wanted to know if Hank was going to propose.”

“He is,” Ten confirmed. “Do you have a copy of the document you signed?”

“No. I asked but he made up some excuse not to give it to me. I really fucked up. Didn’t I?” Christie looked on the verge of sobbing again.

“We’re going to figure this out.” Ten stood up and escorted Christie to the door and out into the shop.

“Sweet Jesus, Cope. Christie could have signed anything. The document could be forfeiting her soul or giving all her worldly possessions to this man. It’s like I can hear Rumpelstiltskin in my head telling the miller’s daughter that she would owe him her first born child if she couldn’t guess his name.”

“That sort of thing isn’t legally binding,” Cope said. “There’s no way it could be enforced. Whatever she signed might not be legally binding, but I’m guessing its psychically binding.”

“Oh, God.” Carson’s mouth hung open. “Putting her up in a hotel isn’t going to help. He’s going to be able to find her wherever she goes.”