Fight Fire with Foresight (Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. Book 12)

  Fight Fire With Foresight

  Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I., Book 12

  Kelly Hashway

  Copyright © 2021 Kelly Hashway

  All rights reserved.

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  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual places or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, or recorded without written permission from the author.

  * * *

  The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks mentioned in this book. Trademarks are not sponsored or endorsed by the trademark owners.

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  Cover design ©Red Umbrella Graphic Designs

  To Ayla with love

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Also by USA Today Bestselling Author Kelly Hashway

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  After dropping my adorable golden retriever, Jezebel, off at my parents’ house for the day so he’s not alone while I work, I head to Marcia’s Nook, the bookstore next to my office. Marcia is one of my only real friends, mostly because she understands my quirks but also because she keeps me well caffeinated like any good friend should.

  The bell above the door announces my arrival as I step inside the bookstore and head immediately to the café area. Marcia looks up from the display case where she’s loading a tray of freshly baked croissants.

  “Good morning, Piper.”

  “It smells delicious in here,” I say.

  “I’d offer you what I recently took out of the oven, but that handsome detective boyfriend of yours beat you here by about five minutes. He has your breakfast waiting for you next door. Oh, and he bought you a new book, too.” She closes the display case and leans her arms on the counter. I’ve seen that expression on her face before. It’s the one she always has when she’s going to start asking questions about Mitchell and me.

  “He must have a case for me then. I’d better not keep him waiting.” I gesture over my shoulder, but before I can so much as pivot on my heel, she grabs my left arm. She’s known me long enough to know not to touch my right hand. I’m a gifted psychometrist, which means I can read the energy off objects and people when they come into contact with my right hand. Only my right hand, though, for some unknown reason.

  “Not so fast. He wouldn’t spill any details, but I didn’t expect him to since he knows I’d tell you.”

  I give him credit for being smart then. “There’s nothing to tell, Marcia. Same old, same old.”

  She lets go of my arm and huffs. “Why can’t you let me live vicariously through you? Working here all the time means I haven’t been on a date since…” Her brow furrows. “I can’t even remember how long it’s been.”

  “Mitchell and I don’t exactly date much.” He sort of comes over to my place and watches TV while I read. I know, so romantic, right? The thing about Mitchell and me is we’re comfortable and happiest just being near each other.

  “You two have a special connection, though. It’s like you were made for each other.”

  I might believe in psychic abilities, but I’m not sure I believe in fate and soul mates or anything like that. “Please don’t tell him that. He already thinks I can’t live without him, which is absurd.” I roll my eyes.

  She cocks her head at me. “What’s absurd is that you’re still saying nonsense like that when we all know the truth. You love him.”

  It’s too early to have this conversation. I haven’t even had a sip of coffee yet. “My coffee is probably getting cold, and you know how much I hate that.” This time I back away before she can stop me.

  “You’re impossible, Piper. Much like that man of yours,” she calls after me.

  I walk out and count the twenty-three steps to my office. Counting helps clear my mind, and I need to after that conversation. I hate talking about my feelings.

  As soon as I open the door, Dad says, “Morning, pumpkin,” and looks up at me from his oversized desk that takes up more than half of my office and dwarfs my own workspace. My father is former police detective Thomas Ashwell. He came to work with me after retiring from the police force.

  Mitchell smiles at me. “I got you an extra-large toasted almond coffee because I know you stayed up to finish that book after I left last night.”

  “Is that why you bought me a new one?” I ask, squeezing his shoulder as I walk by him to my desk chair.

  “Marcia spoiled my surprise,” he pouts. “I put it in your bottom desk drawer. I figured you’d find it when you went to put your purse in there.”

  It’s the first thing I always do when I get to work. I feel my cheeks warm and know I’m blushing. “That was really sweet of you, Mitchell. Thank you.”

  Dad clears his throat. “Mitchell has a new case for us.” Since I never dated in high school, or even much after high school, Dad and I are pretty much experiencing my teenage dating years now, even though I’m twenty-nine. It’s more than a little awkward for the both of us.

  I sit down, put my purse in the bottom drawer, where the sight of the book Mitchell bought me makes me blush yet again, and then face Mitchell. “Lay it on me.”

  He has a case file with him, but they never help me much since I’m much better at reading things that belonged to the victim or people we’re looking for if it’s a missing persons case. So, he starts telling us what he knows about the case so far. “The victim is Tony Trevino. He and his family own Trevino Farm.”

  “I’ve heard of it.” Dad points his pen in Mitchell’s direction. “They have an ice cream stand on the property in the summer months. There’s usually a huge line.”

  “Yeah, I’ve gotten their ice cream. What you get in the store doesn’t compare in the least to fresh homemade ice cream right from the farm.”

  “Yet you haven’t taken me there.” I cock my head at him. “Keeping all the good stuff for yourself, Mitchell?”

  “You don’t like going out. And the farm is clear across town. If I got it to go, it would melt by the time I brought it to your place, and you know how much you hate when your ice cream melts.”

  “Ice cream shouldn’t be like soup,” I say. “No worries. I’m only teasing you anyway.”

  He hesitates for a moment, and I know he’s mentally calculating when he can take me to the ice cream stand. Though with Tony Trevino dead, I’m not sure that will even be an option anymore. “Trevino was forty-seven years old, an electrician—”

  “Wait, you said he owns a farm. Doesn’t that take up all his time?” I ask. I’ve never known anyone who’s owned a farm or worked on one, but I’ve read plenty of books with farmers in them. I sort of thought it was a full-time job.

  “It’s family owned and operated. Tony worked the early morning shift on the farm, and then was an electrician the rest of the day.”

  Dad nods. “Go on. What happened to him?”

  “He was found dead in the barn first thing this morning.” Mitchell opens the case file, removes a photograph, and hands it to Dad. “His stepson found
him when he realized the chickens hadn’t been fed.”

  “Who else works on the farm?” I ask.

  “Just Tony, Nathan—that’s his stepson—and Tony’s wife, Marissa. It’s not a big farm.”

  I wonder if a farm that’s already so short on workers can survive losing one. It’s possible Mrs. Trevino will be forced to sell the place after this.

  “Chief Johansen put O’Reilly on this case as well,” Mitchell says.

  The Weltunkin PD hired Shannon O’Reilly on my recommendation. I read her name off a list of candidates to be transferred here after Detective Stacy Sherwood—she devil from Maryland—was sent packing. With the way she tried to get her claws into Mitchell, I couldn’t have been happier to see her go. Maybe even happier than when Officer Andrews left, and he deliberately tried to make my life miserable after I read him against his will and learned of his fondness for strippers. Then there was Detective Scott Bauer, Officer Andrews’s nephew. He left recently, and rather suddenly, after figuring out I wasn’t going to back down under his torment. I guess he decided I wasn’t worth losing his career over. Anyway, I haven’t exactly had luck with the people who have occupied that particular desk at the WPD.

  Dad and Mitchell are mid-conversation, but I’ve been zoned. Mitchell quirks an eyebrow at me. “You haven’t been paying attention at all, have you?”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway. Let’s get to the crime scene so I can try to read something there and find out who killed Tony Trevino.”

  Mitchell closes the case file. “There’s a potential problem.”

  Every case has its share of problems. It’s par for the course. I stand up, grab my purse from the bottom drawer, and cross my arms since Mitchell hasn’t budged from his seat. “Are you going to tell us what this problem is, or are we expected to guess?”

  Mitchell hands me my coffee, and I take a large gulp of it. Maybe I am a little cranky from the lack of caffeine. I drink most of it and then give him a fake smile. He shakes his head at me. “The body was burned. Badly burned.”

  “I don’t plan to read the body. I’ll look for other things in the barn.”

  Mitchell finally stands up. “The body was burned inside the barn. The whole place reeks of smoke.”

  I bite my bottom lip. That is a problem. The smell of the smoke could very easily overload my senses and prevent me from having a vision we need to solve this murder.

  “Maybe we should make a stop and get Piper a face mask,” Dad suggests. “It might help.”

  He’s right. It might help, but I also don’t want Officer O’Reilly’s first impression of me to be lowered because I appear too delicate to do my job. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I don’t want anything to interfere with my abilities, and not being able to breathe properly might stop me from sensing something I need to.”

  Mitchell gently takes me by my elbow. “You don’t have to be the hero here, Piper. O’Reilly is actually really nice. So if you’re worried—”

  “I’m not. I just want to do my job. Now can we go?”

  He nods and grabs the bag of pastries still on my desk.

  “I’ll drive separately,” Dad says. “I want to be able to meet your mother for lunch if possible.”

  I’m a little relieved. When we all drive together, I usually end up in the back of Mitchell’s patrol car like a hardened criminal. That’s definitely not the impression I want to make on the newest member of the WPD.

  While Mitchell drives, I scarf down a coffee cake muffin and finish my coffee. I should have stopped for a refill before we left.

  “You can have the rest of my coffee. It’s toasted almond, just like yours.” Mitchell eyes me briefly before turning back to the road.

  “Thanks.”

  “Are you nervous about meeting O’Reilly?”

  At this point, I’ve won over just about everyone at the station, including Chief Johansen, but that one desk seems to be cursed because everyone who sits there winds up hating me. I almost want to burn the desk.

  “I’ll take your silence as a yes.” Mitchell reaches over and squeezes my left hand. “She’s nothing like Andrews or Sherwood. I promise. O’Reilly is a good officer, and the chief is looking to make her a detective, which is why she’s tagging along on this case. And need I remind you that you helped us pick her out of a list of possible transfers?”

  “I’m aware.”

  “She hasn’t flirted with me, if that’s your concern.”

  I laugh. “Mitchell, I’ve watched you flirt with countless women on cases.” It used to be his go-to move whenever he came into contact with a pretty face. That was before we started dating, though. The only time he flirts with other women now is when we need him to in order to get information for a case. I’m still amazed at how much he’s changed since I first met him on Dad’s final case with the WPD. Dad seemed to know from the start that Mitchell was a good guy, and he was at ease retiring from the WPD and passing on the torch to his former partner.

  “Piper.” Mitchell’s tone brings my attention back to the moment, and I realize we’re parked.

  “Sorry.” I unclick my seat belt.

  “Hey.” Mitchell turns to face me. “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I promise.”

  “I’ll be at your side the entire time.” Mitchell’s become really great at grounding me. Though truth be told, he was even pretty good at helping me from the very first case we worked on together. He watched how Dad helped me, and Mitchell immediately followed suit. Back then, it was because he wanted to learn as much as possible about my psychic abilities since his own mother was psychic—a secret no one but me knows. Now, he acts this way because he’s in love with me.

  “Let’s do this,” I say, opening my car door. As soon as I step out of the vehicle, I can smell the smoke. The barn is about a hundred feet in front of us, and from the look of the structure, I’d say the body was burned and then extinguished because the barn itself is still in perfect condition from the outside. I really hope it wasn’t Tony Trevino’s stepson who put out the fire. I can’t even imagine finding a relative’s body engulfed in flames like that.

  Dad is out of his BMW and talking to a redhead in her mid-thirties. Her uniform is impeccably ironed, and she doesn’t have a hair out of place in her tight ponytail.

  “That’s O’Reilly,” Mitchell says as if I couldn’t figure that out for myself. “I think you’ll like her. She’s extremely professional and all about her job.” Mitchell places his hand on the small of my back and leads me over to Dad and Officer O’Reilly.

  “Ah, there they are,” Dad says, smiling at me.

  “Detective Brennan,” Officer O’Reilly says, giving a small dip of her head.

  “Piper, I’d like you to meet Shannon O’Reilly,” Mitchell says.

  I raise my hand in a small wave. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Piper Ashwell.”

  Officer O’Reilly extends her hand to me. “Nice to meet you, too, Ms. Ashwell.”

  I stare down at her outstretched hand. “Sorry, but I’m not big on shaking people’s hands.”

  She lowers her arm to her side. “Germaphobe? That’s smart actually. I respect that.”

  “No, she’s—”

  “We should get started,” I say, cutting off Mitchell and widening my eyes at him. He might think my psychic abilities are a great conversation starter, but I know otherwise. Mentioning what I can do usually ends a conversation on the spot, so I’m not eager to let my psychic abilities out of the bag just yet.

  “I like a woman who wants to get straight to work,” Officer O’Reilly says. She points toward the barn. “After you.”

  My first impression of Officer O’Reilly is she’s very eager and loves her job. She’s not dressed to impress anyone. She just wants to be a good police officer. This must be why I was able to pull her name from the list of possible transfers when Mitchell showed them to me months ago. Maybe this will actually work out.

  “See?” Mitchell whispers. “You tw
o will get along fine.” He leans closer. “And so you know, O’Reilly is already aware that you’re psychic. There’s no need to try to cover up that fact. The guys at the station have already filled her in.”

  I should have assumed that, and I suppose I should be grateful she didn’t laugh in my face.

  The barn doors are roped off with police tape, so we duck under it and enter the building. I immediately raise my shirt to cover my nose, not that it helps. The smoke smell is strong. The body has already been removed, thankfully. I don’t like dealing with a crime scene until the body has been cleared away, though I don’t always have that luxury. I’ve seen more dead bodies than I’d like.

  “The stepson found Tony Trevino’s body over here,” Officer O’Reilly says, walking toward an area on the ground that is covered with hay.

  There are no singe marks on the hay. “Was the body lying on anything?” I ask.

  “Sorry, what?” Officer O’Reilly asks. “I couldn’t understand you with your shirt covering your face, Piper.”

  I lower the fabric and do my best not to inhale. “The body must have been on something and not in direct contact with the hay,” I say.

  “You’re correct. There was a red and white checkered picnic blanket under the body.”

  “And the fire was extinguished prior to being placed on the blanket,” I add.

  “Very good, Ms. Ashwell.” Officer O’Reilly bobs her head. “There were no singe marks on the blanket, just soot and particulates from the body.”

  I’m grateful for that because it’s probably the only reason why I’m not choking on smoke fumes right now. I can’t actually touch anything that the body made contact with while it was on fire. I move toward a trough in the center of the barn, letting my senses guide me. Or maybe it’s because it’s the only metal object other than pitchforks and such, and metal is the easiest object to read the energy off of.