8

Cope

Butterflies danced in Cope's stomach when Hines knocked on the door. He needed to get his own anger under control before the reporter walked into the room. He didn't like surprises and especially didn't like being used for his gift without being asked ahead of time. "Go get him, Jude. Just promise me you'll pull me off him after I get in one good left hook."

"I refuse to make that promise." Jude dropped his husband a wink. "I'll bring him in." Jude got out of his seat and passed through the connecting door into the room he shared with Cope.

From his seat in Ronan's room, Cope could hear Jude open the door to their uninvited guest.

"Good morning, Mr. Byrne. Is Cope here?"

Cope could hear the nerves in Hines's voice. He was going to use that to his advantage in finding out Hines' endgame.

Jude ushered Hines into Ronan's room.

Hines was dressed in jeans and a red polo shirt that looked like it had seen better days. He hadn't shaved, and his eyes were bloodshot. There was quite a difference between the polished professional reporter Cope had met yesterday and the man sitting before him.

Cope noticed the reporter didn't have a camera or a cameraman with him as he'd done yesterday. He knew he could very well have a recording device on him. After tricking him into coming to this motel, Cope wouldn't put anything past the man.

"Surprise, it's Chet Hines." Jude sounded ready for a fight.

"Why do you all look like you're about to kick my ass?" Hines took a seat in an empty chair.

"The game is up, asshole. We know you were the one who sent me the email tricking us into coming up here. I'm also guessing you're the one who's paying for our rooms?" Jude crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, that was me," Hines said, not breaking eye contact with Jude.

"Explain it all. Now!" Cope wasn't usually the rude or the loud one, but his entire Labor Day weekend had been hijacked by this man who was running an agenda of his own. One that Cope was ill-prepared to handle. Tennyson was the one who'd been working cold cases for the last seven years or so. Cope had only done it once or twice.

Hines sighed. "My godfather is Dan Rather."

"Who?" Jude asked.

"He hosted the evening news on CBS, I think," Fitzgibbon said. "He was part of the big three in the eighties and nineties, Tom Brokaw, Peter Jennings, and Dan Rather."

Cope had heard those names, but to be honest, they didn't mean much to him. "Okay, so your godfather is a television reporter."

"Not just a reporter—one of the greatest newsmen this country has ever seen. My father worked for CBS. He wrote a lot of the copy that was read on air to the American people. He's won eight Peabody Awards. I have one, but he'd already earned five by the time he was my age. I've only worked for newspapers here in Maine and now for the ABC affiliate out of Bangor. Do you have any idea how down-market my station is?" Hines shook his head. "The Cyrus Longfellow case is the biggest news story of my career. It's probably the biggest news story to hit Old Orchard Beach since a prize-winning bull broke out of its pen back in 1976 during the Bicentennial celebration and was on the run for three weeks. This is a Podunk town in a Podunk state. I want something bigger for me, for my career, and solving this case is the key to that bigger thing. I've done my research, Cope. I know who you are and what you've done to help people over the years with your gift. I had a friend who met with you in Canada a few years back when you were involved with the family members of some of the passengers who were lost on Titanic . You're the best there is at what you do."

Cope sighed heavily, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Okay, let me get this straight. You have ambitions to get out of Maine and break into a bigger news market. So instead of working your ass off and sending your resume to every larger market television station in this country, you conned my husband into bringing our family here? You involved my six-year-old son and one-year-old daughter in a murder case for your own personal gain. Who the hell do you think you are?"

Hines dropped his head. "I'm not proud of my actions."

"Bullshit," Jude muttered. "You got exactly what you wanted, but I've got breaking news for you, asshole. You're not getting the answers you want."

Hines' attention moved to Cope. "Are you saying Cyrus didn't make contact with you last night?" He wore the look of a desperate man, as if he knew all of his machinations were for naught.

"Oh, he showed up all right. Gave my son night terrors. If I live to be a hundred, I'll never forget the sound of my little boy screaming." Jude could hear the sound in his head. There was no way he was going to subject his son to another night like that just so the asshat sitting in front of him could win some award that would make him seem worthy in his own eyes and to those in his family.

"I'm sorry that happened to your son, Cope. I had no idea Cyrus would act that way. I've never read or heard of any guests of the motel reporting that kind of behavior."

Cope didn't believe the reporter for one second. "That's because all those reports and sightings are bullshit stories cooked up by people who want their fifteen minutes of fame. Cyrus told me he's tried to communicate with every ghost hunter or enthusiast that stayed in room 13, and until last night, no one could communicate with him."

"Are you saying you had a conversation with the ghost of Cyrus Longfellow?" Hines' eyes widened, taking on an almost crazed look.

Cope nodded. "He told me all about his exploits in life and in death. He told me that he knows who killed him and will never tell anyone. He also is very happy staying where he is at the motel and has no intention of ever crossing over. Cyrus has a level of fame he never had in life and doesn't want to give that up."

"He knows who killed him, and he won't say a word?" Hines' mouth hung open in obvious shock. "Why wouldn't you want people to know? Why wouldn't you want to be avenged? What the hell is wrong with him?"

"Spirits have their own agendas, Mr. Hines." If Cope had a nickel for every time he'd said that over his career, he could buy an island in the Caribbean and live like a king. "Cyrus has his full mental faculties, just like he did when he still had a pulse. He has dreams and goals, again, just like he did when he was alive. I don't know about you, but there's no one on Earth that could convince me to do something I didn't want to do. It's the gift of being an adult. I go where I want, when I want, and not even my husband can control me. Let's face it, that's exactly what you want to do with Cyrus. You want to control him so that he'll give you the information you need in order to launch your career into the next level, and Cyrus wants no part of it. His spirit isn't a circus clown, there to amuse you. He's not a trained seal who will bark or do tricks on command. He's a restless spirit who, even after being brutally murdered, is still lost in a life of sex, debauchery, and hedonism. Cyrus doesn't owe you, me, the owner of the motel, or anyone else anything."

Hines slumped in his seat, wearing a dejected look on his face. To Cope, the man looked like he'd just lost his best friend.

"Did you kill Cyrus Longfellow?" Ronan asked with his game face on.

"What?" Hines shrieked. "Are you crazy? Why would I kill Cyrus?"

"Because he refused your advances," Jude said with a smile.

"How did you know that?" Hines looked absolutely lost.

"Cyrus told me last night," Cope said. "It crossed my mind that being rejected is a common trigger to violence."

Hines mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, with no sound coming out.

"If we find out it was you, I won't hesitate to call the police and have you brought in," Fitzgibbon said.

If Chet Hines got any paler, the reporter was going to pass out. He reached out for the man's hand. "You didn't ask for my advice, but I'm going to give it to you anyway. You're not Dan Rather. You're not your father. To be honest, you don't even look like you enjoy being a reporter. Find something that stirs your curiosity, your passion. If you don't, this job will swallow you whole. You'll never live up to the standards set for you, not because I don't think you can do it, but because I don't think you want to. I know for a fact that if you solve the Cyrus Longfellow case, it will be your swan song in journalism, right?" Cope hoped his words would penetrate Hines' thick skull and that the young man would know good advice when he heard it.

Hines nodded. "I've had enough of the crazy hours and pretending to be excited over interviewing a farmer who grew a rutabaga in the shape of Baby Yoda. I want something more. Something different."

"I hear you," Cope said. "But—" He paused, making sure that he had Chet's full attention. "—no more bullshit like you pulled with us. If you need help, ask for it."

"I assumed that once you got here and were able to speak to Cyrus's spirit, you'd jump into the case with both feet and would be able to find his killer."

"First of all, none of the detectives have jurisdiction here in Maine. They have their private investigator licenses, but they are only good in Massachusetts." Cope knew Jude had kept his licenses current in several other states but didn't think Maine was one of them. If by chance it was, he hoped his husband would use his common sense and keep that information to himself. At this point, all Cope wanted to do was try to have some fun on this trip before it was too late. "They would have to be invited into the investigation by the Old Orchard Beach Police, and even then, the Salem chief of police would have to approve their working per diem for another department. I've been around detectives long enough to know how possessive they are of their unsolved cases. I don't think the detectives currently assigned to this case would welcome Massachusetts detectives into this investigation, which, by all appearances, hasn't had a new lead in over a decade."

"What can I do?" Hines asked, stopping just short of sounding like a petulant child.

"I have two nieces who are absolutely obsessed with Frozen . Be like Elsa and let it go. Cyrus Longfellow is happy. No one is demanding justice for his murder. If he doesn't want his killer caught or to reveal his or her name, there's nothing I can do to force him to give that information up."

With a nod, Hines stood up from his chair. "I apologize for getting you all up here under false pretenses. You're the dream team of cold case detectives and psychics, and I figured that if anyone could solve this case, it would be you. The station has paid for your rooms. You know how to reach me if there's any actual breaking news." With a short wave, he left the room, closing the door softly behind him.

"Show of hands, how many of us think he's going to drop this case." Cope's hand stayed down; so did all the others.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he does this sort of thing again, trying to get other members of the psychic community involved in this case," Fitzgibbon said.

"Totally agree," Ronan said. "Is he the killer, Cope? Could you tell?"

Cope shook his head. "I couldn't tell one way or the other. He seemed pretty shocked that we suspected him."

"They all do." Fitzgibbon grinned. "Let's go grab some lunch and then hit the beach. We'll go to that cute lobster shack near the amusement park. I promised Aurora we could ride the giant Ferris wheel."

Cope watched as Ronan and Fitzgibbon made plans for the rest of the day. He couldn't be happier that the friends and business partners were back on speaking terms.

Heading back to his own room, he reached out to Cyrus Longfellow but got no response and didn't feel his spirit. That didn't mean he wasn't here. Cope was curious to know if the ghost had heard their conversation and what he thought of Chet Hines.

One thing was for certain: Cope knew he hadn't heard the last from Cyrus Longfellow or Chet Hines.