“You realize that makes no sense, right?” Ten asked. “Why the hell would a newly dead spirit be looking for revenge against me, Carson, Cole, and Cope?”
“Oh, Tenny,” Bertha sighed. “For a million reasons. Maybe one of you failed to predict their impending death, or the death of loved ones. Maybe you couldn’t connect with the spirit they wanted to reach. Maybe you did contact that spirit and thisperson didn’t like what they said or didn’t get the answers they were looking for. It could be for almost any reason. I hate to say this, but there seems to be so many people in desperate need of mental health services. This spirit could have been one of them and carried their real or perceived slights to the other side.”
“Damn, I had a feeling you were going to say that.” Ten took a deep breath. “We need to figure out who this person is, so that we can reach out to the spirit or speak with their living relatives. I’ll start by looking at our complaints file.”
“You have a complaint file?” Bertha asked.
“Carson started it after I joined West Side Magick. He found some customers booking readings with me or Cole if they were dissatisfied with what Carson told them. He started adding flags to these frequent fliers, so we’d know what we were getting into if they booked appointments with us. There are also people who think we’re frauds and conmen, you know, that usual kind of stuff. If people have gone online and badmouthed us or the shop, we refuse to book repeat business with them.”
“I wish to hell I’d thought of that!” Bertha cackled. “Life is too damn short to spend it in the company of assholes.”
“I’ll drink to that!” Ten took a sip of his tea and relaxed as the warmth worked its way through his body. “Keep your gifts open and let us know if you learn anything about the person writing the letters.”
“You got it.” Bertha pressed a kiss to Tennyson’s temple. “I know I don’t need to tell you this, but Ronan’s sober. In all the years you’ve been together, he hasn’t been tempted even once. Same goes for him and other men. Jude too.”
“I know,” Ten said. “That’s what makes me feel so awful about this damn letter. When I read it, I instantly thought the worst. How do I ever make that up to Ronan?”
“I hate to break it to you, but you’re human. Ronan too. He flew off the handle when he read his letter. So did Jude. You two should have a talk about this once the poisoned pen author has been revealed, but for now just know, Ronan doesn’t hold it against you. I’m here if you need me. Toodles!” Bertha laughed and vanished.
Ten picked up his mug, feeling the warmth infuse into his hands. Bertha was right, he and Ronan would need to have a chat when this nightmare was over. In the meantime, Ten needed to focus his attention on the asshole who was trying to destroy their families. He wouldn’t rest until the ghost was caught and made to account for his or her actions.
11
Ronan
By nine the next morning, Cope and Ten were seated in the West Side Magick conference room with hot coffee and muffins Fitz had brought with him. Everyone looked ready to work. “Carson gave me these printouts of all of your clients from November through last week.” Fitz handed Cope and Ten their lists. “Ronan, you take Carson’s list. Greeley, you get Cole’s.”
“You got it.” Ronan flipped through all three pages of Carson’s clients for the last three months. Greeley did the same.
“There are several frequent fliers highlighted in the report. That’s what Carson calls clients who hop from psychic to psychic in the shop hoping for different outcomes or to see if you all are the real deal or just a bunch of charlatans. It also includes people who make more than two appointments per month.” Fitz shook his head as if he were at a loss for words. “Okay, so let’s start with the frequent fliers.” Fitzgibbon took the list from Ronan. “I’ll read out the names. Let me know if they’re on your client list.”
“Hold on,” Ten went to one of the built-in drawers and pulled out a box of bright yellow highlighters. He passed them out, keeping one for himself. “Let’s do this.”
“Michael Addams, Jennifer Boutte, Kim Defoe-”
“I’ve got her,” Cope said.
“Me too,” Ten said.
“Same here,” Greeley and Ronan chimed in.
“What do you remember about her?” Fitz asked, grabbing his pen.
“Kim lost her husband in December of last year,” Ten began. “Frank was the love of her life, they’d been married for almost fifty years. He’d gone for a routine checkup earlier in the month that turned out to be not so routine. Frank was diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer and passed ten days later.”
“That’s awful,” Greeley said.
“It was,” Cope agreed. “Kim started visiting us after the funeral. Carson, first, then Cole, me, then Ten. Unfortunately, none of us could reach Frank’s spirit. We tried everything, having Kim bring in items that had belonged to her husband, keepsakes, his favorite golf club, his pillowcase. Nothing worked. Carson and Cole went so far as to visit the hospital room where he died, along with the morgue and funeral home where his service was held. No contact was ever made.”
“How did Kim take that?” Ronan asked.
“She wept buckets,” Cope said, with Ten nodding along. “I don’t think Kim’s the type to come at us like this, but it might not hurt to reach out.”
“Right,” Ten agreed. “Find out if she’s gotten any signs from Frank. Offer her a discounted reading in return for calling maybe?”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll talk to Carson about it.” Fitz scribbled on his legal pad before picking up the client list. “Okay, back to it. Ronald Lemaire, Marcus Newland, Anita Peters-”
“Got her,” Ten and Cope said together.
