To Coach a Killer

by Victoria Laurie

  And I wondered if Maks being back in town also meant that I’d have to make some sort of emotional decision about which man I preferred.

  That’d be difficult, because I had strong feelings for both, and, frustratingly, both men had been elusive of late. Maks had been tied up with his mafia connections, and Detective Shepherd had been busy obsessing over his ex-wife’s murder. Both of the men’s endeavors had kept them out of circulation these past four months, which’d been fine because my sons had come home for the holidays, and I’d been busy with all of that, but now that I had a little more free time on my hands, it was nice to see that at least one of the two men was making an effort to see me.

  Gilley jolted me out of thought when he waved to get my attention and said, “Willem’s on line one.”

  “Right,” I said, reaching for the receiver. “Best to focus on the task at hand and worry about the rest later.”

  “What’s that?” Gilley asked.

  “Nothing,” I assured him, even though I was hardly sure of anything in that moment.

  Chapter 2

  “Willem?” I said when I picked up line one.

  “Hi, Ms. Cooper.”

  I relaxed a little. He hardly sounded traumatized. “Please,” I said. “Call me Catherine.”

  “Okay. Hi, Catherine. If you’re inquiring about your fee for today, I’ve already sent you payment via Venmo.”

  That took me by surprise. I wasn’t even thinking about charging for the session, mostly because it hadn’t really even been a session, just fifteen minutes of tea and a little background. “Thank you,” I said, “but I wasn’t calling you about that.”

  “Then what can I do for you?”

  “Well, you ran out of here so quickly, I didn’t have a chance to apologize for the chaos of the morning.”

  “Why would you apologize?” he said, his voice sounding weary. “It was my fault.”

  “Nonsense. Willem, all blame rests firmly on the shoulders of one of my tenants. He left a toaster unattended and it was something so minor in the end. Truly, there was no harm done and none of it was your fault.”

  “I brought the curse with me when I came to your office. It was me. And I wouldn’t have done that, but you insisted on meeting face to face for our first session, and I . . . well . . . I suppose I was a little desperate for someone to help me.”

  My heart went out to this poor man. “Willem, I want you to listen to me. I understand that you believe this curse is real, so I want you to know that—if you’re right, if in fact this curse and other curses are real—I can recommend someone who might be able to help.”

  “Who?”

  “A friend of mine and a former associate of Gilley’s. A very gifted spirit medium who’s had extensive experience in the realm of the paranormal. I’d like to give him a call and speak to him about this, if you’re all right with me discussing your personal business with another professional, that is.”

  “Of course,” he said quickly. “If you think it might help, by all means, do it.”

  “Excellent,” I said. “Give me a day or two to get in touch with him, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can, all right?”

  “That’s fine,” he said. “I’m open to anything at this point.”

  After hanging up with Willem, I headed toward the stairs, intent on checking in on Martin, but as I entered the central hallway the exterior building door opened and in rushed Detective Steve Shepherd.

  He took one look at me and blew out a sigh of relief. “Hey,” he said.

  “Hi,” I replied, startled by his sudden appearance. “I’m surprised to see you. Is something wrong?”

  He looked up toward the stairs and then all around the hallway. “I heard there was a fire here this morning.”

  I laughed and waved my hand. “Oh, that. It was nothing. Just a toaster left on too high in one of the office suites. Really, it was a lot of commotion for nothing.”

  Shepherd nodded, but there was something in his eyes that still held a bit of concern.

  To reassure him I reached out and squeezed his arm. “Hey . . . I’m fine.”

  He looked at my hand on his arm and something small and intimate passed between us. Just like the last time we were together, which was oh, three months ago now.

  “Good,” he said softly, covering my hand with his. “That’s good.”

  The door behind Shepherd opened and a man walked in, startling us both. I let my hand fall away and Shepherd cleared his throat uncomfortably.

  We both stared at the stranger, who eyed us with curiosity before he pointed to the stairs and asked, “Doctor Strickland’s office?”

  “Second floor,” I told him, with a nod toward the stairs.

  The man moved past us and carried on his way.

  “I better let you get on with your day,” Shepherd said, turning to leave.

  “Detective,” I said.

  He turned back. “Yeah?”

  I shook my head and forced a smile. “Nothing. Thanks for checking on me.”

  He tipped an imaginary hat, headed out, and I was left to ponder the meaning of his sudden appearance.

  “Cat?” Gilley said.

  I jumped, realizing Gil was poking his head out of the entrance to our suite. “Yes?”

  “Heath’s on the line. He’s got a few minutes if you’d like to talk to him.”

  “Oh, yes. Yes, that’d be great. Thank you, Gilley.”

  Abandoning my earlier mission to check on Martin, I followed Gilley back into my office and picked up the line at my chair. “Heath?”

  “Cat!” he said sweetly. “Good to hear your voice. How’ve you been?”

  I knew Heath mainly through my friendship with Gilley, who, along with Heath and his wife, M.J., had once led incredibly adventurous lives as psychic mediums who hosted a weekly cable TV series called Ghoul Getters. It’d been a ratings hit for years, but several location shoots had also proven to be quite dangerous and at one point or another, M.J., Gilley, and Heath had almost died at the hands of evil spirits.

  When M.J. became pregnant with their first child, the couple had decided to retire from ghostbusting, and they both now lived very quiet, peaceful lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico, surrounded by Heath’s family and raising their daughter while also preparing for another two bundles of joy arriving about five months from now.

  “I’m fine, my friend, thank you,” I said, replying to his inquiry. “And I don’t think I’ve had a chance to congratulate you and M.J. yet! Such wonderful news!”

  Heath chuckled, clearly happy to talk about his expanding family. “Yeah, can you believe it? Twins!”

  “You both must be so thrilled,” I said. “And if you need any advice about how to get through the first few months with the babies, just give me a call. I have plenty of experience to draw from should you need some help.”

  “Oh, yeah, you have twin sons, right?”

  “I do. Matthew and Michael. They’re fourteen going on thirty.”

  Heath chuckled. “We’ll definitely look forward to picking your brain, Cat, although, M.J. thinks she can handle everything on her own. She keeps reminding me that she was once a badass demon buster, and handling twin babies and a toddler should be child’s play.”

  “Those are the hormones talking,” I said with a laugh. “Don’t believe her. She’ll need plenty of help.”

  “Agreed. Lucky for her, I’m not an idiot, and I’ll be ready for the handoff when it comes. So, Gilley tells me that you’ve got a new client who says he’s been cursed, is that right?”

  “It is. But it’s just so hard for me to believe, Heath. I was hoping you could help shed some light on its validity or offer me some advice about how to convince him that it’s all in his head.”

  “For sure. But first tell me why he thinks he’s cursed.”

  I detailed for Heath everything that Willem had said to us, and Heath listened silently throughout the lengthy explanation. When I was through, he said, “Wow. That’s some int
eresting anecdotal evidence.”

  “It is, but like I said, I just have a hard time believing some gypsy could’ve cast a spell on poor Willem before he was even born.”

  “Actually, that’s the time when a curse might form the most powerful attachment,” Heath said.

  “It is?”

  “Absolutely. If this woman really did wield some energetic, manipulative prowess—and mind you that’s an extremely rare psychic talent to have—then pointing a curse at a pregnant woman’s unborn child would be the easiest way to get revenge. Babies in utero have no aura—no field of electromagnetic energy yet. They don’t get that until they’re born, so they’re totally defenseless for the entire time they’re in the womb.”

  “Wouldn’t they be protected by their mother’s aura?” I asked.

  “Yes and no. There’s a point at which the aura protecting the mother and child would thin for the baby, and that happens usually around the third trimester, a few weeks before the baby’s born. It’s a tricky time, energetically speaking, for the child. So, if Willem’s mother was near the later end of her pregnancy, then it’s entirely possible that he could really be cursed.”

  “How can we know for sure?”

  Heath sighed. “Well, you could set him up for a quick session with me, and I could take a look.”

  I brightened. “You’d do that?”

  “Sure. If it’ll help you and him, I’m all for it.”

  “I would so appreciate it,” I told him, but then I thought of another question. “Heath, if Willem is actually cursed, what should he do? Get an exorcism?”

  “No, nothing so crazy as that,” Heath said. “I think the place to start is for me to connect with your client and see if I can pick up anything. Once I know what we’re dealing with, I might be able to come up with a plan.”

  “I can’t tell you how grateful I’d be for your help,” I told him. I hated the thought of this poor man being confined in his home due to something that happened to him before he was even born.

  “It’s no problem, Cat. I’m happy to help. Have Gilley send me a text with Willem’s info and I’ll look at my schedule for a good time for us to talk.”

  After hanging up with Heath I glanced at Gilley, who was pretending to be immersed in my marketing campaign. “Will you please text Heath Willem’s phone number? Oh, and please call Willem and let him know who Heath is and why he’ll be in touch, okay?”

  “Heath is going to help lift the curse?” Gilley asked.

  “I don’t know about that,” I said. “But he’s at least going to use his talents to try and determine if one is in fact attached to Willem.”

  “Got it,” Gil said, reaching for his cell phone to text Willem and Heath.

  I got up and walked to the closet to grab my coat and purse. “I’m heading out for the rest of the afternoon. Text me if you need me, Gilley.”

  “Where’re you off to?”

  “The twins are flying out with their father to Aruba next week for spring break and I want to do a little shopping and send them each a care package in time for them to leave.”

  “Care package?”

  “Yes. Nothing major, just some sunscreen, swim trunks, new sunglasses, a few outfits for dinners out . . . you know . . . the essentials.”

  Gilley smirked at me. “Your kids have big first-world problems, huh?”

  I rolled my eyes, gave Gilley a casual wave, and headed for the door.

  Much of the rest of the day was spent gathering all the items I planned to send to the boys. I had no doubt their father would forget the sunscreen, and they’d both had a growth spurt this year, so new swim trunks and casual wear for all the places they’d go besides the beach were in order.

  My last stop was at the post office to send off the care package, and while I stood in line, I couldn’t help but reflect moodily over the fact that Tom—my ex-husband—got to take the boys on a vacation that used to be a family tradition.

  Deep down I had to admit that it hurt to be excluded from all the fun, but the divorce agreement was very strict when it came to assigning not only an equitable number of vacation days between the two of us, but also what holidays were assigned to whom. Tom got spring break, I got an extra week during the summer. And, truthfully, unless I wanted Tom to protest where I spent my vacations with the boys, I pretty much had to keep my mouth shut about wherever he ventured with them.

  Still, it irked me that he’d chosen to take Matt and Mike to the very same hotel resort that we’d always visited for spring break as a family, but then the man was never very good at coming up with new adventures, preferring to stick with the old.

  God, my ex was dull.

  Just as I finished paying the clerk at the counter for the shipping fee, my cell rang. “Hello, Gilley,” I said.

  “Are you done with your errands yet? I’m home and I’m bored.”

  I sighed tiredly. It’d been a whirlwind of a day. “Yes, love. On my way back. I should be there in less than fifteen minutes.”

  “Perfect!” he said. “I’ll have some baked treats for you to try out, because I doubt you stopped to eat lunch.”

  I smiled. “It’s like you know me.”

  “Mmmhmmm,” Gilley said smugly. “See you in a few.”

  Ten minutes later, I pulled into the circular driveway and, instead of parking in the garage, I opted to park right at the front door. I had several packages I’d picked up for myself while I was out, and depositing them at the stairs from the front foyer was easier than lugging them from the garage, through the kitchen, family room, and front hallway.

  Moving to the front door, I looked directly into the small peephole and said, “Sebastian, open the door, please.”

  The door clicked open and a soothing voice with a British accent said, “Welcome home, Lady Catherine. Would you like to hear some music?”

  Sebastian was my AI butler. An eye scan at the front door allowed him to recognize me and open the door on command. It was wonderfully convenient. “Music would be lovely,” I told him. “Something soothing, please.”

  The speakers located throughout the house immediately began kicking out the sound of a harmonious melody. I deposited the shopping bags at the foot of the stairs and headed into my favorite rooms in the house, the kitchen and family rooms.

  My interior designer had suggested the colors of my cabinets, which were a gorgeous Prussian blue on the lower level and bright white upper, all with burnished gold pulls and topped by a marvelous bright white marble countertop that also served as a backsplash. The kitchen itself faced my front garden, or what would become my front garden once I had the landscapers install one in the next few weeks. I couldn’t wait to spend my first spring and summer at Chez Cat, admiring the colorful array of blooms I’d planned while I did the dishes at the sink.

  Separating the kitchen from the family room was a large kitchen island, which allowed unfettered food prep on one side, and on the other side, up to six people to sit comfortably in the high-backed, upholstered, peacock-blue bar stools with gold rivets rimming the seams.

  The family room off the kitchen was also a cozy, welcoming space, with a large, impossibly soft, L-shaped modular couch upholstered in a pearl-white velvet with powder-blue and soft violet throw pillows. Sheepskin rugs adorned the dark wood floors, giving the entire ensemble an inviting appeal.

  A painting by the artist Daniel Bilmes that reminded me of my sister hung above the mantel of the large white-stone fireplace, and bookshelves filled with my favorite books lined the walls.

  All in all, Chez Cat had nineteen rooms, but this area was where I spent the bulk of my time, constantly drawn to its comforting essence.

  I sighed as I entered, and Gilley looked up from the oven where he was just removing a tray of meringues, no doubt working on his homework project for the pastry chef class he was taking.

  Setting the tray of white confections trimmed in green food coloring on the counter, he said, “Well, don’t you look worn slap out!”


  I tossed my purse on the counter, frowned, and sent Gil a hefty dose of side eye, unsure if that was one of his quaint southern phrases or some kind of insult.

  “Relax,” he cooed. “It’s what we say in the South when we’re dog-tired.”

  “Oh, well then, yes, consider me slapped out.”

  Gilley chuckled, came around the counter at a trot, hugged me, then patted the top of my head. “You’re adorable. Now, sit your fanny down and I’ll get you some tea and cookies.”

  I plodded to the middle chair and plopped my butt into the seat. Meanwhile, Gilley retraced his steps over to the stove area and turned the burner on for the teakettle. After setting the kettle on the flame, he opened the door to the microwave, removing a bowl of melted dark chocolate, which he stirred thoroughly before moving that to the counter. Next, he uncovered a bowl of chopped Andes mint chocolates.

  While I watched him dip the meringues first into the melted chocolate, then the chopped thin mint candies, he said, “The benefit of this snack is that it’ll keep your breath minty fresh.”

  “They look spectacular,” I said.

  Gilley smiled, pleased by the compliment. “So! What’d you buy?”

  I sighed and got up because the kettle was starting to whistle and Gilley’s hands were covered in chocolate.

  “Too much. The boys will have plenty of choices for beach, pool, and restaurant attire, let me tell you.”

  “No, not for them,” Gilley said as I poured the hot water over the tea infuser, already filled with loose tea and resting in my favorite teapot.

  “I might’ve picked up one or two things for myself,” I admitted.

  Gilley paused his methodical confection process to turn and stare at me over his shoulder. “Only one or two things?”

  I rolled my eyes and brought over the teapot, setting it on the island counter to steep. “Fine. Maybe more than one or two.”

  Gilley’s brow arched. “Anything . . . fancy?”

  I shrugged casually and walked back to my stool. “Not overly fancy.”

  “Something gorgeous, though, right?”

  I grinned. He knew me too well. “Well, there was a little number that I simply had to have.”