“I’m right there with you.” Ronan took a sip from his tea. “I’ve been home full-time with Everly for eighteen months. I didn’t notice how much my opinion on cases had changed in that time. So much of my work was anger driven. I needed to get out there and catch the dirtbag killer or kidnapper. Now, I have a softer approach.”
“Bullshit!” Jude challenged. “I don’t believe that for a second. This case is ice-cold at the moment, but the minute we get a lead, that shark with blood in the water instinct is going to roar back. You’ll go from zero to Mufasa in the blink of an eye.”
“Mix your metaphors much?” Ronan laughed. He knew Jude was right. “You think my skills are lying dormant?”
“Yeah. Once this case really gets going and we drop the soft touch, I think you’ll be back to normal. I think we all will.” Jude was back to being his usual cocky self.
Ronan thought over what Jude was saying. “It was a softball interview with the parents, wasn’t it? Just because the 1980s tie-dye version of Cisco Jackson said the parents didn’t kill Skye doesn’t mean it’s fact.”
“I’m not saying we go at them like ex-cons, but we can’t take anything here at face value. All we’ve got are the people closest to Skye and maybe some thirty-five-year-old DNA. If we raise the money to test it, there’s no guarantee it’s the killer’s.”
“I hear you.” Ronan tapped his finger against the table. “First thing tomorrow, I want to go over everything we know about the girlfriends. It’s been decades, but maybe there’s something those friends will be willing to tell us that they wouldn’t or couldn’t tell the police back in the day.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Jude drained his second cup of coffee and stood.
“Are you going to be able to sleep tonight? That’s some strong coffee. I only drink it when I can’t take an afternoon nap with Everly and Dixie.”
“No more naps for you.” Jude raised an eyebrow. “They’ve made you soft.”
Maybe so, but from this moment forward, Ronan was all in. His gut instinct told him the Washingtons didn’t have anything to do with their daughter’s death, but stranger things had happened.
12
Tennyson
For some reason it took Everly longer to settle down and go to sleep. Tennyson hadn’t minded. He wanted every spare moment with his daughter that he could get. He’d just been sitting down to read the diary when the doorbell rang.
Ten knew it was Jude. He’d used his gift to confirm his guess. He’d seen something in Jude’s eyes on the way home that told him the P.I. was going to need some time to chat with Ronan. Not that Cope wouldn’t understand, but Ronan had been on the case, while Cope had not.
Instead of opening the diary, Ten set it on his bed and arranged the photographs of Skye and her best friends around it like a halo. He studied the faces one by one, looking for smiles that weren’t genuine, flared nostrils, and angry eyes. When he finished examining them, Ten realized all the pictures were the real deal. These girls were true-blue friends.
Why then were there no real witness statements from any of them in the case file? Ten thought back to his high school years. Shit, while he’d been trying to get himself an education, he was also trying to keep his rainbow flag hidden, not to mention the psychic thing. Although, enough of his classmates had seen him talking to people who weren’t there to know something was definitely odd about him.
Maybe Skye’s friends were busy trying to hide secrets of their own. Ten didn’t know if that was the case, and touching their faces in the pictures wasn’t helping. He wasn’t getting any psychic vibes, and Skye’s spirit hadn’t shown up to speak to him yet.
“Skye? This is Tennyson Grimm again. I’m going to read your diary tonight. I hope you know I’m looking for clues about your killer and not gossip.” Silence. With that, Ten opened the book.
The paper was creamy-white and thick. The journal was expensive, probably a Christmas or birthday gift. Skye’s handwriting was full of big bubble letters. Girls he knew in school had written like this too. He’d tried copying the style, but could never get the hang of it.
Taking a deep breath, Tennyson started to read:
Dear Diary… Do people even say that anymore? I feel so weird trying to write down my feelings. I spent the day with my three best friends. We ordered pizza, drank Coke, and watched MTV. We screamed so loud when Bon Jovi came on that I think I ripped my tonsils. I’ve got a scratchy voice now, but it was totally worth it. Jon’s hair is so awesome. I want to run my fingers through it and kiss him breathless.
Well, that entry certainly hadn’t offered any clues to Skye’s murderer. Ten flipped the page where he found more teenage silliness. Jennifer threw up when they had to dissect the frog in Biology lab. Heidi tripped and spilled her lunch tray when some freshman ran into her. Skye had been kind enough to share her lunch with her friend and vowed revenge on the freshman scum who’d caused the accident. Lisa had a bad hair day nearly every day.
There wasn’t anything juicy in the diary until a month before the murder. Ten read the entry quickly and then again more slowly when he realized how important the words were.
Dear Diary. I’m in love. Not puppy love or whatever lame-ass thing adults say about teenagers in love. If I could run away with Kyle tonight, I would. He’s so awesome with his dark hair and eyes and the way he looks in his football pants. I want him to be my first, and I know he wants me too.
They were going to have to find out who this Kyle person was. It shouldn’t be too hard with the clue that he was a football player. Unless of course Kyle didn’t play for Salem High School. Ten shook his head. He had one clue. That was enough for now.
Turning the page, Ten went back to reading.
“Pretty nice house you’ve got here,” a voice said out of nowhere.
“Skye, is that you?” Tennyson asked. He looked around the room, but saw no trace of her.
“What do you want with me? After all this time. What could you possibly want?” With those words, an older woman materialized in front of Tennyson.
If he had to guess, Ten would say Skye was in her forties, not that it mattered. She looked as if Ten’s bedroom was the last place she wanted to be. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but your murder is still unsolved.”
Skye sighed and looked as if she might vanish again.
“Wait! Please, don’t go!” Ten held his hand up, hoping to stop the spirit from leaving. “I know it’s been three and a half decades since your death. You might have moved on, but your parents haven’t. I was in your childhood bedroom today, and it looks just like it did the last time you saw it.”
The hard look on Skye’s face softened. She took a seat on the high-backed chair near the closet. “I’m not angry or vengeful. I’ve just moved on.”
Tennyson had expected Skye to say something like this. “Let me ask you this, do you know who killed you?”
Skye was silent for a few minutes. Ten let her have all the time she needed. “I’m not sure I do. It was so traumatic and unexpected. That I do remember.”
Ten wasn’t sure if he believed her or not. He had a gut feeling Skye knew more than she was telling. “Have you spent any time around your family since your passing?” He figured this would be a good question to start with. The answer would tell him a lot.