Page 50 of Ghosted (The Ravenwood #1)

Her expression lightens a bit at my obvious flattery, but all she does is nod before going back to tend the stove.

“Sorry, she’s overprotective of all of us. You’d think my dad is the scary one, but she definitely takes the cake,” Dean says into my ear. If I weren’t so nervous, I’d think it was cute that he feels the need to whisper into my ear even though I’m the only one who can hear him.

“So helpful,” I mutter to him under my breath.

Dean’s parents and I spend a while making awkward, stilted conversation. The tension between Jack and his wife is obvious, and her distaste for me almost poisons the mouthwatering smell of dinner cooking.

“Let’s eat,” Marielle says shortly, gesturing to the dining table. She’s been nothing but polite, but she’s doing it with old-money manners: razor sharp with an undercurrent of disdain.

We get seated, and I ask after Dean’s siblings.

When Jack mentioned a “family dinner,” I assumed that meant the rest of the Crawford brood.

Jack and Marielle exchange a telepathic, angry spat.

Marielle finally turns to me, fork clutched so tight in her hand, her delicate knuckles look bloodless.

“I– we decided that it would be better to have this meeting just between the three of us for now,” she says, eyes squinting in an approximation of a smile .

I set down my fork and feel Dean squeeze my shoulders supportively behind me.

“Look, Mrs. Crawford. I’m just going to address the Dean-shaped elephant in the room.

I can’t even begin to imagine how hard these last couple of months have been for you and your family.

I know it might be hard to believe, but I truly care for your son?—”

“Stop right there,” she interrupts, palm upheld to ward off the rest of what I was going to say.

“You don’t know my son. This whole thing you have going with Jack is sick.

You’re preying on a grieving father. Maybe you went on a single date with Dean, but that doesn’t give you the right to come into my home and speak about my son.

” Her face has gone completely white with rage.

“Now, Mari,” Jack starts tiredly.

“No. Enough out of you, Jack. I thought I could do this, but I can’t. I can’t host this—this grifter.” She pushes her chair back and stands ramrod straight.

This is the second time in two days that I’ve been called a liar, and I’m pretty much over it. I pat my mouth with the cloth napkin on my lap and stand too. “Okay, Dean. Time to put on a show,” I say to him. He looks at me in question.

I lace our fingers together and step toward Marielle. “What are you doing?” she asks, shrinking back. I can’t fight my eye roll.

What, does she think I’m going to maim her?

“Listen to me, Mrs. Crawford. Dean is here with us right now. He’s going to touch your shoulder,” I say, nodding to Dean.

He inhales and concentrates, brows furrowing together.

I stay a good distance from her so she can’t accuse me of faking it.

He places his large hand on her entire shoulder, and her eyes go wide with surprise.

She scans me, tracking where both of my hands are.

Then, once she’s satisfied that I’m not the one doing the touching, she looks across the table at Jack, who watches her with tears tracking down his cheeks.

“Dean?” she asks in a whisper, disbelief coloring her voice.

He slowly raises his hand and presses it to her face in answer, his thumb gently swiping at the tear dripping from her jaw.

She closes her eyes, chin trembling as she leans into his hand.

His grip on my hand tightens as if he’s trying to hold himself together through me.

She breathes out, and I watch her shoulders relax for what must be the first time since he’s passed. Marielle finally opens her eyes and looks at me. “How?” she asks, voice breaking like a wave on the shores of her grief.

I smile a little and say, “I don’t have an answer. I’ve always been able to see and communicate with the dead, but Dean has helped me develop my gift into something more.”

Dean tries to give me a cocky smile, but the tears in his eyes ruin the effect.

“Can I see him?” Marielle asks thickly.

My heart sinks at the request because I wish I could make it happen for her. “No, I’m sorry. I’ve yet to find a way to do that. But hey, you never know. I had no clue I could do this until him, so maybe one day.”

She nods, swiping at her eyes. Dean lets his hand drop, and Marielle fires off question after question for both of us while we get seated around the table again, digging into dinner. I answer in kind, and things only get a little awkward when she starts asking about the nature of our relationship.

“Well, we went on a date once when he was alive,” I hedge. When she nods and gestures for me to go on, I say, “And we sort of, um, reconnected when he found me like this.” Dean chortles, and I level a glare at him, cheeks flaming. “We’ve been getting to know each other while we work on his case.”

Marielle is back to squinting at me distrustfully. “Do you care for my son?” she asks bluntly.

Kill me now.

“Yes,” I say, resolve strengthening my voice, “Very much so. I will grieve the loss of his life for the rest of mine. But I have the chance to help him now. To figure out what happened to him so he can find peace.” Dean places his hand on my knee under the table, the electric tingles sending goosebumps racing down my leg.

“And even with your special interest in him, you will help him move on? That’s what Jack told me you do: help spirits move on,” Marielle says, pushing a carrot through the sauce on her plate.

I swallow around the lump in my throat and nod. “Yes.”

After that, we settle into more easy-going conversation.

I talk about The Veil and what I do there, and Marielle tells me all about being a homemaker and how much she enjoyed raising her five kids.

Jack interjects here and there to tell his own anecdotes, and I’m surprised at how easy it feels.

A flash of a different life hits me; one where Dean is alive and well, and where he brings me to meet his family for normal, less murdery reasons.

The nostalgia for something that will never be is intense, and I find myself zoning out while Marielle tells me about the time Dean quit baseball in seventh grade and didn’t bother to tell anyone.

They all showed up to his game to find him munching on chips in the stands instead of pitching like he was supposed to.

I laugh in the right places, but I just want to go home.

This is quickly becoming too painful—this approximation of what should have been, and knowing this will probably come to an end.

I politely decline dessert, using an early morning at the shop tomorrow as an excuse to beg off quickly.

Jack offers to walk me out and I let him, not wanting to discuss the more gruesome details of Dean’s murder in front of his mom.

Jack has told me before that Marielle is doing a little better, but any discussion of Dean’s death sends her spiraling for days at a time. I’d rather not be responsible for that.

When we get to my car, I ask, “Can I see Dean’s autopsy report?”

Jack stumbles and says, “Huh?”

“Sorry,” I say, shaking my head at myself for not being a little more delicate. “I just want to look at the drug findings. It’s hard to believe that he wouldn’t have tested positive for GHB,” I explain.

“Oh, sure,” Jack says, pulling his phone out of his back pocket. He taps around a bit, then hands me his phone with a PDF of the toxicology report pulled up.

I wade through the medical report, looking for anything that references the drug.

I suck in a breath when I see it mentioned, but deflate a little when the test result says, “negative.” I squint at it and say, “Wait a minute… They tested for GHB using Dean’s saliva.

That’s the least accurate way to test. It should have been a urine sample. ”

Dean and Jack both raise their eyebrows at me, so I feel the need to defend myself, “I did my research! Sue me.” I hand Jack his phone so I can cross my arms.

“Not the best thing to say to a lawyer,” Dean says with a chuckle .

Jack frowns down at his phone. “I’ll talk to my P.I. about it. He’s a retired detective, so I’m sure he would know more. It’s definitely suspicious that they didn’t use the more sensitive test.”

“I’m scared this whole thing is bigger than just Richard’s dad getting some favors thrown at him,” I say, looking at Dean.

Jack sighs a bone-weary sigh. “Me too.”

Dean nudges me and says, “Don’t forget to ask about Richard.”

I turn to Jack, leaning against the hood of my car.

Twilight cloaks the sky in growing darkness, but with the bright floodlights posted around Jack’s house, it may as well be noon.

“Dean has a question. So, obviously Richard is suspect number one, but didn’t he go out with everyone the night Dean was murdered? ”

Jack rubs his jaw and nods. “Yeah, he did. Everyone but Dean went out that night. I don’t doubt that he’s the one who drugged him, but it would have been nearly impossible to pull off the murder himself with the timeline we have.”

I sigh and nod. “But listen, Richard had motive,” I say, vaguely feeling like I’ve been handed the role of detective on daytime television.

“What do you mean?” Jack asks, focus sharpening on me.

“Dean mentioned that Richard made snide comments about nepotism. Apparently, a lot over the years. He said he always brushed it off, but that night you were talking about a promotion for Dean, so it’s not too far off to assume that Richard might have wanted to…”

“Kill the competition?” Jack asks flatly.

I nod, hating that he’s having to help me with this. No parent should be put in the position of solving their child’s murder.

We’re silent for a while, and then I ask, “Jack? How are you so calm about this?”

He laughs, short and grating. “Calm? I’m anything but.

I’m so angry, I can hardly think straight.

But my wife and my children need me, so I can’t go kill the fucker like I want to.

Instead, I’m going to work with you, my P.I.

, and the police to get Richard and whoever he worked with put away and punished to the highest extent of the law.

I can’t believe I promoted that bastard.

At least firing him gave me a little relief,” he grumbles.

He’s balled his hands into angry fists, and he looks like he’d punch a hole straight through Richard’s face if given the opportunity.

I reach out and place a hand on his shoulder. “I’m unbelievably angry, too. They took him from all of us. I know I didn’t know him for very long, but he means so much to me,” I break off, tears choking the rest.

“Time doesn’t always dictate emotions, Rae.

I know I don’t look like a romantic, but I believe there’s a person out there for everyone.

That some people are meant to be. Maybe Dean is your person.

You have every right to grieve and be angry, too.

I’m just sorry you and Dean didn’t get your time.

” He surprises me by pulling me in for a fatherly hug, squeezing me tight around the shoulders.

“I wish he could have grown old with you,” Jack says into the crown of my hair. He presses a chaste kiss there and holds me while I fall apart. I feel Dean hug me from behind, and these two men hold me together while I let the grief for the life we could have had tear me apart at the seams.