Read Online A Question of Ghosts by Cate Culpepper - Free Book Online

Several pictures of her mother survived, and a framed photo of her parents still stood on her dresser at home. Madelyn Healy had the kind of shy blond beauty one associated with reticence and reserve, an understated delicacy that was unthreatening to other women and aroused protectiveness in men. From her own memory, Becca could picture her hands most clearly, her long, tapered fingers the incarnation of gentleness. Then she remembered the harrowing scream from the radio and shuddered. She felt Rachel watching her.
    “Are you all right with this, friend?” Rachel leaned closer and lowered her voice. “We don’t have to discuss anything that upsets you. I can always bring up Michelle Obama.”
    Becca suppressed a bubble of laughter. “How can I be upset? There’s devil’s food cake in the kitchen.”
    Rachel winked at her, but sobered as Jo spoke.
    “Actually, your insights into the dynamics between Becca’s parents might be helpful to us.” Jo reached into the breast pocket of her white shirt. She withdrew the small silver device she’d had at the Rose and laid it on the table. “Does anyone object if I record this?”
    “It’s not really my habit to allow—” Mitchell broke off and looked at Becca.
    “Good,” Jo said shortly. “Becca, I can promise you I’m not going to make any direct references to the death scene.”
    “Good,” Becca repeated. She couldn’t tell yet if she’d have to plunge her fork into Jo’s jugular before she made this charming dinner any worse.
    “Becca and I are working from the theory that the accepted explanation of her parents’ deaths isn’t true.” Jo studied Mitchell and Patricia. “Have either of you ever had any suspicions along those lines?”
    “There’s never been any reason to question what the police told us,” Mitchell answered. “Becca, are you sure you want us to delve into all this personal business?”
    “Well, this family doesn’t have a big history of delving.” Becca was not loving this conversation, but she’d told Jo she would cooperate in learning more about her parents. She looked at Rachel for reassurance and found it in her kind eyes. “You guys have never told me that much about my mom and dad.”
    “Oh, Rebecca. I’m not sure that’s fair.” Patricia sounded pained. “It seems to me we’ve spoken about them quite often over the years. At least when you were younger.”
    “I don’t mean you didn’t mention them. You just never really answered my questions. Some of my questions, when I was younger.” Becca hesitated. That fogginess was tickling the back of her brainpan again, the mild disorientation that was becoming her natural state these days.
    “Before we’re all too much older, Becca.” Jo drummed her blunt nails on the tablecloth. “What questions would you like to ask?”
    Becca threw Jo an exasperated glance while she tried to gather her thoughts, aware the other three were exchanging looks. This gathering had brought out the worst in Jo, the near failure of her meager social skills. At least the other night, with Marty and Khadijah, some actual warmth had developed around that table. The sharp edges of Jo’s brusqueness had softened eventually, in the company of her friends. Becca saw none of that gentling in her now. She felt an unexpected pang of wistfulness, missing the friendlier bond she’d shared with Jo in the cemetery, at the feet of the Lady.
    A friendliness that had begun to change, Becca remembered. She had tried hard to hold back from touching Jo in that moment; she wasn’t given to throwing herself in the arms of people who avoided physical contact. But Becca’s sudden weariness had been so complete, her loneliness so stark, she desperately needed some kind of human connection. Leaning into Jo had felt surprisingly natural, even welcome. And the sensation of touching her had deepened, become richer and undeniably sensual. Becca shook her head and tried to clear her mind.
    “I guess I’ve only