cut short by violence.
“What if she wasn’t murdered?” Carson asked.
“She was stabbed forty-nine times, Carson, and had defense wounds on her hands and arms. She fought for her life.”
“That’s what I was talking about.” He paused for a moment, looking like he was considering his words carefully. “What if it was a mercy killing? Maybe Skye recruited her killer or maybe it was some kind of a cult ritual. She didn’t relish the pain involved in the act of dying, but it was what she wanted, regardless. Sort of like suicide by cop. You don’t have the gumption to kill yourself, so you make someone else do it for you.”
Under any other circumstances but this one, Ten would have thought Carson was out of his tree. “Hold that thought for a minute. You haven’t heard the rest of the story.”
Carson nodded, but stayed silent.
“You know, we interviewed Jennifer Blake, and then she wound up dead only hours later. When I got to the house, I didn’t sense anything. I couldn’t feel the residual violence of the murder. Jennifer’s spirit wasn’t there to speak with. The murder happened twelve hours before I got to the scene, but it was colder than our trip to the woods to see where Skye died.”
“That makes no sense.” Carson’s fingers drummed on the table.
“I know.” Ten shrugged. “We’ve got two murders, thirty-five years apart, in which both victims seemed to have been hustled off to the other side like a Hollywood starlet being saved from the paparazzi.”
“Was there anything about Jennifer’s manner yesterday that made you think she was unhappy with her life or that she wanted to die? I didn’t sense anything like that when she was here.”
“Neither did I.” Ten had been reading her the entire time she was in the room. “Aside from being annoyed by this case being brought up again after all these years, Jennifer was in a great mood. I wouldn’t even say she was so much annoyed at having to talk to Ronan and the guys, but more upset that so many years had gone by and having to relive it all again.”
“I don’t blame her there,” Carson’s eyes grew distant. “Most of the year I don’t even think about how close I came to losing Truman. I see my own bullet scar every day, but I don’t give it a whole lot of thought until Christmas rolls back around. My mind starts playing a torturous version of ‘what if?’”
Tennyson hadn’t known Carson when he saved Truman from a deranged gunman at a holiday Christmas party. He’d taken the bullet meant for Truman and nearly died as a result. “I know what you mean. Every once in a while, Ronan’s near misses come back to haunt me. I guess the only difference between me and Jennifer Blake was that we knew who shot Ronan, the Washington case is still unsolved.”
“What if the killer returned for her?” Carson set his coffee down as if it had lost all appeal for him. “I would imagine life goes on at some point, but deep down you know there’s still a murderer on the loose.”
“Crime solving is Ronan’s forte, but damn, do you think it’s possible Jennifer was killed by the same person who killed Skye all those years ago?” Ten was chilled to the bone.
“Anything is possible.” Carson shook his head. “Have you been in touch with Mom about the spirits?”
Ten nodded. “I spoke to Bertha about Skye, but not about Jennifer yet.”
“Then it’s a good thing I invited myself to this meeting.” Bertha cackled. She materialized in the seat next to Carson.
“Hi, Mom.” Carson grinned at his mother. “Do you know anything about this case?”
“What, no small talk?” Bertha ruffled her oldest son’s hair. “I managed to find Skye and she doesn’t want to talk about any of this. She didn’t know Jennifer was dead, and when I told her, she couldn’t care less. Then she asked me to never contact her again.”
“None of this makes any sense.” Ten shook his head.
“Not necessarily, Tenny.” Bertha paused for a moment. “Skye could be one of those spirits with an it-is-what-it-is attitude, or there’s something about her death that still haunts her, and she’s spent the last thirty-five years trying to avoid the pain of it.”
Bertha’s words caught Ten off guard. He hadn’t thought about Skye in that way. “She was so rude when she showed up in my bedroom. I took that to mean she was just a bitch. I never