A Criminal Can't Change His Aura Page 2
I saw it. I watched it with my own third eye, yet I have no information that will help us solve this. I couldn’t feel more useless right now. “I’m not leaving.”
Mitchell tilts his head in the direction of his desk. He clearly doesn’t want to have this conversation in front of Officer Wallace. I get up and go with Mitchell to his desk.
“I can’t sit around and pretend I didn’t see what I saw.” I take a seat and cross my arms.
“Don’t do that. Don’t guard yourself against me, Piper. You know I’m not suggesting you forget about this, but there’s nothing we can do here.” He gestures to the station. “I thought we could go home or to your office and have you try to read the pocket watch again.”
Mitchell usually protests when I want to read an object that could make me see a murder, so I’m surprised by his response.
“You’re not worried I’ll see the murder from the victim’s perspective this time?”
“Do you think the pocket watch belongs to the victim?” He leans forward on his desk.
“No. I think it’s the killer’s, and that’s why I’m seeing his perspective.”
He reaches for my left hand. “I trust you.”
“Okay, then let’s go home to do this.”
He narrows his eyes. “You’re worried.”
I’m always worried about sensing an actual murder. It’s not easy from either perspective, as the victim or the killer. I tend to take on the emotions of the killer, which is more unnerving than I could ever properly express. And being the victim… Well, that’s put me in the hospital before. Being at home is my best bet in either situation.
I stand up. “Let’s get this over with.” The sooner I have the vision, the sooner I can piece together clues about what I’m seeing.
Mitchell walks around the desk to me. I start for the door, but he takes my left hand in his. “We’re in this together, Piper. Please don’t shut me out.”
I give a small nod.
“Keep us posted,” Mitchell tells Officer Wallace as we walk out of the station.
“Any idea where Detective O’Reilly is?” I ask on the drive home. Detective Shannon O’Reilly is the newest member of the WPD. She’s extremely logical by nature, which means she doesn’t believe in psychic abilities. She thinks I’m a skilled private investigator who mistakes my impeccable clue finding and deciphering skills for something supernatural. We don’t exactly see eye to eye, but we both respect that the other is good at what they do. It’s a very odd relationship to say the least.
“No. I’m assuming she’s working a case of her own.”
That’s probably a good thing. Mitchell and I have been forced to work with Detective O’Reilly before, and it has been challenging. Not to mention I was almost shot on a case with Detective O’Reilly, and Mitchell hasn’t forgiven her or let her forget that.
Since Mitchell took the day off, we didn’t bring Jezebel to my parents’ house like we usually do. Jez likes to play with their dog, Max, while Mitchell and I work. It’s a great deal for everyone involved because Max used to be a real terror before Jez taught him how to behave. And now Jez isn’t bored at home while Mitchell and I work all hours of the day.
Jez greets us with huge wags of her tail and kisses on our noses. Mitchell places the picnic basket on the kitchen counter and pulls out a few scraps of food for Jez. I head for the couch and sit in the center of it.
“Coffee?” Mitchell asks, already pouring water into the machine.
“Please.” We always have ground toasted almond coffee from Marcia’s Nook on hand. Coffee is my go-to. It calms me, which seems odd to a lot of people, but that’s just how I work. Like most things about me, I can’t explain it.
Jezebel joins me on the couch. She must sense my unease because she lies down beside me and places her head in my lap. I scratch behind her ear, her favorite spot. I lean back, trying to calm my nerves. I hate cases where I have no chance of saving the person I’m trying to find. I remember the names and faces of every person I wasn’t able to save, and now this woman is going to be added to that growing list.
“Don’t do that to yourself,” Mitchell says.
I swear he can read my mind sometimes. But despite the fact that his mother was psychic, Mitchell doesn’t have any psychic abilities. Or at least not more than the average person. Everyone has gut feelings, which is really their intuition kicking in. It’s just that most people repress those feelings instead of tuning into them.
Michell brings two mugs of coffee to the couch and places them on the table. “You aren’t responsible for everyone in this town.”
“When I see their deaths, it feels like I am.”
“That’s because you had the vision from the killer’s point of view. You were him, so you feel responsible. But you have to remind yourself that you aren’t actually the people you channel on these cases. You didn’t hurt that woman. You’re the one who is going to bring her killer to justice. You’re helping her.”
“I can’t bring her back. It’s too little, too late.”
He places a hand on my leg. “Don’t say that. It basically reduces my job to something of little to no importance. We do what we can, Piper.”
“I know.” I pull the pocket watch from my own pocket. “Let’s do this. I’ll feel better when we have something to go on.”
Jezebel stirs slightly in my lap, letting me know she’s here for me.
“Thank you, my sweet girl,” I tell her.
“Sometimes I feel like she helps you more than I do,” Mitchell says.
“You both help me, and I appreciate it.”
“I hope you’re not just saying that because you know it’s what I want to hear.”
I laugh. “When do I ever do that?”
“Good point.” He smirks. “So, Chinese for dinner?” He’s trying to help me clear my mind by talking about mundane things.
“Sounds good. I could eat some egg rolls and wonton soup.”
Jez gives a small bark. She loves Chinese noodles.
“I guess that’s three votes in favor of Chinese then,” Mitchell says.
“I’m good now,” I tell him. “Thanks.”
He dips his head to me.
I close my eyes, lean my head back on the couch, and transfer the watch to my right hand.
A man looks out over the fence, checking the time on his pocket watch. “Any minute now.”
A young woman is walking through the park, staring down at the phone in her hand. “Why didn’t he message me? He said he would.” She shoves the phone into her back pocket and wipes a tear from her cheek. “I’m through with him. For good this time.”
She walks right over to the fence and pushes on a few of the slats, which give way. She crouches to fit under them.
Something slams into the side of her head.
My entire world goes black.
I wake up feeling like I went twelve rounds in the boxing ring. I press the heel of my hand to my head. “Ow.”
Jezebel comes running into the bedroom and jumps up onto the bed beside me, careful not to jostle me. She gently crawls over and places her head on my chest.
I lean forward and kiss her nose. “Where’s Mitchell?”
When I say Jez is the smartest dog in the world, I’m not exaggerating. She understands everything I say. She turns her head back toward the doorway, and seconds later, Mitchell walks through it.
“Hey, how are you feeling?”
“Like I was assaulted with a two by four. What happened?”
“You tell me.” He sits down beside me, so I’m sandwiched between him and Jezebel.
I sit up slightly to lean against the headboard. “I saw him abduct her from that park.”
“Where we found the pocket watch,” he adds.
“Where is it?” I look down at his pocket, but there’s no lump to indicate he has it on him.
“In the living room. I didn’t want to touch it, so it’s on the couch where you dropped it.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you up for telling me about the vision?”
“The woman was walking at night. Alone.” So stupid. Women can’t do things like that in this world. It’s too dangerous.
“Where was she heading?”
“Through the park and to the fence. There’s a spot where the slats push up. She went under them. And then she was hit with something.”
“It must be where we found the watch then. The question is how did the watch get there?”
“I don’t know.” I look down at Jezebel, who is staring up at me with her big, brown eyes.
“Pocket watches are kept in pockets. I don’t think it would fly out and land on the top of the fence,” Mitchell says.
I don’t either. “Play the game.” The game is something we use on just about every case. I clear my mind, and Mitchell—or sometimes Dad—asks me questions I know the answers to already. Then, once I’m in a meditative state, he throws in questions about the case, and the answers just sort of come to me. We don’t typically get too many answers this way because I’m usually shocked out of my meditative state by something I say, but it’s still a helpful tool.
“I think we should hold off on the game for a while. You took a blow to the head.”
My injuries during visions are usually phantom injuries. They feel real but aren’t. However, there have been a few times, where my symptoms have been very real. Those times are scary.
I give Mitchell some major side-eye. “I get to determine if I’m up for the game, not you.”
He inhales so deeply his chest puffs out, and he holds the breath. He’s trying not to flip out.
“Just because you’re my husband now doesn’t mean you get to control me.”
“No one ever controls you, Piper. I just wish you’d listen to me once in a while. I do have your best interest at heart.”
Because he knows I don’t. I’ll always put the victim’s needs ahead of my own. “I have to do this. Are you going to help me or not?”
“Do I have a choice? If I refuse, you’ll call your dad and make him play the game with you.”
True. “I’d rather you do it if that counts for anything.”
He shakes his head.
I reach for his hand. “I’m asking for your help.” Right after we got married, we had a fight about me not allowing him to help me more. I’m trying to be better about it.
“You’re trying to manipulate me into doing what you want me to do.”
I let go of his hand. “Are you actually upset with me, or are you stalling?”
“Honest answer?”
I nod.
“Both.”
“Is everything going to be a battle with us?”
He laughs. “Probably.” He leans forward and kisses my cheek. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Jez gives a small bark. She knows better than to be loud since the apartment complex has a strict no-pets policy. It just so happens that our landlord, Theodore Hall, is good friends with my father. Mr. Hall told the other residents that Jez is a police dog, which is why she’s allowed to live here. Truth be told, Jez did help us on a case where her original owner was killed, so it’s not a flat-out lie.
Mitchell kisses her head. “Is that what you wanted? Did you feel left out?”
She licks his face.
“Have we stalled enough?” I ask.
“How about breakfast first? I’ll make you eggs and bacon.”
“Game first, then breakfast.”
“Just once, I’d like you to agree to one of my ideas without trying to get your way first.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I ask. I lean my head back on the headboard and close my eyes. I take three deep breaths. “Ready.”
“I don’t remember agreeing to this.”
“You did. Now ask me a question.”
“Why are you so impossible?” he asks.
“I was born this way. Next question.”
Mitchell huffs. “What’s the name of the book you just finished reading?”
“Murder in Midtown.”
“What’s your mother’s name?”
“Bonnie.”
“When’s my birthday?”
“January fourth.”
“What object did you read yesterday?”
“A pocket watch.”
“Who is the girl from the vision?”
“Wolfe.”
“Wolf?” Mitchell asks.
I sigh because his stumble brings me out of the meditative state. “Why didn’t you keep going?”
“Because you named an animal. It didn’t make sense.”
“I wasn’t naming an animal. I said Wolfe.”
He cocks his head at me. “How is that not an animal?”
“How about when it’s a name?”
“Who names their child wolf? I mean I know celebrities do stupid things like that, but this is a woman. I guess maybe I could see naming a boy wolf, but to name a girl that is just—”
“Mitchell, I think it might be her last name. W-O-L-F-E.”
“Oh. Yeah, that makes more sense.”
“We need to get my dad on the phone and find everyone with that last name currently living in Weltunkin.” I can only hope the last name isn’t too common, but small towns tend to breed large families.
Chapter Three
To my surprise, Mitchell doesn’t spring into action. Instead, he scratches his chin. “The park is by ESU. What if she’s a student there?”
Yes.
I smile. “My senses just confirmed you’re right about that.” Sometimes, truths come to me for no particular reason. It’s a voice inside my mind that I know isn’t my own. Some psychics would refer to this as a spirit guide. I never saw it that way. I simply know it as my abilities talking to me.
“Great. I’ll call your dad and have him search ESU’s enrollment for anyone with the last name Wolfe.”
“I’ll get showered and dressed,” I say.
“Breakfast will be ready when you get out of the shower.” Mitchell has only recently started to cook. And eggs and bacon are pretty much all he knows how to make. Other than pasta, that is. Pretty much anyone can boil water. I can’t talk, though. I don’t exactly cook either. We pretty much keep all the food establishments in the area in business with our takeout orders.
I get ready as quickly as possible. The smell of burned bacon wafts under the bathroom door, and I cringe when I realize I’m going to have to eat the burned food so I don’t hurt Mitchell’s feelings. I do my best not to look disgusted as I open the door and walk into the kitchen.
“New plan. We’re going to Marcia’s Nook for breakfast.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” I release the breath I was holding to keep from inhaling the smell in the kitchen.
“Sorry,” Mitchell says.
“I appreciate the effort.” I get Jez hooked up on her leash, and we head out.
“Your dad is going to look into ESU’s student directory and get back to us as soon as he has anything.”
“Great.” I realize I forgot to look for the pocket watch. “Did you leave the watch at home?”
“I bagged it. It’s in my pocket.”
He brought it with us, but he’s also holding on to it so I can’t read it again without his consent.
We drop Jez off with my mom, who tells us Dad is already at the office, hard at work on the case. Mom’s always hated my choice in profession. She was against me helping Dad when I was growing up, and she worries that my abilities will turn me into a recluse like her own mother, my grandma Maywood. She was a gifted empath, whose abilities made it too difficult for her to be around anyone, including her family. The fact that Mitchell and I got married gave Mom hope that I might be different and actually find a way to live a somewhat normal life despite my psychic tendencies.
Since I haven’t seen Marcia in two days, I tell Mitchell to go to my office with Dad, and I walk the twenty-three steps to Marcia’s Nook. The bell above the door announces my arrival. It looks like Marcia’s morning crowd is dying down. Jax is working the register for her, so she walks around the counter to come talk to me.
“Piper, how are you doing?” she asks. Marcia is a hugger, but she knows I don’t particularly like being hugged. She’s awkwardly holding her arms at her sides, and then she raises them and squeezes her elbows like she’s trying to restrain herself.
“Not so well,” I say. “I had a vision of a young girl being murdered, and we have no idea who she is.”
“And you have to stop it before your vision happens?” she asks, cocking her head to the side. She knows premonitions aren’t my specialty by any means, but she’s also hoping it’s not too late for the young woman.
“I wish I could say that was the case, but what I saw was happening in the moment.”
“Oh.” She looks down at her feet and then gestures to a table in the café portion of the bookstore. “I don’t know how you and Mitchell do it. I think it would drive me insane to know I can’t help someone in time.”
“Believe me it does drive me crazy. I feel so helpless.”
Hope.
Yeah, great. Thanks, senses. As if telling me to have hope helps my situation in any way. I resist the urge to roll my eyes because Marcia would most likely think I was doing it to her.
She places her hand on my left hand. “I know you will do everything you can to help that poor woman find justice.”
“Does it matter if she’s already dead?” I ask.
“Of course, it does. Piper Rose Ashwell, you know that. Think of her family. They deserve answers and closure.”
I know she’s right. I’m just feeling sorry for myself right now. “Mitchell burned the bacon,” I say in the world’s most awkward transition ever.
“Oh. Um, well, I don’t have bacon, but I do have some marble crumb cake that I think you’ll love. It’s still warm.”
“Yes, please. Three pieces.”
“I thought I saw your dad’s BMW pull into the parking lot earlier,” she says, getting up and motioning for me to follow her to the display case. The crowd has dispersed, and even Jax is in the kitchen.