Crime Seen Read online

  Crime Seen

  Victoria Laurie

  Psychic Eye - 5

  For two women of iconic beauty, brains, and class—

  my aunts, Mary Jane Humphreys and

  Elizabeth Laurie

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Acknowledgments

  It is great to love what you do. It is even better when you love who you work with and the people that make up your world. I’ve been really lucky on that front, with an amazing team devoted to helping me take Abby on all sorts of adventures, whether they’re in New York, slaving away behind the scenes, or cheering me on in other parts of the country and inspiring characters and plotlines. Here’s where I get to tell them how much I appreciate all they do for me, how incredibly thankful I am that they work so hard on my behalf, and how I don’t let a day go by without thanking the Big Guy that they’re in my life.

  First up, I’d like to thank my amazing editor, Molly Boyle. Again, I have to say good-bye to someone with such talent and class; I’m a little crushed by the prospect of not having this woman marking up my manuscripts with her ever-vigilant red pencil. Instead, she’s off to make a whole new group of authors look good—lucky, lucky them.

  I’ll miss you more than you could know, Molly. You’ve been simply wonderful to work with. Thank you so much for everything you’ve taught me. Your enthusiasm, your grace, and your calm demeanor will forever make me a fan. I wish you the very best of luck on your new adventure. You will be missed... every... single... day.

  Kristen Weber—well, it looks like I lucked out again! I was handed over the last time into the very best of care, and so the handoff falls again in my favor. If you have to let go of someone you adore, it’s so nice to be given to someone with such an amazing reputation and gracious manner. I’m truly excited and thrilled to be working with you. Thank you so much for agreeing to take me on.

  Jim McCarthy, my agent and dear, dear friend. I’ve said it all before, so here’s the shorthand version... mush, mush, gush, gush, and all that. You’re fabulous. You rule. You’re the best. Da bomb diggity. The shizzle.I love you and thank you so much for... well... all of it!

  Sandy Upham, sistah girl. How extraordinary you are. You dazzle me, you know that? Truly, truly. I can’t believe such a phenomenal woman shares my blood, my eyes, and my love of water parks. Thank you for always being there, for sharing, for your honesty, and yes... sigh... even for those ‘‘ors.’’ Now get your butt down here and come visit me. I miss you somethin’ fierce!

  Yohan and Naoko Upham. My little bro and sister-in-law. What an amazing couple you two are. A powerhouse of love. What a team you make, and what great cheerleaders you’ve been. I’m so grateful for your love and support. Rock on, ‘‘dudes.’’ (Yohan— that was for you!)

  The two women this book is lovingly dedicated to: Mary Jane Humphreys and Betty Laurie. For forty years you two have been my icons of beauty, class, and women dedicated to living an adventurous life. I am forever in awe of you. Thank you for being my connection to the past, for the revelations, and for the hilarious stories. Here’s to Italy this autumn!

  Michael Torres. God, you are a beautiful man, do you know that? How amazing you’ve been to me, how gracious and kind. Thank you for coming into my life, and enriching it with your wonderful friendship.

  Karen Ditmars, Leanne Tierney, Nora Brosseau, Tess Rodriguez, Jaa Nawtaisong, Kristy Robinett, Silas Hudson, Thomas Robinson, and so many others—I am forever blessed and enriched by your friendships. Everywhere I travel, I always meet the most extraordinary people—many of whom I’ve been lucky enough to befriend. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you all.

  Chapter One

  The way I see 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-versus-cat smack down I fall on. Yes, I’m biased—so sue me.

  On this particular Sunday, however, as Eggy and I were snuggling on the couch and 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 and Eggy gave me an annoyed grunt. ‘‘There is really something foul around here,’’ I said, sniffing the air again.

  ‘‘What?’’ he asked, coming into the living room. ‘‘Did you need something?’’

  ‘‘What’s that smell?’’ I asked him, looking around as I 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 close to where Virgil had been. ‘‘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 could 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 scratching post. I’m sure it’s all just a big, fat, furry 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 with yesterday,’’ I groused as I came back into the living room and scrunched up my face to wipe off my purse. ‘‘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, so he’s had to make a pretty big adjustment.’’

  I glared at my boyfriend and raised the wadded-up paper towel in my hand, letting him know just what I thought of Virgil and his ‘‘adjustment.’’ ‘‘Eggy’s had to make some concessions too, you know, and you don’t see him walking around here 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 keep to themselves and don’t defecate on my things. 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, but the phone rang. Dutch gave me a ‘‘saved by the bell’’ smile and moved toward it. Glancing at the caller ID before he picked it up, 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 winter morning when I’d very nearly died after being shot at close range. Okay, scratch that—I technically had died, but only for a minute or two.

  So ever since then, I’d been laid up here in my boyfriend’s home, tucked away in the lovely little city we both live in, Royal Oak, Michigan. For the first month I’d done little more than sleep. My doctor advisedme that when you’re recovering from a major trauma, like being shot, your body slows down considerably, and mine was no exception.

  But over the past two months I’d steadily gotten stronger, and I’d been able to do more physically. Mentally, though, I just could not 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 couldn’t motivate myself to get up off the couch and venture back to the office. I reasoned that I’d probably already lost most of my clients anyway. As a psychic, if you stop tuning in, you stop eating.

  Dutch, who’s an FBI agent, recognized what I was going through. He had labeled it post-traumatic stress disorder, which sounded to me like a tidy way of calling me a loo-loo.

  Now here I sat, not having 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 that I had a great boyfriend after all. ‘‘Sure, sure,’’ he said, nodding his head. ‘‘She’s right here. Hang on,’’ he said casually and extended the phone to me.

  I mouthed, ‘‘I’ll get you for this,’’ and took the receiver. ‘‘Hi, Candice!’’ I said breezily. ‘‘Long time no talk.’’

  ‘‘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 a little tired, but what can you do?’’

  Candice clucked into the phone and said, ‘‘You poor thing. I bet you haven’t gone back to work yet, have you?’’

  ‘‘No,’’ I said, fiddling uncomfortably 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 a normal psychic/client relationship. Candice was a private detective at a decent-sized firm in Kalamazoo, about 140 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 together, 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 I heard a hint of disappointment when she said, ‘‘I see.’’

  There was a bit of a pause 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 said 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 before, and in that reading, I’d told her that she was going to entertain the idea of starting her own PI 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 rather eccentric grandmother, Madame Dubois, 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 was when the lightbulb 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 the right side of my body went 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 had ever seemed quite right. Until now. ‘‘When would you like to move in?’’

  ‘‘I’m moving to Nana’s on Tuesday, so I’d really like to get a jump on getting things squared away with you too—if that’s okay.’’

  ‘‘That’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 poked my head 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. I plopped down in one of the leather chairs across from his desk.

  He looked at me for a long moment and, as always, I felt my breath catch at the beauty of the man. Dutch Rivers is tall, blond, and incredibly handsome. But the most riveting thing about him is his eyes. They’re midnight blue in color, and whenever they bore right into mine, the way they were doing then, 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 made a startling suggestion. ‘‘Not even if it’s to help me?’’

  ‘‘Pardon?’’ I asked, lifting my eyes to his. ‘‘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 road-block 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 sorts, and the sneaky bastard had done so knowing full well I could hardly turn him down. Still, I was a bit doubtful that 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 gaze.

  ‘‘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 run to the aid of a female ghost who’d disappeared before his very eyes, and he still tried 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 as 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, my intuition had failed me at the moment in my life when I’d needed it the most. I’d been sucker punched in the chest by a bullet that I’d had no idea was coming.

  And that was what was really eating away at me— the fact that when I’d relied most heavily on my intuition, it had failed me. What if it failed me when I was sitting with a client? I just wasn’t ready for that hypothetical yet.

  So Dutch was really throwing me a curveball with an offer that would allow me to step back into the ballpark with no risk of injury. I could give some remote impressions about a case in which I would never meet the actual players involved, and if I was wrong— so what? The FBI would continue to investigate, and hopefully the case would eventually be solved through good solid detective work, not dependent on whether or not my radar was having a good day.

  ‘‘Okay,’’ I said grimly. ‘‘I’ll help, but only on the condition that you continue to investigate the case outside of my impressions. Don’t rely solely on me to get it right.’’

  Dutch smiled and extended his hand. ‘‘Deal,’’ he said, and we shook on it.