the marred death certificate and photographs.
With each of his confessed sightings, Olivia became more and more serious. “I don’t understand,” she whispered, her gaze seeking his. “How? Why?”
He handed her the copies he’d kept and watched her face turn ashen. “I wish I knew the answer to that.”
“Jennifer’s dead.” She glanced up at him for confirmation.
“Yes.”
“There was a suicide note, you made the ID on the body.”
“I know.”
“Then…?”
“An imposter, probably.”
“Or…your imagination.”
“Don’t think so.” He tapped the pictures with a finger. “These are real.”
“Or someone faked them.”
“That’s possible.”
“Rick, she’s not alive!” She cleared her throat and leaned back in her chair. “Did you…have you told Kristi?”
“She was there when I woke up and she thought it was hallucinations from the drugs or aftereffects from the coma. Said it was all a ‘bad trip.’ I didn’t want to upset her, so I haven’t mentioned it again. Neither has she.”
But then his daughter was caught up in writing her book and planning her wedding. Kristi didn’t want to think that her father had lost his marbles. Because, even though now he was certain he was being tormented by an outside force, he also suspected deep inside that some of his visions of Jennifer had been conjured in his mind.
Maybe outside influences had tripped a latch in his brain and, though he was loath to admit it, he didn’t know what was real and what was a figment of his imagination.
“She hasn’t seen these?” Olivia motioned to the photos.
“No.”
Slowly letting out her breath, Olivia stared at the marred death certificate, then the pictures once more. Her eyebrows pulled together to form little lines in her forehead and her full lips twisted in revulsion. “This is really sick.”
“Can’t argue that.”
“Do you have any idea who sent these?” She held the photos and certificate up, then shook her head and handed everything back to Bentz.
“No. But Montoya’s having the lab check out the originals. Fingerprints, DNA, photo-altering—anything else the department can find out including what kind of red pen was used to write the question mark.” He tucked the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket just as the waiter delivered the first course.
“You think she’s alive?” Olivia asked.
“No.” He stirred his seafood stew and shook his head. “But I don’t think she’s a ghost, either.”
“Obviously. So…an imposter. Someone messing with you.” She nodded to herself, picking up her fork. “Who?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.”
Irritated, she stabbed bits of lettuce and shrimp onto her fork. “So you think there’s someone here in Louisiana pretending to be Jennifer, and she makes herself visible to only you. And you think she showed up at the hospital months ago, at the precise moment you woke up. Nonetheless, the pictures and death certificate were mailed from L.A.” Her eyes narrowed as she bit into her salad. “Is that about it?”
“Yeah. About.”
“So why go to all that trouble? Why not mail the package from here in New Orleans?”
“Jennifer died in Southern California.”
“If it was her in the van.”
“It was.”
“You say she hasn’t aged, right? But how close were you to her?”
Good point. “Not close enough.”
“Hmm. And the photos, they make her look young, but again, they could’ve been doctored. Or her face superimposed over another woman’s body.”
“The answer is in L.A.”
“Although you saw her in Louisiana?”
“These shots were taken around L.A.”
“Maybe.”
The whole Photoshop thing again. “Her body is buried in California,” he said and watched her reaction.
“Jesus, are you thinking of exhuming her?” Revulsion showed on her face. “Because you think you saw her? Because you received some pictures and a marked-up death certificate with a postmark from the town
With each of his confessed sightings, Olivia became more and more serious. “I don’t understand,” she whispered, her gaze seeking his. “How? Why?”
He handed her the copies he’d kept and watched her face turn ashen. “I wish I knew the answer to that.”
“Jennifer’s dead.” She glanced up at him for confirmation.
“Yes.”
“There was a suicide note, you made the ID on the body.”
“I know.”
“Then…?”
“An imposter, probably.”
“Or…your imagination.”
“Don’t think so.” He tapped the pictures with a finger. “These are real.”
“Or someone faked them.”
“That’s possible.”
“Rick, she’s not alive!” She cleared her throat and leaned back in her chair. “Did you…have you told Kristi?”
“She was there when I woke up and she thought it was hallucinations from the drugs or aftereffects from the coma. Said it was all a ‘bad trip.’ I didn’t want to upset her, so I haven’t mentioned it again. Neither has she.”
But then his daughter was caught up in writing her book and planning her wedding. Kristi didn’t want to think that her father had lost his marbles. Because, even though now he was certain he was being tormented by an outside force, he also suspected deep inside that some of his visions of Jennifer had been conjured in his mind.
Maybe outside influences had tripped a latch in his brain and, though he was loath to admit it, he didn’t know what was real and what was a figment of his imagination.
“She hasn’t seen these?” Olivia motioned to the photos.
“No.”
Slowly letting out her breath, Olivia stared at the marred death certificate, then the pictures once more. Her eyebrows pulled together to form little lines in her forehead and her full lips twisted in revulsion. “This is really sick.”
“Can’t argue that.”
“Do you have any idea who sent these?” She held the photos and certificate up, then shook her head and handed everything back to Bentz.
“No. But Montoya’s having the lab check out the originals. Fingerprints, DNA, photo-altering—anything else the department can find out including what kind of red pen was used to write the question mark.” He tucked the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket just as the waiter delivered the first course.
“You think she’s alive?” Olivia asked.
“No.” He stirred his seafood stew and shook his head. “But I don’t think she’s a ghost, either.”
“Obviously. So…an imposter. Someone messing with you.” She nodded to herself, picking up her fork. “Who?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.”
Irritated, she stabbed bits of lettuce and shrimp onto her fork. “So you think there’s someone here in Louisiana pretending to be Jennifer, and she makes herself visible to only you. And you think she showed up at the hospital months ago, at the precise moment you woke up. Nonetheless, the pictures and death certificate were mailed from L.A.” Her eyes narrowed as she bit into her salad. “Is that about it?”
“Yeah. About.”
“So why go to all that trouble? Why not mail the package from here in New Orleans?”
“Jennifer died in Southern California.”
“If it was her in the van.”
“It was.”
“You say she hasn’t aged, right? But how close were you to her?”
Good point. “Not close enough.”
“Hmm. And the photos, they make her look young, but again, they could’ve been doctored. Or her face superimposed over another woman’s body.”
“The answer is in L.A.”
“Although you saw her in Louisiana?”
“These shots were taken around L.A.”
“Maybe.”
The whole Photoshop thing again. “Her body is buried in California,” he said and watched her reaction.
“Jesus, are you thinking of exhuming her?” Revulsion showed on her face. “Because you think you saw her? Because you received some pictures and a marked-up death certificate with a postmark from the town
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