Killer Insight Read online

  “Mmm-hmm,” he said, squatting down in front of me and fingering one of the piles I’d set out. “What time should I be over?”

  “Sixish.” I’d gone to the grocery store this morning and purchased steaks, potatoes and green beans, which were all Dutch’s favorites. I’m much better at breakfast than I am at dinner, but I figured it shouldn’t be too hard to grill a couple of steaks and bake some potatoes. In the back of my mind I wondered if you could microwave green beans.

  “So what’s the occasion?” he asked playfully, picking up a folder from another pile.

  “You’re joking, right?” I asked, looking for a hint of it on his face. Something in the folder caught Dutch’s attention, and he didn’t answer me right away. I couldn’t see what he was reading, so I nudged him with my foot. “Hello? Earth to Dutch.”

  Dutch snapped his head up and said, “What? I’m sorry, what did you say the occasion was?”

  Now I knew he wasn’t kidding, and I worked hard to hide my disappointment. “It’s Valentine’s Day,” I said quietly.

  Dutch paused and blinked his eyes twice rapidly, then glanced at his watch, noted the time, looked back up at me and said, “Gotcha!”

  I forced a smile and said, “You sure did!”

  Dutch’s face was slightly pale as he set the file aside and got up from his squat position. “So, I need to run. Just wanted to check in. I’ll see you at six then?”

  “Bring your appetite,” I said with another flirtatious smile.

  Dutch nodded. He seemed distracted, or concerned, or something. “Okay.”

  “Hey, cowboy,” I said as he turned to go. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” he said, not turning back to me. “I just got a lot on my mind. See you tonight.” And he was out the door.

  “Weird,” I said when I heard the door close. My intuition buzzed and my eye fell on the folder Dutch had been looking at when he went all pale and sweaty. I picked it up and my jaw fell open in horror. “Oh, shit!” I said. “Of all the folders littering my office floor, Dutch had to pick up my wedding folder. You know, that folder that many of us single gals start about age ten, filled with cutouts and clippings that get added every time we come across a wedding gown, bridesmaid dress, wedding cake, engagement ring or honeymoon hot spot we like? Yeah. That one. “Ugh…” I said, and slapped my forehead. Wrong move when you’ve already got a good headache going.

  I got up and went around to my desk, fishing through the drawers for some Tylenol. Finding the bottle I opened it and chugged two capsules down, my face doing its own scrunchy thing. After a few minutes I shrugged my shoulders. Dutch had to know that the file didn’t mean anything. Right? I’d had that folder for years, and just because I kept it didn’t mean I wanted to marry him or anything. Okay, so it didn’t mean I wanted to marry him tomorrow. I tried to laugh. He was a levelheaded, reasonable guy. A simple folder with some wedding stuff wasn’t gonna scare him off that easily, right?

  I plopped into my chair behind the desk and laid my pounding head on the desk. “I’m so totally screwed,” I said to the empty room. To add insult to injury, my right side took on a light and airy feeling, my sign for, You bet your tuchus.

  Later that night I was whacking the smoke detector off the ceiling with a broom to stop the eeeeeeeeeeep! sound when I felt a breeze of cold air behind me. The kitchen was full of smoke, and it was a little hard to see the smoke detector, so I just kept whacking in the general area I thought it was in when Dutch came up behind me and gently took the broom from my hand. Reaching up, he unscrewed the cap of the detector and removed the battery. “Ringing the dinner bell, I see?” he said with a smile.

  “Hey, cowboy,” I said over my shoulder as I hurried to unlatch the windows and open the back door. Seeing the open door, my miniature dachshund, Eggy, raced outside, most likely to get away from the choking smell of crispified steak.

  Dutch poked his head in the oven and smirked as he looked at the blackened meat still smoking away on the grill. “How long have these been in here?” he asked, turning to me.

  I managed a shrug as I fanned the door to let the good air in and suck the bad air out. “I dunno. About forty minutes?”

  “Ah,” Dutch said, standing up. “I think they’re done.”

  “Great,” I said, and sped around him to grab two plates off the counter. “How about you load up the plates with the meat and potatoes and I’ll get the green beans.”

  Dutch looked at the stovetop, a question forming on his features. “What green beans?”

  “In here,” I said, and opened up the microwave. Shriveled green globs stared back at me. Did I mention I’m much better at breakfast? Grabbing a towel, I carefully extracted the bowl they were sitting in and carried them to my dining room table. Behind me I heard a plunk! and asked. “What was that?”

  “The baked potato. Abby, how long were they in the oven?”

  “I put them in the moment I got home from work.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “About an hour and forty-five minutes ago,” I said, glancing at the clock. Muffled laughter wafted its way from the kitchen to the dining room. “You’re not laughing at me, are you?” I snapped.

  The muffled laughter abruptly stopped. “No. No, of course not.” Liar, liar…pants on fire…

  I rolled my eyes and pulled a pack of matches out of my pocket, lighting the two red candles on the table. I’d worked hard to set a romantic table, with maroon cloth place mats and matching napkins. I’d spread tiny confetti hearts on the tabletop and had set a small bouquet of red roses in a Waterford vase between the two candles. Dutch walked in carrying the plates with what looked like two large hunks of charcoal and shriveled brown pieces of dung next to them. My heart sank as I saw our dinner on the plates. “Crap,” I said as Dutch hovered the plates over the table.

  “Aww. Don’t worry about it, Edgar,” he said, using his favorite nickname for me after famed psychic Edgar Cayce. “I like my steak well-done, and I’m sure it’ll taste better than it looks.” Liar, liar…pants on fire….

  I sighed and gave him a half-smile. “I wanted this to be special.”

  “So sit down already,” he said, putting down the plates and giving me a wink.

  I beamed at him and was about to pull out my chair when something about him caught my attention. I looked at him for a long moment, my head turned slightly to one side. Something was different.

  “You okay?” he asked after taking his seat and flipping open his napkin to put it on his lap.

  “Yeah…” I said, and shook my head. “Did you get a haircut?” I asked as I pulled out my own chair and sat down.

  “Couple weeks ago,” he said as he picked up the A.1. and began to drown his dead steak in it. “Actually, I’m due.”

  “Huh,” I said, picking up my fork and knife. There was a cold wet nudge on my leg, and I looked down to see Eggy sitting next to me, and the moment we made eye contact, his skinny tail began to thump on the floor. “Hey, buddy,” I said, and started to cut him a piece of my steak. It took a while, but eventually I sawed off a small burned edge and lowered it to the floor. Eggy sniffed at it, picked it up in his mouth, then promptly spit it back out again. He nudged me again, and I gave him a look and said, “Sorry, pal, beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “So tell me about your day,” Dutch asked as he too worked to saw off a small piece of steak.

  “Ugh!” I said, remembering what a toughie it had been. “I swear, with this whole Mercury-retrograde thing going on, I’m working hard for the money.”

  “Mercury what?” he asked.

  “Retrograde,” I answered, and put a small piece of steak in my mouth. Like Eggy, I too had the urge to spit it right back out, but to save face I forced myself to swallow the bite. After chasing that with a gulp of water I explained, “Three times a year the planet Mercury goes into a retrograde pattern, meaning that in the night sky the planet appears to be moving backward in relation to Earth’s orbit. It’s not reall
y moving backward; it’s just that it looks like it from the ground. And since Mercury is the planet of communication, it means that during this period of time we don’t have its help with things like how we talk to each other. In other words, things can be misunderstood or miscommunicated.” As I spoke to him I couldn’t quit the feeling that something about him was definitely off. It bugged me enough to segue into asking him, “Did you part your hair different or something?”

  He shook his head. “No. Same part. Nothing’s changed. So, you had a tough day, huh?”

  “Yeah, but oh! I almost forgot. Ellie called about an hour ago to make sure we were still coming. Did you find out if you can fly out with me next Thursday?” Ellie was a childhood friend of mine who lived next door to me from the age of one to the age of eleven before her father took a job in Colorado and moved the family there. Her wedding was the following Friday, and I’d been invited, which meant Dutch was my date.

  Dutch looked at his plate and made a show of splitting open his shriveled potato and slathering it with butter, which the dehydrated vegetable soaked up like water on the Sahara. “I don’t think I can get the time off,” he said, avoiding my eyes.

  “What?” I demanded. “But, Dutch! You have to come with me! It’s a wedding; I can’t go alone!”

  “I tried, babe. Really. But this case I’m working on needs my full attention, and it doesn’t look like it’ll be wrapped up in time to make your friend’s wedding.”

  I looked at him for a minute, not sure of what the change in attitude was about. A mere three weeks ago he’d told me to reply to the RSVP that both of us would be attending. “What’s going on?” I asked, setting down my fork and knife.

  “Nothing,” he said too quickly. “Hey!” he offered, changing the subject. “I got you something.” And before I could corner him, he was out of his chair and into the kitchen. He came back a moment later with a shopping bag and handed it to me.

  I couldn’t help it; I had to smile. I’d grill him about Ellie’s wedding later. “I got you something too,” I said, and raced into the study to get several boxes all wrapped in red tissue paper with pink bows.

  “Hey,” he said, looking at the stack. “You went all out.”

  I smiled and we exchanged presents. I motioned for him to go first, and with a smile he obliged. I watched eagerly as Dutch lifted the lid off a small rectangular box and said, “Whoa, Abby, you shouldn’t have.”

  I grinned and gave a small clap of my hands, “Try it on!”

  Dutch pulled out the new TAG Heuer Formula 1 watch I’d spent a small fortune on and gave me a rather pained look. “You spent too much, Edgar.”

  “I did a few extra readings last week; it’s nothing,” I said. “Now try it on already!”

  Dutch did, and I gave another clap. “Next one!” I said, really enjoying this.

  Dutch gave an eyebrow shrug and moved on to his second present, a cashmere sweater, and his third, a Coach wallet. His fourth and fifth presents were a box of flavored massage oils, and a coupon booklet good for things like a free back massage, breakfast in bed, and one night of wild, hot monkey love. I was hoping he would cash in that particular coupon this very evening.

  “I think you went a little overboard here,” he said as he looked at the collection of presents on the table.

  “You’re easy to shop for,” I said as I took out the small box wrapped in plain purple wrapping, sans bow, that he’d given to me. “Did you wrap this yourself?” I kidded.

  “Sorry, I’ve been busy,” Dutch said, that same pained look on his face. “I didn’t know Valentine’s Day was such a big deal to you. I would have gotten something more if I’d known….”

  “Hush!” I said, and shook the box. I was secretly hoping for jewelry. Nothing too fancy, maybe a bracelet or some earrings to match the pendant he’d given me for my birthday. As I shook the box something knocked around inside, and excitedly I tore the wrapping off and held up my very own, incredibly thoughtful and wonderfully romantic…cell phone. “Ah…” I said as I looked at the packaging, the air going right out of my sails. “It’s a cell phone,” I said woodenly. “But I already have a cell phone.” Ungrateful, party of one—right here!

  “Yeah, I know,” Dutch was quick to explain. “But this isn’t just any cell phone; it’s got a built-in GPS locator.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, that’s just so much better!” I said my voice going up several screechy octaves.

  “See, this way you can never get lost, Abby. It’s got a satellite sensor that lets you know exactly where you are anywhere in the world. And it comes with this hands-free earpiece; that’s Bluetooth technology, state-of-the-art stuff!”

  “Gee, I thought the ones with the built-in cameras were cool,” I deadpanned.

  “And you’re always complaining that your other cell never stays charged. This baby’s got over a hundred hours of standby time. Now, I couldn’t port your old number over to this one, because the contract is in your name and you weren’t with me when I bought it, and I wanted you to have service right away, so I had them give you a new number, and paid for one year of unlimited minutes. All the paperwork’s there. It’s a great deal.”

  “So…new cell phone, new service plan and new phone number. Yippee.”

  Dutch wasn’t noting my reaction. He was too excited by the gadget. “And they had a two-for-one special going on, so I got the same model, see?” he said, holding up his own brand-new cell phone with a big grin on his face.

  “Excuse me? What was that?” I asked, giving him a sharp look.

  “I got the same model?” he said, his voice going up in a question mark as he finally took notice of the glare I was giving him.

  “No, not that. You said something about a two-for-one special?”

  “Yeah. The store was having a sale—”

  I held up my hand in a stop motion and cut him off. “So tell me the truth, Dutch, who did you really buy this phone for, me? Or you?”

  “You, sweethot,” he said, looking nervous. “I mean, I needed one too; the Bureau recommends them for all their field agents….”

  My head cocked to the side and my eyebrows lowered. “You’re kidding me with this, aren’t you?”

  “No! I thought it was a great gift. I just happened to need one too, and it was a lucky coincidence that the store was having a terrific sale.”

  “And this whole buying me a year of unlimited minutes—that get you any discounts?” I demanded.

  “Uh…only a little one.”

  “How little?” I said, crossing my arms.

  “Buy-one-year’s-worth-of-talk-time-for-the-first-phone-get-the-other-one-free kind of little.”

  “You are unbelievable!” I snapped and picked up the phone to shove it back in its box, then stood up to collect our plates.

  “Abby,” Dutch began. “Come on, don’t be that way.”

  “What way?” I asked, looking at him as the hurt over such a stupid, unsentimental and unromantic gift welled up inside me. “Just because I went to so much trouble to make tonight special and romantic for you doesn’t mean you have to return the favor, after all.”

  “Edgar…” he said with an exasperated sigh.

  “What’s up with you lately?” I asked him. Dutch had been a little distant the past week, and I wondered what was going on with him.

  Dutch shrugged and twirled the napkin in his lap, but didn’t answer me.

  I stared at him for a long time, and just as I was about to turn away, something dawned on me that made me set the plates back down on the table and suck in a breath as I was taken by surprise.

  “What?” he asked as he looked up at me, his expression uncomfortable.

  “I know what’s different about you,” I whispered as a wave of fear gripped my insides. “It’s missing. I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner. But it’s not there anymore.”

  “What’s missing?” he asked.

  “Me,” I said simply. “I’m not in your energy.”

  W
e all carry people we’re close to in our energy, and when I intuitively looked at Dutch, I always saw a faceless brunette with long hair over his left shoulder. I’d come to learn that the brunette was me, and it always made me feel safe that he carried me around like that, tucked safely over his left shoulder. Tonight, however, I wasn’t there. The spot I usually occupied was empty.

  Dutch stared at his feet for the longest moment, and then he finally spoke, and his words broke my heart. “I just think we’re moving a little fast here, Abby. I mean, I’m new at the Bureau, and these assignments come with a lot of pressure. I need to be focused. I can’t allow myself to become distracted when so much depends on the outcome. I just want you to consider slowing things down for a little while, until I’ve put in a little time at the office, okay?”

  “It was the wedding file, wasn’t it?” I asked.

  “I’m not ready to get tied down again, Edgar,” Dutch explained, his eyes downcast. “I mean, someday, yes. But I just got divorced.”

  I nodded dumbly, and the silence played out between us for a long time. I thought about trying to explain the file—that I’d had it forever, and that just because I kept it up-to-date didn’t mean I thought we should get married. It simply meant I was prepared when and if the moment ever arrived. But then, as I looked at him and that hole over his left shoulder where I used to be, I knew that explaining the file wouldn’t do a damn bit of good. His mind was made up. We were finito.

  Finally, I bent low and picked up Eggy, biting my lip to hold in the sob threatening to burble out. With effort I managed to say, “Please leave.”

  Dutch’s head snapped up. “Leave? But I thought we could spend some time together tonight. Don’t you want to talk this through?”

  “No. I want you to go. Now. Please.” Dutch held my eyes for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then he stood up and started to take off his new watch when I said, “You might as well keep it. I can’t take it back now. It’s engraved.”