I nodded. "Yeah, I saw her just before I got on the shuttle to the airport."
"Airport? Where were you anyway?" Dutch asked.
"I went to visit my sister in Boston for a couple of days. I left Saturday afternoon."
"You could have called, you know," Dutch said, giving me a look that said I should have known better.
"I did call, but I got your voice mail and I didn't feel like leaving a long drawn out message."
"Okay, so back to Mary Lou. You say you saw her right before you got on the shuttle?"
"Yes. She was going to plant some flowers around the elm tree in my backyard," I said, looking at my lap.
"She must have been killed very soon after she entered the backyard. You're saying you were home just before she was attacked?"
"Yeah, I was," I shuddered. "I went to Allison Pierce's funeral in the morning, then came back home to grab my luggage and wait for the shuttle."
"Where's your dog?" Milo asked.
"He's at the kennel. I was supposed to pick him up today. I'll have to call them first thing in the morning."
"Do you remember hearing or seeing anything out of the ordinary before you left?"
I sighed, trying to think back. "The only thing that comes to mind is that I was really anxious to get out of there. But to answer your question, no, I didn't see or hear anything unusual."
"Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt Mary Lou?" Dutch asked.
"No," I said automatically. But then something occurred to me, and I figured I had to come clean. "Wait—I forgot about her boyfriend. I saw a bruise on her upper arm about a week ago, and I suspected it wasn't the first time he got physical with her. I don't think he was the one who did it, though."
"Do you know his name?" Milo asked.
"Chad … uh … Levine, I think—that's it, Chad Levine."
Milo was writing the name down in a notebook he'd taken from his pocket when Dutch said, "So tell me about the photos, Abby." There was a hard line to his mouth, and for some reason I felt like he was angry with me.
I stared blankly at him for a moment, wondering what he was talking about. Then it dawned on me that I'd left the manila envelope on my kitchen table. "Oh! I totally forgot. I got those on Friday, and that's why I went to Boston. I figured I'd show this psycho that I was listening to his instructions. If he wanted me to back off, then that's what I'd do. The whole thing really scared the crap out of me. Like I said before, I tried to call you and tell you about them, but I couldn't catch up to you before I left," I said, trying to explain the reason for my delay.
"You got them on Friday?"
"Yeah, Friday. It was the day before Allison's funeral. Why? Is the timing important?"
"Abby, the envelope is postmarked almost two weeks ago," Dutch said.
"Two weeks ago? You're kidding!"
"No, not kidding. We thought you'd had the photos for a week."
"No!" And then I remembered that I hadn't been checking my mailbox regularly. "Oh man, I can't believe this. They were in my mailbox, but I'm really bad about remembering to pick up the mail. I hadn't been to my mailbox in a week, so they probably were there and I just didn't get to them until Friday."
"Can you think of anything you did last week that might have set this guy off?"
I sucked in a breath and tears again welled at the corners of my eyes. I had. I'd gone to see Marco at the jail, and then I'd gone to see Allison's attorney. I'd stuck my nose right into the thick of things, and the whole time I'd been unaware that my actions were leading down a very dangerous road.
I told Milo and Dutch all of it. About going to see Marco, what I'd learned from him and what I'd learned from Parker Gish. The two seemed a little surprised when I told them that the only public record the girls had between them was a recent marriage license for Alyssa. I saw Milo make a note, and Dutch shifted in his chair.
"So you believe they were hiding from someone who eventually caught up to them?" Dutch asked.
"It's pretty obvious, isn't it? I mean, Marco could hardly have attacked Mary Lou from his jail cell, now could he?"
Dutch looked at his napkin, silent for a long moment before answering. "Abby, we need you to slow down a little. At this point, we don't know who attacked your friend. It could have been her boyfriend, or it could have been someone else," he said as he and Milo exchanged a glance.
"What?" I demanded. These two were starting to test my patience. Their insistence on ignoring the obvious was annoying me to no end.
"Did you know your handyman did some work for the Pierce sisters?"
I sat back in my chair, stunned. "What? What are you talking about?"
"Dave McKenzie recently brought a small-claims suit against Alyssa and Allison Pierce for money they owed him on a minor construction job he did for them."
I shook my head, trying to figure out where this was going. "So? I mean, yes, it's a pretty big coincidence, but I'm sure Dave didn't even know the girls were dead, so what's your point?"
"Let's see—the girls owed him money, they weren't paying and now they're dead. On top of that, he was the one who called the police this morning to report a dead body in your backyard. He had access to your house and knew your routine. Did you owe him money, Abby?"
The look I gave him was murderous, "You are an idiot!" I nearly shouted. "Dave McKenzie is an honest, hardworking, decent man! He's about as likely a killer as you are!"
Dutch regarded me with a cool expression, unphased by my outburst. "I agree with you, Abby. I don't think Dave killed anyone. Still, there are more angles to this thing than you realize, and we can't assume this mystery man from Ohio is the murderer, especially when we have no hard evidence."
I sat back, still fuming at the attack on my handyman. Then my intuitive phone suddenly gave a loud ring and I quickly answered it. After a moment I said, "Fine, then what we should do, gentlemen, is to sift through the past. Alyssa's belongings are in a storage shed on Franklin, and I really feel we'll discover something important there."
Milo looked at me curiously, then at Dutch, who nodded and said almost under his breath, "Edgar Cayce." Milo nodded and wrote something else in his notebook.
"Make fun of me all you want—" I began, my voice rising, but Dutch interrupted.
"Abby, I'm not making fun of you. Really, I've been telling Milo about this Edgar Cayce guy. From what I read, he was pretty incredible. So as much as I'd like to ignore this whole sixth-sense thing, the more I hang around you, the more I'm finding myself trusting your input. We'll go to the storage place first thing in the morning."
I nodded, then remembered something. "No, I can't. I've got readings starting at nine."
Milo and Dutch again exchanged glances and Milo then abruptly excused himself, leaving the room. "What now?" I said, exasperated.
"We don't think it's a good idea for you to be seeing clients right now, Abby," Dutch explained.
"What are you talking about?" I asked, slow on the uptake.
"If your theory is right, the guy who sent you the photos is the same guy who killed your neighbor, thinking it was you, and he's still out there. Conducting business at your office would make you a sitting duck, and Milo and I aren't open to that idea."
I looked at him with eyebrows lowered. "So what do you propose I do, Detective?" I had a suspicion he had done something behind my back, and I didn't think I was going to like it.
"I had Milo go over to your office and speak to your landlord. She agreed to rearrange your appointments and in fact she's already put in calls to everyone you were supposed to see tomorrow and she's rescheduled them for later dates. I know you can't just shut down your business, so we'll have to figure out something for the rest of the week. Maybe we can move you to another office, or you could have your clients come here and you could work out of my study for a while. I just don't like the thought of you being alone in that big building, and Milo and I can't babysit you."
I wanted to be mad, but I was actually relieved.
I didn't want to go back to my office either. "Okay," I said agreeably, and was rewarded with a dazzling smile.
Dutch and I retreated to the living room where Milo was already immersed in a baseball game. I took one look at the score, and my intuition gave me a flash. "The A's are going to win over the Tigers, eight to six," I announced.
Milo looked sharply at me, "You sure?"
"That's what I'm getting," I said, taking a seat in one of the large leather chairs. Just then I saw a huge gray cat with bright orange eyes slink into the room, taking the three of us in with casual regard.
"So you can use your powers to predict sports events?" Milo asked, looking like a kid at Christmas.
"Sometimes. I'm much better at horses than I am with baseball …"
"Now you've done it," Dutch said, rolling his eyes.
"Horses? As in, if I took you to the track you could tell me which horse was going to win?"
"Usually. I just focus on what color the silks of the winning jockey will be and shazam…you have a winner."
"What are you doing Saturday?" Milo asked, his eyes wide as saucers.
"No," Dutch said, shooting his partner a warning glance.
"What's the big deal?" Milo said to him defensively.
"No," Dutch repeated, and took me in as well with the definitive word.
I looked at Milo, winking conspiratorially, and mouthed, "Call me" while Dutch's back was turned.
Milo smiled at me, then looked at Dutch. "Sure, man, whatever you say."
An hour later the game was over, the A's winning over the Tigers eight to six. Milo and Dutch both stood as the final score was settled in the last inning and looked at me with a mixture of respect and puzzlement. Milo patted Dutch on the back as he moved to the front door and said, "Okay, you take Abby over to the storage place in the morning. I'll track down Mary Lou's boyfriend and see what he can tell me about his whereabouts on Saturday."
"It's a plan. I'll hook up with you around noon," Dutch said.
Milo opened the door and stopped in midthought, then turned back to me and asked, "Hey, Abby, can your spidey sense get the lotto numbers?"
I smiled at how eagerly he looked at me, swearing his pupils had been replaced by dollar signs. Unable to resist taunting him a little, I raised my hand to my forehead, closed my eyes and feigned concentration. "Ummm, okay, I'm getting the numbers twenty-nine, fifty-two, thirty-two, forty-five and five."
Milo mouthed the numbers in order as he pulled out his small notebook and jotted them down and waved a final good-bye before heading out the door. Dutch turned to me and shot me a small look of reproach. "That was mean," he said.
I snickered and answered, "Couldn't help it."
"Come on, Edgar, I'll show you to your room," Dutch said, grabbing my luggage from the landing and proceeding upstairs.
I followed a pace or two behind, suddenly full of mild trepidation. What was happening between him and me?
Since the night he'd come over to make amends about Nathaniel Davies, Dutch and I had circled each other carefully, keeping things businesslike and leaving out the flirt. We were both on equal footing then, secure in our own skills and abilities, but now the lines seemed muddled. I was in his house, he was taking care of me, and I was asking him to trust my gut, something he was definitely uncomfortable with. So where did that leave us personally? What waited for me at the top of the stairs?
Dutch reached the landing and paused so subtly before turning that I almost didn't catch his moment of indecision. Had I not been looking straight at his back I would have missed it completely. I followed him to the top and looked in the direction he'd almost taken: master bedroom. I smiled, a dichotic mixture of relief and disappointment.
Dutch opened the door to a bedroom just down the hall. I was surprised to see that the room was painted a pale lavender with white trim. Lace doilies and antique porcelain knickknacks dotted every flat surface.
I cocked one eyebrow at him, as if to question his sexual orientation and he quickly explained, "This is the bedroom my parents stay in when they come to visit. My mom did the decorating."
"Ah," I said, nodding, "Knew it had to be something like that."
Dutch shot me a grin then and quickly deposited my luggage on the bed. "Bathroom's just down the hall. There are clean towels in the linen closet to the right of the bathroom and hangers in the closet if you need to hang up any of your clothes."
I moved to my suitcase and started to unzip it. "How long do you think I'll be playing houseguest?" I asked.
Dutch looked at me for a long moment, his eyes smoldering, the air between us suddenly erupting with electricity. I was completely caught off guard by it and stood there dumbfounded as I felt the magnetic heat rolling off him like lava. "I don't know, Abby," he said, his voice thick and rich. "Why don't we just play it by ear?" And then he was gone, out of the room and back down the hallway.
I sat down heavily, amazed at the instant transformation. This man played with my head, and I wasn't sure I liked it. I wanted him to make up his damn mind already.
I pulled my suitcase to the floor and dug through the contents, found my contact lens case, glasses, nightshirt and toothbrush, and headed for the bathroom. I hurried through my nightly ablutions, anxious to get to bed. Opening the door of the bathroom, I walked right into bare chest, and jumped like I'd been bitten, letting out a small yelp of surprise.
Dutch chuckled softly and caught my wrist. "Hey there, it's only me, Abby. I didn't mean to scare you."
My wrist was on fire, his grip strong and warm. I couldn't help noticing how good he looked half naked, and I'd bet dollars to doughnuts he looked even better when the other half was bare. "No, it's fine," I said too quickly, trying to brush past him.
He caught me by the waist, and brought me back against him, hugging me tightly. "I'm glad you're here where I can keep an eye on you. Get a good night's sleep, because we have an early start in the morning, okay?" he said.
My voice would betray me. I could feel it in my throat, wanting to burble and crackle with energy. I didn't trust it to answer, so I simply nodded, my body tensing with anticipation at what he would do next. Dutch gave me a small peck on the cheek, then stepped into the bathroom and shut the door. I put my hand over my heart, feeling it thud against my chest. What this man did to me was just shameful.
I walked back into my room and saw that Virgil the cat sat like a king in the center of the bedspread, his orange eyes glowing a silent challenge at me. "Go ahead," he seemed to say. "Just try and get me to leave."
I smiled and moved to sit by him, offering my hand for him to sniff and rub his whiskers against. Within minutes we were thick as thieves and I curled myself around him as I got into bed, weary with exhaustion. Sleep came quickly.
Chapter Twelve
Sometime in the middle of the night I was woken up by the sound of a phone ringing. It took me a minute or two to get my bearings; I couldn't initially remember where I was. When I figured it out I sat up and listened. On the clock radio by my bed, the digital display read two a.m. I could hear Dutch in the next room, his voice low and hushed, and wondered who he could be talking to at two in the morning.
At first I thought it was probably Milo, or the police station, but as the the call continued I knew it was something else. At one point I heard Dutch saying, "No, no, no!" his voice rising ever so slightly before he caught himself and spoke again in more hushed tones. Finally I heard the barest "Good-bye," then nothing more.
I was surprisingly upset by that call. It rankled that not only did someone feel comfortable calling Dutch at two a.m., but that Dutch had spent a good amount of time on the phone with them. The whole thing suggested intimacy, and I suddenly realized that I knew very little about the man sleeping next door to me.
I felt the spiny tendrils of that green-eyed monster circle in my belly, even as I tried to coax it away through reason and logic. After all, it could have been anyone calling—his mother, for instance. But try as I might,
I still felt the bile of jealousy tickle my throat and knew I needed a reality check. I had to keep things platonic, for my own protection. It was a long time before I fell back to sleep.
The next morning I woke up to the smell of coffee. I blinked and rubbed my tired eyes, squinting as I looked at the clock on the night table and groaning when I realized it wasn't even seven a.m. Waffling between rolling over and trying to go back to sleep or getting up and finding the coffee, I pulled the covers over my head and cocooned in the warmth and darkness for a while. But after a few minutes I figured I was pretty firmly entrenched in my state of wakefulness, and sleep was no longer a possibility. Groaning some more, I pushed myself up and sat on the edge of the bed. I shuffled over to my suitcase and extracted my trusty flannel robe, then, bleary-eyed, I made my way down the stairs. I found the coffee, brewed and waiting in the kitchen, but no sign of Dutch. I walked into the living room and looked around, sensing that he was in the house but not really sure where. I walked through the living room and found him typing away on his computer. "Morning," I said from the doorway.
"Hey there," he said, his smile warm and inviting.
"What'cha workin' on?" I asked, nodding at the computer.
"I have a small consulting business on the side," he answered. "I'm just catching up on my e-mails."
"What kind of consulting business?" I asked. Maybe this would explain the late-night phone call.
"I'm a security consultant. I was a security specialist in the navy and put myself through college by consulting for the rich and infamous." He smiled at his little pun.
"What college did you go to?" I probed, taking a seat in a leather recliner to the left of Dutch's desk.
"I did my undergrad at State and my graduate work at U of M."
"You have a master's?" I asked. Somehow I just hadn't expected that.
"Yeah, in criminal psychology. Just because we're cops, Abby, doesn't mean we're not smart," he answered, picking up on my snooty surprise.
Abby Cooper, Psychic Eye Page 21