As the ship started to move, Jude thought back to everything Fitzgibbon said about Alexandria Longfellow and why she wasn’t front and center in the battle for justice. Over the course of his years working as a private detective, he’d learned that some people were just made differently. Things that meant theworld to some, like money, status, and fame, meant absolutely nothing to Jude. He’d rather spend his life with his husband, watching their kids grow, than sit in a fancy high-rise in New York City counting his money.
One man’s meat was another man’s poison, as the saying went.
10
Cope
Cope had an amazing afternoon at the amusement park with the kids. He’d ridden the kiddie rides with Lizbet, who’d screeched her head off with joy. He ate an entire chocolate cone and half of Lizbet’s, and later nearly a pound of pasta at a cute little Italian taverna calledThat’s Amore!He’d taken a ton of pictures of Lizbet and Wolfie with tomato sauce splattered all over their faces.
After he’d given the kids a bath and put them to sleep, Cope picked up his phone and scrolled through all the pictures he’d taken during their trip. There were shots of Lizbet on the beach in her big, floppy hat, Wolf learning to bodysurf on the waves, and Jude and Wolf with matching pink cotton candy mustaches. His heart swelled with love when he saw the happiness reflected in his family’s eyes.
Which brought him back to Cyrus Longfellow. He wasn’t able to shake the idea of calling Alexandria since Jude had suggested it earlier in the day, especially in light of the fact that Cyrushadn’tasked him to make contact.
Cyrus had been dead for fifteen years. As far as he could tell from speaking with him, no other psychic or ghost hunter had been able to make contact with him since that fateful night. If Cope had been in Cyrus’s shoes, the first thing he would have asked was for the medium to get a message out to the people who were most important to him. Cyrus hadn’t asked him to contact anyone.
Cope knew Cyrus was unlike any spirit he’d ever spoken to before, but it rubbed him the wrong way that the ghost hadno one he wanted to make amends with. No one he wanted to apologize to or to say “I love you” to one last time.
Back in their motel room, Jude and Cope snuggled in bed. Cope was about to suggest watching a movie when a knock on the room door broke Cope out of his thoughts. When Jude opened the door, it was Jake Powell, the manager of the motel.
“What’s up?” Jude asked.
Cope peered over his shoulder, not able to read what the manager wanted.
“Phone call for you. Down in the office. Follow me.” Jake stood back from the door and stuffed his hands into his pockets.
“One sec.” Jude ducked back into the room and knocked on the door connecting his room to Ronan’s. Cope heard them whisper for a few seconds, and when Jude came out into the hallway, Ronan was with him. “Ten’s gonna watch the kids. Do you have any idea what’s going on? No one knows we’re here, and anyone who would want to speak with us has our numbers. All they’d have to do was text or call us directly.”
“I’m not getting anything,” Cope said. He agreed with everything Jude had said about friends of theirs having their numbers. He had no clue what was going on; his gift was strangely silent on the matter.
Following behind Jude and Ronan, Cope went down the stairs and into the front office, which smelled like onion rings and stale cigarette smoke. Cope tried to breathe through his mouth so he wouldn’t gag in front of the motel manager.
“Follow me.” Jake led them into the back office, which was neat as a pin. There was a small table with several folding chairs and a multi-line phone. “You can take the call here. Pick up thereceiver and press the blinking light. Good luck.” With those words, Jake Powell was gone.
“Who the hell says ‘good luck’ before you take a phone call?” Ronan asked.
“We’re about to find out.” Jude reached for the receiver. He hit the flashing light to answer the call like Powell advised but also hit the button for speakerphone. “This is Jude Byrne.”
“Mr. Byrne,” a cultured voice said, “my name is Alexandria Longfellow. I hear you have been trying to dig up leads on my son’s murder case.”
Cope didn’t know which way this was going to go. Either Alexandria was going to be thrilled someone was working to solve Cyrus’s murder, or she was about to raise hell. He had no idea which.
“Not exactly, Mrs. Longfellow. My family and I are on vacation.” Jude shrugged as if he had no idea what else to say.
“I see.” She paused. “So the video of you and your psychic husband being interviewed at the Four Star about solving my son’s murder was what, my imagination playing tricks on me? AI technology that was able to synthesize your voices?”
Ronan’s eyes darkened as the woman kept throwing out scenarios. It was obvious he didn’t like what was happening.
“Mrs. Longfellow, my name is Copeland Forbes, of the New Orleans’s Forbes family. I believe your husband knew my father, Buford.”
“Indeed, Mr. Forbes. Lucius always spoke highly of your father.” Cope could hear a smile in the woman’s voice when she mentioned her late husband. “I am counting on you to please tell me the truth of what’s going on in Maine.”
Cope winked at his husband. Money knew money, as the saying went. Cope knew all he needed to do was let this woman know he was in the club, and he would be able to speak with her on a more friendly level. “Mrs. Longfellow, my husband got an unsolicited email inviting us to come stay at Four Star for the long weekend at a reduced rate. Wanting to give our kids one last taste of fun in the sun, he booked the trip, only to find out that it was a ruse perpetuated against us by a news reporter named Chet Hines.”
“Yes, I’m aware of Mr. Hines. He’s a rather persistent little gnat. Always calling me to pry additional information out of me in regard to my son and his life prior to his death, under the guise of pretending to care about me and my family. I do not believe he is truly interested in solving Cyrus’s murder, but rather wants the glory for himself.”
“You have that right. Not only did he get us up here under false pretenses, but he also sent anonymous messages to other members of the southern Maine media, which is how you ended up seeing my husband and I on television. I can assure you that before we came up here, I had never heard of your son or his murder.” Cope cringed over his last words. He couldn’t imagine Alexandria would be pleased to hear that Cope had no idea who her beloved son was.
“Hmm.” Alexandria paused. “Your detective husband and his band of merry menaren’tin Maine to solve Cyrus’s murder?” Her tone was level, not betraying which answer to the question she would prefer.
