Ghost Walking (A Maggie York Paranormal Mystery Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

mother. Can you prove it?”
    “Of course, I can. I have pictures from family gatherings. I even have a baby picture of you before Sarah took you away.” She picked up her bag and dug in the bottom. “I was sure you’d ask. This is you, your mother, and father a week after you were born.” She handed Maggie a Kodak print. “It was the last time I saw her…or you.”
    The picture was grainy and cracked from bending, but the handsome couple was her parents all right. Thirty years younger and more carefree than she’d ever seen them. Yet, soon after it was taken, they’d put New Orleans behind them forever. “They look happy. What made them leave so abruptly?”
    “Ophelia. That foolish old woman. Never could keep her mouth shut until the day she died. She told your mama you were unusually gifted with a strong affinity for spirits. Spooked Sarah something fierce, and three weeks later your family was gone.”
    There was that word gift again. “Did my father know about all of this?”
    “Oh, yes. He was more accepting than Sarah—I suppose because he didn’t have to live with it—but he loved her, and they set out to start a new life. I tried to contact Sarah over the years, but she didn’t return my calls or letters. Then we heard about the plane crash. I’m so sorry, Maggie. I loved her too, and I can only imagine how awful the last five years have been.”
    Maggie gave a brief nod, handed the photo back, and clenched her hands in her lap. She wasn’t going to talk about the shock of the plane crash. Losing both parents at once wasn’t just awful, it was devastating. “What made Ophelia tell her I was gifted? I would have been less than a month old.” She couldn’t resist adding, “Surely even witches don’t do magic that young.”
    “Your aura. It’s very bright.”
    Maggie gave an audible huff of disbelief. “Now wait. I said I’d listen, but not to pure fantasy. I don’t have an aura.”
    Dalia popped to her feet and picked up her bag. “Come with me.”
    “Where? I thought we agreed to talk here,” Maggie said, not budging.
    “To my place. I have things to show you.”
    Maggie slowly stood, debating with herself. Dalia might be a little odd, but she didn’t seem dangerous. And she had the photo…
     
     
     
    Two hours later, Maggie leaned back on Dalia’s hemp-colored couch and clutched one of the green and ivory throw pillows against her chest. When she realized the defensive reaction, she set the pillow aside. “I am not a witch.”
    Dalia shrugged. “Maybe not, but you saw my aura in the darkroom. You’ve heard the history of our family. Seen the photos. And I think there’s something you’ve yet to tell me.”
    Maggie had seen a faint glow around the woman after Dalia taught her to focus…or it was a trick of her mind induced by suggestion. The photos were real enough. The story about French witches? Anybody could make up a good tale. But why would Dalia do it? Was this some kind of scam? Would a request for money come next?
    “Just supposing I believed any of this, what does it mean to me?”
    “That you need to control and use the gift you’ve been given or it will mess up your life. Isn’t that what you fear the most?” The woman’s clear hazel eyes studied her.
    Maggie stood and paced across the room. “I don’t know what you think you know—”
    “Tell me why you’re not a cop anymore.”
    Maggie whirled to look at the older woman calmly sitting in a rattan rocker. “I am a cop. It’s just…I’m taking some time off.”
    When Dalia lifted her brows, Maggie went on. “Ok. I may have seen or heard a few things that concerned my captain.”
    Dalia let out an audible sigh and leaned forward. “Tell me what happened. Maybe I can help you make sense of it.”
    “They say it’s PTSD.”
    “But we both know better.”
    Maggie bristled, then her shoulders slumped. She felt a compulsion to confide in this woman. The empathy, the lack of judgment, were seductive.