Free A Season of Miracles by Heather Graham

faded.
    She didn’t tell him much about her Halloween evening at Hennessey’s, though. And she didn’t say a word about the tarot card reader, or the arrival of Robert Marston.
    Eventually, warm and relaxed, she yawned, thanked Henry and headed up to bed.
    She tried to sleep, but she couldn’t. Suddenly, after all these years, she hated the dark.
    She rose. The main light would be too bright. Even the reading light by her bed would be too much. She turned on the bathroom light, then left the door open a crack and lay back down in bed.
    Better, but still…
    She’d never been afraid before. Of the darkness, of the night. If there were ghosts in her life, they were good ghosts. People who had loved her. Her mother. Her father.
    Milo.
    Her eyes fell on the snow globe that sat on her nightstand between the lamp and the silver-framed picture of Milo and herself. Always smiling. No matter what pain had plagued him. He had loved art and music, dance, theater, the world. An eternal optimist. The pain was okay, because he was living, still with her, still seeing the world. Death would be okay, too, because then the pain would be gone, and there was a better world.
    He had given her the snow globe. It played a beautiful, if somewhat sad, tune, though the title was a mystery. It held a wilderness scene, with horses and riders racing through a winter landscape. She shook it and watched the snow fall.
    â€œI wish you were with me, old friend,” she said softly.
    A few minutes later, she felt an odd sense of peace settling over her.
    Finally she slept. And the dream didn’t come again.
    Â 
    Connie was the first to enter Jillian’s office in the morning. She stepped in humming, then came to a dead halt. A scream escaped her, and she clamped her hand over her mouth to stop it.
    Someone rushed in behind her, and she spun around. Daniel Llewellyn.
    Like her, he stood dead still. Staring. At the cat.
    â€œJeeves is…dead,” she said.
    â€œSure looks like it,” Daniel said.
    â€œHey, what’s all the commotion?” Griff demanded, walking in behind them.
    They both looked at Griff with almost as much surprise as they had stared at the cat.
    â€œYou’re early,” Connie said.
    â€œKeeping on my toes,” Griff said lightly, then saw the cat. “Whoa, what happened to him?”
    â€œConnie?” Joe rushed in, looking anxiously at his wife. “I heard you screaming. What—”
    â€œIt’s the cat,” she explained.
    â€œThe cat?” Joe queried, puzzled.
    â€œJeeves apparently climbed up on Jillian’s desk to die last night,” Daniel explained. “We shouldn’t have kept a cat in the office in the first place,” he muttered.
    â€œI looked after him,” Griff said, walking over to the dead cat, picking it up. “He’s cold. Dead a long time. What could have happened to him? There are no dogs in here, no cars to run him over—”
    â€œMaybe he was just old,” Joe suggested tactfully. “I mean, no one knew much about him.”
    â€œShould we have…an autopsy?” Connie asked. “An investigation?”
    â€œCut him up?” Griff demanded indignantly. He stroked the dead cat, looking hurt and troubled.
    â€œI don’t think we can call the police in over a dead cat,” Daniel said dryly.
    â€œBut…” Connie began, and shivered suddenly. “A black cat…just dead. On Halloween.”
    â€œIn Jillian’s office,” Joe said.
    â€œAnd after last night,” Connie moaned.
    â€œLast night?” Daniel queried.
    â€œShe passed out at the bar,” Joe explained.
    â€œThe golden girl got drunk and passed out?” Griff said skeptically.
    Connie offered him a withering glare. “Of course not, she just—”
    â€œIt was the fortune-teller,” Joe said.
    â€œTarot card reader,” Connie corrected.
    â€œWhat?” Daniel