So much for safety in numbers.

Seth gave me a sympathetic smile and then focused on devouring the cookies.

28

I shrugged into my jacket and followed Mac out into the wind and snow. It was an unpleasant sixty seconds as we ran toward the hotel. I dreaded the conversation to come, but didn’t want to dawdle in the storm.

“We’d better go tell the knitters that you’ve been found,” Mac said. “Vi made a big deal about going in search of you two.”

Lucille rushed to the door when we entered the library and gave me a brief hug. “We’ve been so worried. Did one of the dogs run away? Did you get lost in the snow?”

“No, Mom, I’ll tell you about it later,” Mac said quietly. “Seth and the dogs are fine as well.” Mac raised his voice so the rest of the group could hear him. “Everyone is fine, and back inside safe and warm.”

The knitters thanked Mac for coming to tell them, and told me they were happy no one was hurt.

We said we’d see them at dinner and turned toward the lounge. Mac and I sat in our spot by the fire.

He put his arm around me and rested his head on top of mine.

We were quiet for a while. Even though we’d argued earlier, I snuggled as close to him as I could get and allowed myself a moment to enjoy feeling safe and happy.

“I think I aged five years in the hour or so we were looking for you,” he said. “I’ve never known anyone to get into so many dangerous predicaments.”

“‘Predicaments’? You’ve been talking to the old ladies too much,” I joked. “Next thing, you’ll be calling Seth a whippersnapper.”

With my head against his chest, I heard the low chuckle and knew he wasn’t really mad.

“He is a whippersnapper,” Mac said. “I liked it better when he called me Detective and acted afraid of me all the time.”

“You did not,” I said. “Plus, he’s spending too much time with your mother to be afraid of you. You should hear the stories she’s been telling him about your younger days.”

Mac groaned. “How am I supposed to keep my air of authority with that going on?”

“You’ll just have to terrorize your junior officers and leave it at that.”

“Speaking of officers, I’d better let Pete Harris know about the phones you found.”

I sat up and turned to face him.

“How do you think it relates to Clarissa’s murder?” I asked. “It has to be a staff member using that room. Does that put all the guests in the clear for her death?”

“I think we need to seriously consider one of the Garretts as the murderer,” Mac said.

“I was thinking the same thing. Linda seems devastated by her death, Jessica not so much, but one of them must be involved with the cell phones,” I said.

“I agree,” Mac said. “I suppose it’s possible that a staff member knew about the secret room and decided to use it to hide the phones, but the Garretts are right up there on my list.”

“It’s less likely it was a knitter since none of them are from here. They are at least innocent of stealing the phones,” I said. “Unless the two things aren’t connected at all. . . .”

We fell into an uncomfortable silence. I was happy to be sitting with him, discussing the case, but I was still annoyed that he’d been snooping on me behind my back.

Mac turned toward me. “Clyde, I’m sorry about the file. I didn’t think I was betraying any trust by looking at it.”

“How did you see it then?”

“I wanted to see if there was any truth to your impression that you had done something wrong”—he held up his hand when I started to interrupt—“and there wasn’t. You acted just as you should have.”

I shook my head. “You don’t understand.”

“Then tell me.” Mac took my hand, but more gently this time.

“I shot that boy because I sensed a gun. I felt that he was a threat, but didn’t have any proof. After all the years of telling my family I want nothing to do with psychic input, during an emergency situation, that’s exactly what I relied on and it was wrong. As usual.”

I stood and stepped to the fireplace, my back to Mac, and stared into the flames.

“What do you think any seasoned cop relies on in a situation like that?” he said. “They turn to experience and gut feelings and impressions that are informed by years of dealing with suspects and criminals. No matter what sense it was that told you he was dangerous, it was no worse than any other gut feeling that an officer has to tap into when he or she makes a split-second decision. You rely on your training and your senses—however many you have.”

I turned and must have looked surprised because he quickly rushed on.

“And, in this case, your sense wasn’t wrong. Jadyn was dangerous, and had planned to kill someone that night.”

“What?” I sank onto the couch facing Mac. The feeling had been so strong that night. I hadn’t admitted it to myself, but I had been devastated to find out how wrong it had been. I swallowed and blinked back tears of relief.

“He’s recently confessed that he was out on an initiation that night. He was supposed to pick someone, anyone, and shoot them to prove that he had what it takes to be in a gang. The thing is, you interrupted him. He had an older gang member with him to verify his kill. That kid took off in the other direction with the gun. There’s no mention of another suspect in any report—I assume no one saw him. Jadyn said he would have returned to finish the job if he hadn’t been injured.”

“Still . . .” I said. It didn’t erase the guilt I felt, but knowing my instincts had been right at least gave me a small sense of peace.

“He confessed because his injury saved his life. He turned himself around while he was in the hospital. He had a chance to think about the direction his life was headed and understood that you just as easily could have killed him. He came forward recently because his younger brother is caught up in the same trap and he wants help getting him out. So, you actually saved him that night, and by extension the brother as well.”

My head was reeling with this new information. It was already spinning from the whole cell phone cache discovery, but now I had to rethink all my assumptions over the past nine months since the shooting. I stood up again and stepped closer to the fireplace. Even near the fire, I felt cold and hugged Vi’s sweater tighter around me.

“I’m going to need a little time to think about this, Mac.”

He nodded. “I just wanted you to have all the information before you decided to leave police work permanently.”

I turned toward him. I might as well tell him. “I already decided to leave police work.”

“But—”

“No, listen. It’s not because of the shooting. It never really was. I don’t like police work—I’m not cut out for it.”

“I thought it was the shooting that sent you back to Crystal Haven.”

“It was, at first. I felt terribly guilty and I was angry that my psychic information had let me down—again.”

“But now, you want to . . . be psychic?”

“I don’t really have a choice about that. It just is. I can’t block it out, I can only learn to interpret or ignore or maybe even understand it. What I can do is choose whether to let it control my life.”

“So, what will you do?”

“I want to stay in Crystal Haven. I have a few ideas for a slightly different career—don’t worry, it won’t involve me reading tarot cards or telling fortunes.”

“And you’ll be happy here? Even with your family around?”

I nodded.

“Clyde, I was afraid that when your year is up in the house, you would sell it and move back to Ann Arbor.”

“No. Why would you think that?”

Mac shrugged and wouldn’t look at me.

“I’m sorry, Mac. You’re stuck with me.”