“Okay, here I am.” Ten sat at the foot of the bed, his entire focus on his daughter. “What do you want to talk about?”
“There’s something wrong with you.” Everly’s eyes narrowed on Ten before turning to Ronan. “Both of you.”
Ten sighed. “Can you be more specific?” With the strength of Everly’s gift, she could be seeing just about anything.
“It’s about those weird letters you and Uncle Cope were talking about the other night at Greeley’s party.”
“I was hoping you didn’t know anything about that.” Ten shook his head. Everly had already been exposed to so much over her young life. He hated the fact that she was, once again, throwing herself into the mix, but since she knew about the letters, maybe she knew who was sending them. “Do you know who’s writing them?”
Everly shook her head. “It’s weird. I can’t see anything at all, but I can hear something. It sounds crackly like the radio in the Mustang when we drive to New Hampshire and can’t get your favorite oldies station anymore.”
“Oldiesstation?” Ronan gasped, clutching his chest. “You’re talking about classic rock. The soundtrack of my entire life. That music made me who I am today.”
“Okay, Boomer.” Everly giggled. “You gotta quit living in the past, Daddy. I’m not dancing to ‘Born to Run’ at my wedding.”
Ronan’s mouth hung open, making him look like a fish out of water. “I’ve obviously failed as a father. My favorite daughter doesn’t like Bruce Springsteen.”
“I’m youronlydaughter, Daddy. I’m automatically your favorite.” She pressed a kiss to his stubbled cheek.
“I wouldn’t count on it.” Ronan folded his arms over his chest and pouted.
“We can discuss the playlist for Everly’s wedding later. Right now, I want to get back to you hearing static when you try to get more information about the letters. Do you think the letter writer is using that sound to block us or does it have some other meaning?”
“I don’t know.” Everly frowned. “I keep trying to find a way through it, but I’m not having any luck.”
“Do you know who’s writing these letters?” Ronan asked, sounding like he was back on track with the conversation.
Everly’s eyes slid shut. “I don’t see anything, but I feel a presence.”
“A presence?” Ronan wore a stunned look. “A spirit or a person lurking around our house?”
“It’s a spirit.” Everly shook her head. “I don’t know if it’s a man or a woman, or even if it has anything to do with these letters. Do you feel it, Dad?”
Ten shook his head. “No. I’m not feeling or seeing anything.” Which wasn’t exactly true. Bertha Craig stood in the bedroom door motioning for him to go downstairs. “Why don’t you two get back to your books. I’m gonna go make myself a cup of tea.” Ten got out of bed and put his slippers on.
“Bye, Dad!” Everly called. “Bye, Mimi Bertha!”
“Smartass!” Ten muttered in a voice too soft for his daughter to hear.
“I heard that!” Everly laughed.
“Come on, Tenny, let’s get you some tea.” Bertha looped her arm around Ten’s.
Ten flipped on the kitchen light and filled the tea kettle. He grabbed a mug and his favorite peppermint tea and leaned back against the counter. “How much of this do you know?”
“Carson filled me in just now. He read me the letter this asshole wrote about my grandbabies, and let me tell you, they’d be in for a hell of an ass kicking if I were still alive.” Bertha crackedher knuckles, like Jude always did. “He also told me about your letters and what the SOB said about Everly.”
Ten grinned. “You know, it’s funny, what he said about Everly didn’t bother me. I know what kind of a kid my daughter is. She’s sweet, funny, and giving. It’s obvious whoever is doing this only knows us on the periphery. No one would call Everly that name if they actually knew her. Same goes for the Velociraptors. They’re great kids, but even great kids have bad days.”
“I totally agree, Ten.”
When the kettle clicked off, Ten busied himself brewing his tea and cleaning up before coming to sit beside Bertha at the kitchen table. “Is your gift showing you anything about the letter writer or their intentions?”
“Not a blasted thing.” Bertha shook her head. “Like Everly, I feel a presence and am only getting static, but I don’t think it’s on purpose.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s definitely a spirit involved in this case, that I can tell you for a fact, but I think it’s someone newly passed over. Someone who hasn’t mastered the art of dead speak yet. I think this spirit is spending time with all of your families, and reporting back what they see and hear.”
