Deadlock (FBI Thriller #24)(4)
The lamp bulb burst into brightness that reached the far corners of the living room. Thick black smoke erupted upward from the fireplace embers, and the draperies began to move again. Rebekah held perfectly still. She heard her own voice whisper, “Grandfather, is that you?”
Zoltan said in the same soft chant, “Come in through me, Congressman. Let me speak for you. Give me your words so I can tell Rebekah what concerns you so greatly. Come through me.”
Nothing happened. Rebekah took another drink of her tea, realized she was perfectly content to wait. The air was warm, and she felt calm, open, expectant, which she should realize was silly, but it didn’t seem to matter.
Suddenly, Zoltan whooshed out a breath and stiffened. Her eyes closed, and her hand tightened around Rebekah’s again, then eased. Rebekah felt a fluttering of movement, a brush against her cheek, and jumped. What was that? The hair lifted off the back of her neck as if there were electricity in the air. She whispered, “Grandfather?”
The room grew dim again, the embers quieted. Zoltan’s lips began to move, and out came a flat, low voice, not quite like Zoltan’s own voice, but deeper, sounding somehow distant, and older—like her grandfather’s voice. “My dearest Rebekah. To speak to you again, even through this woman, it brings me great joy. You visited me when I still breathed earthly air. I knew it was you, always, and I understood you when you spoke to me. You came nearly every day, and I loved you for it. You held my hand, talked to me, and I savored each of your words, your loving presence. Everyone believed I was gone, even the doctors believed I was locked helpless into my brain, nothing left of my reason, nothing left of me, no awareness, no consciousness, and some of that was true. But even though I was unable to speak to you, unable to respond to you, I heard, yes, I heard everything, heard everyone. Do you know, I remember when Gemma came, only once, at the beginning, and she whispered in my ear she wished I’d just hang it up once and for all and stop wasting everyone’s time. She punched my arm; I felt it. But your visits were the highlights of my day, and you came to me throughout the long years I lay there like the dead, which, thankfully, I finally am. It was only a month ago, wasn’t it?”
Zoltan paused, her eyes flew open, and she stared at Rebekah. Time froze. Then Zoltan spoke again, her voice still deep, another’s voice, still blurred, still distant. “Look at you, so beautiful, like your mother. I remember how proud you were when you told me you had earned your master’s degree in art history at George Washington, that you knew you had the ‘eye,’ you called it, and you had decided to make yourself an expert on fraudulent art. You couldn’t wait to start consulting with museums and collectors. You’d already begun your search to find a partner, someone who could work with you to identify stolen originals. And you told me you found the perfect person.”
Yes, yes, my new partner, Kit Jarrett, now my best friend, a perfect fit, my lucky day. But wait, finding out about Kit Jarrett was easy enough. It wasn’t a secret.
“Your excitement made me want to smile, on the inside, of course, and you couldn’t see it. And now you are married, to another congressman. Manvers interned for me a very long time ago. I always found him a real go-getter. I think he was born knowing how to play the game. He’s playing it well. Other than being a politician, Rich Manvers is a fine man, but isn’t he a bit old for you, Pumpkin?”
“Perhaps, but what’s important is he understands me, and he loves me.” Rebekah licked her lips, drank more tea to get spit in her mouth, and managed to say, “Pumpkin—that was the nickname you gave me when I was six years old. Not many people know that.”
Zoltan’s brilliant dark eyes opened and fastened onto something beyond Rebekah. Rebekah turned but didn’t see anything. Zoltan’s lips moved, but no sound came out. There was no expression on Zoltan’s face, only smooth blankness. Then her grandfather’s voice again. “Yes, I remember the Halloween you carved a pumpkin to look like me. You nearly burned the house down.”
Rebekah heard herself say, “Yes. I still have a picture of the pumpkin, and you’re standing behind me, your hands on my shoulders. I have so many photos of us together over the years. Of course, I came to see you as often as I could in the sanitarium. I loved you. Grandfather, I will love you until I die. I know this sounds strange, but are you well now?”
The distant deep voice seemed to laugh. “Yes, Pumpkin, of course I’m well. I’m always well now. There is no more pain since I died—well, there was hardly any even before I died. I remember you were such a brave girl, never left my side during those long, final earthbound hours. You held my hand until I was able to depart my tedious life.”
She remembered, too clearly, the shock, the pain, and the relief, too, when he drew his last breath. Dr. Lassiter, a kind, attentive man, had stood beside her, touching her grandfather’s other hand. “John is at peace now,” he’d said when it was over, and she’d finally known what that old chestnut really meant.
Rebekah said, “Yes, I remember. What is it you want to tell me, Grandfather?”
3
A pool of deep silence filled the still air. Suddenly, there was a touch, feathery soft against Rebekah’s skin. She heard Zoltan’s voice, lower now, almost a whisper. “Do you remember me telling you stories about my best friend, Nate, the adventures we had as boys, the stunts we pulled, how we were always getting the strap from our dads?”