The Killer on the Heath (The Cassidy Newbold, Clairvoyant Collection Book 1)

by Karen J Mossman

  “So,” Pedro asked, “how long have you been a psychic, again? I know you talked about it at the session, but I would like to know more about it – and you.”

  Before I could reply, my phone rang. “Excuse me for a minute,” I said to Pedro apologetically before answering. “Hello?”

  “We interviewed the abductee’s family,” Seb informed me.

  Pedro raised his eyebrows.

  Damn! One thing about phones – if you have the volume turned up, the other person can hear what is being said.

  “I’m with someone at the moment,” I blurted, and hung up before Seb could continue. My cheeks burned, and I reminded myself that Pedro couldn’t possibly know he was ‘the abductee’ being talked about was his Chantelle. “Just my brother,” I said, picking up my cup again, hoping the steam would mask my blush.

  “He is psychic, as well?”

  “No,” I said as if it was an absurd notion. “One of me is enough.” I laughed. “We’re twins, though, like you and your sister.”

  It was always easier to say Seb had no abilities rather than explain what a seeker was. Besides, I didn’t want to get into all that with Pedro, especially since we’d only just met.

  “To answer your question, I’ve always been a clairvoyant. It’s only these last few years that I’ve learnt to use my gift wisely.” I looked over his shoulder at the window and the heads of passing people.

  In my mind, I heard Seb’s voice contradicting me, Yeah, right.

  “So, you didn’t before?” Pedro questioned.

  “Before what?” I asked, bringing my eyes back to him.

  “Use it wisely?” He grinned warmly, amusement permeating his features.

  I laughed and picked up the other half of my sandwich. I pushed the plate towards him, offering some of my crisps. It pleased me when he took a couple of them.

  “Though I know it’s a gift, I didn’t always see it that way. I used to think of it as a curse because I didn’t understand what I was. It’s only through experience that I’ve learnt to see it as a good thing.” I shrugged.

  “Don’t you ever get scared?” Pedro asked, picking up his coffee and taking several sips. When his cup came away from his mouth, there was froth on his top lip.

  I didn’t know whether to say anything and almost raised my hand to wipe it away, but I stopped myself before I reached out.

  “Have I…?” He paused and seemed to register what I was staring at. Pedro quickly wiped his hand over his mouth as colour darkened his cheeks. “I knew I should have gone with the latte.”

  We both laughed.

  “This is much more fun, though. Having a moustache suits you.” I winked playfully.

  His gaze caught mine and held me for a moment.

  Oh, boy! My stomach did a little flip. Forcing myself to look away, I tried to remember what we were talking about. Oh, yes. “Scared? No, the dead can’t hurt us. It’s only our imaginations and the panic it creates. You can, shi –” I coughed. “Erm, I mean, scare yourself. Not them, though. Never them.” I babbled, frowned, and gazed at a spot above his head.

  Pedro appeared amused. “Do you think I don’t swear?”

  I grinned. “Well, I don’t generally. It tends to make me uncomfortable.” What the hell am I talking about? I could swear like a trooper when I wanted to. “Enough about me. Tell me about you. Where do you live?” I asked him.

  “Lowhampton,” he replied.

  “Oh, by the heath?”

  “Yes, just at the bottom. We played there a lot as kids – hung out there with friends when we were teenagers, then with our girlfriends and boyfriends. The heath is part of our lives, and I hate that someone was killed there. It sort of tarnishes it all.”

  I munched through my last bit of sandwich, understanding how he felt. The intensity with which he was staring at me suddenly seemed to trigger a vision of us being more than just friends. Although, if I were honest, that might have just been wishful thinking.

  “Well,” Pedro asked, “how about we not be strangers, Cassie Newbold?” He spoke as if reading my mind.

  I cocked an eyebrow and worked to mask the excitement that bubbled up within me. “Are you asking me on a real date, Mr. Parslow?”

  “I am, so will you come?”

  “Yes,” I said without hesitation. I would’ve gone anywhere with him at that moment.

  Chapter 6

  That evening, after my rendezvous with Pedro, I sat on my sofa in front of the television. Since I’d been unable to speak to Seb while I was out, I decided to return his call. He didn’t answer, so I left a message.

  It wasn’t unusual for us to play phone tag. We both led busy lives with frequent, not to mention unexpected, interruptions demanding our attention. I knew my brother would reach out to me as soon as he could. Sure enough, he called back within the hour.

  “Sorry about earlier. I was with Pedro,” I explained. “What did you find out?”

  “Wait! Who’s Pedro?” My brother sounded suspicious. “The way you say his name, I get the feeling he’s not one of your typical clients.”

  “And how’s that?” I asked.

  His tone became annoyed. “Girlie.”

  I burst into laughter. “’Girlie?’ That’s not very politically correct of you, Detective Inspector.”

  “Don’t try to deflect, Cassie.”

  I knew Seb wasn’t going to relent. With a sigh of resignation, I said, “I went out for drinks last night with Pedro Parslow.”

  “Parslow…Parslow.” My brother let the name marinate on his tongue as his instincts and training kicked in. “Parslow… as in Chantelle Parslow?”

  “Yes. He’s her twin brother.” I cringed, knowing what would come next. And it did.

  “Are you crazy?” Not only had Seb’s voice raised in volume, but it also jumped an octave. “He’s tied to our current case. I mean, both his and the mother’s alibis checked out, but… Cassie.”

  Seb,” I retorted. “Look, I’m a grown woman. I know what I’m doing.”

  My brother snorted. “I have to disagree. From my life-long experiences, you’ve proven yourself to be a detriment to yourself and a huge pain in my ass. Still…”

  Hope filled me. “Still?” I asked.

  Sighing, he admitted, “I do trust you. You have incredible instincts and the purest heart of anyone I’ve ever met.”

  A warmth washed over me, and a smile curled my lips. “Thanks. I love you, too.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Seb tried to dismiss the mushy moment. “So, how’d you meet?”

  “Oh, at one of my sessions. He was hoping I could help locate Chantelle, or at least, pick up on something related to her.”

  “The sister still hasn’t been found, and everything’s pretty much gone cold.” Seb sounded frustrated. “Please say you were you able to pick something up.”

  “Nothing at all,” I reported. “I made a point of focusing on her, but there wasn’t anything there.”

  “Well, that’s it then. We’re shit out of luck.”

  I heard the weariness in my brother’s voice and understood his disappointment. Though I was desperate to help Pedro and to give him peace of mind, it was vital that we locate his sister. And we needed to do it quickly if we intended to have any hope of doing so while she was still alive.

  “Anyway,” Seb continued, changing the subject, “how was your date?”

  “It was good. I like him. Although, it wasn’t a proper one. We just met up for coffee at the Dandelion.”

  “Ah, right.” My brother chuckled.

  It was my turn to be suspicious. “What’s so funny?”

  “Look, I know you love that place, but I’d seriously judge any man who thought it was an acceptable venue to court you.”

  “To court me? What, are you like a thousand years old now?” I teased. “We’re going out later, tonight – at El Dorado’s. I’ll steer him away from talking about Chantelle.”

  “Good,” my brother encouraged, “but if it does come up
, just tell him the truth, Cass. Tell him about me and that you’re unable to really talk details because of the ongoing investigation. That way, you aren’t saying any untruths, making it less likely to find yourself tripped up.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, knowing he was right, as usual. Feeling restless, I tapped my fingers on the side of my chair. “Do you honestly think the two crimes are linked?” I asked candidly.

  “I don’t know without proof, but I can’t shake this gut feeling I have. For Chantelle’s sake, I hope not.”

  “Me, too.”

  There was a slight pause and shuffling sounds in the background. “I have to go.”

  “Okay, bye, Seb.”

  El Dorado’s was the hot new bistro in town. It caused such a stir upon opening since the name implied it was a Spanish restaurant when, in fact, it’s Italian. Whether it was a public relations stunt (as some people argued) or not, the place was constantly booked up. Everyone seemed to love the clash it presented, including the local papers and food critics.

  Of course, the mystery was easily explained by the mixed heritage of the married owners. The husband was a rotund Italian chef, who never seemed to have a bad day. The jolly fellow’s wife was from Spain. A professor of history, she’d written her doctoral thesis on the mythical city of gold. The bistro was simply a blend of their styles and cultures.

  I walked into El Dorado’s dressed to impress. Hoping to please Pedro, I selected an off-the-shoulder black mermaid dress that finished just above my knee. The bright decoration of flowers that accented the hem danced up my hips, adding a Spanish flair. I wore my new signature satin scarf that complimented my rich locks, which hung down my back, lustrous and fragrant. I could almost enjoy my new style if it wasn’t a reminder of the killer.

  Pedro stood as I approached, and even in the dim light, I could see my efforts were not in vain. An inviting smile spread across his chiselled face as his eyes roved the full length of my body. Clad in a beige polo shirt and dark pants, I couldn’t believe this attractive man was waiting for me.

  I noticed a bottle of red wine had already been ordered. “Cabernet?” I asked as I took my seat.

  The soft glow from our table’s centrepiece warmed Pedro’s shy smile. “Yes. I hope that’s okay. I wasn’t sure what you’d like but took a chance since it pairs nicely with most Italian dishes.”

  “It’s perfect,” I answered reassuringly as I slid my glass towards him. “I like red wine – perhaps more than I should. When someone knows how to match it to our food, it’s a great accompaniment.”

  Pedro beamed and nodded while he uncorked the bottle. “Did you know that the grape this is made from is fairly new? It’s the product of a chance crossing between Cabernet Franc and Sauvignon Blanc.”

  “I didn’t. Wow, you’ve done your homework.” I grinned, accepting the filled Bordeaux goblet he offered, and took a sip.

  “I just like to know about ingredients and what makes something taste pleasant.”

  “Then, you’ll know what you want to order?” I picked up the menu, already anticipating what I was going to choose.

  “I do. I quite fancy the spaghetti carbonara,” he replied, picking up his own menu. He merely glanced at it, as if checking it was there.

  I giggled. “Well, that’s precisely what I was going to order, too.”

  “Then, we are already off to a good start,” he said with a coquettish grin, closing the menu and putting it onto the table.

  I followed suit as the waiter arrived and took our order. Leaning back in my chair, I let Pedro do the speaking. I simply nodded my agreement when the men acknowledged me, offering a faint smile of appreciation for the chivalry.

  When we were alone again, I attempted to make small talk. “This is one of my favourite meals.”

  “Spaghetti carbonara?” he asked before taking a sip from his wine.

  “Uh-huh. Only…” I stopped short, embarrassed to admit the rest.

  Curiosity filled Pedro’s eyes. “Only what?”

  I shook my head, trying to dismiss the question. Nervously, I raised my glass to my lips and turned away as I took a drink.

  “No. No, please, don’t,” he encouraged. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  Giving him a sideways glance, I said, “you’ll laugh.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You will.” I placed my glass back on the table and played with the stem as I sighed deeply. There I go, shooting my mouth off again before thinking.

  “Come on, Cassie.” Pedro reached over to grasp my hand. The touch sent a shiver through my body as he said, “even if I do laugh, so what? We’ll never really know each other if we aren’t direct.”

  “Okay,” I acquiesced. “Spaghetti carbonara is my favourite meal only… well, only I don’t usually order it on dates because I’m not very coordinated. I tend to be… messy.”

  Pedro released my hand, grabbed his napkin, and unfolded it with a quick flip. “That, my dear, is why we have these.”

  We burst into laughter as the waiter arrived with our food. He placed mine in front of me first, making my mouth water. It looked delicious.

  Pedro winked at me as he tucked his napkin into the neckline of his shirt. He wasted no time digging into his food and had no qualms about sucking at the spaghetti. It reminded me of that scene in The Lady and the Tramp, and I was instantly put at ease, which I think was his intent.

  “So,” Pedro asked after we finished the main course, “tell me more about yourself, Cassie Newbold. Hmmm…” A pensive look washed over his features.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Newbold. Why does your surname seem so familiar to me?”

  I may as well get this over with, I decided and swallowed hard. “Probably because my brother is the lead investigator on the Mandy Smith case.”

  “Wait, isn’t that the woman who first went missing – the one they found dead?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I sighed, waiting for his anger to rear up. “I probably should’ve told you sooner. I just wanted a chance to get to know you before the case got in the way.”

  “Why would it?” Pedro genuinely seemed confused.

  “Well, because it could be linked to your sister, of course.”

  “What do you mean?” His voice was excited as he leaned forward and gripped my wrist tightly with anticipation. “What have you heard?”

  I wrenched myself from his hold and explained, “I really can’t say. It’s an ongoing investigation and I’ve not been privy to –”

  “But your brother knows, right?”

  Pedro was persistent, I’d give him that. Although, who wouldn’t be in his situation? I felt bad, as if I was refusing to help, but this was dangerous ground.

  “Please, just stop.” I raised my hands in surrender. My eyes pleaded with him to understand as I said, “There isn’t enough evidence even for conjecture. I’ve not been consulted regarding your sister’s case. I know even less than you do.”

  His feverish hopefulness faded, and he slumped dismally into his chair. “But you’re a psychic.”

  “And what do you think that means, exactly?” When he didn’t answer, I added, “I’m too close to you, Pedro. I don’t want it to, but it might tarnish things.” Realising how that sounded, I knew I needed to clarify my words. “You must understand that my sight can appear as though I’m looking through a smokescreen. Being tied to my emotions, what I feel for you can affect it.”

  Pedro raised his eyes, shaking off his disappointment that I’d not be directly helping him find Chantelle.

  “Your connection with your sister – the fact you’re twins – already complicates things. Anything I see will most likely be clouded. The question is to what extent. I’m not comfortable with guessing when it comes to people’s lives. I can’t afford to take any chances of interpreting something incorrectly nor will I give you false hope. Do you understand what I mean?” I willed him to accept reality.

  “Yes.” He nodded. “False hope only mak
es a bad situation more difficult. We just need the truth – and to find her.”

  “I agree.”

  We sat in silence for a moment, each processing the situation.

  Movement caught my eye, alerting me that the waiter was headed towards us. Clearing my throat, I said, “we’re about to have company.” As Pedro glanced over his shoulder to see what I was referring to, I asked, “so where does this leave us?”

  Turning back to me, he smiled warmly and replied, “ordering dessert?”

  I couldn’t help myself. I burst into relieved laughter. His response let me know everything was going to be okay, and he accepted my connection to the investigation through my brother.

  “Would you like to see the dessert menu?” our waiter asked.

  Smiling coyly at my date, I immediately ordered, “I’ve heard rave reviews about your chocolate mousse brownie. I don’t need to see the menu to know that’s what I’ll be having.”

  Pedro chuckled with amusement. “Tiramisu for me, please.” Glancing in my direction while raising his empty glass, he asked, “more cabernet?”

  “Yes, please.”

  The waiter nodded approvingly. “I’ll be back with your dessert and another bottle of wine momentarily.”

  Glad the tension seemed to have passed, I asked, “So, we’re okay?”

  “Yeah,” Pedro replied. “I mean, we are, right?”

  “Uh-huh,” I agreed. “I think so. I just, you know, can’t talk about the investigations with you is all.”

  He nodded. “Well, I really like you, Cassie. I feel… something between us.”

  “I feel it, too,” I admitted, gazing at him through lowered lashes.

  “Good. Then, we owe it to ourselves to give this a shot.” The corners of Pedro’s mouth rose into the most compelling smile I’d ever seen.

  I would’ve melted, then and there, had it not been for our waiter returning so promptly with the rest of our meal. As he refreshed our glasses with wine, I asked Pedro, “what do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a chemist,” he responded before thanking our server for handing him his dessert.

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Like in a shop?” I asked before accepting the plate the waiter offered me. “Thank you.”