“You think the woman on the bridge could see the dead?”
“That’s what my mother said when I told her. She didn’t even seem surprised. She said she once had an auntie who was always seeing ghosts. Then she told me that if I’d been born female, I might have been able to see them, too. The ability usually runs in families, but boys never got it. I was annoyed as hell when I heard that. Wasn’t long afterward that I decided to become a cop. I figured if I couldn’t see dead people, the least I could do was help find out who killed them.”
“Seeing them isn’t as great as it sounds,” Nessa told him.
“Don’t I know it,” Franklin told her. “I haven’t come across any ghosts, but I have seen my share of the dead. I don’t suppose I’ll ever get used to it.”
Nessa turned back to the portraits lined up on the table. “It’s my job to find these girls’ families so their spirits can rest in peace. I need your help.”
Franklin picked up the sketch of the girl in the blue dress. “I’ll go back to the station now and post your drawing of our Jane Doe on the database. That’s all I can do for the moment.”
“What about the other girls?” Nessa asked.
“It’s unlikely their bodies would have lasted very long at the bottom of the sound,” Franklin said. “But I promised you I’d look, and I keep my promises. I found a fisherman with a sonar-equipped boat. He just updated to all the latest tech. If there are remains down there, we should be able to spot them.”
Nessa leaned forward and kissed him. When she pulled back, his eyes were wide with surprise.
“Sorry,” she said, horrified by her own behavior. “I shouldn’t have done that. I have a responsibility to these girls. I have to stay focused and I can’t—”
Franklin held up a hand. “It’s okay, Nessa,” he said. “But for the record, as soon as all this is over, you are more than welcome to do that again.”
Two weeks later, no bodies had been found. The girl in the blue dress was still sitting on Nessa’s couch, and the last thing on Nessa’s mind was kissing Franklin.
On Top of the World
Jo stared at the mirror. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn anything that wasn’t at least 70 percent spandex—or let her hair down from its perma-ponytail. The black halter sundress Harriett had pulled from her closet showcased Jo’s toned arms and complemented the wavy red hair that cascaded over her shoulders.
“I look hot,” Jo told the mirror.
“I’d fuck you,” Harriett agreed.
“You fuck everyone,” Jo said.
“Not true,” Harriett corrected her. “I’m actually quite discerning.”
“You got anything that would make me look that good?” Nessa asked.
“Yes,” Harriett said, calling Nessa’s bluff. “Have you decided to come?”
Nessa snorted miserably. Even if she’d been curious to see Culling Pointe, she couldn’t bear to be close to Danskammer Beach. While the girl in blue sat on the sofa in Nessa’s living room, the other two girls were still out there, drifting beneath the waves. Every day, Nessa’s guilt grew heavier, and the proof of her incompetence had become too hard to ignore. Weeks had gone by since they found the girl in the scrub, and yet little progress had been made in the case. The portrait Nessa had drawn had been picked up by websites and newspapers around the state, and she’d posted it on every missing persons site she could find. Still, no one had come forward to claim the body. Meanwhile, the medical examiner had officially ruled the girl’s death an accidental overdose. It was starting to seem as though the cops’ theory was right—and Nessa’s instincts were wrong. The gift should have passed to one of her cousins. She didn’t know how to use it.