“I don’t think you’re nuts,” Ronan said.
“Really?” Spencer asked, sitting up straighter in his seat.
“When I first met Tennyson, I was working on my first case for the Boston Police Cold Case Unit. The crime had taken place seven years before and hadn’t even come close to being solved. Fitzgibbon assigned it to all new detectives in the unit to make sure we all understood that this job wasn’t a cake walk. I was convinced I would lose my job if I didn’t solve it, so I made an appointment to see Tennyson. He’d recently solved a missing person case where the kidnapped child had been brought home safely.”
“Wow, I had no idea Ten used his gifts to help the police. Did you believe he had the ability to speak with the dead?”
Ronan snorted. “No, I did not. But I wasn’t going to give up my job without a fight. If there was something Ten could do to help me figure out what happened, I was going to take advantage of his gifts.”
“Did he help you solve the case?” Spencer asked, sounding truly interested in the answer.
“He did,” Ronan would never forget the day Tennyson was kidnapped by the killer. Not that Spencer needed to hear that part of the story. “The killer was apprehended and sent to prison.” Spencer also didn’t need to know how close to home the killer was or that he’d later been killed in prison.
Spencer sat quietly for a minute with that information. “What was it that convinced you Tennyson had psychic gifts?”
“There had been a lot of little moments along the way where he’d spoken to the victim and knew things he couldn’t possibly have known otherwise, but what really caught my attention was when Ten spoke to my mother, who at the time, had been dead for five years.”
“Wow,” Spencer said softly. “Do you believe that Aunt Effy is haunting me?”
“I do,” Ronan agreed easily. “You absolutely came to the right place for help. Ten, Cope, and the other psychics at West Side Magick are very skilled at what they do, but I think the bigger question here is why Aunt Effy Lou has chosen to communicate with you in this way and what you can learn from this experience.” As he spoke, Ronan pulled into the law firm’s parking lot. He found and empty spot and turned off the Mustang. “I get that you’re young and have no direction or purpose in life. It would be so easy to live life like you’ve been doing without career plans or a future in mind, but maybe Effy Lou is trying to help rather than hurt you. Her methods might not make sense now, but they will in the future.”
“Yeah, Ten said something like that too.”
“Listen to my husband. As annoying as he can be sometimes, he’s almost always right. I can’t tell you how many cases he helped solve because of his brains and insight, rather than byusing his gifts.” Ten’s instincts were as well honed as Ronan’s and after he’d gotten over himself and his ego, he and Ten had made an incredible team. They still did.
“Okay.” Spencer unhooked his seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride. I’ll just grab an Uber to get home.”
“No can do. Ten told me I have to go into the law office with you and I’m not sleeping on the sofa tonight, if you catch my drift.”
“Okay,” Spencer muttered and got out of the car. Ronan was right behind them.
After reading the building directory, Ronan hit the elevator button and waited for the doors to open. Getting off on the fifth floor, he easily found the office. He pointed Spencer in the direction of the receptionist who sat behind an ornate desk.
“My name is Spencer Stephens. I have an appointment to see Franklin Heywood.” His voice sounded strained, as if Spencer was feeling scared or unsure of himself.
“Of course, Mr. Stephens, please follow me.” The receptionist motioned him to follow her.
Ronan tagged along a few steps back. He felt a bit nervous himself. He’d had a few experiences with attorneys over his life, but worried what his role would be in helping Spencer with Effy Lou’s estate. Ten mentioned something about Spencer needing a trustee, but Ronan had no idea what that entailed and very much doubted Spencer did either.
The receptionist knocked on a closed office door and popped her head inside. Pulling back, she opened the door wide to see a well-dressed man approach them.
“I’m Franklin Heywood. I assume you’re Mr. Stephens.” He held his hand out to Spencer.
“I am and this is Ronan O’Mara, he’s a detective with the Salem Police Department.”
If the lawyer was thrown off by the appearance of a cop in his office, he didn’t show it. “Detective O’Mara, I know you by reputation.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Ronan said, hoping the reputation he was talking about was his police record and not his performance at last year’s Daddy/Daughter dance. Him introducing the kindergarten class to The Hustle was a day that would live in infamy at Salem Elementary School. He shook the lawyer’s hand and took a seat in one of the chairs in front of Heywood’s desk.
“I’m very sorry to hear of your Aunt Effy Lou’s passing. She was one of my favorite clients. We worked closely together to ensure your future. She spoke highly of you.”
Ronan snorted and tried to cover the rude sound with a cough. When Heywood laughed, he knew he’d failed.
“Okay, maybe Effy Lou didn’t exactly speak highly of you, but she had all the confidence in the world that you’d be able to turn your situation around with a little push from beyond the grave.”
Spencer’s eyes widened. “Is my aunt communicating with you too?”
Heywood turned to Ronan, shooting him a quizzical look.
