Free The Seance by Heather Graham Page B

it was the only way I was ever going to stay sane.”
    She stared at him and squeezed his hand in comfort. There were so many stages of grief: shock, disbelief, anger…no, fury. Then, sometimes, a dullness. Acceptance. Enough time to learn that you would never forget. A time to forgive. And then…not peace, as some suggested, but at least gratitude for those who tried to help you, and an ability to function and move forward, because that was somehow ingrained alongside the survival instinct.
    But she had already accepted her grandmother’s death. Gran had lived a long life, and every memory she had that revolved around her grandparents was good.
    The house, if it had a personality at all, was good.
    â€œI’m okay. Really. And I love this house. Gran left it to me because she knew that. I’ll never sell it,” she told him. “But thank you for your concern.” She cleared her throat. At another time in her life, she mused, she might have been thrilled to have Jed Braden practically on his knees in front of her, but this moment was far too raw for that. “I’m all right,” she said, indicating that she wanted to get up. He stood first, and since his hand was still on hers, he helped her up, too. “Do you want coffee? Or something to eat?” she offered.
    He shook his head. “No, thanks. I need to get going. I have a few self-imposed deadlines today, but I’m only a phone call away if you need me.”
    He did think she was crazy, she thought. Or at least emotionally fragile right now because of Gran’s death.
    â€œWe checked every room,” she said. “There’s no one here. And like you said, no one breaks into a house just to move a Ouija board.”
    He smiled a little ruefully and reached for her, pulling a blade of grass from her hair. “Call me if you need me.”
    â€œSure. Thank you,” she said, and smiled at him. Like hell, she fumed in silence. That damned Ouija board had moved.
    She managed to keep her smile in place as she walked him to the door.
    â€œChristina,” he said gravely, then hesitated.
    â€œI know. There’s a killer on the loose with a thing for redheads. I’ll be very careful, I swear.”
    â€œSleeping on the lawn isn’t being careful.”
    â€œI wasn’t—Oh, never mind. It won’t happen again.”
    â€œI really am here if you need me.”
    â€œRight,” she said, thinking, I had such a crush on you once, buddy.
    He was still crush-worthy, she had to admit. The character worn into his features by life made him a striking man.
    The fact that he was obviously patronizing her was a sharp wake-up slap, however.
    â€œThank, Jed. Thanks. I will call if I need you—if there’s a real problem,” she assured him, and there was only a slight note of coldness in her tone.
    If he heard it, he gave no sign, and left.
    She closed and locked the door, then looked around. The house was silent. Then the old grandfather clock chimed out the hour of 8:00 a.m. and she jumped.
    With an irritated sigh, she headed for the kitchen and the coffeemaker. While coffee brewed, she raced upstairs. She’d been wearing those damp blades of grass just a little too long, and she had too much to do that day to be hanging around in her nightshirt.
    Maybe she was crazy, she thought as she showered. Or at least more fragile than she had thought, too open to suggestion.
    Because he was right. No one broke into a house just to move a Ouija board.
    Unless…
    Unless they wanted you to think you were crazy.
    Â 
    Police Detective Shot and Killed Disposing of Victim.
    Police Detective Beau Kidd Identified as Interstate Killer.
    The newspaper headlines gave no indication that Beau had only been the alleged killer. A little voice inside Jed nagged at him guiltily, even though he knew, rationally speaking, that if the department, the news and everyone else had condemned Beau Kidd, there