your cousin isn’t dead…” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this.”
“Keep going,” she encouraged. “A mile in my shoes.”
“If your cousin isn’t dead, what spirit are you hoping to contact?”
“I saw a woman wearing an FBI jacket. I’m not sure, but I think her name is Julie.”
He reacted with a start. “And she’s dead?”
“Yes.”
His jaw tensed. “Don’t play games with me, Emma. You heard something about the FBI investigation. Correct?”
“I haven’t heard anything. Why would I?”
“The sheriff mentioned it. Or you heard local gossip.”
His accusations irritated her. “I’ve barely been out of my house for five weeks, ever since Jack came to live with me.”
“What about before that?”
“I live alone, and I work at home. When I get together with friends, we don’t discuss FBI investigations.” She confronted him directly. “Who is Julie?”
“Agent Julie Grainger. She was murdered in January.”
She heard the cry of a bird and whirled around. Crows symbolized death for her. When her aunt Rose passed away, a flock of the big black birds had blanketed her yard. Their cries had been deafening.
She looked up, searched the blue skies and saw nothing. No birds at all. But she’d heard something.
There was another chirp, and she realized the sound came from Jack. Miguel stroked the baby’s head. “It’s okay, mijo. You’re a good boy.”
“Did you know Julie?”
“A little.” His jaw unclenched. “Are you okay, Emma? You look pale.”
“As if I’ve seen a ghost?”
When he smiled, his demeanor changed from hostile to gentle. “I guess that happens a lot to you.”
“Too much.” She glanced at Jack when he made another chirp. “Maybe you should take the baby back to my car. I don’t want to frighten him.”
“Are you going to do something scary? Roll around on the ground? Squawk like a chicken? Do a voodoo dance?”
When she glared at him, he grinned.
“You like to tease,” she said.
“Life is too sad not to laugh. I mean no disrespect.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. His touch was steady and strong as an anchor in a storm. “Do whatever you need to do. I’m here for you. Nothing bad is going to happen.”
A dark mist rolled in at the edge of her vision. She’d just told him to go away, but now she wanted him to stay close, wanted to maintain physical contact. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“You got it.”
She laid her palm on the hood of the car. Her sight narrowed. Though still aware of the cars and snow in the impound lot, she seemed to be peering down a tunnel. At the end, she saw the tall woman in an FBI jacket. Julie Grainger. Beside her was a teenage girl in a lovely white gown. Words and images raced through Emma’s mind. Rapid-fire. Like film on fast-forward.
Then the vision was gone.
“What is it?” Miguel asked.
Her brain sorted the jumbled impressions. The aspen had been leafy and green. Her cousin was still alive. Julie told her Aspen had escaped. Then she’d made a weaving motion with her hand. A river? A snake? “A trail,” Emma said. “I should start at the beginning and follow the trail.”
“From the crime scene.”
“Yes. We should start there.” Emma had also seen the VDG symbol again. “VDG is important.”
Again, Miguel’s interest picked up. “Is VDG connected to your cousin’s disappearance?”
“It could be.”
She remembered the girl in the white dress. Her presence had nothing to do with Aspen. She was Miguel’s sister. Teresa. She had died young, less than a year after her quinceanera, the ceremony and party that celebrated the fifteenth birthday of a young woman. Teresa wanted her brother to know that she was all right, that she’d found the light and gone to the other side. Teresa believed that Miguel would understand.
But Emma wasn’t sure. Though Miguel seemed more open to her ability as a medium, he might not be ready for contact with his tragically dead sister, and she didn’t want to alienate him. She needed Miguel to help her find Aspen.
Looking into his eyes, she measured her words, trying to find a balance between proving to him that she wasn’t a phony and not freaking him out. Teresa had shown her a family photo with Miguel standing beside his brother, who appeared to be the same age. She said, “You’re a twin.”
He nodded slowly.
“Fraternal, not identical. Alike, but different.”
The silver medal he wore around his neck on a chain glittered in the sunlight. Though she couldn’t make out the design, it didn’t appear to be a saint. Instinctively, she reached toward it. When her fingers touched the surface, her hand glowed. She identified the image on the front: El Santuario de Chimayo, near Taos in New Mexico.
“Chimayo,” she said. A legendary healing place like Lourdes. The words etched on the back of his medal were Protect and Heal. Teresa wanted her to know that Miguel had been near death, close enough to see the light.
His near-death experience was why her ability to communicate with dead people threatened him. He knew she was telling the truth, knew there was something beyond this world. He’d been there.
IN THE BACK OF HER CAR, the baby had begun to fuss, and Miguel knew their time for further investigating was limited. He didn’t want to believe that Emma’s pronouncements were anything more than random guesses, but he couldn’t ignore her accuracy. How the hell did she know he was a twin? How had she described his relationship with his brother, Dylan, so accurately? Alike but different. That pretty much summed it up. They were both in law enforcement, but Miguel relied on forensic science while Dylan was a supermacho FBI agent.
Emma reached toward the backseat, hoping to calm Jack. “I should get him back home.”
“Mijo,” Miguel said. “Give us a break. You’ll be okay.”
Immediately, Jack’s cries modified to quiet little sniffles. He was a good baby, a good boy.
“Amazing,” Emma said. “I can’t believe the way he responds to your voice. It’s almost like you’re his father.”
“His father is a pig. If mijo was my baby boy, I would never abandon him. Family is everything.”
“But you’re not married.”
“Don’t remind me.” Though he and his brother were thirty-three, neither of the Acevedo twins had found a wife and settled down. “I get enough nagging from my mama.”
The leftover snow had melted enough that he could pull onto the shoulder at the edge of the road. This area—where Aspen’s vehicle had been found—was outside Kenner City, but there were houses within sight. There had been no witnesses, no one who stepped forward and said they heard her scream.
“This is it,” Emma said. “The start of the trail.”
“We won’t find anything here. I did the crime scene analysis. There’s nothing more to be learned.”
Not unless she did that weird vision thing. When she’d touched the car in the impound lot, he’d felt the tension in her body. She seemed to catch her breath. Her blue eyes went blank as a corpse. Muy