But if Vincent Gladwell returned to town, she’d sic her family on him and let them figure out what made him tick.

  Dante, over the English Channel

  * * *

  Dante’s first reaction to Pris’s departure with his children had been to book the first seat to the states that he could find.

  Then, after reading all the texts and listening to the voice mails he’d missed, he’d taken a step back and called Leo. He’d been too late to catch Vincent and Matt Gladwell. As usual, they’d only been in for a day.

  He stretched his stiff leg in the front bulwark row and hooked his phone up to the plane’s wi-fi. He had enough frequent flyer miles to go anywhere, anytime, in any fashion he liked, but a flight to the states required that he keep his leg up. That had necessitated a little more juggling and led to another decision. This flight was taking him to London.

  While he’d been at the airport, Pris had texted him that she’d arrived in Atlanta, so he knew they were safely with family by now. Before he’d left home, he had checked on the address of the shell company Pris had been concerned about, confirming that yes, the office was a dirt lot. Combining that with the knowledge the Gladwells were in Italy, Dante had made his rash decision to go to London first.

  Pris would probably throw that in his face too. But someone had to find Lucia and ask what the hell was going on. He didn’t suffer Pris’s paranoia about Vincent, but Leo had been evasive and uneasy when Dante had asked questions about the man who bought his oil.

  Arriving at Gatwick, he called Pris while looking for the cousin who had promised to pick him up. Managing a crutch and luggage on the tube was too much hassle.

  The phone call to Pris went to voice mail.

  Despite the aggravation of feeling helpless, he was almost grateful that his snickering cousin teased him by bringing a wheelchair. Once they had his luggage and were in the car, Dante called the rest of his family to let them know he’d arrived. They’d already divided up his list of Lucia’s addresses. The plan now was to hit them all at the same time.

  There might be more places he didn’t know about, but he was making damned sure that every person Lucia had ever known was interrogated before he left the city. If her stepfather really was a danger to their children, he wanted to know why.

  Twenty-six: Pris

  Afterthought, South Carolina

  * * *

  “No, I don’t want to visit a bigot who spouts paranoid conspiracy theories,” Pris insisted. “I appreciate you finding room for the twins, but I’m not one of your spooky investigators, and I’m not probing a nasty mind like Jane’s.”

  She threw flour on a wooden board meant for cutting meat and dumped her dough on it. Evie’s kitchen was utterly inadequate for anything except the basics, but Pris couldn’t stand idle.

  And she wasn’t letting any more evil into her head or paranoia would become a permanent state of mind.

  “Well, Jane’s still in the hospital. She can’t do much, but I suppose you’re right.” Evie looked out the back door, checking on the children exploring the yard. “Her aura is mostly murky fear and maliciousness. Even if she knows something, she may not know its importance. For our purposes, she’s useless for tracking bank deposits. I just wanted her to stir the cauldron, as she calls it. Although if arson investigators can’t determine who set the fire, we’ll need to test her truthfulness.”

  “I doubt I can help.” Pris rolled the dough and used a cup to cut out cookie rounds. “The company receiving the deposits is obviously a shell if their office is a dirt lot, as Dante says. I can see Gladwell siphoning funds to avoid taxes, maybe. But why does he hate the twins?”

  Evie’s Siamese leapt from the refrigerator to the counter and down to the kitchen door, meowing to be let out. Given that Psycat was one of their cousin Iddy’s weird minions, Pris heeded the warning. She dusted off her hands and let the cat outside, checking on the kids while she was there. She saw no intruders.

  Of course there were no intruders. She had to quit thinking like that. She was home. They were safe. “Maybe it’s Dante that Gladwell hates, and he’s just transferring his anger to his children.”

  The instant the cat set foot on the wide porch, Nan and Alex came running. They should be allowed pets. Dante damned well better arrive with a nanny so they could have one.

  Evie followed Pris into the chilly November air. “Psycat usually avoids kids. Do they ever talk?”

  “Twin talk, mostly.” Pris sat on the back steps to show them how the cat preferred to be petted.

  “Twin talk? They’re not saying anything.” Evie studied them. “But they’re taking turns without squabbling. Amazing.”

  Pris shrugged, uncomfortable with explaining. “Scientists have studied twins. There’s a mental or empathic connection most siblings don’t have. Because these two have been so isolated, theirs may be stronger than most.”

  Evie glanced at her quizzically. “And you can tell they’re not deaf mute how?”

  Pris grinned. “I’m psychic.”

  Evie punched her arm. The twins instantly looked up in concern.

  Pris shook her head at them. “Evie is like my sister. We fuss at each other.”

  They nodded and returned to petting the cat.

  “They understood.” Evie picked up the long-handled feather duster and swished it across the porch.

  The cat leapt at it, startling the twins into giggles. Nan held out her hand for the duster. Evie didn’t give it to her.

  Pris relaxed against a porch column, letting the game play out. “Their minds are so open and simple that it’s a pleasure being around them.”

  “Unlike adults, who are twisty-minded and blasting ugly thoughts.” Evie swished the feathers for the cat to chase.

  “Me?” Alex demanded, holding out his hand.

  As reward for using his words, Evie surrendered the duster, and twins and cat raced off.

  “Yeah, I know. They need to be encouraged to speak. Not my job. I’m just keeping them safe,” Pris said. It actually physically hurt to admit that. “Maybe Gladwell is furious that Lucia gave the twins away. They’d be great in commercials.”

  “That’s stupid. And Lucia giving them up was stupid. We’re missing some vital component here. I just fail to see how it connects with KK’s death.” Evie glanced over her shoulder at a sound in the drive. “A car just pulled up.”

  Pris grimaced as the familiar fury and confusion reached her. Dante’s mind was never quiet, although he acted the part of stoic well. “The twins’ father. He’s totally pissed.”

  “Can’t say I blame him. Misappropriating his children isn’t quite the same as moving flower pots and pets to more appreciative homes the way you did as a kid. I’ll try to keep the twins outside until the tempest passes.” Evie settled into the cushioned porch swing.

  “Someone needs to rattle the man into listening. Why not me?” Pris sauntered into the house as if she weren’t shaking in her shoes. She really had pushed him to the edge.

  Dante might be politely respectful in public, but he had a temper that probably needed release occasionally before he imploded.

  She opened the front door before he’d maneuvered the crutch across the Victorian verandah. A nondescript sedan with an Uber sticker pulled away from the curb.

  Leaning against the jamb, Pris watched him unsympathetically. “Took you long enough.”

  “It’s only a result of my upbringing and this damned leg that I don’t fling you over my shoulder and cart you to the cops for kidnapping.” He shouldered past her, leaving his luggage on the step. “Where are they?”

  “Learning to talk to cats in the backyard. You didn’t really think I’d harm them, did you? I told you where to find them.” With a sigh, Pris followed him down the hall. “You should be grateful.”

  She left him sputtering while she aimed for the kitchen counter. “What time zone are you in? Coffee, tea, or booze?”

  “Coffee.” He limped through the kitchen to the back door, even though she could see how much it pained him. After watching through the screen, his broad shoulders finally slumped in what might be relief. “Good morning, Evangeline.”

  Pris didn’t hear Evie’s reply. She turned on Jax’s coffee machine and poured herself juice, returning to the cookie dough. She didn’t intend to explain herself again.

  Dante wearily took a stool at the counter. “Lucia isn’t in London.”

  “We need to coordinate and go deeper on this,” Jax insisted over the newly-cleared dinner table.

  While he’d been at work, gremlins had mucked out accumulations of—collections, Evie had called them. Stacks of vinyl albums, old magazines, fabrics, and assorted whatsits had vanished from the scarred walnut dining table and the mismatched chairs. Stacks of cardboard boxes now lined the walls, but the table was covered in a gawdawful white vinyl cloth so the children could eat with the adults. The battered wooden chairs weren’t worth protecting.

  The dinnerware was still whatever Evie pulled out of the kitchen cabinets, although Jax was pretty certain that was a complete set of china in the cabinet behind her. Whoever had performed this transformation hadn’t attempted anything more elegant than a larger area to congregate, although Loretta and the twins must have confiscated someone’s mums and wildflowers for the centerpiece.

  A family dinner table. How long had it been since he’d sat at one? Jax almost appreciated the intriguing family the house was accumulating. Almost.

  “Coordinate all you like,” Pris declared, doling out bread and stew to the twins while shattering any image of peace and harmony. “I’ll keep looking after the kids, if Dante wants to play detective, but that’s it.”

  Evie’s cousin was an annoying porcupine, but the food situation had taken a turn for the better since her arrival, so Jax grudgingly accepted Pris’s eccentricities. Except for breakfast and special occasions, Evie generally forced everyone but Loretta to fend for themselves.

  Jax had only met Dante a few months ago. He waited with interest for his Ives cousin’s reaction.

  “I’m an archeologist, not a detective. I don’t know what I can do. But if Priscilla thinks the children are unsafe, I have to listen to the experts.” Annoyance definitely tinted Dante’s admission, but he dug into his stew without further argument.

  Evie raised her eyebrows and Jax almost expected a chortle, but she blessedly kept a lid on her thoughts about Dante and Pris’s grumpy relationship. Since when had Pris become an expert with children? Although if he meant an expert on reading minds. . . Jax reserved judgment.

  Managing a professional aspect despite his man bun, Dr. Reuben Thompson waved his roll. “None of us are detectives. We find solutions. You say your ex, presumptive CEO of La Bella Gente, is not in London. London is a big city. How can you be certain?”

  “I have a rather large extended family in the UK, ones who have connections with connections, a veritable network, as you will. Whilst the more mobile of us spread across the city to knock on doors and interrogate anyone associated with Lucia, the other half made phone calls.”

  Evie interrupted. “Kit-Kat’s spirit is having complete conniptions right now. Or tantrums. Unfortunately, she talks about as coherently as the twins, so I don’t know what she’s trying to tell me, other than that we’re stupid. I think you’re disturbing her, Dante.”

  The big archeologist sighed and put down his fork, glancing around as if he might see a ghost. “Katherine? I never met you. Do you know where Lucia is?”

  “KK is hovering over the twins and doing her usual cycle of confused emotions. She’s still angry. And sad. That’s a new one. KK, what makes you sad?” Evie waited expectantly.

  Jax sipped his iced tea and refrained from questioning until he was certain Evie hadn’t received an answer.

  Before he could speak, Pris did. “Séance?”

  Evie nodded. “I’ll text Mavis about the best time.”

  Jax shook his head. “That is not what I meant by going deeper. We need to set up a storyboard, dig deeper into this shell company and the shoddy products—”

  Pris had her phone out, pressing keys. “I’ll start the phone tree. I can manage séances, sort of. Let the men take La Bella Gente apart.”

  “This is not a gender issue,” Jax protested.

  Having finished her text, Evie forked carrots and regarded him innocently. “Ariel will work with Roark, so no, it’s not a gender issue. It’s a Malcolm-Ives issue. Unless, of course, Dante wants to explore his Malcolm heritage. You’re welcome to join us.” She gestured at their guest.

  “I just want to get back to work,” Dante growled. “I’m probably more properly employed exploring the logistics of our London search.”

  “Did you find anything of Lucia’s to touch?” Pris asked, out of the blue.

  Jax thought the question odd. Evie, on the other hand, glanced up with interest. Here they went again into la-la land. On the other side of the table, Reuben snorted.

  Without explaining, Dante shrugged. “Nothing useful. I just know she hasn’t been in that townhouse since shortly after the twins were born.” He hesitated, glanced around the table as if to check the level of disbelief, then continued. “I also sensed scenes of violence, so I asked the neighbors. They tell me Vincent was abusive to his wife. Apparently one of the things Lucia accomplished when she first arrived in London was to help Katherine force her father out so their mother could live her last days in peace. I can’t tell if he ever hit them.”

  Jax whistled. Everyone else looked troubled.

  Evie broke the momentary silence. “What about the commercials? Rhonda said Lucia performed in the commercials. They had to reach her somehow to do those.” Abruptly, she glanced up and hastily scooted her chair back.

  A cold whirlwind propelled the paper napkins from the table and rattled the flowers.

  “You have to stop bringing your work home with you,” Jax told her dryly.

  The twins giggled at the mini tempest, then climbed down to chase napkins. Loretta strained to follow Evie’s gaze. Jax knew his ward wanted to see ghosts too. He prayed she never did.

  “Definitely a séance,” Evie said grimly. “Tell us more, Dante. Vincent and the commercials are upsetting KK. I need all the information I can gather going in.”

  “Evie hates séances,” Loretta explained to the table at large.

  Dante exchanged glances with Pris, which Jax found as entertaining as Evie apparently did. But he kept his mouth shut and chewed his bread.

  Their guest shrugged and continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “The only people we could find familiar with the commercial shoots hasn’t worked with La Bella in years. They say the voiceovers and angles and messages have changed since the early ones, but the images could be any of the shots they took. They filmed a lot of material in that first year.”

  Pris tore up her bread and crumbled it over her stew. “You think they’re photoshopped.”

  “I know nothing of how one edit’s film, but if it’s possible, yes, I think Lucia hasn’t performed in years.” Dante put his fork down. “For all I know, Lucia is as dead as Katherine.”

  Twenty-seven: Pris

  “All right, they’re asleep.” Pris reluctantly returned to Evie’s front parlor where the rest of the family had gathered. Well, at least the ones living in Afterthought.

  Aunt Mavis sat in the corner by the hearth wielding her tarot. She was the one who always took notes. Pris figured her psychic aunt preferred not to have her mind inhabited by Evie’s ghosts.

  Pris felt the same way, but Evie couldn’t do this alone. Gracie was telekinetic and not too connected to other-worldly apparitions. Iddy, their veterinarian cousin, talked to animals, not ghosts. Iddy’s mother, Felicia, and Pris’s mother, Ellen, had limited afterworld skills as well.

  “Is Loretta joining us?” Pris asked as she took a seat at the card table they’d set up.

  “I think she’s still too young. What if we access a killer or rapist? She could be traumatized.” Evie threw a rainbow-striped cloth over the battered table—not exactly the usual setup for a medium. But Evie liked color.

  “I told her she needed to guard the twins, so she’s in your room right now with books and games.” Gracie took a seat at Evie’s right. As a teacher with a daughter, she knew how to handle children better than Pris.

  “It’s almost time,” Mavis warned. “Ellen, Felicia, take your seats if you’re joining in.”

  Mavis was the youngest of the three sisters, but she was a born leader, more like Great-Aunt Val. With age, the sisters were growing more alike, plump, with graying, frizzy hair. Their heights and manner of dress differentiated them, however. Mavis was short and liked caftans and heels. Pris’s mother was medium height and favored drab cotton skirts. Iddy’s mother, Felicia, was the tallest and preferred leggings and tunics in colors even Evie wouldn’t wear. Living with the three Wyrd Malcolm Sisters growing up had been an ordeal, but Pris could appreciate the sheltering circle of family a little better now than she had as an adolescent.

  She turned off the lights while Evie lit the candle. Taking a seat between Gracie and Aunt Felicia, Pris held their hands and did her best to block mental energies. If Evie conjured a ghost, Pris wanted to be prepared.

  “Katherine Gladwell, Kit-Kat, we know you’re here. I give myself over to you to speak.”

  Pris shivered at Evie’s words. Evie hated this part, for good reason. Spirits were often irrational. And the spirits they wanted to reach often got shoved aside by more aggressive ones. Pris only suffered the aftermath of séances, not a direct hit the way Evie did, and still she resisted them.

  “Are you here, Katherine?” Aunt Felicia asked, taking charge since Pris refused to do so. “Knock on the table, if you can.”

  The rickety card table shook. Any of them could have done that, but no one had a point to prove. Evie’s ghost was present.