Suddenly Psychic (Glimmer Lake #1)(77)

He smiled again. “She’s almost mine.”

The last shred of her patience snapped. The arrogance of him! Even dead, they hadn’t been able to escape him. “She will never be yours!”

The shadow wavered, and a light switched on in Robin’s mind.

“Helen was never yours,” she said quietly. “That’s why you’re so angry, isn’t it? That’s why you’ve never left her alone. You know she was never really yours.”

The ghost flickered, just for a moment, and Robin knew she’d hurt him.

“She was never yours, Gordon Russell. She never loved you. Not like she loved Billy. The most she would ever give you was gratitude. Gratitude for saving her from a future that you ruined. And gratitude isn’t love.”

A wind whipped through the room, knocking over a candle in the corner.

“I’m on it,” Mark said. “Keep doing your thing, Robin.”

Robin kept her eyes on Gordon’s ghost. “She loved Billy. She never stopped loving him. You could follow her. Spy on her. You could even kill Billy and marry her. But she never loved you. Not for a minute.”

“You stupid, silly little girl,” he said. “Shut your mouth. Children should be seen and not—”

“Seen and not heard, yeah, yeah, yeah.” The outline of the ghost wavered, and Robin said, “Someone give me the sketch. He’s trying to get away. What are you doing, Gordon? You running away from a little girl?”

Val shoved a paper in her hand and Robin clutched it. The outline grew clear again.

“Time to face your sins, Grandfather Russell. You didn’t just kill Billy. You sent a postcard after he was dead so Grandma would think the man she’d loved had abandoned her. And even after that, she still didn’t love you.”

“Get out!” the ghost shouted, and wind whipped through the attic. “Get out of my house!”

“Nope.” Robin raised her chin. “Gordon Russell, you’re dead. This is not your house. This is our house now.”

“Is he leaving?” Monica said. “Lily said if you spoke firmly and clearly, he should leave.”

“Yeah,” Val said. “But I have a feeling that Grandpa Murderer isn’t too keen on letting Helen go after he’s been stalking her for over half a century. I have an idea.”

Robin kept her eyes on Gordon’s ghost, never looking away. She barely even blinked. “Val, if you have an idea—”

“Salt.” Val raised the salt gun and fired toward the window. “Am I getting anywhere close?”

“A foot to the left.”

“Fuck, this is so weird,” Val muttered. She shot three rapid bursts of salt straight through the ghost’s body. “Anything?”

“He’s scowling at me and he winced a little,” Robin said. “He doesn’t like it. He moved another foot to the left.”

Which put him right in front of the open window.

Monica raised her rosary and threw a handful of holy water toward the window. “Anything?”

“No, the salt seems to work better than the holy water.”

The wind was picking up. It wasn’t in gusts now; it was a steady breeze that was growing in strength.

“Monica, hand me that box of salt. I want to try something. Val, keep firing the gun. He really doesn’t like it.”

“Right!” A blue cardboard box was shoved in her hand. Keeping her eyes on Gordon’s ghost, Robin knelt down. “Mark, hand me the knife.”

Gordon’s eyes lit up. “Did you bring me one of my knives?”

“You’re a pretty sick puppy,” Robin said. “I remember where you kept this knife collection. Did you enjoy displaying the weapon you’d used to kill Billy Grimmer over the living room mantel?” Robin asked. “You hung a murder weapon on the wall over the mantel where you kept your wedding picture, you sick bastard.”

Gordon’s lip curled. “Language, Robin Marie.”

Robin poured a circle of salt on the ground and set Gordon’s sketch in it. “I bet you loved thinking about it, didn’t you? I bet it killed you not to brag.”

The ghost’s face was transforming from something recognizable into something dark, shadowed, and twisted in rage. “What are you doing?”

“I asked you politely.” Robin grabbed the knife in her right hand. “And you didn’t leave. Aren’t you the one who always stressed manners?”

“What are you doing, Robin Marie?”

Robin placed her hand firmly on the sketch in the middle of the salt circle, keeping it from blowing away in the whipping wind that filled the room. With the sketch firmly in the circle of salt, Gordon’s ghost solidified. He stopped pacing.

“He’s not moving anymore,” Robin said. “The salt works on the picture too.”

He might not have been able to move, but he could definitely move things. More and more candles tipped over. Mark hurried to each one, blowing them out before they could catch fire.

“You’d burn it all down, wouldn’t you?” Robin asked, staring at the man who had haunted her grandmother, her mother, even herself, for so many years. “I spent forty-five years walking on eggshells because of you. Taking up as little room as I could because you raised a woman who feared you. And she raised her daughter the same way.” Robin turned the knife in her hand. “No more.”