On the way home, Nessa stole peeks at her passenger, but the girl never looked back. Her eyes remained focused on the road in front of them. Nessa wondered what it was like to be trapped between this world and the next. Whatever discomfort the girl felt, she seemed determined to endure it. She wasn’t going to disappear until she knew her people would find her. Her connection to them was the source of great power.
Nessa’s phone pinged as she pulled into her driveway and parked the car. A text had arrived from Jo, with her first good news in days: Harriett had finagled invitations to a party on Culling Pointe. They would have a chance to speak to the rich people Mattauk’s cops refused to bother. At least it was something, Nessa thought, as she walked around to the other side of the car.
She opened the passenger-side door and motioned for the dead girl to get out. Then Nessa guided her guest through her house to the couch in the living room. When the girl took a seat, Nessa saw that she’d been taught to sit with her back straight, her knees together, and her ankles crossed. She kept her little black bag in her lap with her hands folded over it. For the first time, Nessa noticed a gold chain, so thin it was almost invisible, hanging around the girl’s neck. A pendant was hidden beneath the dress’s demure neckline. Nessa assumed that a cross lay near the girl’s heart.
The girl’s eyes followed Nessa as though she were waiting for something to happen.
Nessa sat down across from her guest and flipped open her sketch pad. “I’m trying,” she said, hoping that counted for something. “I’m new to all this, and it’s a lot harder than I thought it would be.”
The girl sat there, polite but persistent. She reminded Nessa of the girl she’d once been.
“Your mama must be losing her mind,” Nessa said. “Until we find her, you should stay here with me.”
The ghost’s brown eyes stayed locked on Nessa as Nessa began to sketch the contours of her face. She seemed curious.
“Don’t get your hopes up about the portrait,” Nessa warned her. “I’m not the world’s best artist, but let’s see if I can do you some justice.”
When she was finished, she showed the girl what she’d drawn. It was an excellent likeness, Nessa thought—better than the ones she’d sketched from memory. It would make it much easier for the girl’s family to be found. The ghost said nothing, but by the way her gaze lingered on the page, Nessa knew she recognized herself. When Nessa showed the girl sketches she’d made of the other two victims, her eyes went blank. It was clear she’d never seen them before.
At five o’clock in the morning, Nessa arranged her drawings on the dining-room table and closed her sketch pad. Just as dawn broke, she finally fell asleep.
She woke at noon knowing exactly what she needed to do. As soon as she’d showered and her makeup was on, she grabbed her phone and dialed Franklin’s number. When he picked up, she heard noises in the background and knew without asking that he was at lunch. “I’m sorry to bother you, but would you mind stopping by when you have a chance?” she said. “I have something to show you.”
He didn’t ask what it was. He didn’t put her off or tell her he’d come when he could. “I’ll be there in five,” he said.
She waited at the window for him to arrive. When Franklin pulled into the drive, she felt glad to see him—and that felt wrong. Her pulse quickened when the car door opened and his form rose to full height. Since the day she’d met Jonathan, other men’s charms had always bounced right off her. Now there was a chink in her armor. Nessa didn’t know where it was, but she knew she was vulnerable. That didn’t keep her from rushing to greet him.
“You okay?” Franklin asked as he walked up the flagstone path to her door.
She wasn’t sure she should answer that question. “Come in,” she said instead.
Nessa ushered Franklin through the house to the dining room, where she’d spread out the portraits of the three dead girls on the table.