Echo Moon Read online

  PRAISE FOR LAURA SPINELLA

  PRAISE FOR GHOST GIFTS

  “An engaging writing voice, realistic characters, and a compelling mystery make this a must-read! Aubrey and Levi are compelling and likable, both individually and as a team, and the way their stories intersect increases the appeal. Just the right blend of emotion and humor combine with captivating suspense for a paranormal mystery that is sure to delight fans. The flashbacks heighten the tension and deepen the poignancy, and the romantic angle has a great slow-burn passion.”

  —RT Book Reviews (4.5 stars)

  “A wild adventure of a mystery, brimming with layers, secrets, and more than one person who should feel guilty . . . Paranormal mystery/romance fans will find a gem of a story in Laura Spinella’s Ghost Gifts.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “Ghost Gifts transcends labels like ‘murder mystery’ or ‘love story’ or ‘ghost tale,’ giving readers a masterful plot that weaves effortlessly between past and present, sharply pivoting whenever you think you’ve put your finger on it. The characters and setting come to life so vividly that you’ll forget you’re reading a book. Laura Spinella’s Ghost Gifts is an absolute treasure.”

  —David Ellis, #1 New York Times bestselling author

  PRAISE FOR FORETOLD

  AMAZON EDITORS’ PICK, A BEST BOOK OF THE MONTH

  “Laura Spinella has created a captivating heroine in Aubrey Ellis. Be prepared to believe in her psychic gift. Foretold bridges suspense and romance, making an intricate journey between the past and present. Unexpected twists from the dead kept me reading late into the night. I loved it.”

  —Kendra Elliot, Wall Street Journal bestselling author

  “In the highly anticipated sequel to her bestselling Ghost Gifts, Laura Spinella entrances the reader with another suspenseful tale full of mystery and secrets. Foretold artfully weaves the past and present, bound together by otherworldly ‘gifts’ that, in various forms, often come at a grave price. A fast-paced read with a jaw-dropping twist that I never saw coming.”

  —Kristina McMorris, New York Times bestselling author, The Edge of Lost

  PRAISE FOR ECHO MOON

  “Enthralling and imaginative, where the past intertwines with the present, Spinella masterfully delivers in the third and final installment of her Ghost Gift trilogy. Echo Moon is filled with suspense, mystery, and romance, and kept me turning the pages and on my toes until the very end, an ending I didn’t see coming. I love unexpected twists! Fans, new and old, as Echo Moon can easily stand on its own, will devour Peter St John’s story. I sure did.”

  —Kerry Lonsdale, Amazon Charts and Wall Street Journal bestselling author

  “A powerful love story in its own right, Echo Moon offers a stunning and deeply satisfying conclusion to the Ghost Gifts trilogy. Every thread in the series effortlessly weaves together; every question you didn’t realize needed asking, is answered. As Pete St John, now an acclaimed war photojournalist, runs from both his lives—in 1917 and the present—Laura Spinella, who creates gloriously complex, tortured heroes, also proves herself to be a master of historical fiction. My advice? Cancel your weekend plans and read Ghost Gifts, Foretold, and Echo Moon back-to-back.”

  —Barbara Claypole White, bestselling author of The Perfect Son and The Promise Between Us

  “I highly recommend Echo Moon for readers of historical, contemporary and paranormal romance. Spinella is a masterful writer who weaves all these elements together into a story full of plot twists and memorable characters.”

  —Debbie Herbert, author of Charmed and Dangerous

  PRAISE FOR UNSTRUNG

  “In Spinella’s wrenching tale of love and loss, one woman must come to terms with her past and the decisions that have shaped her life. Spinella has filled her incredibly emotional novel with multifaceted characters, and nothing is as simple as it seems in this true page-turner.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “Every character is a work in progress, which makes this tale extremely realistic.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “In Unstrung, Laura Spinella orchestrates a brilliant, multi-layered story about family expectations, forgiveness, and whether we can truly love ourselves and others just as we are . . . an honest and raw exploration of one woman’s journey as she learns to embrace her talents and the goodness life has to offer.”

  —Kerry Lonsdale, author of the #1 Kindle bestselling novel Everything We Keep

  ALSO BY LAURA SPINELLA

  Ghost Gifts Novels

  Ghost Gifts

  Foretold

  Other Titles

  Unstrung

  Perfect Timing

  Beautiful Disaster

  Writing as L.J. Wilson

  Clairmont Series Novels

  Ruby Ink

  The Mission

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2018 by Laura Spinella

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503901131

  ISBN-10: 1503901130

  Cover design by Jason Blackburn

  Cover photography by Chrissy Wiley

  CONTENTS

  START READING

  If Paris is...

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  DEDICATION

  ACT I, SCENE I

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  ACT I, SCENE II

  ACT I, SCENE III

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  ACT II, SCENE I

  ACT II, SCENE II

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ACT III, SCENE I

  ACT III, SCENE II

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ACT IV, SCENE I

  ACT IV, SCENE II

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ACT V, SCENE I

  ACT V, SCENE II

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ACT VI

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  FINAL ACT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  EPILOGUE

  I think most . . .

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  If Paris is France,

  then Coney Island,

  between June and September,

  is the World.

  —George C. Tilyou

  Author’s note: The Elephantine Colossus burned down in 1896. I’ve chosen to re-create and let stand this Coney Island attraction for the purposes of this story.

  To Karin Gillespie, critique partner extraordinaire. I am grateful
for your fortitude, friendship, and faith, sticking it out novel after novel. Thank you for sharing your literary sixth sense, for cheering me on, for always telling me what works, and more importantly, for telling me what doesn’t. For forever making me laugh and lending me your invaluable easygoing nature.

  ACT I, SCENE I BROOKLYN, NEW YORK 1917

  “Silence! The spirit world demands silence!” Oscar Bodette pressed his hand to the air as if placing a finger to the lips of each audience member. They obeyed. “If the Amazing Miss Moon is to connect with a world beyond this one, she will require your cooperation.” Mystified hums surged. “Please! I beg of you, in hopes that Miss Moon can reach to the stars and what’s beyond!”

  Oscar arched his arm like a rainbow, another gesture Esmerelda knew from behind her closed eyes. She sat perched on a throne as bejeweled as the gown she wore, which flowed like the heavens around her. From a catatonic state, she pulled erect. On her head, she balanced a Louis XV crown fashioned of paste gems and trailing beads. Esmerelda opened her eyes and stared like a china doll into the hushed audience. Her strawberry-blonde hair fell in a wavy cascade, enhancing her bewitching pose. It was a good-size crowd, at least twenty deep. Oscar pivoted fast, his arm a divining rod aimed at the chosen man. “You, sir!”

  “Me?” A well-dressed patron stepped forward.

  “No. Not you.” The divining rod became a fan, Oscar waving him off. “Miss Moon sees that gentleman! The departed loved one connected to his soul.” He wagged his finger passionately. “Behind you.”

  “You mean me?” a different man said.

  “Yes!” Esmerelda announced. She placed her hands, as if casting a spell, over a glass globe. “The spirit of your beloved wife greets you from beyond the grave. She beckons to me now.” Speaking in a monotone voice, Esmerelda lurched about as if this spirit might be making a bodily invasion. “Anna.” She was loud and exact, her small brow scrunching.

  “Good heavens. That’s right!” the man cried.

  “Of course it is, sir,” Oscar said. “Miss Moon is never wrong. Come forward.” The man, who walked with a pronounced limp, made his way onto the stage, helped by two men who appeared from the wings. “Miss Moon, what is your message for . . . ?”

  “Thomas,” Esmerelda said.

  “Good heavens! That’s right too.” Thomas dotted himself with the sign of the cross.

  “Naturally, sir. The Amazing Miss Moon is communicating with your dead wife, who would surely know your name.” Oscar looked to Esmerelda. “And what is Anna’s message for young Thomas?”

  “Anna says . . . she says . . .” Her tone strained to a climax and she stared into the ball. “She says she misses you a great deal, and she hopes the children are fine.”

  “Fine as they can be without their beloved mama.” Thomas removed his cap from his head and covered his heart with it. “Does Anna say anything else?”

  “Why, yes. She does.” Esmerelda sat taller and turned her crowned head smoothly, her gaze tracking Thomas. “Anna says you will forever miss her, but that you’ll live a long life. That you should take the children and move to your mother’s in Minnesota.”

  “I’ve been thinking I should do that! Did Anna really say I should?”

  “It’s a certainty,” Oscar said. “How else would the Amazing Miss Moon know your family hails from Minnesota?” Noises of agreement rose from the crowd. “Miss Moon, does she bring forward other insights from beyond heaven’s gate?”

  “Only that Thomas shouldn’t be too hard on young Edgar. The lad merely misses his departed mother. A switch for not bringing in firewood is too much.”

  The man looked sheepishly at the floor.

  “Anna, she . . . wait!” Esmerelda cupped her hand to her ear. “She grows fainter. Thomas’s dear wife tells me that he’s endured enough hardship. Good fortune is also in his future.” Esmerelda announced the last part with renewed fervor. “Anna promises it.” The filled hall whooped into a frenzied roar, clapping and cheering. Esmerelda slumped back in the chair. “That is all. She is gone.”

  Oscar removed his straw boater hat and held it out. Thomas dropped in a silver coin. “Why, thank you, friend,” Oscar said, his expression tinted with surprise. “The price of admission was enough, but tokens of gratitude are most appreciated.”

  The same men who had appeared from the wings assisted the limping Thomas down from the stage. “Who is next?” Oscar boomed. He pointed. “Madam. Miss Moon and her otherworldly gifts, they seek you out!”

  The woman drew a handkerchief to her mouth; the man beside her steadied an arm. Oscar touched fingertips to his forehead as if willing forward information. “I believe Miss Moon sees . . . she sees . . .”

  Esmerelda had fallen into another trance. She opened her eyes to see Oscar twist toward her, his own eyes shut tight. “I see a child. A daughter,” she said.

  Oscar shook his head in a terse stroke, mouthing “sister.”

  “No, wait . . .” Esmerelda fluttered her fingers as if they danced with the spirit world. She basked in a dramatic pause. “It’s a sister. Sally’s younger sister.”

  “That’s right,” Oscar said in a low voice.

  “You know my name—and my Tilly! You see my sweet Tilly?” As the woman from the audience confirmed the spirit, earthly utterances of astonishment rose.

  “Yes,” Esmerelda said. “I’m also seeing . . .” She rolled her eyes high, lids fluttering like snapped roller shades. “Parents.”

  “But just our mother.”

  “That’s right,” Esmerelda quickly agreed.

  “She went to heaven on the Spanish flu last winter.”

  “As did your sister, Tilly.” The odds were overwhelming, and Esmerelda went with them. It had been her own mother’s fate. Sally sobbed into her husband’s tweed jacket. Her other hand remained gripped over her abdomen. “Your mother, she always called your sister by her Christian name, Matilda.”

  “Well, Mother was Jewish.”

  Esmerelda traded a panicked glance with Oscar.

  “Although, Tilly was named after my aunt on my father’s side,” Sally said. “They’re from Kansas—and Lutherans.”

  “Correct!” Esmerelda exclaimed. “And so it’s your sister’s Christian name I’m hearing.”

  “What else?” The woman’s desperate tone tugged on Esmerelda’s heart.

  “She, um . . . she says she loves you a great deal and . . .” Esmerelda homed in on the woman’s hand, still clutching her stomach. She drilled two fingers to her temple and cocked her head. “Tilly says she’d be so pleased if you named the forthcoming child for her.”

  “How do you know . . . ?”

  Esmerelda smiled and Oscar threw her a searing glare. The woman’s hand moved from her stomach and pressed against her wet cheek.

  “I haven’t even told Wallace yet. I wanted to wait longer, until . . .”

  “You’re not serious?” Wallace’s accidental timing was impeccable. Stunned murmurs traveled the hall. Oscar cleared his throat, instructing the couple to come forward. They made their way onto the stage, and the man looked at Esmerelda with godly awe. “We thought sure Sally couldn’t do it. She’s lost so many babies. So this one will make it? You’re telling us that?” They were stage left now, their anxious faces so close and real.

  “I . . . saying for certain, it’s, well . . .”

  “But the sign out front. It says that’s what you do—speak to those who have passed and tell the future.” Wallace pointed to the spot where Thomas had stood. “You and your crystal ball knew to tell that other fellow to go to Minnesota.”

  “She did indeed.” Oscar approached the couple, his large hand resting firmly on the man’s shoulder. “Naturally, the child will come to term. A sure blessing.” He turned to Esmerelda, who exhaled and eased back on her throne. “Have the sister . . . and mother figures retreated, Miss Moon?”

  “They have,” she insisted.

  Oscar took a step back, bowing low with his hat extended. Wallace
dug deep into his pocket and placed a few coins in the hat. His stunned expression clung to Esmerelda, who hadn’t recovered enough to slip into another trance. “Thank you. Thank you so much, Miss Moon. You’ve no idea what it means to Sally and me. After all this time—a child.”

  “Yes . . . yes . . .” Oscar shooed the couple offstage. The same two men appeared, escorting them back to the audience. “That, my friends, was merely a sampling—sweet and tempting as your mother’s peach pie. It’s a small offering of the Amazing Miss Moon’s psychic gifts when combined with her powerful gazing ball, discovered in Machu Picchu, left by the ancient Incas.” Oscar cupped a hand to his ear. “I believe she may sense another soul connecting. Is it for you, sir?” He pointed with authority at a man. “Or you, madam?”

  “She’s the devil and they need to know it!” A woman’s voice cut through Albee’s dim hall. “If the girl possesses that power, it’s Satan whispering in her ear!”

  “Where are the doormen? Where is your ticket, madam? This is a paid performance.”

  “Never mind my ticket. My Ernie come by here the other night. Then he came home talkin’ gibberish. Said he wanted to speak to his daddy, that he was comin’ back till she”—the woman stabbed a finger in Esmerelda’s direction—“digs up my dead Henry.” Esmerelda wriggled her nose at the thought. The woman was halfway up the aisle, commanding the crowd like a preacher. “Nothin’ changes death—’specially no she-devil! Don’t matter how much gold you wrap her up in or rouge you paint on her face.”

  Esmerelda clutched at her low-cut bodice with one hand and touched her painted cheek with her other.

  “There’s no gettin’ back to someone you loved and lost. Not through no phantasm.” The interloper thrust a worn Bible into the air. “Deuteronomy, 18:11: Anyone who practices divination or tells fortunes or interprets omens, or a sorcerer or a charmer or a medium . . . whoever inquires of the dead is an abomination to the Lord! It’s scripture!” Clamor rose, patrons sounding more concerned about evil and less awed by foretold futures.

  “It’s a free country, ma’am.” Oscar stayed steady. “No one forced these good people to gather.”

  “So said the serpent. ’Tis the way of temptation, sir.” Her voice boomed, rivaling Oscar’s. “Recognize what you’re doing!” She spun in a circle, pointing. “If that girl sees your dead loved ones, listening puts your soul in the devil’s hand. Says it right here!” She thrust her Bible upward. Esmerelda’s gaze followed, wary of a hail of brimstone.