Clairvoyant and Present Danger

by Lena Gregory

  Bee’s overly loud laugh outside the front door interrupted her efforts.

  Dang! Resigned to the fact she was out of time, she quickly spun the painting back around, shoved the paintbrush in her jeans pocket, and arranged her oversize tunic top so it covered the evidence of her guilt, then ran for the front room, huffing and puffing as if she’d just run a marathon.

  She made it before them, but a quick glance over her shoulder told her she wasn’t out of the woods yet.

  Bee’s bulky silhouette barred the shop entrance, and Cass ran back to the stockroom door, kicked the chair she’d used to prop the door open out of the way, ran back, and skidded to a stop by the register even as the door burst open and Bee poked his head in.

  Ugh . . . way to be discreet, Bee. Of course, he hadn’t left his thumbprint on anything. So there was that. She quickly hooked her incriminating thumb in her jeans pocket, holding the paintbrush in place to keep it from falling out.

  Bee took one look at her, and his eyes widened. Thankfully, he kept talking with only a small hitch in his voice. “That would be perfect if you could have it done by the end of the summer, just in time for the buyers to be in town for my annual fashion show.”

  He held the door open and Leighton strolled through, quickly surveying the shop as she entered. Her gaze landed on Cass, and she frowned.

  Cass tried for a smile, still breathing a little hard through her teeth. “So, how’d it go?”

  “Fantastic,” Bee gushed. “Leighton is going to do a sunset for the wall where my beach wedding line is displayed.”

  “Oh, that’s great.” She hooked Bee’s arm with her free hand. “Come on, though, I’ve got to run. Everything was quiet while you were gone, Leighton.” She started to pull her cell phone out of her pocket to check the time, but then thought better of it. No way could she explain the paint smudge on her thumb. “Uh . . . I have to go get Beast. I was supposed to pick him up a little while ago.”

  Bee’s eyebrows pulled into a bushy V, but he turned to Leighton without questioning Cass. “Could you write up the order, and I’ll stop in tomorrow and leave a deposit?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks.”

  When they got outside, he lit into her the instant the door closed. “What on earth happened to you?”

  She scoffed and started speed walking toward Mystical Musings, which was no easy task with one hand hooked through Bee’s arm and the other stuffed in her pocket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, please. You have got to be kidding me. Your hair is soaked with sweat and you look like you just—” He paled and waved a hand dismissively. “Never mind. If you were breathing any harder when I walked in there, you’d have probably passed out. So, something obviously happened. Now, are you going to tell me what it was or not?”

  She twisted her face up in an expression that hopefully told him he couldn’t be more wrong, but probably screamed I’m guilty as hell.

  14

  Bee maintained a moody silence all the way back to Mystical Musings. When Cass unlocked the door and held it open for him, he simply crossed his arms, leaned back against the railing, and pinned her with the look. He obviously wasn’t going anywhere without answers. And he had run interference for her. As much as she hated admitting how badly she’d screwed up, he deserved the truth. “Fine.”

  Bee smirked, and she had half a mind to walk away without saying anything. But she really wanted another opinion as to why Leighton would have painted over the portrait Cass had asked her about, especially just after she’d seen Artie Becker leaving the gallery.

  Still holding the door open, she gestured toward the shop. “Come in, though. I want to see if the reporters are still out back.”

  He pushed away from the railing and pointed toward the side of the shop where the boardwalk ended and the edge of the parking lot met hard-packed sand. “If that’s any indication, it’s worse than before.”

  “But we weren’t even gone long.” She let the door fall closed and peered around the corner of the shop. More news vans were packed into the cramped space, along with a few police cruisers, their lights flashing. “Do you think something else happened?”

  Bee shrugged and started toward the door. “No idea, but I’ll make the rounds if we can’t figure anything out.”

  An idea struck. “Any chance you’d pick up Beast for me while you’re out, and I’ll try to figure out what’s going on?”

  “Not a chance, honey.” He winked.

  Cass couldn’t help but laugh. As long as there was drama in her backyard, Bee wouldn’t be going anywhere. Not even for gossip. Beast would be okay for a couple more minutes. She’d run and get him as soon as she checked out the beach. And she’d make sure to give the groomer a generous tip.

  On the way in the door, she flipped the sign to OPEN, then crossed the shop and started to turn the sign on the back door over. One look at the beach out the back window stopped her short. They’d removed the chicken wire, and the reporters were crammed together yelling questions over one another. The new police chief stood with Tank and Harry on either side of her. Doctor Jones, a local doctor who doubled as the medical examiner, stood beside Tank, his usually friendly expression grim.

  Apparently they’d missed whatever announcement he’d made, but maybe they could figure something out from the questions being asked. Unable to hear more than a chaotic rumble through the closed door, Cass opened the door and strolled onto the porch with Bee right on her heels.

  “. . . serial killer . . . bodies . . . safe?”

  She struggled to sort through the barrage of questions.

  When the police chief pointed to a petite woman with dark hair toward the middle of the pack, the other questions died down.

  “What precautions are you taking to keep the community safe?” she yelled, in a much more forceful voice than Cass would have expected from the delicate woman.

  “We have no reason to believe any of our citizens are in danger . . .” the chief started.

  The murmur that rushed through the crowd told Cass they didn’t agree with her assessment.

  “Please . . .” She held her hands up. “Please. We have very little information right now, and it’s way too early in the investigation to jump to any conclusions. As soon as we know more, we’ll let you know. For now, though, there’s no reason to panic.”

  After a second or two of silence, when it became obvious she wasn’t going to elaborate, the volley of questions started again.

  Cass rested her elbows on the railing and scanned the group of what she’d originally thought were mostly reporters. It seemed a number of Bay Island’s citizens were among the crowd. Tony and his wife, Gina, who co-owned the bakery; a few employees from the diner; Rick, who owned the deli; and several business owners from along the boardwalk. Apparently, the situation was more concerning than Cass had realized.

  She spotted another vaguely familiar face among the throng of people. The skinny guy from the deli leaned against a lamppost toward the back of the crowd, hands stuffed into the pockets of his baggy khakis. Wade something.

  His gaze shot to hers as if he’d sensed the weight of her stare, and a slow grin spread across his face. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned toward a heavyset man standing next to him and spoke briefly.

  The other man turned toward Cass, staring openly, and nodded, then moved through the crowd until he reached the petite woman with the big voice. He gripped her shoulder and leaned close to her ear. If the rapid movement of his lips was any indication, he was excited about something.

  Uh-oh. Cass stood and backed toward the door.

  “Miss Donovan!” The woman honed in on her before Cass even finished crossing the porch and started shoving her way through the crowd toward Mystical Musings. “Aren’t you Cass Donovan?”

  Cass froze. “Uh . . .”


  Bee grabbed her shoulders from behind and whispered in her ear, “On second thought, someone really should go get Beast,” then fled. His heavy footsteps retreated across the porch, and the wind chimes tinkled as he opened the door.

  “Aren’t you the woman who found the first body?”

  The police chief rolled her eyes, smiled, and took the opportunity to quickly thank everyone for coming, then she shot Cass a warning stare and took off.

  Tank’s jaw clenched, the only indication he wasn’t happy with the situation . . . or her . . . or something.

  Harry simply tilted his head and looked amused.

  With no idea what she was supposed to say, she resorted to the standard line they always used on TV. “No comment?”

  “Did a spirit actually lead you to the body?”

  Cass shook her head but refrained from repeating herself.

  “Can you really talk to ghosts?” another reporter yelled.

  The barrage of questions overwhelmed her.

  “There are reports you’ve worked with the police before. Are you working with them on this case?”

  “What?” Caught off guard, Cass forgot her no comment mantra.

  Tank shook his head and moved toward her.

  If she didn’t put a stop to the all the rumors and speculation flying around, she’d never be left alone. She’d have to worry constantly that the killer—or Tank—would come after her. She couldn’t live looking over her shoulder every two seconds. “Look. I don’t know where you’re getting your information from . . .”

  She scanned the crowd for the troublemaker who’d set the reporters on her, but he seemed to have disappeared. “But I’m not consulting with the police in any professional capacity. I was walking my dog on the beach, and he picked up a bone. When I realized what it was, I called nine-one-one. That’s it.”

  Voices raised in competition for her attention. Did these people just not get it?

  She backed up until she hit the door Bee had closed behind him. Thanks a lot, Bee. She felt behind her for the handle.

  “Do you have reason to believe the woman who contacted you was Kelly Becker?”

  Ah jeez . . . Who were these people talking to, and why did they seem to have so much information?

  “You had an appointment with Artie Becker on Friday evening . . .”

  Shock slammed through her. An image of “John” hunched over her appointment book flashed before her.

  “Did Mr. Becker give you a clue that led you to his daughter’s whereabouts?”

  Anger started to simmer. How dare that guy come into her shop, go through her things, and then pass on information to reporters?

  The rapid-fire questions continued to pummel her, coming so quickly she had no hope of sorting through them, or even making sense of them.

  She opened her mouth, intent on giving these people a piece of her mind, then snapped it shut just as quickly. If she blurted out that she wasn’t psychic, she may as well lock her doors and move back to the city right now. If she admitted to any sort of psychic ability, they’d be all over her. Besides, a spirit—or something—had actually led her to the body. Maybe. Okay, she definitely couldn’t say that. Of course, business would probably pick up if she did.

  She was saved from having to say anything else by a firm grip around her arm. She spun toward the hold, tried to jerk away, and came face-to-face with a stone-faced Tank. Oh, boy. This isn’t going to be pretty. She offered a winning—she hoped—smile.

  Tank just rolled his eyes and tightened his grip while he announced the end of her impromptu press conference. Then he turned and ushered her through the store. “Lock up.”

  “Lock up? I can’t close the store in the middle of the afternoon.”

  Tank turned the sign on the back door to CLOSED. “As long as you’re open, we’ll never be able to get rid of the reporters. Besides, we need to talk.”

  “Why can’t we talk here?”

  He stared at her with his brow lifted, then pulled out his cell phone and started texting.

  Cass reluctantly locked the back door, then strode toward the front. A few of the reporters had already made their way around to the front and were lingering on the porch. One guy cupped his hands and pressed his face against the display window, trying to see in. Though she hated to admit it, and she wouldn’t tell him, Tank was right. She’d never be able to work this way.

  “Come on.” Tank placed a gentle hand on her back and guided her toward the door. “Once we get you out of here, maybe we can get control of this mess.”

  The frustration in his voice made her glance over and take a good look at him for the first time. He looked more tired than she’d ever seen him. Dark circles ringed his eyes, deep lines bracketed his mouth, and his posture was just a little slouched, not enough that you’d notice without studying him, but Cass made a career of noticing things like that.

  “Tank?”

  He watched out the front door, obviously distracted. “Yeah?”

  “Are you okay?”

  He looked at her for a moment, surprise apparent in his expression, then nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay, just tired.” He rubbed a circle on her back. “Thanks for caring, though. Even though you frustrate the crap out of me, you’re a good friend.”

  “Thanks.” Cass laughed. “I think.”

  He grinned. “Come on, let’s get out of here. Do you have the key?”

  She handed it to him as she watched the crowd out front grow.

  “Where’s your car?”

  “Bee drove with me from the deli. He must have taken it to go get Beast.”

  Harry pulled up out front and hurried—as fast as Harry hurried anywhere—up the boardwalk to the front porch. Two uniformed officers flanked him, keeping the reporters back.

  Tank leaned close. “Keep your focus straight ahead and, whatever you do, don’t say a word.”

  He opened the front door, and she walked onto the porch.

  Harry took her arm and guided her toward the car.

  A moment later, after locking the door, Tank caught up and picked up the pace.

  A man standing beside a black car in the parking lot caught her attention. John. Or whatever his real name was. She hesitated, but Tank propelled her forward. “Wait. That’s him.”

  Tank tried to follow her gaze with his own. “Who?”

  “The guy who came into the shop and was looking through my appointment book.” She tried to head toward him, but Tank’s iron grip kept her on track.

  Harry opened the car door.

  “But wait, you have to . . .” Before she could finish the statement, the guy spotted her looking at him and melted into the crowd toward the beach. “He’s getting—”

  “Not here, Cass. I’ll meet you at the station.” Tank helped her into the car, then slammed the door.

  “Station? Wait, what station? Tank?”

  But he was already walking away. Harry slid in next to her and took off.

  Great. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and texted Bee. He’d just have to take care of Beast until she could straighten all of this out, whatever all of this was.

  When the phone beeped with his answer, she didn’t even bother reading it. She already knew he wouldn’t be happy, between having to keep Beast and not knowing what was happening, but what else could she do?

  Resigned to her fate for the next little while, Cass sighed. “So, how are things going, Harry?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “I’ll tell ya, this is the last thing I needed two weeks before retirement.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “You couldn’t have waited two lousy weeks before calling this in, Cass? Really?”

  She shrugged. “Sorry, Harry. I’ll do better next time.”

  “Bite your tongue, girl. There’d better not be a next time.” His good humor fled.r />
  “What exactly is going on? I heard another body was found.”

  He studied her for a moment. “You can’t say anything to anyone about any of this.”

  “I won’t.” She slid her crossed fingers beneath her leg. Of course, she’d tell Bee and Stephanie, but she figured he probably expected that.

  He heaved his bulk up a little, probably getting more comfortable, then hit the turn signal as they pulled onto the main road, which only allowed for one lane of traffic in each direction, and headed through the town. “The first body, the one you found, seems to be old. And we’re fairly certain it’s a man. We can’t tell for sure, but it seems that way. But the second body . . .” He shook his head and stared out the windshield.

  Cass watched the scenery go by as she waited to see if he’d continue. After a long cold winter, everything was just starting to bloom. Daffodils surrounded the trees that lined the side streets. The trees that had stood bare all winter now held buds that would soon form canopies over the roads. Sunlight flickered as the branches swayed in the gentle bay breeze.

  “It wasn’t found far from the first, just a little farther into the dunes, and we’re certain it’s a woman, though we haven’t verified her identity yet.” He stared at Cass, his scrutiny long and hard enough to make her squirm in her seat. “If you’d have followed her a little farther, you’d have stumbled right over her.”

  Cass gasped.

  “The rumors are true, aren’t they? You followed a woman into the dunes and found the first body?”

  She didn’t know what to say. Harry’s paunchy appearance and laid-back—lazy, if she were to be perfectly honest—attitude made it easy to forget how smart he was. And how observant.

  “My cousin and her husband were guests at the old Madison Estate when the spirit you conjured appeared over the fireplace.”

  Cass racked her brain to think of who his cousin could be, but she hadn’t yet been back on Bay Island long enough to have learned all of the family connections.

  “My cousin and I are very close, more like brother and sister, so aside from Tank’s high praise and glowing recommendation, I also researched you after the trouble up there. I didn’t find anything to make me think you are a fraud, nor did I find anything to indicate you were crazy. Millie is a smart woman, not given to theatrics, and she told me in no uncertain terms, if rumor has it a spirit guided you to the body, then it probably did.” He shrugged. “So, I’m asking. Did you have help finding the body?”