“Can we walk a bit?” she asked him.
He picked up his coffee and followed. “Lead on.”
Out on the street, people were weaving in and out of the shops. Boats were floating in the harbor. An altogether normal day. Kate and Detective Stone ambled together along the shoreline path.
“I’ve been reluctant to say anything,” Kate began, looking out at the water, “because I don’t want to hear it whispered behind my back at the diner or the grocery store. If I tell you what I know, can you promise me it’s not going to end up on the record?”
“What record?” Detective Stone grinned. “We’re just two people talking out here on the lakeshore.”
Maybe this wasn’t going to be so difficult after all.
“This may sound insane,” she said, eyeing him with a slight smile.
“You’d be surprised what I’ve seen and heard in this line of work.” The detective sat down on a large piece of driftwood, picking up a rock and skipping it once, twice, then three times over the calm lake. When the ripples subsided, the surface was as still as a pane of glass. “Very little is going to sound insane to me.”
“Okay,” Kate admitted, joining him on the log. “I have seen that woman before.”
Detective Stone seemed to be holding his breath. He stayed quiet for a bit, waiting for Kate to continue. When she didn’t, he prompted her. “Go on.”
“I’ve been having dreams about her.” Kate sighed, knowing how crazy it sounded.
The detective did not respond right away. Then he narrowed his eyes and asked, “What kind of dreams?”
“I dream that I’m her,” Kate shivered. “I’ve never seen her before—in real life, I mean. I don’t know her name, who she is, or where she lived. I just started having these dreams a few weeks ago. In the dreams, I look into a mirror, and it’s not my face I see. It’s hers. Night after night. I didn’t think too much of it beyond my own overactive imagination until that day we found her on the beach.”
As she spoke, Stone watched her eyes. They were clear, unwavering, searching for his validation. He knew she was telling the truth, her truth, however unbelievable it might be.
“You’re sure it’s the same woman?”
Kate nodded. “I have absolutely no doubt it’s the same woman. I dreamed bits of her life. And I saw her husband.”
Stone was silent for a moment, considering what Kate had said. “You saw the husband in a dream. What was it about, specifically?”
“Well”—Kate thought back—“nothing really. Just ordinary things on an ordinary day. She was waking up in the morning. Her husband was there. They were deciding what they were going to do with the day. He brought her lilacs.”
Detective Stone nodded. “Is there anything else?”
“No,” Kate said, searching her mind for the smallest detail. “It seemed like they loved each other very much,” she added, her heart doing a flip at the thought of it. “They seemed happy.”
Detective Stone nodded, considering all that she’d said. Kate expected him to simply thank her and be on his way.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell Johnny about this before,” she said. “I didn’t know how to find the words to say it. I knew he’d think I was crazy. It just sounded so insane.”
“How’s this for insane?” Detective Stone smiled at her. “Would you be willing to come back to the station with me?”
“The station? Why?”
“You said you dreamed about the husband, right? Do you think you could pick his face out of a file of mug shots?”
“Absolutely,” Kate said.
“Come on,” Nick Stone said, scrambling to his feet, extending a hand to Kate to help her up.
When skin met skin, Kate was barraged with images playing in her mind like a slideshow, starring her and this detective. Scenes of laughter, of deep conversations, of sitting on a front porch. The two of them walking through the snowy woods, him carrying a camera, her mittened hand holding on to his. The two of them falling into bed, arms and legs entwined. Children ran through the slideshow, as did pets, all populating scenes of a life well lived. And then it was over, as instantly as it had begun.
Kate shook her head, staring at him. What was that all about? He was staring at her, too, looking into her eyes, then at their hands, then back again.
“Have you been in Wharton long?” Kate managed to cough out. “I’m here often because my cousin runs Harrison’s House, and I don’t recall ever seeing you before.”
He nodded. “I just transferred up from the Twin Cities.”
“What brought you here?” Kate wanted to know.
“This,” he said, gesturing out toward the lake. “The outdoors. And I thought life at a slower pace might be just the thing for me for a while.”
Stone didn’t tell her about the face of the fifteen-year-old boy who had pulled a gun on him and his partner one snowy night in Minneapolis and had paid for that mistake with his life, nor did he tell her about the face of the boy’s mother, whose searing, abject grief over the body of her dead son had taken up residence in Stone’s heart and refused to leave.
“You wanted a slower pace, but you got a crazy lady dreaming about murder victims,” Kate said, grinning. “Sorry about that, Detective Stone.”
“Nick,” he said. “You can call me Nick.”
Two hours later, Kate’s head was pounding after looking at countless mug shots, viewing every male face they had on file. None of them even slightly resembled the handsome man Kate had seen in her dreams.
Nick shook his head and sighed audibly. Seeing his disappointment, Kate winced. “I’m sorry I wasn’t of more help.”
“I knew it was a long shot,” he said. “More than a long shot. No, I was thinking about something else, another bit of information I found out today.”
“Can you tell me what it is?” she asked him.
Nick took a minute to think about this. He wasn’t in the habit of sharing information about a murder case with a suspect, but at the same time, Kate was the only lead they had, albeit a strange, supernatural one. Maybe sharing a bit of information would jar something loose in her brain, or make her say more than she intended.
“We did an autopsy, but it raised more questions than it answered,” he said. “When we don’t have an ID on a body, we use things like dental work, clothes, scars, evidence of surgery, broken bones, anything to tell us any little detail about who the person was.”
Kate nodded. She had watched enough crime shows on television to know the basics.
“First of all,” Nick went on, “they found no evidence of surgery of any kind. No scars, nothing like that, except for stab wounds. Usually, people have some evidence of modern medicine, whether it be a broken bone that was set or a pin in their hip or a scar from a cesarean section.”
“A nip and tuck around the jawline,” Kate joked.
“Exactly,” Nick confirmed. “But she didn’t have any of that. And her teeth weren’t in the greatest shape, either. No fillings, no bridges. No evidence of any kind of dental work.”