Fight Fire with Foresight (Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. Book 12) Page 5

  “No, I just don’t understand. You won’t find anything in there.”

  “Great. Then it’s not a problem if I look around,” I say.

  “Go ahead, Mom,” Nathan says. “Let them see you’re innocent. Maybe they’ll leave us alone and move on to finding the real killer.”

  Marissa nods. “Okay. I have nothing to hide in there.” She opens the door for us, and she hangs back in the hallway.

  This must have been Nathan’s room at one time. The walls are blue, and the dresser has basketball stickers on it. Oddly enough, my attention is drawn to the window. I step toward it and peer out. It has a great view of the barn. Interesting. I reach for the curtain and draw it back.

  Marissa has her phone pressed to her ear while she looks out the window at Tony’s retreating back as he walks to the barn.

  “Eugene, it’s all a big mess. I don’t know what Nathan and I are going to do.”

  “Don’t worry, Marissa. It’s all going to work out. I’ll make sure of it.”

  As soon as the vision ends, I meet Marissa’s gaze. She looks completely panicked.

  “Did you see something?” Nathan asks. “This is that thing she does, Mom.”

  “I know. I’ve seen it,” Marissa says. “Nathan, would you make me a cup of tea and bring me two aspirin please. I have a terrible headache.”

  “But—”

  “Please,” she insists.

  He nods and reluctantly leaves the room.

  “What did you see?” she asks me.

  “You were on the phone with someone named Eugene.”

  She inhales sharply and presses her hand to her mouth. For a moment, I’m afraid she’s going to be sick. “That was my first husband, Nathan’s father.” Her voice is low because she clearly doesn’t want Nathan to overhear us.

  “How long have you been talking to your first husband?” Mitchell asks.

  She told us she never heard from him again after he ran away from her and Nathan all those years ago. What else is she lying to us about?

  “Please. Nathan can’t know. He’d be furious with me if he knew Eugene and I stayed in contact.”

  “Then I suggest you talk fast before he comes back up here,” Mitchell says.

  She inhales a shaky breath. “He contacted me a few weeks ago. Just checking to see how Nathan and I were. We talked for hours, and it was like nothing had changed between us. Like the past twenty-some years never happened. He started calling every day, always when Tony was tending to the animals.”

  So he knew Tony’s schedule.

  “Did you tell him Tony was having an affair?” I ask.

  She bobs her head, and tears spill from her eyes. “He said…” She stops and shakes her head.

  “I heard some of what he said. What did he mean when he told you he’d make sure everything worked out?”

  “He was planning to come back here to take Nathan and me away so we could finally be a family. He said he was young and stupid back then, but he was ready to face his responsibilities in life and make up for lost time.”

  “Where is he now?” Mitchell asks.

  Marissa swallows hard. “I think he’s staying in a hotel somewhere in town. We had plans to meet up tomorrow night for dinner.”

  If he’s already in town, he could have been here yesterday when Tony was murdered. “Marissa, how did your ex-husband feel about Tony?”

  She shrugs, but the way she avoids my eyes tells me she knows exactly how Eugene felt about Tony. “We mostly talked about future plans, not Tony.”

  But those plans were because of Tony. “Eugene knew about the affair and the divorce. We both know you discussed it.”

  “Was Eugene here yesterday morning?” Mitchell asks.

  “Here? Like on the farm? No. I told you we had plans to meet up tomorrow. I haven’t seen Eugene in twenty-six and a half years. I’m not even sure what he looks like now.”

  Mitchell has his “I’m calling your bluff” face on. “You’re telling me in this digital age, you didn’t look him up online and check out his social media profiles?”

  “I tried, but he doesn’t use social media.”

  My senses indicate she’s telling the truth, so I give Mitchell a small nod.

  “Do you know which hotel he’s staying in?”

  “He didn’t say. He just said it was in town.”

  “I’m assuming he has the same last name as Nathan,” Mitchell says.

  “Yes.”

  “Great, then we’ll find him.”

  “Please, Detective, I don’t want Eugene to think I sent the police after him.”

  “You didn’t,” I say. “My vision led us to him. You can honestly say you did not point us in his direction.”

  She starts crying, and Nathan walks into the room with a cup of tea.

  “Mom.” He rushes over to her. His eyes volley between Mitchell and me with such hatred and fury. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing, baby. They didn’t do anything. I’m just overwhelmed by all of this.” Marissa takes the tea from him, and he opens his other hand to give her the aspirin. She swallows them and takes a small sip of tea. “Thank you.”

  “I think it’s time you both leave,” Nathan tells us. “My mother needs to rest.”

  I agree. We’ve been here for hours, and I’m starving.

  Mitchell and I show ourselves out. We pick up a calzone and head to the station since Mitchell thinks we need to meet up with Officer O’Reilly. I guess it’s good to at least keep up the appearance of working with her, and since the chief will be at the station, he’ll get to see me playing nice with his newest officer on staff.

  We eat our lunch at Mitchell’s desk. The station is pretty empty today, which makes me wonder what’s going on.

  Chief Johansen comes out of his office and makes a beeline for Mitchell’s desk the second he sees us. “Brennan, Ashwell, I hear you ditched O’Reilly this morning.”

  “No, sir. We simply split up to cover more ground. We’re meeting up with her right after we finish lunch.”

  “Glad to hear it.” He looks down at me. “Ashwell, how are you handling working with O’Reilly?”

  “Just fine. She’s very professional.”

  “And a total skeptic where your abilities are concerned. I expected that to be a problem.”

  I shake my head. “No, sir. She may not believe in the methods in which I get my information, but she’s agreed what I have sensed is spot-on.”

  “Are you saying she thinks you’re not really psychic but a great private investigator?”

  “Something like that, yes. And that’s fine by me.” I need him to know I’m not a problem or someone who’s difficult to work with.

  “Interesting.” The chief bobs his head and walks away.

  “I’m going to call Dad and fill him in,” I tell Mitchell. “I’m a little surprised I haven’t heard from him already. I thought he’d be finished with the background check by now.”

  “Brennan,” O’Reilly calls, approaching the desk from the stairs. She must be coming from the lab.

  I motion I’m going to take my call outside, and I walk away, waving to O’Reilly and smiling since Chief Johansen is standing at the water cooler observing the entire station. I step outside and squint against the sunlight.

  “Hi, pumpkin,” Dad says. “I was about to call you.”

  I catch him up to speed on the case.

  “I can look into Eugene Spicer and find out which hotel he’s staying in. I’ll text you with the info as soon as I have it.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” When it comes to research, Dad is a pro. Truth be told, it’s the position I like him to be in. He retired from the WPD because chasing after criminals was too much for him. When he took me up on my offer for him to join me at my P.I. agency, he wound up running after bad guys all over again. So I try to keep him doing office work as much as I can.

  I hang up with Dad and head back inside the station. Mitchell waves me over immediately.

  “
The back of Tony Trevino’s skull was bashed in. They think the weapon might have been a tire iron,” Mitchell tells me.

  “A tire iron?” I repeat, meeting Mitchell’s gaze.

  “What am I missing?” Officer O’Reilly asks.

  “Nathan Spicer told us a story about Tony lending him a tire iron to fix his truck.”

  “So you think Nathan might have killed his stepfather with his own tire iron?”

  It’s definitely possible, and I can see how Nathan would find justice using Tony’s own tool as the murder weapon.

  Chapter Six

  Waiting for search warrants is my least favorite part of my job. But my senses are telling me Nathan and Marissa will refuse to let us search for the tire iron without one, so we’d be wasting our time asking for their permission. Mitchell told Officer O’Reilly as much.

  “I still think it’s worth it to go back to the farm and ask for Tony’s tire iron,” Officer O’Reilly says. “How can we sit back like this on a hunch?”

  “It’s not a hunch,” Mitchell says. “If Piper’s senses say we’ll be wasting our time and possibly make Nathan and Marissa get really angry in the process, then we’re staying put.”

  That approach won’t work with Officer O’Reilly. She needs a logical reason to sit back and wait. So I give her one. “If we ask to search the premises and they deny our request, we’ll have to leave and submit for the warrant. At that point, Marissa and Nathan can get rid of a ton of evidence while we’re sitting here twiddling our thumbs.”

  She contemplates it for a moment. “That makes sense. I do think that Nathan would have already gotten rid of the murder weapon, though.”

  “It’s possible he has,” I say. “But the fact that the body was burned tells me the killer is trying to cover up the real method of the murder. Maybe he doesn’t realize we’ll figure out it was actually blunt force trauma to the head that killed Tony.”

  Officer O’Reilly snaps her fingers and points at me. “That’s solid logic. You’re good at thinking like a killer, Piper.”

  “Um, thank you. I guess.”

  She laughs.

  “Well, this is good to see,” Chief Johansen says, walking over to us with a cup of coffee in his hand. “The next thing I know, you’ll be inviting O’Reilly to Ashwell family dinner night.”

  He can’t really expect me to do that. I don’t even know her. I’m not inviting her to my family’s weekly dinner night. Not that Mom would object, but just no. That’s my sanctuary away from work. Or most of the time anyway. Mom has a strict “no work talk at the table” rule, but we’ve broken it before.

  “What’s this about family dinners?” Officer O’Reilly asks.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Just something my mom and dad host for me each week.”

  “Your dad is such an amazing detective. I imagine the dinner conversations must be extremely stimulating.”

  Great. She’s like a female Officer Gilbert. Officer Gilbert is still pretty new to the force, and he thinks my father is the greatest detective to ever live. He’s a nice guy, but his admiration for my father can be a little much at times.

  “Piper’s mom doesn’t allow any work talk during dinner,” Mitchell says.

  “Oh, you attend these dinners, Brennan?” She turns to him with wide eyes.

  “He has for a while now. He was my dad’s former partner.”

  “And now he’s yours in more ways than one,” Officer O’Reilly says.

  “Right. Well, we should probably get going,” Mitchell says. “Mrs. Ashwell doesn’t like it when we’re late and her meal gets cold.” He stands up, and I follow his lead.

  “Great work today, you two. Are we meeting here first thing in the morning?” Officer O’Reilly stands and looks at us expectantly.

  “Absolutely,” Mitchell says.

  Chief Johansen is still watching the three of us like we’re some kind of soap opera. He’s enjoying this way too much.

  “Dinner was delicious, Mrs. Ashwell,” Mitchell says, standing up to clear his plate.

  “Thank you, Mitchell. Here. Let me take your plate. I’m just loading the dishwasher tonight, and we have dessert to eat.”

  “Dessert?” Mitchell’s eyes grow wide.

  “Chocolate mousse pie. I hope you like it.” Mom grabs Dad’s plate, too, and I go with her to the kitchen.

  “I’m pretty sure Mitchell loves you more with every meal you cook,” I tell her as we place the dishes in the dishwasher.

  “Don’t you mean he loves you more?”

  “Nope. I mean you.”

  Jez comes walking into the kitchen to see what we’re up to, and Max is right behind her.

  “They really get along well,” I say.

  “Max just adores Jez. I swear having her here while you work is the best thing for him.”

  Max used to be a terror who wouldn’t listen for any amount of dog biscuits. But Jez has whipped him into shape ever since I got her. She really is an amazing dog. I grab the container of dog biscuits from the counter and hand one to each of them. Jez licks my nose before taking the biscuit. She always likes to make her appreciation known. To my surprise, Max not only sits for his biscuit but he licks my hand as well.

  “Thank you, Max. You’re such a good boy.”

  They finish their treats and rush back to the dining room. Mom has the pie in her hands. “Piper, sweetie, will you grab the coffee pot for me? I had it brew while we ate dinner.”

  “Of course.” I grab it and a hot plate to set it on. “Hey, Mom, can I ask you a question?”

  “Anytime. What’s on your mind?”

  “Well, Marissa Trevino was afraid her son might have killed her husband. I think she might have been protecting him when we were there questioning them both today.”

  Mom nods. “I see. You want some insight on whether a mother’s love might make her cover up evidence against her son.”

  “Would you do that for me?”

  She looks around me into the dining room. “As the wife of a former police detective, I’m obligated to say no.” She meets my gaze. “But as the mother of the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, you bet I would.” She winks at me.

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Just don’t tell your father,” she says with a smile.

  “How do I get Marissa to confess what she’s doing and what she suspects then?”

  “If I’m being honest, I’m not sure you can.”

  It’s not what I want to hear, but I’m sure she’s right. “Hey, Mom, what are you doing tomorrow?”

  “I have a few errands to run. Why?”

  “Any chance you’re willing to accidentally run into me when I’m talking to Marissa Trevino?”

  Mom cocks her head. “You’re thinking she might open up to me, one mother to another?”

  I bob one shoulder. “I figure it’s worth a try.”

  Mom surprises me by smiling. “You know, in all the years your father was on the force, he never thought to use me to question a suspect.”

  “Are you saying you want to?” I thought Mom hated police work. She never tried to stop my dad from doing what he loved and believed was right, but Mom hates the danger involved in chasing criminals.

  “I think I might be good at interrogations. I did some acting in high school, you know.”

  “Then it’s a date. I’ll plan a meeting with Marissa and text you the details so you can show up without it looking planned.”

  Mom bumps her shoulder against mine. “I think I might like working with you.”

  “I have to admit I like the idea of a mother-daughter team for once. Don’t tell Dad,” I say at the same time she says, “Don’t tell your father.”

  We’re both still laughing when we walk into the dining room with dessert.

  “What took you both so long?” Dad asks. “Mitchell was starting to drool.”

  Mom gives me a quick glance. “We were just cleaning up a bit.”

  I’m not sure how I’ll be able to get Mom’s help wi
th the interrogation without Mitchell or Officer O’Reilly finding out. That part I’ll have to give some serious thought.

  Mom serves the pie, and we all dig in. I can tell Mitchell is trying to pace himself so he doesn’t inhale the entire slice. He keeps taking sips of coffee in between each tiny bite.

  “Mitchell, don’t you go being bashful,” Mom says. “I expect you to eat at least two slices of pie. Otherwise, Thomas will eat all the leftovers, and he’s trying not to snack much these days.”

  Mitchell smiles. “Well, if you insist.” He eats the rest of his slice in one giant bite and reaches for a new piece.

  “I did some digging today on Tony Trevino,” Dad says, and with the way he pauses, I know he’s testing the waters to see if Mom will complain about work talk at the table. Technically, dinner is over, but we are still eating.

  “You know,” Mom says, pointing her fork at Dad, “ever since I first heard that name I thought it sounded familiar.”

  “Have you been to their ice cream stand on the farm?” Mitchell asks her.

  “No, that’s not it.” She puts her fork down and reaches for her coffee. “Thomas, remember when we had that faulty wiring in the garage? Wasn’t the electrician we hired named Trevino?”

  Dad sits up straighter. “I totally forgot about that. It was what…about ten years ago?”

  Mom’s head bobs. “That sounds about right.”

  “He did good work,” Dad says. “And if I remember correctly, he was a nice guy. Friendly, professional.”

  “He liked my blueberry muffins. Remember I had just taken some from the oven? He was too shy to ask, but I saw him sniffing the air, so I offered him one with some coffee. He ate it out in the garage, but he was sure to bring his plate and coffee mug inside when he was finished. He thanked me multiple times, too.”

  “The picture you guys are painting seems different than what we learned about Tony Trevino today from his stepson,” I say. “Are you sure it was Tony who came here to fix the wires in the garage?”

  Mom sips her coffee. “I’m positive.”

  I look to Dad for conformation, and he nods.

  “A lot can happen in ten years, Piper.” Mitchell squeezes my leg under the table. “Maybe Tony was much happier ten years ago.”