A Vision of Murder Page 2

  “Where’s Cat?” I demanded.

  Donna turned toward me, her face a mocking angelic “O.” “Was that for Mrs. Masters? I thought it was for you. Sorry,” she sang. Liar, liar . . . pants on fire . . . my intuitive inboard lie detector sang in my head.

  “I’ll bet,” I snipped. “My sister? Where is she?”

  “I think she’s in the family room with the boys. Would you like me to go get her?”

  “No, Donna, I think you’ve done plenty for one night,” and I stomped out of the room hearing her chuckle under her breath behind me.

  I walked into the family room and found Cat playing with my two nephews, Mathew and Michael. “Hey,” I said, getting Cat’s attention. “Claire and Sam have called to wish us all a bah humbug.”

  Cat’s head snapped up at the mention of my parents’ names—which, by the way, they’d insisted we call them since our teens. My relationship with them was very different from the one my sister shared with them, and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out how my sister and I could agree that my parents were one Trisket short of a party tray, and yet treat them so differently.

  For me, it was easy: I simply ignored them. This of course was made considerably easier by the fact that they’d ignored me my whole life, so they probably hadn’t even noticed when the Hallmark cards stopped coming to their mailbox.

  Cat, however, was a completely different story. She bit her tongue, swallowed her pride and tried to be civil. It was a testament to her willpower that she’d managed it for so long, as Claire and Sam Cooper were about the most bigoted, obtuse, stuck-up people ever to utter the words, “Pat Buchanan for President!”

  “They’re on the phone?” she asked nervously, her hand reaching to twist the strand of pearls at her neck.

  “Asking to speak to you,” I answered, giving her a sympathetic look.

  “Oh!” Cat said, jumping to her feet and squaring her shoulders. “Wish me luck,” she whispered as she quickstepped past me and headed for kitchen.

  She would need a lot more than luck, but I nodded at her and gave her a thumbs-up as she looked back one more time before rounding into the kitchen. Poor Cat. It was like watching the lamb trot into the slaughterhouse.

  A little while later I was back upstairs packing a tissue-wrapped package in my suitcase, when my bedroom door burst open. “Eeeeek!” I squealed, startled by the movement.

  “Sorry!” Cat said, stifling a giggle. “It’s only me. Geez, you’re a little jumpy tonight.”

  I realized then that I was still clutching the tissue-clad package to my chest. Discreetly I turned away from my sister as I tried to stuff it into my luggage without drawing her attention.

  “What’s that?” Cat asked, peeking over my shoulder.

  “Oh, this? It’s nothing.” I said as I reached for the zipper to the suitcase. “How was your conversation with Claire and Sam?”

  “Ugh! They’re coming to visit,” Cat said, still peeking over my shoulder trying to see inside the suitcase.

  “What? I thought they were headed back home to South Carolina after visiting with Betty.” I moved my body a little closer to the opening of the suitcase trying to block Cat’s view.

  “No, they’ve decided to pay a visit. Apparently, Aunt Betty made them feel guilty about not having any current pictures of the twins, so they’re on their way out here to take a few photos—you know, so they can prove they’re good grandparents after all.”

  “Ah,” I said as I got the suitcase closed and began to lift it off the bed to the floor. “Remind me to nominate them for grandparents of the year.”

  “You’ll have to beat me to it,” Cat deadpanned. “What are you hiding?” she asked, watching me struggle with the suitcase.

  “Nothing,” I answered a little too quickly.

  “Really?” she replied, her mouth forming a knowing smile. “Would it perhaps have anything to do with that little dart into Victoria’s Secret I saw you take on your way to the restroom this afternoon at the mall?”

  “So when are they coming to visit?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

  “Oh, come on, Abby! Tell me what you bought!” Cat demanded, pointing to the suitcase.

  I sighed at my nosy sister, and knew there was no getting out of it. “It’s just a little something I picked up.” I said casually as I set the suitcase on the floor. “Really, it’s nothing special.”

  “Then why won’t you show it to me?”

  “Well . . .” I said, searching for an excuse she would buy, “it’s a little risque, and I’m afraid you’d judge me.”

  “Why would I do that? Come on, what’s the special occasion?”

  I regarded her for a moment, then shrugged my shoulders and explained, “Dutch is taking me to Toronto for my birthday, and I just wanted something special—you know, something that puts a little ‘voom’ into the old ‘va-va.’ ”

  “Slut? . . . I mean ‘what’?” Cat said, her eyes dancing with merriment. My sister really put the “T” in tact.

  “And you wonder why I didn’t show you sooner,” I said while I watched Cat heave my luggage back onto the bed and tear it open. She retrieved the now crumpled tissue bundle and tore it open, revealing a black lace velvet teddy.

  “Ooooo, Abby! This is gorgeous!”

  “Yeah, thanks. Can we put it back in the suitcase now?” I asked, my cheeks feeling warm for the second time that evening.

  “Let’s see how it looks on!” Cat said, and threw the teddy on the floor by the bed. “Yep,” she declared through another chuckle, “it fits perfectly.”

  “Ha, ha!” I said as I stooped to pick up the teddy. “You’re hilarious, Cat. Really mining some comic gold here.”

  “Oh, lighten up,” she said as she plopped onto the bed. There was no getting rid of her now. Her interest had been piqued. “So! Tell me about this little excursion you two lovebirds are taking.”

  I rolled my eyes and fought the urge to walk out of the room. “It’s no big deal, just something nice Dutch is doing for my birthday.” I was turning thirty-two in three days and this was the first birthday in a very long time I would be celebrating with a significant other.

  “That’s so romantic!” Cat said. “When are you going?”

  “We’re supposed to go tomorrow, but . . .”

  “But?”

  “Well, it’s weird. I don’t know why, but I just feel like Dutch is going to cancel on me. I mean, the plans are all set, and I talked to him yesterday and he’s still gung ho, but something’s telling me he’s going to pull out at the last minute.”

  “Do you think he’ll have to work?” Cat asked.

  “I don’t know. He’s supposedly wrapping up a case right now, but with the FBI you never know.”

  Cat looked at me while she tapped a thoughtful finger against her lips. She’d known me long enough to trust that when my intuition said something was going to happen it nearly always did. After a moment she brightened and said, “All you can do is hope for the best. I’m sure it will all be fine. You’re just nervous about your first night together.”

  “I don’t even want to know how you know that,” I said crossly.

  “Oh please, Abby. You went all red faced and sweaty the moment I pulled out the teddy. What I don’t understand is how you two have waited so long to consummate your relationship. I mean—don’t you two have urges?”

  “Can we talk about something else?” I asked, burying my face in my hands. This was humiliating. Dutch and I had been dating for several months now, and the fact that we hadn’t spent the night together had been a combination of poor timing, injuries and cold feet. It seemed that every time one of us was ready, the other wasn’t, and so the pressure of having put it off for so long was making my stomach bunch like a virgin on her wedding night.

  “Hey,” my sister offered, “I’m sure it will be great. You two really seem to like each other, and that’s the important part. So many of my friends rushed the physical part of their relationships and they paid for it later when they realized they had never built a good foundation. You and Dutch have that connection, and I’m thinking that teddy or no teddy, it’s going to be fine.”

  “You sure?” I asked, peeking through a crack in my hands.

  “I’m positive,” my sister answered, flashing me a reassuring smile.

  Just then there was a quick knock on my door and Cat and I both looked up to see Donna in the doorway. “Yes?” Cat asked.

  “There is another phone call for you, Miss Cooper,” Donna said looking at me.

  I’ll bet, I thought. “Who is it?” I asked wary.

  “It is a gentleman. He says it’s urgent and to come quickly.”

  My boyfriend the prankster. Urgent was our code word for “turned on.” I smiled at Cat, gave her a wink and bounded down the stairs to the kitchen phone. “Hello!” I said.

  “Abby?” a male voice that wasn’t my boyfriend’s asked.

  “Yes?” I replied, my brow frowning as my mind raced to put a name to the voice.

  “It’s Milo.”

  “Milo! Happy holidays, honey! Are you over at Dutch’s?” I asked. Milo was Dutch’s old police partner and best friend.

  “No. Listen, I don’t know how to tell you this . . .” Milo began and I suddenly realized how tense he sounded even as a chill swept up my spine and my intuitive phone began buzzing loudly in my head.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. It’s Dutch,” Milo said as the world began to spin around me. “You need to come home tonight if you can, Abby. Dutch has been shot.”

  Chapter Two

  “So are you just going to pout in the corner all day?” Dutch asked me.

  I glanced up from
my chair across the hospital room long enough to shoot him a look of death, then lowered my gaze back to my shoe as it bounced up and down, tapping out my irritation.

  “Come on, Edgar,” he said. Edgar was Dutch’s favorite nickname for me. It was short for the great psychic of the 1920s, Edgar Casey. In his quest to understand his girlfriend and her abilities, Dutch had read up on Mr. Casey, and now considered himself something of a subject matter expert. “Give me a break, after all, I’ve been shot.”

  “In the ass,” I added, my tone ice cold.

  “Well, it still hurts,” Dutch said, his baritone coming up an octave, searching for sympathy.

  “Good. I’m glad it hurts!” I said getting up from my chair to stand over him as he lay on his side in the hospital bed. “Maybe next time you’ll listen to me.”

  “Do you have to keep bringing that up?”

  “Yes!” I snapped, crossing my arms and glaring down at him. “I told you not to trust the dark-haired man with the parrot. That he was going to double-cross you and you shouldn’t trust anything he said and that you needed to be especially careful near a warehouse. I don’t know how much clearer I could be!”

  Dutch had been shot in a warehouse by his own informant—a man with dark hair and an elaborate tattoo of a parrot on his arm. “What would you like me to tell my commander, Abby? That my girlfriend said I shouldn’t finish out the assignment because a guy with a parrot might have it out for me?”

  “Yes!” I wailed, as tears welled in my eyes. “That’s exactly what I want you to do! Don’t you get it? Don’t you understand that you could have been killed out there?”

  “Hey,” he said, his voice low and soothing now that he saw the tears, “come on, Edgar, don’t cry.”

  I was dribbling now, tears flowing freely down my cheeks. “Why don’t you trust me?” I asked, wiping at the wetness.

  “What are you talking about? Of course I trust you,” he said as he reached out and grabbed my hand.

  “No. No you don’t. I have this gift for a reason. It’s to help people. And if you don’t trust it, then you don’t trust me.”

  “Abby,” he said, drawing out my name with a sigh. “I do trust you, and I trust your gift. I know you think I ignored you, but the truth is that I did take your advice. I wore a vest—which I normally don’t do when meeting an informant—and because I took precautions and was ready for trouble, the guy only managed to pop me in the rear. See? If I hadn’t listened to you I’d probably be dead about now instead of enjoying your company in this charming setting.”

  “No,” I argued moodily. “If you had listened to me, we’d be in Toronto by now.”

  With a grunt Dutch leaned over the side of his bed and worked the hinge to lower the metal bars. When they were down he reached over to me and pulled me to him, forcing me to sit down. From the beads of sweat on his forehead I could tell all that movement must have hurt so I didn’t resist. “Listen to me,” he said gently as he swept stray hair out of my eyes. “I will always listen to your spidey-sense, but I have a job to do, and I can’t do that job effectively if I’m always worried about what might happen. The best I can do is listen to what you have to say and take some precautions. Anything more than that and I might as well quit the Bureau, which isn’t something I’m prepared to do right now. Can you understand?”

  I sighed heavily, and wiped again at the tears on my face. I knew he was right, but I didn’t want to give in. I was still too emotional and I was using anger to cover up the intense fear I’d experienced ever since I’d heard he’d been shot. “So when are they bustin’ you out of here?” I asked after a moment, wanting to change the subject.

  Dutch sighed and squeezed my hand. He was smart enough to know when to quit while he was ahead. “Today.”

  “They’re letting you go already?” I asked, worried again.

  “Yeah. It’s not like it’s a critical wound. Besides, I told them my girlfriend would be playing nursemaid and the doc said that as long as I had someone to cook, clean and take care of my every whim, it’d be okay to check out this afternoon.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, then looked around the room. “So where is this girlfriend anyway? We’d better get her over here pronto if she’s going to be at your beck and call.”

  “Aww, come on, Abby. Play nice,” he said, throwing me the puppy dog look.

  “Maybe you should think about hiring a real nurse. I mean, I’m not really cut out for this type of thing, plus I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  “I thought you took the month off?” Dutch challenged.

  He had me there. I’d taken the supreme luxury of keeping the month of January all to myself. No readings were scheduled in my appointment book until February first, and I had planned to use the time to chill out, and decorate my new home. “I meant on the house. I have a lot of work to do on the house.”

  “Oh,” he said and looked away from me toward the television. “Okay. I didn’t realize it was such an inconvenience. I’ll hire a nurse or something.”

  Crap. Why were relationships always so much easier in the movies? Finally I gave in and rolling my eyes asked, “So how long do you need me to change your diaper and warm your bottle?”

  “Couple weeks.”

  “And I suppose you want me to stay with you while I’m playing nursemaid?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  I sighed heavily and shook my head. “Fine. But for the record? You owe me.”

  “I’d expect nothing less,” he said, giving me a wink.

  Several hours later I’d packed Eggy, my miniature dachshund, and me for a long visit and had returned to the hospital to pick up Dutch, who was then loaded carefully into my car and propped precariously on a doughnut-shaped pillow, wincing over every bump and pothole. “Why are you turning left here?” he asked as I took a slight detour.

  “Dave and I are making an offer on an investment property and I wanted to drive by and see it.”

  “And you have to do that now?” he asked, squirming again in the seat as he tried to find a comfortable position.

  “It’ll only take a minute,” I said, distracted as I looked from my directions to the road and back again. From the backseat Eggy gave an excited yap.

  “See? Eggy wants to get home too. Can’t you do this another time?” Dutch whined, squirming again.

  “Relax,” I said unsympathetically as I turned onto Fern Street and slowed the car as I looked for number 172. “It should be right down here . . .” I mumbled, counting down the addresses until I came to the last house on a dead-end street. Even before reading the number on the side of the house I could tell this was it.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Dutch said, gazing skeptically at the house in front of us.

  “Unfortunately, I’m not.” I answered, looking from my instructions to the house and back again. The place was awful. A one-story ranch with broken windows, hanging shutters, peeling siding and missing roof tiles, the scene looked like something right out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie. The front lawn was a mess of large holes; overgrown shrubbery and leaves piled high against the sides of the house. A rusty fence encircled the property and a squeaky gate swung back and forth as the wind blew, creaking out its annoyance.

  “This place is a dump,” Dutch said.

  “Thanks for pointing out the obvious.”

  Just then, Eggy, who had been staring out the back window, moved over to the passenger side window and went haywire. As I looked back at my pooch I noticed the hair on his neck sticking straight up as his lips curled in a snarl and he began to growl, then bark in earnest in the direction of the house. The sound was piercing and I quickly tried to calm him by reaching over and giving him a pat on the back, but the longer we sat there the more upset he became. Finally I pulled away from the house and began driving away, but Eggy kept up his commotion until we were a few blocks away.

  “What was that about?” Dutch asked when Eggy finally calmed down.

  “I have no idea.” I said, just as I noticed that the hair on my arms was also sticking straight up. I shuddered while a chill crept down my spine.

  “You cold?” Dutch asked.

  “Yeah, a little. Come on, Cowboy, let’s get you home.”