Read Trace (TraceWorld Book 1) Online

Authors: Letitia L. Moffitt

Tags: #female detective, #paranormal suspense, #noir fiction, #psychic detective

Trace (TraceWorld Book 1) (19 page)

BOOK: Trace (TraceWorld Book 1)
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Nola’s first instinct had been to move on, give the woman a moment to herself. But she hesitated. Some other instinct told her that if she moved on, she would be acting on her own self-interest, not wanting to get involved rather than truly wanting to give the woman some privacy. She stood there for nearly a full minute. Then she took a step toward the car.

At that moment, Mrs. Lafferty’s shoulders heaved as if she were sighing heavily, and she opened the car door and got out. “Oh. Hello, Nola.” There was surprise in her voice, but the surprise was muted by obvious exhaustion. She looked like she had just been through a night far harder than Nola’s. Nola then recalled the ambulance she’d heard last night. The chances were it wasn’t related, of course, but at the same time, right then Nola knew what must have happened. It was clear from the older woman’s face, her posture, everything about her. Mrs. Lafferty was returning to an empty apartment.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. L.”

Her guess was right. Her neighbor nodded. “I just couldn’t bring myself to go back up there just yet,” she said in a voice that sounded almost apologetic.

“I understand,” Nola said.
Boy, do I understand.

Suddenly Mrs. Lafferty darted toward Nola. She thought for a moment the woman was going to burst out crying and throw herself into Nola’s arms, but that didn’t happen. Instead, Mrs. Lafferty stopped right in front of her, her eyes wide, her voice full of fervor. “I’ve heard the neighbors talking. They say . . . well, you can feel someone’s life after they’re dead. If someone dies in a particular place, you can still be with them there. Something like that. Is it true, Nola? Can you do that?”

A sinkhole seemed to be opening up before her feet. She knew what was coming next: she would be begged to go up to the apartment across the hallway to do Mrs. Lafferty the dubious favor of assuring her that some part of Mr. Lafferty lived on. She would go into the room where he lived and died and it would be the same as always—a tremor, a breeze, a ripple in time and space, nothing upsetting, certainly, but not particularly reassuring either. And she would have to face the bereaved and somehow imagine she was helping her.

She turned to look at her neighbor, and then something changed. She saw that pure, naked longing in those eyes, the need in them, the same need she’d seen in Grayson’s eyes, the same need she’d felt herself so many times.

“Mrs. Lafferty, how about we go get some breakfast. My treat.”

Her neighbor looked surprised again, and then pleased. Nola wondered when the last time was that Angela Lafferty had been treated to something, when the last time was that she had gone out for a meal. “Breakfast,” Mrs. Lafferty said as if it were something she’d heard of but never dared attempt. “Yes. That would be nice.”

Nola let out a noiseless sigh of relief. “Pancake House OK?”

A hint of a smile appeared on Mrs. Lafferty’s lined, tired face. “Oh my goodness, I haven’t been there in years. It used to be our son’s favorite place to eat, the only place he ever wanted to eat, even when he was a teenager.”

Nola didn’t even realize the Lafftertys had a son.

“He lives in California,” Mrs. Lafferty said, clearly catching Nola’s confusion. “He and his father . . . well, they haven’t spoken to each other for years. Eric hasn’t come to visit in a long time. He won’t get here until tomorrow.”

Her face fell, and Nola held her breath again. It was impossible to distract the bereaved for long. Now and every day from now on, there would be an absence in this woman’s life, and all Nola had to offer as consolation at the moment was pancakes. The only other thing she could offer, that strange, tenuous connection between the living and the dead, was not really hers for the offering, ever.

Then Mrs. Lafferty looked up and peered at Nola, studying her face—not as though she were looking at some freakish anomaly but rather with a simple, friendly curiosity. “You know, I think my son is close to your age. You really ought to meet him when he gets here. I think you two might really like each other.” There was the tiniest gleam in Mrs. Lafferty’s eyes.

Yeah, because a guy estranged from his alcoholic father who only comes to visit for the funeral is no way going to have massive issues to deal with and would certainly not be the last thing in the world I need right now.
But Nola smiled with genuine warmth at Mrs. Lafferty, happy to have made the woman forget, at least for a moment, the sadness of her life.

“Let’s go get those pancakes, Mrs. L.”

 

 

 

 

 

About the Author

 

Letitia L. Moffitt was born and raised in Hawaii. Her first novel,
Sidewalk Dancing
, was published by Atticus Books in 2013 and was a finalist for Foreword Reviews Book of the Year. She was a writer-in-residence with Necessary Fiction, which published her serial novella,
Redwood
, in 2013 as well.

She currently lives in Champaign-Urbana
.

 

BOOK: Trace (TraceWorld Book 1)
12.2Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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