by B. T. Alive
“I saw that pot falling,” the sheriff put in. “You got the jump on her, but only just. That woman had time to nearly shove that pot onto your head instead.”
“You mean you saw the pot fall towards me?” I said, freshly horrified. “Like, sideways?”
“Thank you, Jake,” Grandma said. “The point is, Kitty didn’t make those choices in a vacuum. She changed. She made herself more resonant to… other voices.”
“Great,” I said. “So I’m safe from these ‘associates’, as long as I don’t plan to murder anyone. Awesome. All I have to worry about are random panic attacks. Wow! What a lovely town!”
“We can fix this,” said Aunt Helen. “You can stay here, Summer. You just need to learn how to shield.”
“Or,” said Sheriff Jake, “there’s also witness protection.”
My entire table of relatives gaped at him. Even Tina’s mellow dad, Uncle Denny, who hadn’t said a word, twisted to glare in surprise.
Sheriff Jake affected not to notice (though his mustache may have quivered). He kept his gaze fixed on me.
“I’m listening,” I said.
He shrugged. “You’re a smart young woman. That’s clear. I looked into your background. Not even thirty yet, and you were making six figures, almost all on commission. That tells me you can get a job in any sales department, anywhere, and land on your feet. All you need is a fresh name, a fresh city, and a few months’ cash. If you’re not stupid this time with your power, he might never catch you again.”
Now I gaped. How had I not thought of this myself? To be fair, the last few days hadn’t left much time for reflection. But still.
He was absolutely right. Sure, at the moment, I had less than a buck, but I wasn’t trapped here. I could start all over anywhere I pleased.
Well done, Summer. If I did say so myself.
Grandma cut in. “That may be true,” she said. “Except for one inconvenient fact. He has found you, Summer. His empaths know your feeling signature. As long as they’re looking, you’ll be far, far easier to find again.”
“Perhaps,” the sheriff said. “But I think the young lady should also know that people can evade you empaths for a long time.” He eyed Aunt Helen, who flushed and looked away. Then he faced Grandma, who did not. Softly, he said, “A long time. Decades. No matter how well you knew them.”
The two elders locked their gaze. Neither spoke, but unspoken memories and accusations swirled in the silence.
Finally, Grandma turned to me. “What he says is true. You are free to go, Summer. And if you so choose, the least we can do is gift you enough money to make a fresh start.”
Standing behind Grandma, Tina stifled a yelp of protest, but she did give me an imploring look. The rest of them made a studious effort to look indifferent.
I considered my options.
Option 1: Stay here, in a (cute but) tiny room, making maybe minimum wage while I got embroiled in some epic psychic family war with a gruesome ancient uncle who got a kick out of inflicting terror on innocent people, including me.
Option 2: A complete fresh start, in a whole new city. With actual cash savings! I’d do it right this time, find a solid woman to work for and forbid myself the Touch. No glass ceiling, all honest sales, and a super-strict budget for real… and I might just finally fly.
The table of gazes was starting to burn me, so I squirmed up out of my chair and affected a thoughtful stroll. As I came around the table, I noticed that the sheriff’s entrance into the room had jostled the curtains on the glass doors. Desperate for distraction, I leaned toward the dining room and took a peek.
The remaining living Pritchetts had drifted in, haggard and grim.
It was clear that they had heard the news of Kitty’s death, but the bombshell had fallen like a real explosion; they hadn’t drawn together, only scattered. Except for the dyad of teens, each Pritchett sat as far from the others as they could, hunched over a menu. Even the married couple, Lionel and Deanna, were encamped in opposite corners.
My gaze fell on Priscilla. She was just settling herself in the center table, huffing and muttering and alone.
She seemed to have fully recovered from our last encounter, and I felt a mixed pang of remorse and relief.
Then I thought about the wounds she had to carry that might not ever heal.
For one thing, despite her decades of cheating, she was careening toward poverty. Once the sheriff heard the whole story, he’d want to make some discreet calls to the major casinos. He wouldn’t want to reveal anything psychic, so he probably couldn’t give them enough info for them to press charges about her past, but at a minimum, I was sure he could spin them enough of a tale that she’d never be able to gamble again.
But worse than any money troubles… she was nearing death in utter isolation. And the only relative that she ever might have cared for had turned out to be a murderer, perfectly willing to throw her under the bus. Priscilla Pritchett didn’t even have a cat.
I did have a cat. A wonderful cat. And so much more…
I turned back to the Merediths, clustered around the table and trying not to stare. Tina, who was looking out the round window and biting her lip, put her hand on Grandma’s shoulder. Without even looking, by sheer reflex, her grandmother reached up and patted her hand.
Who was I kidding?
Yes, they were far from perfect. But hey, I could have gotten a family like Nyle’s. Seriously. The truth was, I’d had some major unfair princess luck.
Not to mention that whole Cade thing. There was also that.
“Okay, okay, everybody breathe,” I said. “I’m in. For now. Who do you want me to zap first?”
Tina made this little gasp of delight, and I tried to smile all nonchalant, but I couldn’t even look at her. Actually, I couldn’t look at any of them. Someone started a cheer… was that Uncle Barnaby? Or Tina’s dad? Oh man, if I went and cried now, in front of that stupid sheriff, so help me…
“Thank you,” Grandma said. “Welcome home.”
Afterword
Dear Reader,
Summer’s found her family in Wonder Springs…
… but what if Wonder Springs hates Summer?
They’re about to blame her for murder… when the prime suspect is Cade.
In a small town, everyone smiles, but old feuds run deep. Land is scarce, and when the stubborn owner of a prime piece is found dead, almost everyone could have a motive. But none more than Cade.
Summer thought that clearing her own name was hard, but clearing her new boyfriend is a perfect nightmare. The whole town knows they’re an item. And the jealous are whispering that she’s a mastermind killer.
Who can Summer trust?
Because behind the smiles, people hide secret powers…
If you enjoyed this first book in Summer’s series, you’ll love Murder With a Psychic Zap. The stakes are higher and the family has even more surprises.
Continue your journey now.
Turn the page and read Murder With a Psychic Zap…
But first! A special thank you.
Did you know I have a whole other cozy mystery series with a whole other psychic detective?
A detective who feels secrets.
And you can read his first case… for free.
Get your cozy mystery novella, High-Rise Demise, for FREE.
(Then come back here for Murder With a Psychic Zap…)
Murder with a Psychic Zap (Book 2)
by B.T. Alive
Part I
Chapter 1
I had never seen a man who looked so old. Or at least, not a man who wanted to buy a purse.
He was peering in through the shop window, his gnarled hands shading his eyes from the golden setting sun… and hiding his face in shadow.
Honestly, it was semi-creepy.
I was alone, it was past closing time, and I’d been working at this little boutique for over a month without getting a single dude customer. Not one.
But then I thought I m
ight recognize him: his wiry bent frame, and the way he moved in short eager spurts between long bouts of alert stillness. Besides, he looked to be at least eighty; the guy had to be a perfectly safe, legitimate customer. As long as he didn’t have some random secret power.
And whatever he wanted, he wanted very much.
My heart went out to the guy. When I want something, I’m the same way.
He tapped the glass and waved, and the low sun lit up his ancient face. He was smiling, but his squinting eyes held a look of longing… like he needed to buy a gift for someone very special.
I wondered who the lucky someone might be. Truth was, I had my own special someone I was longing to see… in fact, he was due here any minute.
In fact, now that I thought about it, I was way less worried about this old guy having some nefarious dastardly intent than that he’d putter around for twenty minutes and make me late for Cade.
You might think, Twenty minutes? Who cares?
But clearly you hadn’t been waiting all day to see Cade. Two days, actually.
Okay, hold up. Before you roll your eyes and get all gaggy, allow me to clarify that 1) we’d only been dating for about two months and 2) I had legitimate, exciting news to tell my not-yet-officially-boyfriend.
News that could change the whole future of our relationship. Or really, make it possible for us to have a future.
(Things get tricky when the secretly “gifted” try to date.)
Anyway, part of me wanted to cut the store lights, sneak out the back, and pretend I hadn’t even seen old Mr. Whatever-His-Name-Was. I’d already locked up, hadn’t I? Couldn’t he come back tomorrow?
But the guy was standing there yearning like an abandoned puppy. I knew what abandoned felt like. And if I couldn’t spare twenty minutes from this whole golden evening, wouldn’t that make me a person who was kind of scary greedy?
I crossed the store to let him in.
Of course, I had no way of knowing that Mr. Nice Old Man did have a random power. Or that my nice little town was about to get wracked by murder.
So I unlocked the front door and pushed out into Wonder Springs.
Outside, the cool, humid breath of a Virginia summer evening exhaled gently on my cheek. The row of old-fashioned storefronts here on Main Street looked ridiculously picturesque in the radiance of sunset; one day a SWAT team of photographers was going to raid this town for the coffee table book of the century. Our Main Street is not only a walking mall, free of cars and paved with cobblestones, but right down the center runs a tiny stream that flows from the fountain at the town’s heart.
The old man thanked me with a grateful grin. “It’s her birthday tomorrow,” he said, in a twangy, clipped tenor that had aged in these mountains like whiskey in oak. “My grandbaby. She’ll be thirteen, and she wants herself a real lady’s purse.”
“Congratulations!” I said, forcing a smile over a sudden ache. I wondered about this girl who had no one else to take her purse shopping, no mom or aunt or grandmom. When I was that age, I hadn’t had anyone either. “I’m sure we can find her something gorgeous,” I added, going into autopilot Sales Mode. “It is after hours, though, so if we can be quick—”
“Walking out with Cade?” he said breezily.
I stared, dumbfounded. Who was this guy? Did everyone in Wonder Springs really know that Cade and I were a thing? Normally, I would have been fine with that. That’s what I wanted… if it hadn’t been for Una.
Una Graves was Cade’s boss. And their relationship was… complicated.
“Cade’s a fine young man,” he added, with a generous nod. “You two would have beautiful babies.”
“Whoa,” I blurted. A hot flush of embarrassment singed my cheeks. “Slow down there, Gramps. I don’t know what you may have heard—”
The man raised a wrinkled finger. “There he is now.”
“What? Where?” I said, spinning to look.
There he was indeed.
He was sauntering down the street of shops, tall and lean and utterly at peace. Even the way he walked seemed to radiate calm belonging, as if he were personal friends, not only with the shop ladies and the lingering pedestrians who were happy to exchange a nod and smile as he passed, but even the trees that lined the street, and the stream down the center, and the hills and the sky beyond.
Which, given his skills, maybe he was.
Then, although he was still blocks away, he caught my eye. With a huge smile that shone even in the fading twilight, he lifted his strong arm in a wide, slow wave.
A giddy shimmer buzzed down my whole body, from the back of my neck to the bottom of my calves.
“Hey!” I called, waving back with maybe a little too much enthusiasm. “I just need five minutes, I’ve got a customer!”
He shook his head and lifted his hands to his ears.
“Five minutes!” I shouted, holding up five fingers.
Cade cocked his head, still confused.
Beside me, the ancient man looked quizzical. “Can’t you just text?” he said.
Actually, no. I couldn’t. Secret psychic powers have their downsides… especially when they’re based on touch.
Sure, I had this special “Psychic Touch” thing that was pretty amazing, but one of the weirder side effects was that if I was feeling at all emotional when I touched electronics, I had a high chance of frying them dead.
This hadn’t been a big problem a couple of months back, when I’d never even heard of Wonder Springs or my family here (not to mention their secret powers). Back then, I’d been working a high-powered six-figure sales job in Philadelphia, and if I fried a phone once in awhile, I could afford to buy a replacement.
These days? Not so much.
I loved my new home here, but the money situation was getting kind of rough. I couldn’t afford a lot of things that I used to.
So, of course, I worked here, in a boutique that sold high-end purses.
Literally, just purses. A wall-to-wall rainbow of glittering, exquisite, portable treasure chests for all the money I no longer had.
One of which, I reminded myself, I now needed to sell to this elderly gentleman. As quickly as possible. So I’d be free at last to share my news with a kind, beautiful man whom no money could ever buy.
Or so I hoped.
I ushered my customer inside (being careful, of course, not to touch him), and he nipped in through the open door and began prancing from purse to purse like a leprechaun. It was bugging me that I couldn’t place his face, but I focused on scanning the shelves for that one special purse that Gramps here would find irresistible.
In less than a minute, I’d snagged it: a super cute little cherry red number that I presented with a flourish. The old man grunted with appreciation, and his squinty eyes widened with delight.
“You think she’ll like it?” he murmured, as he turned the gleaming gift lovingly in his hands.
“Like?” I said. “We’re talking love at first sight! It’s the prettiest purse we have! You’re going to be the Gramps of the Century.”
He beamed with a pleased, lopsided grin, and he carried his prize to the counter.
I was beaming too. Most of the time, I didn’t miss my old life, but it did feel amazing to know that I could still close a sale.
Only when the purse was already on the counter did he finally pry around for the price tag.
When he found it, his jaw literally dropped. A soft gasp escaped him, like a small animal surprised by pain.
And that’s when I recognized him. Crud.
He was Mr. Wilson, a freelance fix-it guy who rattled his ancient pickup around town doing odd jobs. His rusty truck was always parked illegally on the road behind Main Street, with copious random tool buckets and a ladder strapped precariously to the top racks. Even parked, the thing looked exhausted.
This guy did not belong in this shop.
This shop was for tourists. With money.
Seriously, for the price of one of these purses, Mr. Wilson
could probably get an upgrade on that truck. Not to mention his paint-spattered coveralls, which clearly predated the Reagan Administration.
What had I been thinking? And I called myself a sales professional.
If I hadn’t been so preoccupied with Cade, one look at this guy should have had me discreetly guiding him to the nearest thrift store. Now, all I’d accomplished was to make a hardworking old grandfather feel deprived and poor.
But with dogged determination, he creaked out an ancient wallet as thick as a phone book, and with painstaking care, he began to count out his cash, in fives and ones and nickels. Most of that wallet bulk turned out not to be legal tender, and when he’d emptied out his money, he frowned at the little pile.
“I thought I had more,” he muttered.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
“Hmm,” he said, with a thoughtful croak that failed utterly to hide his shame. “Do you all have any kind of discount, Miss Sassafras?”
That’s my name, by the way. Summer Sassafras.
“I’m afraid we don’t,” I said. “Frannie’s not into discounts. Or payment plans.”
She also double-checked the inventory and the cash receipts, so I reminded myself to drop any delusion that I could slip him a deal on the sly. Frannie would totally catch it, like the dragon Smaug spotting the cup missing from his hoard.
“I understand,” he said. “The thing is… my daughter’s a single mom, and they live up near the Beltway because it’s the only place she can find work, but they have to split a town house with this family they don’t even know…”
His voice quavered, and his eyes glinted wet.
He cleared his throat. “The girl’s the oldest and she’s turning thirteen, that’s all. She’s like a little mom to her brothers, makes dinner most nights. Is there anything you can do here?”
“Yes,” I said, and I touched his hand.
So, about that Psychic Touch I mentioned…