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

  Mitchell glances at me, silently questioning if I can sense more to the story. I’m picking up on two things. There’s definitely more, and Nathan isn’t going to tell us what it is. I take a deep breath, try to muster a sympathetic expression, and reach for Nathan’s hand with my right hand.

  “It must have been difficult. You were so young.” I wrap my fingers around his hand and close my eyes.

  Nathan walks downstairs, rubbing the stubble of his shaved head. He starts for the coffee pot when he sees the note taped on the door. “What the hell is this?” He opens the door and pulls off the note.

  “I’ll take care of morning rounds.”

  He crumbles the paper into a ball with this hands. “Like hell you will, Tony. I’m not giving you any reason to hold something over my head.”

  Nathan yanks his hand out from underneath mine. “What is wrong with you, lady?”

  I stare at him. “You found a note taped to your front door.”

  He cocks his head at me. “Yeah? How’d you know that?”

  “I should probably mention I’m psychic. I just read your energy when I touched your hand.”

  “What did you see, Piper?” Mitchell asks.

  “Is that legal? I didn’t give you permission to touch me or do whatever voodoo you just did.”

  “It’s not voodoo,” Mitchell says. “Piper is a psychic P.I. hired by the WPD. It’s all very legal.”

  Well, let’s not get carried away. I have a reputation for ignoring the rules, and Mitchell has a reputation for covering for me.

  “The note was from Tony, telling you he’d take the morning rounds yesterday.”

  “Yeah, so? Why does that even matter?” he asks, crossing his arms.

  It matters because my visions always mean something. The fact that I saw the note makes it important to the case. The question is how.

  “Did Tony ever cover for you like that before?” I ask.

  Nathan stares out into the distance, avoiding my gaze or remembering something from his past. I’m not sure which. “Tony doesn’t do favors. He does things so he can hold it over your head and throw it in your face later.”

  “Such as?” Mitchell asks.

  Now, I realize Nathan is staring out the small window at the dirty truck in the driveway. “Like when I was sixteen and asked my mom if she’d help me buy a truck. Tony said I wouldn’t appreciate something if I didn’t have to earn it. So he made me get another job besides the one I have here and save the money. All I could afford was a clunker of a truck that broke down more than it worked. I spent all my free time fixing the thing. And every time I was working on it, Tony would say, ‘See, you’re learning the value of hard work and taking care of what you own.’ As if he was the one teaching me that lesson. And one time, I couldn’t find my tire iron, so Tony let me use his. He acted like he’d bought me a new truck. Talked about how the truck never looked so good, like his tire iron was magical or something.”

  Nathan’s on a roll now. It’s like we opened a flood gate.

  “I wanted to get away from him so bad I asked my mom to send me to military school. Of course, Tony said no. He wasn’t about to lose out on free help around here. After that, every time the news talked about deploying soldiers oversees or we heard about someone suffering from PTSD, Tony would tell me I had him to thank for that not being me.” Nathan shakes his head. “Well, I guess he can’t throw that one in my face anymore, can he?”

  “Do you still have the note?” I ask. I’d love to read it.

  “No. I threw it out, and yesterday was trash pickup.”

  I’m not about to go to the dump and dig through countless bags of garbage that may or may not have already been compacted.

  “When was the last time you saw your stepfather alive?” Mitchell asks.

  “Sometime Sunday. I went out with some friends after I finished working here. I didn’t see him after that. I got in late, though.”

  “Is that why Tony left you the note about him taking the morning work?” Mitchell asks. “Did he think you’d need to sleep in after being out drinking?”

  Nathan laughs. “Not a chance. Tony usually got me up early when he thought I was hungover.”

  “But you said he liked to have things to hold over your head. Is it possible he saw this as an opportunity to have you owe him?” I ask. The note would imply that.

  “The guy was seriously messed up in the head. I can’t even begin to rationalize why he’d do anything. He’s never left me notes before, though. That was weird. The one and only time I ever overslept, he did all my work. Then he made me do extra chores for two weeks to make up for his inconvenience.” He uses air quotes on the last word, indicating that’s what Tony had referred to it as.

  “Was your mother aware that you had a strained relationship with Tony?” Mitchell asks.

  “Yeah, I guess. But she’s always telling me I’m a man now. I have to stand up for myself.”

  But he’s also his father’s son, and his dad ran away when things got tough. Maybe Marissa is afraid Nathan will wind up just as spineless if he doesn’t learn to stick up for himself. Maybe that’s what attracted her to Tony in the first place. His tough demeanor. She might have thought he’d teach Nathan how to be strong as well. I’d like to talk to her again.

  “Can you describe the barn when you found your stepfather?” Mitchell asks.

  “It was smoky. I thought maybe Tony found a dead animal and torched it.”

  “Was that common practice?” I ask.

  “Only if the animal died of suspicious causes. It didn’t happen much, but if Tony didn’t know what killed a chicken, he refused to cook it and eat it. He’d burn it instead.”

  “Burn it in the trough?” I ask.

  “Yeah. That’s an old feeding trough in there. We use it for other things now.”

  Like burning bodies, apparently.

  “Did you recognize the picnic blanket Tony’s body was placed on?” I ask.

  “Yeah.” Nathan turns away from me. “It was the one he and Mom used. The first time I met Tony, he took us for a picnic in the park with that very blanket.”

  The emotions rolling off Nathan hit me like a freight train. “You liked him when you first met.”

  Nathan looks at me and nods. “Yeah. He was nice to me until after he married my mom. Then everything changed.”

  “And you felt like he pulled one over on you both,” Mitchell says, clearly trying to establish motive that extends as far back as Nathan’s childhood.

  “That’s exactly what he did.”

  The front door of Nathan’s cottage swings open, and Marissa comes walking inside. “What’s going on here? I thought you were investigating out in the barn.”

  “We had a few questions for Nathan,” Mitchell says.

  “Well, then I should have been present.” She stands beside her son.

  “Mrs. Trevino, Nathan is twenty-seven years old. He’s not a minor,” Mitchell tells her. “We don’t need parental consent to speak to him.”

  “He’s still my son regardless of his age.”

  I stand up, my senses drawn to her overprotective nature.

  “If you want to speak with him, I demand I’m there. Or a lawyer.”

  There’s only one reason why Marissa would feel her son needs a lawyer. “You were aware of the tension between Tony and Nathan,” I say.

  She looks down at the floor. “Blended families are never easy. It’s perfectly normal for there to be some tension at times.”

  “Tension you were well aware of.”

  “I moved out here by myself at seventeen. The tension between Tony and me was pretty obvious,” Nathan says.

  Marissa places her hands on his shoulders. “Nathan and Tony are very different. That’s all. But they worked this farm together, and we were a family.” Her voice quivers.

  I step toward her again. “Nathan came to you after he found Tony in the barn.”

  “Of course, he did. I’m his mother and Tony’s wife.�
��

  “Mom was devastated,” Nathan says.

  I don’t doubt she was, but not for the reason they want me to believe. “Mrs. Trevino, it must have been horrifying for you.”

  “Yes. My husband—”

  “No mother wants to believe her son killed his stepfather.”

  “What?” Marissa’s eyes widen. “I never said—”

  I grab her arm before she can finish her sentence.

  Marissa hugs Nathan. I won’t let them take you away for this. I won’t.

  “Get her off my mother!” Nathan screams.

  Mitchell pulls me away, blocking me with his body. “Everyone calm down.”

  “I want her out of here,” Nathan yells.

  I don’t blame him. He’s already seen me use my psychic abilities, and he knows what I just did to Marissa.

  “I’m warning you to stay where you are, Nathan,” Mitchell says.

  I sidestep him so I can face Marissa. “When Nathan told you Tony was dead, your first thought was to protect your son because you think he killed Tony,” I say.

  Chapter Five

  “Mom?” Nathan says, his eyes widening.

  Marissa turns to him. “I never said that. I don’t know why she thinks she knows what I was thinking, but—”

  “She’s some freaky psychic. She knows things. She knew Tony left me a note yesterday morning.”

  “A note?” Marissa asks.

  “I think we should take this to the station,” Mitchell says.

  “No.” Marissa’s voice rises an octave. “You have no proof my son did anything.”

  “Maybe you two should sit down and tell us everything you know,” I say. It’s clear they’re keeping something from Mitchell and me.

  Nathan and Marissa exchange a look.

  “You can do as Piper suggested, or we can go talk at the station,” Mitchell says. “Which is it going to be?”

  “I have a better idea,” I say. “Let’s go to Tony’s room.”

  “Why do you want to go there?” Marissa asks.

  I need something of Tony’s. I have to get a better idea of who he was. “I need to see his belongings.”

  “Unless there’s something in your bedroom you don’t want us to see,” Mitchell says.

  “There’s nothing in my room.”

  Truth.

  Hmm, I’m assuming my senses are telling me I won’t find anything incriminating in Marissa’s room, but I still need to read something that belonged to Tony.

  “Mom,” Nathan says, widening his eyes at her.

  “Not a word,” she says.

  “Alright, it’s clear you two are keeping secrets. Do I need to get a search warrant to find out exactly what those secrets are?” Mitchell’s tone makes it clear he’s not interested in playing games.

  Nathan stands up and looks at his mother. “Just tell them. They’re going to find out anyway.”

  Marissa wraps her arms around herself. “Tony was divorcing me.”

  I would not have guessed that, and I can see why neither wanted to share that information. It gives Marissa motive to kill him. But my vision indicated Marissa seems to think Nathan killed Tony, probably out of anger for divorcing her.

  “I haven’t shared a room with Tony in months,” Marissa says.

  That’s why she got nervous when I said I wanted to see Tony’s room. She didn’t want us to know they weren’t sharing a bedroom.

  “He was having an affair,” Nathan says.

  “Do you know with whom?” Mitchell asks, his pad and pen out.

  “I didn’t ask,” Marissa says. “I don’t care who it is.”

  “Yeah, well I asked. Not that he told me.” Nathan hugs his mother.

  “How did you learn about the affair?” Mitchell asks.

  Marissa stiffens, and I get the sense that she’s trying to keep her composure. “He came home smelling like perfume. I don’t wear any because I’m allergic. He didn’t even try to deny it. He just told me he didn’t love me anymore, and he’d found someone else.”

  “Then why are you and Nathan still living here in the guest cottage?” I ask.

  “The farm brings in good income. We decided I’d eventually move out, probably here with Nathan once we got this place fixed up.” She looks around at the layer of grime covering each surface. It’s a stark contrast to the way she maintains her current home. “Tony was going to keep the main house. We’d continue to run the farm together, but as business partners.”

  Except now she doesn’t have to move. “Was the divorce finalized?” I ask.

  Mitchell stares at Marissa, knowing exactly why I asked. If Tony died before the divorce was finalized, everything belongs to Marissa.

  “My mom didn’t kill him to get his stuff,” Nathan says. “We didn’t even plan to stay here and work the farm for long. Just until we had enough money to leave.”

  “I’d never kill Tony,” Marissa says. “We made a good deal. I was still going to have a roof over my head and half the business.”

  “Why would Tony agree to that?” Mitchell asks. “This was his farm before you two married, right?”

  “He cheated on my mom,” Nathan says. “He was probably worried she’d get more in the divorce because of it, so he made a deal to split everything fifty-fifty.”

  “But that wasn’t good enough for you, was it?” Mitchell asks Nathan. “You thought your mother deserved a lot more after what Tony put you both through.”

  “My son is a good man,” Marissa says.

  “We had plans to sell our half of the farm and leave,” Nathan says.

  “Great. We’ll need to see evidence of those plans and any documents that were drawn up for the divorce,” Mitchell says.

  “We don’t have anything in writing,” Marissa says. “We were still negotiating.”

  “What about your lawyers?” Mitchell asks. “We’ll need their contact information so we can verify all of this with them.”

  “We weren’t going through lawyers.”

  You’ve got to be kidding me. The man cheated on her, but she was going to trust his word enough to not hire a lawyer in the divorce negotiations? That doesn’t make any sense.

  “Nothing was finalized, like I said. We were still discussing everything. Tony wanted to have everything set before we went through with the actual divorce. You know, so it would go smoothly and quickly.”

  And possibly cost less since no negotiations would need to be made.

  “What about your plans to sell your share of the farm?” I ask. “Were you already in communication with a buyer?”

  “No, it’s just the plan we came up with.” Nathan rubs his mother’s arm. “I didn’t want Mom to have to see that man every day.”

  Does he realize everything he’s said is making him look guiltier?

  “I need to lie down,” Marissa says, putting a hand to her forehead.

  Right now, we have a whole lot of motive but no evidence. Mitchell can’t arrest either of them. “Mrs. Trevino, I’d like to see Tony’s room. After that, we’ll leave.”

  “Can’t this wait until tomorrow?” Nathan asks.

  If I didn’t think either of them would tamper with Tony’s belongings, I’d say it could, but I don’t trust them. I don’t even think they trust each other. Marissa seems convinced her son killed Tony to protect her.

  “We’ll be as quick as possible,” I say.

  Marissa holds out her arm, motioning for us to lead the way. Mitchell makes me go first, I’m assuming to keep himself positioned between me and them in case they try anything stupid. This time, when we enter the house, Marissa brings us upstairs. The master bedroom is at the far right end of the hallway.

  “This is Tony’s room.”

  “Thank you,” I say. The room is dark, the curtains still shut. There’s a king-sized bed in the middle, a long dresser along the one wall, and a closet on the opposite wall. “Did he have any belongings he wore a lot? A watch maybe?”

  “Yes, but he never took it of
f.”

  Meaning it was on his body when it was burned. I’m assuming the same can be said for his cell phone.

  “How about a wallet?” Mitchell asks.

  “Top drawer of the nightstand,” Marissa says, motioning to it.

  I walk over and open the drawer. A brown leather wallet rests inside. I flip through it to find the usual items: money, credit cards, driver’s license, and a few gas receipts. Time to see what I can read off of it. I sit down on the edge of the bed and focus on clearing my mind. Mitchell is standing, keeping his gaze trained on Marissa and Nathan.

  Once I’m ready, I transfer the wallet to my right hand.

  Tony grabs the wallet and places it in the back pocket of his jeans.

  “One day soon, they’ll be gone, and I won’t have to run away from my own home for some peace and quiet.”

  The vision ends just as quickly as it began. It could be confirming he was running off to be with another woman, but I’m not entirely sure yet.

  “What’s going on?” Marissa asks. She’s still not clear on how my visions work. Not that it looks like I’m doing anything at all when I have them. I probably look like I’m meditating.

  I shake my head at Mitchell, letting him know I didn’t learn anything particularly helpful. Maybe I should try reading his truck to find out where he went to get that peace and quiet he mentioned.

  I stand up, placing the wallet back in the nightstand and shutting the drawer. Mitchell and I do a sweep of the rest of the room, but nothing draws my attention at all. After about twenty minutes, I say, “I think we’re done here.”

  Marissa looks relieved and closes the door behind us. As we walk down the hallway back toward the stairs, my attention zeroes in on the door at the opposite end of the hall.

  “Is that your room?” I ask Marissa.

  “Yes.”

  Earlier, my senses confirmed I’d find nothing in her room, so I don’t know why they’re focused on it now. The pull is too strong to ignore, though.

  “May I see your room?” I ask.

  “Why?”

  “Is there a reason you’re against the idea?” Mitchell asks her, his tone laced with the implication that only a guilty person would object to letting us search their room.