She nodded. “Take the night with Mr. Nicholson. I saw the hand holding the knife clearly, almost like a picture. Just as I saw you as a boy. But sometimes they are not that clear and a great deal more cryptic, which can be vexing.”
“Do all your family know?”
“This family does. But before, when I was in society, I did not allow myself to believe the visions were anything. But I knew.” Her voice was small now.
“Knew what?”
“Many things about what was to happen or at least some visions leading to my father’s death.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been hard.” He could only imagine the hell she went through seeing what she had and trying to deny them, as she’d never acknowledged what she could do.
“I’m not sure why I told you that.” Her eyes went to the window. “It’s not something we like to talk about.”
“We share that in common. I don’t like to talk about the life I once lived, either, but I did not suffer as you did. Leaving was my choice.”
Her eyes came back to his. “Why did you leave?”
Gray shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. He didn’t like to speak of that time either. But he found himself talking just the same. “My aunt and uncle passed, and they had no children and were fond of me, so they left me enough money to change my destiny.”
Her smile was small, but this time it reached her lovely eyes. That heat settled in his chest again.
“I’m glad you had a choice to change your destiny, Detective Fletcher.”
Gray managed a nod around the lump in his throat that her words had created.
“Were you the one to inform the Nicholson family of their son’s death?” She changed the subject.
He nodded. “I spoke with Mr. Nicolson.”
“That must have been terrible.”
“It was.” He hated informing people of a loved one’s death. But as he’d seen George Nicholson’s body, he’d decided he’d visit the family.
“Now tell me about these people we are to meet,” she said.
Gray told her who they were going to speak with.
“The Nicholsons have made their money through their sweet shop but also have other business investments. Mr. Nicholson is a savvy businessman from what I have learned, as was his son. The mother who called to see me is Mildred. They have a daughter, Olivia, three years younger than George. Mrs. Nicholson told me they were close.”
“Poor girl, losing her big brother. It would devastate me if anything happened to one of mine. While I want to shake them constantly, they are the best of men.”
Gray couldn’t remember ever feeling like that about his brothers.
“George and I discussed books but never family. I feel bad about that now,” Ellen said.
He lapsed into silence, unsure of what to say.
“I’m sorry, I’m being maudlin. Now the Nicholsons have asked you to call, but you want me to go with you to see if I have any visions. What do you hope to achieve, as surely you do not suspect his family?”
Gray shook his head. “You can never discount anyone, especially those closest to the murder victim. I also thought having you there would help Miss Nicholson feel more at ease.” Gray struggled with weeping women, and it was possible that at least one of the ladies they were to see could be that. “I have met her mother but as yet not the daughter.”
“She has just lost her brother, Detective Fletcher, it’s entirely possible she is ravaged with grief.”
“I understand that, but I want to ask some questions about her brother.”
“And I will repeat, she is in mourning,” Ellen said. “If you speak to her like a brisk, emotionless man, then I imagine she will be too intimidated to reply. Perhaps if you smiled and offered a please or thank you. Maybe even state that you are incredibly sorry for her loss?”
“I beg your pardon. I am not there to be her friend but ask questions of them.”
