them in a different direction.
“I’ve kept up with them. Unbelievably, they all still live here in Salem. Butch can print their contact information from the computer.”
“I’d like to see Skye’s room, if that’s possible, Muriel?” Tennyson wore an earnest look on his face.
Muriel nodded. “I was hoping you’d ask. Follow me.” Muriel managed a small smile as she got up from her seat.
Ronan stayed put. He had a feeling there were a few things Butch wanted to talk about while his wife was out of the room.
His biggest takeaway from the conversation with Muriel and Butch was how much they loved their daughter. Ronan’s heart pinched in his chest. Every day he spent with Everly was a blessing. He understood why Tennyson had concerns over him and the others forming a detective agency. Ten didn’t want Ronan to miss any precious time with their daughter. Tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed to any of us. The Washingtons had learned that the hardest way imaginable.
8
Tennyson
The resident butterflies in Ten’s stomach were rioting. His hands were sweating and his heart pounding. He’d been speaking to the dead since he was thirteen years old, but this was the most nervous he’d ever been before a possible reading.
Tennyson followed behind Muriel as she climbed to the second story. The wall leading up the stairs was covered with family photographs. There were graduations, weddings, grandchildren, and the school picture of Skye in the middle, blue eyeshadow and all, showing Tennyson that while the Washingtons’ lives had gone on, they’d also stood still.
“I was so mad at Skye when those school pictures came in.” Muriel shook her head. A bemused smile curved her lips. “I hadn’t sent her to school that morning looking like that. Do you know what she told me when I got angry?”
Ten shook his head no. He wanted to hear the memory from Muriel, rather than pulling it from her mind.
“She told me we’d laugh about this picture for the rest of our lives. I had no idea she only had three months left.” Muriel sniffled and kept walking up the stairs.
Ten followed again, not wanting to dawdle. At least they’d laughed for those three months.
“Aside from dusting and vacuuming, this room looks the same today as it did that last day.” Skye’s mother stopped in front of the open door but did not go inside. “Is she here?” Muriel’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Those rioting butterflies were in a full-fledged frenzy now. “No. I haven’t felt her since we walked into the house, but that doesn’t mean she’s not here.”
“I don’t understand.” Muriel cocked her head to the side, giving her full attention to Tennyson.
“Skye could be blocking me from sensing her.” Spirits did that all the time, for a myriad of reasons.
“Why? Why would my daughter do that?” Alarm glowed in Muriel’s eyes.
“As I tell my clients, Muriel, spirits have their own agenda on the other side. Skye’s been gone for thirty-five years. She may have moved on from her death in a way that we haven’t.” Ten included himself as a way to soften the blow.
“You mean she could be dancing in heaven and having a grand old time for herself while we’re all here still grieving?” Tears trickled down Muriel’s cheeks.
Christ, Tennyson had really stepped in it this time. “Wouldn’t you prefer that? Or would you rather have Skye lurking around here, unable to leave, unable to process her pain?”
Muriel gasped. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her damp eyes. “I’ve never thought about it like that before. What do you need from me?”
“Do you mind if I stay here alone for a few minutes?” Ten had many reasons for asking for time alone, but the biggest one had to do with hoping Skye would talk to him if Muriel wasn’t in the room.
“Sure, I’ll head back downstairs.” Muriel paused for a minute. “I’ve prayed for a miracle breakthrough in this case for years. I’m not sure how much longer I can go on.”
Tennyson understood her sentiment. He’d heard it before from the parents of murdered children. “I’m going to do everything in my power to help you and your daughter. I promise.” Ten peeked into the room before turning back to Muriel. “Did your daughter keep a diary?”
A look of surprise replaced the grief on her face. “Yes, she did. It’s here in her room. The police didn’t see much evidentiary value in it. Just the ramblings of a teenager, they said.”
“Do you mind if