5 The Ghosts in the Audience Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Blurb

  Acknowledgements:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Nightmare in the Woods ~ Excerpt

  Author’s Note

  Backlist

  Bio Sheet

  THE GHOSTS IN THE AUDIENCE

  The Kane Family Ghosts: Book 5

  by

  Sue Fineman

  The Ghosts in the Audience

  Copyright © 2012 Sue Fineman

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from Sue Fineman.

  Published by Sue Fineman

  United States of America

  Electronic Edition: October, 2012

  This book is a work of fiction and all characters exist solely in the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any references to places, events or locales are used in a fictitious manner.

  Police Detective Ginny Kane asks psychic entertainer Steffen Marchand, on tour in River Valley, to help her find a missing friend. She’s excited by him, yet frustrated with the way he can plant thoughts in her mind. She doesn’t need a man in her life anyway.

  When someone shoots Steffen in the shoulder, Ginny can’t leave him alone to fend for himself, and he can’t drive home to Chicago until he heals and she finds the shooter. She takes him home with her to recuperate. After the shooting, his psychic abilities are gone, and he can’t pull up a vision of the shooter’s face. Psychic or not, Steffen finds himself falling hard for Ginny. She doesn’t want to love him; she knows he’s not the kind of man who stays.

  Acknowledgements:

  I’d like to thank all the people who helped me with my writing in the past fifteen or so years. My wonderful writing group in Gig Harbor, Washington – Colleen, Joanne, Marci, and Maureen, and others who drifted in and out of the group over the years. Jo Nelson, a writing teacher, mentor, and friend. Jo is gone now, but the lessons she taught have stayed with me. Jeanne, Dee, and Vonnie – you’re wonderful!

  In the past few years, I’ve been fortunate to have the help of a great group of friends and fellow authors. Carolyn, Aileen, Tessy, Robin, Judythe, Tessy, Becky, and the folks at Elements of RWA, I love you all. Without you I would have given up a long time ago. And Sandy, who has helped me with all the technical aspects of getting my books published. I couldn’t have done it without you. I wouldn’t have known what to do or how to do it, and I wouldn’t have had the courage to try.

  To all of you who have been there for me when I needed you, a big THANK YOU!

  Chapter One

  Ginny Kane sat in the back of the room and watched the man on stage, wondering how much was an act and how much was true psychic ability. He had an amazing stage presence. Black clothes hugged wide shoulders and narrow hips, and a large silver pendant with an engraving of some kind hung to the middle of his chest. He wore his shiny light brown hair a little long, waving back from his strong face, and those mesmerizing dark blue eyes could no doubt pull the darkest secrets out of people.

  He pointed at an older woman with gray hair. “Hazel, Jack is standing right behind you. Can you feel his hand on your shoulder?”

  She nodded.

  “He said to tell you he loves you, and he’ll be waiting for you on the other side.”

  When the applause died down, he asked a woman in the front row to stand and hold her purse in both hands. Then he told her what was in her purse. “A wallet, lipstick, keys, a packet of tissues, breath mints, two condoms—”

  The man sitting beside the woman whipped around to face her. “Why would you need condoms?”

  The audience laughed and the woman blushed.

  The man on stage said, “Sit down,” and turned to someone else, but the couple sitting in the front row were putting on their own show.

  “Are you fooling around on me?” the man snapped.

  The woman moaned. “Oh, no, John. I wouldn’t—”

  “The hell you wouldn’t.”

  Some people squirmed nervously. Others laughed, but Ginny didn’t see anything funny about the situation. Their relationship could be doomed, all because the couple had come to see a stupid stage show.

  The man who called himself Steffen the Sensational might know his business, but the show made her uneasy. Why would this woman allow a psychic to tell her what she had in her purse when she knew it would be an embarrassment? And why would Steffen Marchand say to a room filled with people that she carried condoms in her purse? He had to know what would happen. Or maybe that was part of the show.

  Ginny believed in psychics and had used them before, but there was something different about this man. He seemed to enjoy flaunting his psychic abilities and showing off in front of an audience. Did she really want to work with a man like this?

  Did she have any choice?

  <>

  Steffen Marchand ended the show and took his bows. The bit with the couple in the front row hadn’t gone well. He should have known not to mention the condoms, but the ghost behind the woman with the red hair distracted him. He regretted his mistake, but he couldn’t do anything about it now. The couple wouldn’t be together much longer. The man had caught the woman cheating before, and now he knew she was cheating on him again.

  He shook a few hands, then escaped backstage. Two more nights here, then three nights in Columbus ended the tour. He’d told his uncle he wasn’t doing any more. Steffen loved the excitement of being on stage and giving people the answers they sought. He drank in the attention, especially from beautiful women, but he’d grown tired of sleeping in lousy motels, eating fast food, and being on the road every other day. There had to be a better way to earn a living.

  It was a good time to quit. He’d paid his father’s final bills and saved enough money to get by for a few months. He had no one to support now except himself and his uncle, and Carson could find himself another freak to manage.

  Steffen walked into his dressing room and stopped cold. The woman standing before him was a beauty, with black hair pulled back from a stunning face. He couldn’t look away from her startling bright blue eyes and creamy skin, but he had a rule about audience members coming to his dressing room without an invitation. “What are you doing in here?”

  “You’re the psychic. Why don’t you tell me?”

  She couldn’t be over five-six, with a slender, almost delicate build. This woman was absolutely stunning, but the look in her eyes wasn’t warm and inviting. He sensed she wanted help from a psychic, but she wasn’t quite sure what to think of him as a man. Too bad. He wouldn’t mind getting to know this woman.

  Staring into her blue eyes, he said, “Either tell me what you want or get out of my dressing room.”

  She lifted her chin. “They say you can find missing people.”

  He waved at the door. “Go to the police.”

  “I am the pol
ice.” She pulled a badge from her pants pocket and held it out.

  “Detective Virginia Kane,” he read. She seemed a little young to be a detective.

  “An old friend has gone missing, and we’ve exhausted every means we have to find her. Phoebe’s not the kind of person you’d expect to vanish. She’s not beautiful, she doesn’t have a boyfriend, and she’s not mentally unstable. She’s quiet and unassuming, the kind of person who fades into the background in a crowd of people. Her mother is worried sick. She heard you were coming to town and asked me to contact you.”

  “You don’t have psychics in… where am I?”

  “River Valley, Ohio.”

  “You don’t have psychics in River Valley, Ohio?”

  “I have a psychic niece and a semi-psychic sister-in-law.”

  “Semi-psychic?”

  “Either an image pops into her head or it doesn’t. She can’t call up a vision.”

  “What about your niece?”

  “She’s only nine. She’s quite gifted, but if Phoebe’s hurt or dead, I don’t want Taylor to see it in a vision.”

  If only his family had been that sensitive when he was a kid. Instead, they hired him out to police departments to find missing people and interpret crime scenes. Anyone who wanted a reading from Steffen the Sensational could get it, for a price, of course. He was the boy freak who knew everything. That image was hard to live down, but his uncle didn’t want him to live it down. Carson wanted Steffen to continue working, so he could sell pictures, pamphlets, dolls, and copies of the medallion Steffen wore on stage.

  He sensed an urgency in this beautiful police detective. “You’re really worried about your friend?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Did you bring pictures and something of hers, so I can get a reading?”

  She reached in her pocket and pulled out several pictures and a ring. “Phoebe and I had matching rings when we were in high school. This is hers.”

  Without looking at the pictures, he picked up the ring and held it in his left hand. Closing his eyes so he could focus, he said, “She has light brown hair and wears wire frame glasses. Dark blue or purple.”

  He rubbed the ring with his thumb. “I see her in a room with a dark-haired man. His first name starts with the letter R.”

  Steffen opened his eyes and handed the ring back to the pretty detective.

  “That’s it?”

  “She’s alive and she’s with a man. What more do you want?”

  “Is she all right? Is she afraid? Where did she meet this guy? Is she there willingly, or did he kidnap her? Is—”

  Steffen held up both hands. “Whoa there. Too many questions.”

  The dressing room door opened and Carson walked in. He stared at the pretty detective. “What are you doing in here?”

  Steffen knew if he didn’t make up something quickly, his uncle would demand money from this woman. He stepped closer to her and whispered, “Go along with me.”

  Pulling her closer, he gave her a gentle kiss on the lips. He thought she might pull away and slap him, but she didn’t. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

  Carson left the room muttering to himself.

  Steffen reluctantly stepped back. He wanted to kiss her again, a real kiss this time, but if he did, she’d probably have him handcuffed and in the back of a police cruiser on the way to jail. “Sorry about that. If my uncle knew you were here on business, he’d demand payment.”

  “Really? How much?”

  “As much as he thought you’d pay.” Carson’s talent – if he had one – was fleecing people who were desperate for answers. Steffen didn’t approve of the way he handled money, but Carson had done a good job managing the logistics of the tour.

  Someone tapped on the door and called, “Five minutes.”

  Steffen turned back to Virginia Kane. Ginny. “I have to get ready for the next show. If you’ll hang around, I’ll see if I can get more from the ring after the next show.”

  Ginny gazed into his eyes and hesitated for a brief moment. “I’ll be here.” She couldn’t believe she’d kissed him. Not that he wasn’t an attractive man. He was. But she wasn’t in the habit of kissing strange men.

  Ginny escaped from the room and found a quiet spot backstage to call Phoebe’s mother. “Jill, I met with Steffen Marchand. He believes Phoebe’s alive and well. I’m meeting with him again after his next show to see if he can sense any more about Phoebe’s situation.”

  “Oh, thank you so much, Ginny. If I could get out of this damn wheelchair—”

  “I know. I’ll follow up, see if he can give me some clues about where she might be. You know this isn’t a perfect science.”

  “I know,” Jill said with a deep sigh. “I’m just so worried about her.”

  Ginny heard applause and knew Steffen had gone on stage. She had no desire to watch his show again, but maybe if she poked around his dressing room, she could learn more about the psychic entertainer.

  Carson Edwards made his way to the stage door, glanced around, then opened the door and stepped outside. He left the door cracked, so Ginny crept closer and listened to him talking with another man just outside the door.

  “It’s five thousand,” Carson told the man.

  “I can’t afford that.”

  “You don’t want to find your wife?”

  “Do I get my money back if he doesn’t find her?”

  “No. No refunds.”

  “Will you take a check?”

  “Cash only.”

  “I can’t get that much cash tonight.”

  “How much can you get?”

  “Maybe a thousand.”

  “That’ll buy you fifteen minutes. Come to the Whippoorwill Inn at midnight. I’ll meet you in the lobby and take you to see Steffen Marchand.”

  “I’ll be there,” the other man said.

  “Come alone or the deal is off, and bring something your wife used to wear – a ring or watch or favorite piece of clothing.”

  The door opened wider and Ginny scooted into the shadows so he wouldn’t see her. Carson walked through the backstage area and out another door that led to the front, where he’d no doubt sell a bunch of merchandise to gullible patrons.

  Did Steffen know what he was doing?

  He had to know. The man was psychic.

  Slipping unnoticed into the dressing room, Ginny quietly scanned the room. His dressing table held the usual items for a performer – makeup, hair brush, cold cream. A change of clothes hung on the back of the screen – blue jeans and a pale blue pullover sweater. A leather zippered bag behind the screen held the things a man normally carried in his pockets – wallet, loose change, car keys, key for a room at the Whippoorwill Inn, handkerchief, a pen, a pair of reading glasses, and a journal. “What, no condoms?” she muttered to herself.

  She looked through his wallet and found a hundred and sixty dollars, mostly in twenties. He had a current Illinois driver’s license, and he was thirty-seven years old. Only two credit cards – a Visa card and one for gasoline.

  The journal might be more interesting, but she didn’t have time to look through it.

  Someone was coming.

  <>

  Roland Bickley opened the motel room door and carried in the sack of sandwiches and fries from the fast food restaurant next door. The woman sat on the bed. She smiled shyly when he walked into the room. They’d both seen the piece on the news this morning, including her picture, but she didn’t recognize her image or her name. Phoebe Goldberg. His very own Jewish American Princess.

  According to the woman on the news, Phoebe’s father, now deceased, used to work on Wall Street. After the car accident killed him, her mother was confined to a wheelchair. The newscasters talked about what a blessing Phoebe had been to her mother, but this young woman didn’t remember her family. She didn’t remember anything about her past.

  He handed her the bag. “I bought a chicken sandwich and a hamburger. Take your pick.”
>
  Two weeks ago, he’d found her sitting alone in a bar, sipping a soft drink. She looked like a lost little waif when he sat beside her.

  “Do you know me?” she’d asked.

  He’d met her months ago, at the library, but before he could speak, she whispered, “I’m so scared.”

  “Why?” he’d asked.

  “Because I don’t know who I am or where I belong.”

  “With me,” he’d replied. “You belong with me. I’m Roland, your name is Jane, and I’ve been looking all over for you.” The lie nearly choked him, but from that moment on, she followed him around like a little puppy dog.

  At first, he thought her memory would return, but she still didn’t remember anything about her past. She asked him to take her away from the city, so he bought her a few clothes and a suitcase to keep them in, packed a bag for himself, and they hit the road.

  The woman he called Jane was afraid of strangers, and everyone was a stranger to her but him. She said she felt safe with him, which made him feel like a big man.

  Before she lost her memory, she hadn’t given him a second glance. According to the news reports, Phoebe gave up her career as a librarian to take care of her crippled mother, which explained why he hadn’t seen her in the past few months. He’d asked her out once, which turned into a disaster, and he hadn’t gotten up the nerve to ask again.

  Roland was forty-two years old, and he’d never had a girlfriend. He was a small man with a big heart, but most of the women he knew wanted to date a bigger man, one who wasn’t so shy around women. He’d been searching for a small woman who wouldn’t mind his size so much, but aside from the woman in the library, he hadn’t found anyone he wanted to date. Now that woman was right here with him, and he was even more attracted to her than before she lost her memory.

  Jane was a petite woman, a shy lady who was embarrassed when anything sexual came on television. He figured she was a virgin, like him. One of these days, when the time was right, he’d kiss her and pray she didn’t run away. But it was too soon for that kind of intimacy.