“We’ll just have to make him see there is something else besides grief. There are so many support groups for parents who’ve lost children. He could start his own foundation in Bash’s name. He’s got a lot left to do here before he reunites with his family.”
Ten grinned. “It’s funny to hear you talk like me. I guess you have been paying attention all along. You’re a good man, Ronan. We’re lucky to have you.”
Ronan felt himself blushing. “Paul Stark is a good man too. Let’s go help him.”
Ten and Ronan followed behind Jude and Fitz to where Paul Stark was holding the door open for them. Finding themselves in a small kitchen, Ronan noticed it was immaculately clean. There were no dirty dishes in the sink and nothing drying on the rack. He had a feeling Paul lived on fast food and takeout, just like Ronan had done after his divorce.
“This way, gentlemen.” Paul led the way into the dining room, which was also clean and orderly. There were stacks of neatly organized files on the table, along with a laptop computer open to a photograph of the Stark family in obviously happier times. The walls were peppered with photographs of Bash in different stages of life, from the time he was a baby through his teenageyears. Ronan could feel Paul Stark’s grief wrap around him like a shroud.
Stark took the seat at the head of the table and indicated the others should do the same. He reached for an accordion folder, like the one he’d brought into West Side Magick, and passed it to Fitzgibbon. “This is all of the information I have about my son’s death, the people at the party that night, and the fraternity.”
Fitzgibbon opened the file with Ronan looking over his shoulder. Each section was organized as meticulously as the rest of the house. Ronan had been afraid they were just going to get a jumble of random paperwork, but he should have known Paul Stark would have been organized, treating his son’s case like a full-time job.
“Here’s Bash’s phone.” Paul picked up the darkened device and tapped the screen. A picture of their family appeared on the screen. “The passcode is 1-2-3-4. I haven’t touched any of the messages, photographs, or anything.” He passed the phone to Fitzgibbon.
“Did the police ever look at it or download the data on it?” Ronan asked.
Stark shook his head. “It was on his body when his frat brothers found him. The medical examiner gave it back to me, along with the friendship bracelet Bash wore.”
“So, you had the screen replaced?” Jude asked.
“No, the phone was intact, which I always thought was odd, considering he’d fallen down a flight of stairs.” Stark’s gaze stayed on Jude, who wore a quizzical look.
“How the hell would the phone have survived a trip down the stairs? A few months ago, Wolf dropped my phone from thecouch to the carpeted floor, which was maybe a two-foot fall, and the screen cracked.”
“I always wondered the same thing myself,” Stark said. “I brought that up to the detectives on the case, but they didn’t seem interested in investigating further. To be honest, no one has ever been interested in Bash’s death.” Paul Stark sighed heavily. “After my son died, I tried to go back to my office while the police worked my son’s death investigation. My performance was awful. I was distracted, angry, and heartbroken. Then my wife got sick. Thankfully, my company offered me early retirement, so I kept my pension and stock options. After Maya’s funeral, I threw myself into Bash’s case with all the energy I had. This is the result of the last three years of my life.” Stark pointed to the folder sitting in front of Fitzgibbon. “I promised my wife on her deathbed that I would get to the bottom of our son’s death. I’ve been through every avenue possible. I hired private detectives, called the Salem Police detectives once a week, went to see the frat’s chapter president. I got nowhere. A few weeks ago, I was streamingDateline, and the episode with Tennyson was on. I was surprised to find you lived and worked here in Salem. I mean, I knew that this city was full of psychics”—Stark made air quotes over the word—“but I never actually imagined your gifts were real. I assumed it was all older women dressed in a turban, rubbing a crystal ball with a cat in her lap.”
Ten laughed. “A lot of people think those kinds of stereotypes are true. I saw my first spirit when I was thirteen years old. It was a neighbor who’d recently died, and she wanted me to pass along a message to her granddaughter, who was one of my classmates.”
“What was the message?” Stark asked.
“It was a code word the two of them had set up before the grandmother died. My classmate didn’t believe me at first whenI told her I’d spoken to her grandmother, but once I said the word, everything changed. She hugged me and thanked me again and again. Not all readings turn out that way.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Stark asked, looking wary of Ten’s answer.
“I’m not sensing Bash here in this house. Maya’s not here either,” Ten said sadly.
“Ronan asked me to get you a few things that belonged to Bash so that you could use them to connect to him.” Stark got up from the table and left the room.
“Damn, Ten, you’re not sensing this kid at all?” Ronan asked.
Ten shook his head. “It could be that he reunited with his mother and they’ve crossed over. Maybe they’re happy where they are.”
“I can’t imagine Maya and Bash would have left Paul all alone here with all this pain and grief.” Jude’s attention was on Ten. “Look at Bertha Craig. She hasn’t left her sons’ sides in the eight years since she died. Christ, she’s been with Cole longer in death than his father ever was in life.”
“Family is as complicated after death as it is before,” Ten said. “Sometimes it gets more complicated when people die unexpectedly like Sebastian. Those spirits can be lost, confused, and angry. Maya knew she was going to pass and be reunited with her son. She would have been a great help to Bash, taking care of his spirit, like she took care of him on this side of the veil.”
“I hope you’re right, Tennyson.” Paul Stark walked back into the room carrying a trophy in one hand and the aforementioned friendship bracelet in the other. He set both items in front of Tennyson. “I don’t want my wife and son to be sitting shiva overme, watching me mourn them while I wait to die. I want them to soak up all heaven has to offer. If that’s a thing?”
“It is a thing,” Ten agreed. “I’ll do my absolute best to reach out to Bash and Maya after the guys finish talking about the evidence you’ve given them. Where was Bash’s favorite place in the house?”
“His gaming chair in the living room.” Stark pointed.
Picking up the trophy and friendship bracelet, Ten left the dining room and settled himself on the large sofa.
“What’s he doing?” Stark asked.
“Ten always takes a few minutes to clear his mind and meditate.” Ronan smiled fondly at his husband, remembering all the times he’d thought Ten was nuts when he’d done this during the Michael Frye case. “While he’s doing that, why don’t you give us a summary of what you’ve learned over the years.”
