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  I decided that as soon as I got home I'd tell Jackson to include the dinner with his uncle into our channeling session. If Mayor Bowman was really trying to make a road through Gate Hill and Jackson was refusing, the good mayor had a good reason to poison his nephew and try to inherit a property he could make millions off of. But were they really the type to murder women just to frame Jackson?

  Maybe for a free house and a significant inheritance, they would.

  But finding out would mean an awful lot of channeling with an entity I wasn't sure I trusted.

  Chapter 20

  Channels of Trust

  It was almost midnight when I found myself standing in the middle of my living room with my arms stretched out and my eyes closed, just like Jackson told me to do. He explained that his energy would pass into mine and we'd become one, so to speak. The trick was that I had to keep my mind clear. (Of course when he said that, all I could think about was that Stay Puft Marshmallow scene from Ghostbusters.)

  I giggled.

  He shot me a look. "Your mind's not clear. I can only do this once tonight. Then I'll be too exhausted to go on. In fact, you won't see me for awhile afterwards. I have to recuperate."

  That was enough of a reason right there.

  I opened my eyes and turned to face him. The lights in the living room were off, a touch Jackson said was necessary because it calmed him, but I could still see his silhouette in the faint light coming from the kitchen. He was a handsome man, not in the Hollywood "rugged bodybuilder" sense like Brock or Justin. He was more like one of those weak, geeky types with the crooked smile that you find yourself drawn to.

  He smiled at me, and I realized I was staring at him.

  "Rosalie doesn't think this is a good idea," I said.

  "I know. You told me. You don't have to do this, Carly. It's entirely up to you. However, you are a very strong medium, and I think you'll be fine."

  I sat down on the settee. Too many people were telling me what I did and didn’t have to do in life.

  “I want to sit for this," I said.

  "Whatever you want."

  "And I want you to take me to the night of your poisoning," I said. "First, the dinner with your uncle's re-election campaign. Then onto the Starlight and the champagne room."

  "I have to warn you," he said. "From what I've heard about channelings, living beings feel things exactly as the ghosts felt them, and by that I mean smell, taste, touch..."

  I took a deep breath. I wasn't exactly sure I wanted to taste anything from the VIP room at a nude dancing club. "How... uh," I coughed on my words, trying to think of a delicate way to ask. "How much tasting and touching went on that night?"

  "Never enough," he said, an answer I should have anticipated from my perverted ex.

  "I'm ready," I said, even though I wasn't. I knew I needed to do this quick, though, before I lost my nerve. I lifted my hands out and closed my eyes, thinking of nothing. He grabbed the tips of my fingers, all ten at the same time, and I giggled some more.

  "Okay. Okay. I got this," I said. "I'm just nervous."

  He didn't answer me. He waited until my breath was calm and my heart rate normal.

  I felt him entering me, not in the sexual sense, but in a "whoa, that is weird" one. It started slowly, with feather-light touches that began at the tips of my fingers, traveling through my hands, up my arms, over my belly and then wrapping its way around my chest, something I wondered if it happened during every channeling or just an added movement from my ex. He was a perverted ghost after all.

  I held my breath and tried to relax into it. It was like a rush of cold wind that began outside my skin and continued inside.

  "Good," he said from inside my head. His voice was inner, like my own voice now, but different. "Do you feel me?"

  I nodded, but my head didn't feel like it was moving through air anymore. It felt like I was moving through some sort of plasma, like jello.

  The only annoying part was the breathing. Loud and exaggerated, it reminded me of the first and only time I ever went scuba diving on our vacation to Mexico. No training, no regulations. Just here’s a wetsuit, breathe into this apparatus, and good luck. I ended up freaking out in the first three minutes and had to swim back to shore. Jackson swam back with me, even though I could tell he didn't want to.

  “Relax,” Jackson said. "We're not in Cabo anymore."

  Were we sharing that memory of scuba diving just then?

  "Stop thinking about your breathing, and you won't hear it as much. You can open your eyes."

  I opened them. It was fuzzy at first, kind of like swimming with goggles. And a pain spread across my abdomen as if someone had punched me in the stomach, an odd, lingering aching.

  I realized it was the feeling of full. Jackson took another bite of what tasted like medium-rare, melt-in-your-mouth, bacon-wrapped steak with -- what was that -- yes, mushrooms. And as if at once, I knew I was going to love this channeling thing. And I no longer heard my annoying breathing at all.

  Instead, the sounds of clinking glasses and laughter surrounded me. I recognized the hall immediately as being a part of the country club. Nice tables with fine white table cloths and waiters hustling about. An extra-large red, white, and blue banner was pinned above the huge stone fireplace with "Re-Elect Mayor Bowman" sprawled across the face of it. The smells of steak, corn, and potatoes wafted up from plates. Jackson slipped his plastic cup full of coke under the table and added some rum from his pocket.

  I hissed under my breath when I noticed. "Please tell me you were not that kind of a drunk in your last days. I'm beginning to believe the heart attack was a real one.”

  "Trust me. You'd booze it up too if you had to snooze through the family gatherings I had to go to. Listen to this guy."

  I turned my attention to the rest of the table where Jackson’s uncle and cousins were sitting, along with the mayor from Landover and his wife. Mayor Bowman was in the middle of telling a story, and everyone else was pretending to pay attention, nodding and smiling.

  The mayor’s voice was loud and confident, like he wanted the other tables to hear his amazing story too. “And that’s why Mason had to pawn Grandpa Earl’s watch to pay for the damage. But then, that was my brother for you. He would've sold Gate House too, I'm sure of it, if anyone had given him the chance.”

  Mayor Wittle laughed from his corn. “That is one heck of a story,” he said, this thin turkey neck looked like it might snap under the weight of his lightbulb-shaped head.

  Jackson brought his drink back on the table and swished it around noisily with his fork like he didn't care who saw him doing it.

  "Don't lecture me,” he said to me in his head. “I take a cab to the Starlight."

  The mayor pouted sympathetically at my ex. "Sorry. You would've loved that Rolex, Jackson. Passed down for generations,” the mayor said to my ex. "But like I was saying, your father was a businessman not a sentimental one.”

  Jackson pulled his sleeve up to reveal an antique Rolex. "This Rolex? My father tracked the watch down a year after he pawned it. He had to pay double, but he got it back. A bit more sentimental than he's given credit for, I'm afraid. In other words, he would never, ever approve of anyone selling even a smidgen of Gate House property to build a road. So you can stop telling me stories about my father now. You can stop pretending this is about family."

  Mrs. Wittle's mouth fell open and I saw corn stuck along her graying teeth.

  "Settle down, Jackson," Caleb said from across the table. "Nobody said anything about the road. We know how you feel about it." He turned to Julie and muttered the last part, but loud enough for the table to hear. "Even though, technically, and we all know this, part of that inheritance should've gone to our father when Grandfather died. We should've contested it."

  Julie nodded.

  "The inheritance is always passed down to one Bowman only," Jackson said, chugging his drink. "I'm sorry, but our grandfather made his choice. And so did my father. I will too
, someday."

  I watched their faces tighten. "They're about to come after you with their steak knives," I said. "You know that, right?"

  "I suppose those steak knives are pointed at you now." He chuckled in my head.

  Jackson looked out the window at the lake and the long pier with about 20 boats tied up along the side, thumping against their ropes. He sipped his rum and coke. “We’re all like those boats tied up along the pier,” he said to the table, pointing until they all turned to look at them. “Only here because we were roped into it.”

  “Jackass,” the mayor said.

  Jackson talked back to me in his head again. "Honestly, I didn't care what they thought of me at the time. Looking back, I guess I should have. I was only here because I was obligated to do family things if the press was involved.”

  He looked over at a squatty blonde with a camera, taking pictures of the various tables, asking people questions with a recorder in her hands.

  “So, I gave the required donation. I stayed the appropriate amount of time," he said to me as he downed his last gulps of drink.

  "And you got the proper amount of poison," I added.

  Jackson went back to eating even though we were full. I could see why. I always ate when I was avoiding conversation too, but I was happy he did. I've never tasted such delicious steak. Maybe food just tasted better in a channeling.

  "If you'll excuse me," Mayor Bowman said to the table, standing up. "I have a speech to make."

  He whispered something to the waiter who was busy handing out slices of cake before he moved onto the podium.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the waiter intensely, noting what cake pieces he gave out. He handed the Wittles theirs from the outer part of his circular tray, then moved onto Julie and her husband, same spots. Caleb next. Then he went to Jackson where he pulled the cake from dead center. Jackson put it back on the tray and took a different piece from the edge. “Thank you. I prefer a bit more frosting.”

  “Of course,” the man said, then hustled off with the tray.

  “I had grown suspicious,” he said to me.

  “More like paranoid.”

  “Not paranoid enough,” he replied. “I ended up dead, remember?”

  Mayor Bowman coughed into the mic and introduced himself, thanking everyone for coming, calling out sponsors by name. Wittle Construction, the company owned by Mayor Wittle's sons and grandsons. They stood up and waved. No doubt they stood a lot to lose on this road never being built or approved. Kick-backs, rigged bids, misappropriated funds...

  "And, of course, my amazing family," the mayor went on. "My son and sheriff of this fine city, Caleb Bowman. My daughter, Julie, and her husband, Arnold.”

  He never once mentioned Jackson. I wondered how that made my ex feel. His parents were gone. And these people were his only family left.

  Jackson hunched over and snuck out, barely able to dodge the waiters with their cake trays. He bumped into one and mumbled an already-slurred apology that the waiter did not stick around to hear.

  "I headed straight over to the Starlight," he told me as we staggered out the large glass doors of the country club without many people noticing. The cool breeze blew hard against his face, his stomach aching in a stretched-beyond-capacity way. I could tell, he was already pretty out of it.

  "Destiny told me she had a surprise for me," he went on. "Close your eyes and relax, and I'll fast forward to the good stuff."

  I had no idea what he meant by that.

  Chapter 21

  Mounting Evidence

  There was less fog this time when I opened my eyes and a lot more clarity. A dozen half-naked women stood all around Jackson as he walked along a dimly lit hallway. Destiny was ahead of him, her bleach blonde hair in its trademark pigtails swooshing along her shoulder blades. Her dress was short, bare in the back, and bright blue like her stilettos.

  "Whichever one you like, Jackie," she said, touching his chin, causing my heavy breathing to grow heavier. I reminded myself this wasn't happening to me. This was Jackson's memory. She was only seeing Jackson's chin.

  She pointed to the redhead who was coming straight for us in the hall. The woman brushed purposely against Jackson as she passed, pressing herself lightly on his chest. The smell of coconut oil took over my senses. "Oh, excuse me, Jackson," she giggled like she hadn't meant to bump into him. "You two headed to the champagne room?"

  Destiny nodded, but the redhead moved on, and so did we, toward the back where the VIP rooms apparently were. Destiny waved to two women coming out of the bathroom. I recognized them immediately. Candace and Heather. It was surreal seeing the two deceased women I'd only known from pictures on the news.

  Candace was a petite brunette with hair extensions and long bright pink nails. Heather was the taller one who liked to toss her sandy blonde highlighted curls from shoulder to shoulder as she laughed, over nothing.

  "I recommend this one," Destiny said, pointing to Candace. "You remember her, right? We like her."

  "Her," I found myself saying. I pointed to Candace. "Yes. The one from my English class. The other one too, if you can swing it."

  Destiny winked at me, running a hand up between Jackson’s legs, cupping and stroking him gently. "I thought you'd like her. I bet I know someone who's about to get an A this semester."

  She laughed as Jackson traced her inner thigh with the tip of his finger. Destiny held up the one-minute sign. "I'll be right back with your request," she said, sashaying off down the hall.

  "You can skip over some things," I yelled in my head to Jackson.

  Jackson laughed. "You're saying I should fast forward to the really good stuff."

  "I'm saying, keep it PG."

  "It's like a virtual reality porno, though. Most people would thank me."

  I looked around while Destiny was gone. It was really weird being here, and even weirder being here as my creepy ex-husband. Unfortunately, I could only go where the memory took me but I scanned everyone's face as they passed us in the hall. That's when I saw him. Bobby Franklin, Shelby Winehouse's fiancé. I doubted that bouncer needed to be back here. I was going to keep my eye on him, if I could. Bobby kept his head down, probably hoping not to have to say anything to Jackson.

  Jackson made eye contact with him as he passed us. "Shelby would make a lot more money working here," Jackson said to him, and I cringed in my channeling. Cringed. How in the world did my disgusting ex even make it to 50?

  Bobby looked like he wanted to strangle him. A lot of people gave Jackson that look. "She's pregnant, you ass," he said, and I cringed again. Bobby went on, his hand in a fist now. "And if she even talked about working here.” He paused to punch his fist into his other hand. “I’d have issues.”

  A brunette who looked a lot like the girl from the Bulldog with big boobs and way too much makeup walked out of the bathroom and down the hall. Bobby followed her, staring at her butt the whole time. Poor Shelby. Her boyfriend was a creeper who made fist-motions when he talked about her.

  I spoke to Jackson in my mind as soon as the creeper left. "What the hell was that?”

  "Just making small talk," he replied. "We joke."

  "That's not joking. That's trying really hard to get your ass kicked."

  When Destiny came back, she was carrying a large green drink. "Your margarita, sir," she said.

  "I don't drink margaritas," Jackson replied. “And I brought my own.” He patted his jacket pocket where the flask was.

  She stroked the hair around his ears. Destiny's face was close to Jackson’s, too close. I never noticed how her chin came to a severe point at the bottom before. "The girl in your class is named Candace in case you don't remember. She's 18, says you're the cutest professor at LU, and guessed that margaritas were your favorite drink so she had me order one for you. Blended with salt. I’ll tell her you’re not interested.”

  Jackson grabbed the glass, but in his already sloppy state caused cold margarita to spill along his hand. ”Tell
her she was one-hundred-percent correct about the margarita.” He swigged down a large gulp of the drink, wiping the salt with the back of his sleeve. It tasted way too sweet, weird. I immediately wanted to throw up, probably because I was feeling the way Jackson would have felt after drinking a margarita.

  Destiny walked off, and I had a hard time tracking her movement.

  “I can’t tell if you’re drunk or drugged,” I said.

  Jackson didn’t say anything, making me think he was already too far gone.

  The floor felt slanted, my brain did too. Slanted and numb. Things were spinning a little. "I need to lie down," Jackson managed to say but it took just about every ounce of energy he had to get the words out.

  Candace bounced over to him. Her long waves were a dark contrast to her pale Snow-White-like complexion. "I love your class, Professor Bowman," she said.

  "Call me Jackson," he replied. His voice was shaky and weird, but I had no idea if I was hearing it wrong or if he was saying it like that.

  She continued like I was making sense. "Destiny's like a big sister to me," she said, curling her arm around his. "Of course, sisters share everything."

  Up was down and down was up at this point in the game. Her voice came at me in a jumbled mess. I tried to decipher the code. Jackson was definitely having a hard time following, but I was pretty sure I could do it if I concentrated hard enough. He was under the influence, but I was the part of us that wasn't. If I could separate myself from Jackson, maybe I could clearly see the things going on around here.

  "Relax," she said, leading me into what was probably the champagne room. I felt Jackson's shoulders soften, his breathing slow down, as if he was relaxing on her command. She gently set his half-empty margarita down on the coffee table then pushed him hard onto the couch that was just about the only other thing in the room besides a mini bar and some pumped-in dance music.

  She climbed on top of Jackson as soon as he flopped onto the dark brown cushions. Candace's very thin silky short robe rode up a little as she climbed her way across Jackson’s body, making me realize she wasn't wearing anything else. She grabbed his hands and placed them on her breasts, giggling as she did. I refused to let myself think about it, reminding myself I needed to look around the room instead. But first, of course, I compared our boobs. She was like a full cup bigger than my Bs. Hers were probably fake, though.