A Question of Ghosts by Cate Culpepper Read Free Book Online Page A

experiments, or whatever you’re planning here. I’d like to see her have a few days of rest before you—ˮ
    “Time might be of the essence, actually.” Jo looked around, not seeing whatever radio Rachel had flapped her hand at. “Becca’s mother may never speak again, or not for another twenty years. But if voices do manifest more than once, it’s likely the messages will be sent in close succession. Oh, my. Seriously?”
    She felt a broad smile cross her face. Sitting on an end table was a small radio the size and shape of a tennis ball on steroids. It was one of the globe radios popular with adolescents in the seventies, a bombastic shade of yellow. Terrible frequency range in these models, but surprisingly good amplitude modulation. Jo picked it up.
    “I’d appreciate some indication that you’re hearing me.” Rachel was standing by her elbow. “You’re right about Becca having many defenders, and woe betide the scientist who crosses us.” A slight smile took the sting from her words.
    Jo studied Rachel’s face and read the genuine concern in her worn features. “You can relax, Dr. Perry. It’s true that this voice might speak again soon, but this process can’t be rushed. We might have to listen for days, even weeks, before we hear the faintest whisper. If we catch anything at all.” She turned the little ball radio on, and was relieved to hear the strong crackle of good batteries.
    “All right, you guys can stop talking about me behind my back now.” Becca shouldered open the door from the kitchen and brought in a plate of lavishly frosted brownies. “Were you telling Rach about me throwing up in your lap after I saw that mannequin, Jo? That was my favorite part of the day.”
    “I was telling Dr. Perry that we may have to be patient moving forward, Becca.” Jo fiddled with the ridged circular dial of the radio. “These voices can be subtle and quite elusive, and it might be a long time before we hear—ˮ
    An ear-splitting crack of static erupted from the globe in her hand, and Jo almost dropped it. An equally piercing shriek followed.
    “ BECCA, RUN! ”
    Becca dropped the plate and it shattered, brownies scattering across the floor. Her face drained of color and her eyes were enormous. She bolted, racing for the entry and through it, and slammed out the front door.
    The radio went silent in Jo’s shaking hands, not even whispering the dead air space that lay between stations.
    “What are you waiting for?” Rachel said sharply, her hand pressed to her heart. “I can hardly run after her. Go!”
    Jo went.
    And so it was that Joanne Call chased madly after a fleeing Becca Healy for the second time in one week, she thought grimly as she ran down the steep driveway. She skittered to a halt, spying the briefest flash of Becca’s blue blouse in the distance. Across the street. Becca had run directly into Lake View Cemetery.
    Jo followed her through the ornate wrought iron gates, hoping for sparse attendance among the day’s visitors. There were several people wending their way over the sunny paths or lingering by gravestones, so she relied on speed over yelling Becca’s name. She ran hard past the stately memorial to AIDs victims and beyond the red rock scattering of stones honoring Civil War dead. She slid around a corner and stopped abruptly on the graveled path. Becca was leaning against the Lady of the Rock.
    Jo walked to her slowly, fearing she’d find the same eerie trance that took Becca when she was triggered by the mannequin. She was bent at the waist, one hand on the base of the statue, one braced on her knee, her drifting blond hair obscuring her face. She was panting, pulling hard for air.
    “Hello?” Jo tapped her thighs. She had no earthly idea what to do at this point, except try to catch Becca if she fainted again. Her brain was exploding with the ramifications of that extraordinary transmission back at the house, the shriek that still rang in her ears, and she had to work