|
Excerpt for Crime Seen
Chapter One
As I look at it, there are two kinds of people in this world: Cat people, and dog people. And, as a general rule, you’d be better off mixing oil and water.
Or so I thought as I lay on the couch in my boyfriend’s house, recovering from a bullet wound to the chest I’d received three months earlier. My sweetheart, Dutch, owns a big, fat, annoying, allergy producing Tomcat named Virgil. I own a cute, cuddly, adorable, hypoallergenic Dachshund named Eggy. I guess you can see which side of the Dog vs. Cat smackdown I fall on. Yes…I’m biased – so sue me.
On this particular day, however, as Eggy and I were snuggling on the couch easing into a really good nap, my nose wrinkled. Something smelled off…really off. "Ugh," I said as I took a whiff. "What is that?"
"Abby?" I heard Dutch call from his study. "Did you say something?"
I sat up on the couch as Eggy gave me an annoyed grunt. "There is really something foul around here," I said as I sniffed again.
"What?" he asked, coming into the living room. "Did you need something?"
"What’s that smell?" I asked him as I looked around and caught Virgil trotting over from behind an end table to twirl figure eights around Dutch’s leg. It was then that I spotted something brown and smelly on my purse, lying near where I’d seen Virgil come from. "Oh no, you didn’t!" I said angrily.
"What’s the matter?" Dutch asked me.
I pointed with a growl and snapped, "Your cat just pooped on my purse!"
Dutch turned to look where I was pointing, and I swear I caught a smirk on his face before he turned back to me and said in a calm, soothing voice, "I’m sure he didn’t do it intentionally."
"Of course he didn’t do it intentionally!" I spat as I got up off the couch and headed into the kitchen for some paper towels. "Just like he didn’t intend to pee on my side of the bed the other night, or hurl his hairballs on top of my clean laundry, or use my backpack for a scratch post. I’m sure it’s all just a big, fat, fury coincidence!"
"Edgar," Dutch said, using his favorite nickname for me, after famed psychic Edgar Cayce. "Come on, he’s just a cat. He doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body."
"Tell that to the dead chipmunk he showed up here with yesterday," I groused as I came back into the living room and scrunched up my face as I wiped up the poo. "I’m sure those two had loads of laughs before Virgil ate him."
"Try and look at it from Virgil’s perspective, Abs. He was king of the roost until you and Eggy moved in, he’s had to make a pretty big adjustment."
I glared at my boyfriend with the wadded up paper towel in my hand, letting him know what I thought about Virgil and his "adjustment." "Eggy’s had to make some concessions too, you know, and you don’t see him walking around, pooping on everything."
Dutch sighed and picked Virgil up protectively. "Can we not fight about this?" he asked me.
I rolled my eyes and stomped into the kitchen. Normally, I like cats. I mean, I like them as long as they’re not defecating on my things and in general keep to themselves. But ever since I’d come here to recover, Virgil had been the bane of my existence, and Dutch refused to believe his feline was out to get me.
I strolled back into the living room about to continue the argument when the phone rang. Dutch gave me a "saved by the bell," smile and picked it up. Looking at the caller id he said, "It’s Candice. That’s the third call this week. Think you’d better talk to her this time?"
I sat down heavily on the couch. I wasn’t ready for this.
I make my living as a professional psychic, and three months ago I’d had a booming practice. All that changed one early winter morning when I’d been shot at close range and I’d very nearly died. Okay, scratch that, I technically had died, but only for a minute or two.
So for the past three months I’d been laid up here, in my boyfriend’s home, tucked away in a lovely little city called Royal Oak, Michigan. For the first month I’d done little more than sleep. My doctor advised me that when you’re recovering from a major trauma like mine, your body slows down considerably, and mine was no exception.
But the past two months I’d steadily gotten stronger, and I’d been able to do more physically, but mentally, I just couldn’t seem to get a grip. The prospect of going back to work actually terrified me, and even though my bank statements continued to show a decline in my liquid assets, I just couldn’t motivate myself to get up off the couch and go back to work. I’d reasoned that I’d probably already lost most of my clients anyway. As a psychic - you stop working - you stop eating.
Dutch, who’s also an FBI agent, recognized what I was going through, and labeled it post traumatic stress syndrome, which sounded to me like a tidy way of calling me a loo-loo.
Now, here I sat, having not done a single reading in three months, and one of my best clients was on the phone. Again.
I looked up at Dutch and gave him a winning smile, "Can you tell her I’m out and take a message?"
Dutch smirked and answered the phone. "Hi, Candice, you looking for Abby?" I breathed a sigh of relief and sat back on the couch, thinking I had a great boyfriend after all. "Sure, sure," he said, nodding his head. "She’s right here, hang on," and with that he extended the phone to me.
I mouthed, "I’ll get you for this," and took the receiver. "Hi, Candice!" I said, going for breezy. "Long time no talk-to."
"Abby!" she sang. "Man, girlfriend! It is so great to finally hear your voice. How’re you feeling?"
Dutch was still hovering nearby, and I cut him a look of death but continued to keep my voice light. "Oh, you know, taking it slow and easy. I still get tired quickly, but what can you do?"
Candice made a concerned sound into the phone and said, "You poor thing. I expect you haven’t gone back to work yet, have you?"
"No," I said as I fiddled with the tassel on one of the couch cushions. "I’m easing into the idea. I don’t want to push it."
"That’s got to be a real drain on your finances," she said. "It must be hard to maintain your mortgage and the rent on your office."
I wasn’t sure where Candice was going with this. She and I had never really had the normal psychic/client relationship. Candice was a private detective at a decent sized firm in Kalamazoo – about ninety miles west of Royal Oak. On occasion she would call me and drive over to get my feelings on a case she was working on. We’d made a great team on the few cases we’d worked, and I’d come to consider her a friend as well as a client. "Yeah, but I’ve got some pennies saved, so I should be okay for a while."
I couldn’t see Candice’s reaction, but I could have sworn she was disappointed when she said, "I see."
There was a bit of a pause then before I asked her straight out, "Want to tell me what’s up?"
Candice giggled, "I never could be subtle with you. Here’s the deal, Abs. I’ve decided to hang my own shingle."
"Really?" I asked with a smirk. "Gee, now where have I heard that idea before?"
Candice’s giggle turned into a laugh. "Yes, I know, you were right – again!" I had given her a reading about six months previously, and in that reading I’d told her that she was going to entertain the idea of starting her own P.I. firm, and that it was worth considering. "But here’s the catch…." she added.
"Yes?" I asked when she paused.
"I need to find cheap office space to work out of."
"Have you tried the classifieds? I’m sure there’s plenty available in Kalamazoo."
"No, not in Kalamazoo," she said. "I’m moving in with my grandmother, so I’ll need to find a space close to her."
"You’re moving here?" I asked. I’d met Candice’s grandmother a few months before. She also lived in Royal Oak.
"Yes. Just like you, I need to watch my pennies, and when Nana offered a room in that big house of hers, I couldn’t pass it up."
That’s when the light bulb went on in my head. "And you were thinking I could sublet you some office space."
"I know, I know," she said quickly. "I shouldn’t have asked, it’s just that I know you have that extra room in your suite, and I heard you’d all but quit the business, so I thought I could help you out until you got back on your feet as well as give myself a little head start."
"It’s a terrific idea," I said as my right side felt light and airy, which is my sign for yeppers.
"Really?" she said. "Oh, Abby, that’s awesome!"
"Absolutely," I grinned. It had been a long time since I’d shared my office with anyone. The extra room in my suite had once been rented by my best friend and gifted psychic medium, Theresa, who had moved to California almost exactly a year ago. I’d entertained the idea of a suitemate since then, but no one ever seemed quite right. Until now. "When would you like to move in?"
"I’m moving in to Nana’s tomorrow, so I’d really like to get a jump on getting things squared away with you too, if that’s okay?"
"It’s fine," I said. "Come on over when you get into town and I’ll give you the spare key. We can talk rent then, if you’d like."
"Perfect. Thanks again, Abby. And I’m so glad you’re feeling better."
I clicked off with Candice and trotted into the study in search of Dutch, who had stopped his eavesdropping around the time I’d agreed to sublet some space to Candice. "That was a dirty trick you pulled," I said as I handed him back the phone.
"Needed to be done," he said gravely. "Now, have a seat, I want to talk to you."
"Sounds serious," I said as I plopped down in one of the leather chairs across from his desk.
He looked at me for a long moment, and, like always, I felt my breath catch at the beauty of the man. Dutch Rivers is tall, blonde and incredibly handsome. But the most riveting thing about him, are his eyes. They’re midnight blue in color, and whenever they stare me straight in the eye like they were doing now, I knew I was in for a lecture. "I’m worried about you," he began.
"Here we go," I said. Dutch was big on worry, but usually only where I was concerned.
"I’m not kidding," he said. "It’s time for you to think about getting your feet wet again."
"But I took a shower this morning," I said lightly.
"Edgar," he sighed. "You know what I mean."
"I’m not ready," I said as I looked down at my hands.
Dutch didn’t say anything for a long minute. Finally, he suggested something pretty startling. "Not even if it’s to help me?"
"Pardon?" I asked, lifting my eyes. "This is a new twist, Agent Rivers."
Dutch picked up three folders on his desk and waved them at me. "When you were in there talking to Candice, it gave me an idea. These are the three cases I’ve been working this month, and I’m at a roadblock on all three. I need a break, Abby, and I was thinking you could do for me what you usually do for Candice."
My jaw dropped. Dutch had never asked me for help on a case. In fact, he’d all but fought me off every time I’d tried to assist with an investigation. For him to ask me this favor meant he’d turned a corner of such, and the sneaky bastard did it knowing full well I could hardly turn him down. Still, I was a bit doubtful he was for real. "Are you fooling with me? Because, if you are, that would be a low move on your part."
"I’m dead serious," he said, holding my eyes.
"I see," I said, weighing my decision. Half of me really wanted to help. After all, my boyfriend was legendary for his skepticism. I’d seen him try to run to the aid of a female ghost who’d disappeared before his very eyes and still try to deny what he’d seen. He was also the type of guy who liked to be the hero, and asking for help wasn’t something he’d ever been comfortable with.
But if I were honest with myself, I’d have to admit that the trouble wasn’t so much on his end, but on mine. I hadn’t used my radar to any real extent in nearly ninety days, which was an all time record for me. In fact, I’d worked hard not to use it. The truth of it was that my intuition had failed me at the moment in my life when I’d needed it the most. I’d been sucker punched by a bullet to the chest that I’d had no idea was coming.
And that’s what was really eating away at me, the fact that when I’d relied on my intuition the most, it had been silent. And knowing that my radar had failed me, meant that it could also fail a perspective client, and I didn’t think I could live with the guilt if that happened, so I’d avoided calling back clients and starting my practice back up again, reasoning that it was safer for them and me that way.
But now, here I was, faced with a decision that was as tough a choice as any I could face right now. Should I take my boyfriend up on his offer and accept that he’d extended a bridge to bring us closer, or blow him off and continue to sit in my stink? The one bright spot was that doing casework allowed me some distance. I didn’t have to sit in front of a client and sort out their life. I only had to give some remote impressions about a case where I would never meet the actual players involved. "Okay," I said grimly. "I’ll help, but only on the condition that you take my input seriously, no matter how far fetched it sounds."
Dutch smiled and extended his hand. "Deal," he said, and we shook on it.