James turned away from me as he headed back to his own chair and without meeting my eyes he replied, “No. Sadly we parted ways a few years ago. One of those sibling rivalry things that just about every family has, I guess.”
“Ahh,” I answered, not knowing what else to say. Deciding to take it one step further I focused my radar at him and took an assessment. After a moment I blurted out, “So, how’s the new puppy?”
James’s face snapped up. “She’s fine. How did you know I got a puppy?”
I shot him a broad smile and replied, “What I haven’t told you is that along with needing a really good birthday present for my sister, I’m also a professional psychic. Your puppy’s a golden retriever, right?”
James laughed, his eyes wide, “Close, she’s a golden Labrador. Her name is Chloe and I just brought her home from the breeder a week ago.”
My intuition kicked in again and I puzzled over the message before saying what came to me next. “Are you sure you’re adjusting well to the dog?”
“I think so, I mean she’s still not house trained but that’s to be expected.”
“Hmmm,” I said. I didn’t understand the message, so I just blurted out what was in my head. “James, this is so weird because I get the feeling that you’re getting rid of the dog, but there’s great regret here.”
“No, that’s got to be wrong. I’m telling you, Abby, I’ve already bonded with her. I could never give her away,” James insisted.
“Yeah, maybe I’m wrong. It happens,” I said, throwing up my hands, ready to change the subject. Just then a pretty twenty-something redheaded woman poked her nose around the doorway and announced, “We’re back, James.”
“Hey, Marie, is Josh with you?”
“Yeah, he’s going to work on that set for Mrs. McDonald so that he can get it done in time for her five o’clock pickup.”
“Great. I’m with a customer right now,” he said, gesturing at me. “So can you just watch the store until we’re through?”
“You got it, chief,” she said and trotted off.
“She’s a cutie,” I said after she left.
James blushed again and looked down at the molds on his desk, rearranging them and selecting two to show to me. I smiled at his obvious change of subject but didn’t press. He seemed the shy type. “Now,” he announced, holding up the two wax molds. “Would you say your sister is a traditionalist, or has more modern taste?”
An hour later James and I had designed the perfect pair of opal earrings for Cat, made out of white gold and blue opals that caught the light with brilliant flecks of yellow, purple and green. Cat was impossible to shop for, so I congratulated myself at finding something specially made for her birthday, which was a mere six weeks away.
“I will have Josh begin work on them later this week, and they should be finished by the end of next week or the following week if we get backed up.”
“Sounds great,” I said as I scrawled my name across the bottom of the check I was writing. “By the way, and please don’t think that I’m prying, but are you going on a diet soon?”
James wasn’t skinny, but not someone I would call overweight either, and I had the sense that he was about to embark on some crazy plan to shed several pounds by starving himself.
James cocked his head at me slightly and replied, “I was looking at that South Beach Diet. It’s supposed to be really safe and effective.”
“That’s what I’ve heard too,” I said, handing him the check. “Just don’t go overboard by skipping meals or anything, okay?”
“No sweat. And thank you for all the insights, this was fun.”
“No trouble at all, it was great talking to you,” I agreed, smiling.
“I’ll call you in a week and give you a status on the earrings. But if you get anything else on your radar that I should know about, give me a call,” he said, handing me a business card.
I took the opportunity to change the course of the conversation to discreetly inquire about Fern Street. “The only other thing my radar is buzzing about is a recent real estate transaction. Did you just sell some property?”
James’s jaw dropped a millimeter, and for the first time since I’d met him his expression turned nervous. “Yes. I just closed on the sale of my grandfather’s house. It’d been on the market for a while and we finally sold it.”
“Must be a relief to be rid of it, huh?” I asked, meeting his eyes.
“Why would you say that?” he asked, sweating now.
“Oh, nothing,” I said. “Just that you said it had been on the market for a while. I’m sure the current owners are going to love it.”
“Well, we managed to sell it to a development company. The house needed a little work,” he confessed.
That’s not all it needs, I thought as I smiled and took my leave. “Thanks so much for your time, James. Call me when the earrings are ready and I’ll swing by.”
I left the jewelry store feeling slightly regretful. I had wanted to pry a little more about the house and reveal to James that I was one of the purchasers, but my intuition held me in check. For whatever reason I wasn’t supposed to let him know that I was involved with Fern Street just yet. The irritating thing was that I didn’t know why.
I headed back to my car and jumped in just as the first few flecks of snow, predicted to plaster our city with five to ten inches by early the next morning, began to fall. “Great,” I said into the silence of the car. Throwing on my seat belt, I turned the ignition and pointed my car in the direction of my house. I was almost out of dog food for Eggy and I wanted to pick some up from the reserves at my house before heading back to Dutch’s. On the drive over I decided to touch base with Dave to see how he was recovering from his bender the other night.
“Hey there, woman,” he said when he picked up my call.
“How you doin’?” I asked, smiling because he sounded like his old self again.
“Hanging in there. What’s the word?”
“I’m working on evicting our unwanted tenant, and if worse comes to worst I will hire a bona-fide ghost buster so you can get back to making that place livable.”
“I’m not setting foot back in that house, Abby,” Dave said heatedly.
I sighed. This was going to be harder than I thought. “Dave, if we get this ghost to leave the premises, then there’s no reason to be scared . . .”
“I’m not scared! I’m just sayin’ that I’m busy . . . with other projects and stuff.” Liar, liar . . . pants on fire . . .
“Did you forget about my inboard lie detector?” I asked, calling his bluff.
“I’ve got stuff to do!” he insisted. Liar, liar . . . pants on fire . . . “And I’m not going back into that house!”
“Dave, you are a damn stubborn mule,” I said crossly. “If you don’t do the labor, how the hell are we supposed to get our return on investment? I mean, I can assure you that I will not be stuck paying the mortgage on that house for the next thirty years.”
“I’m working on it,” Dave replied. “I think I got an angle that could work for everyone.” Liar, liar . . . pants on fire . . .
I sighed as I pulled down my street. I wasn’t going to win this argument with him right now. “Listen,” I said patiently, “how about we talk about this a little later. I’m headed to my house to pick up some dog food, and then I gotta go to the grocery store to get some people food before the snow starts to get thick. I’ll give you a call tonight from Dutch’s and we’ll talk a little more then, okay?”
“Fine, call me later,” he said grudgingly, and hung up just as I pulled into my driveway. I parked and from inside the car I took a moment to take in the view, smiling the way I always did when I came home to this place. The one-story ranch had been a godsend and it was actually Dave who had first brought me here. A few months back after my former home and all my belongings had burnt to the ground, my handyman had been working a job on this house and knew the owner needed to sell. When Dave first led me inside I’d im
mediately fallen in love with it. The house had a terrific open floor plan, large rooms and all it needed after Dave finished was some furniture to make it warm and cozy.
The month of January had been set aside just for that function, but everything had been put on hold due to Dutch’s injury and the Fern Street mystery. I was hoping that I could wrap things up within the next week, which would still leave me two weeks to shop for furniture and decorate before I had to go back to my busy workload.
Sighing, I got out of the car and walked up the front walkway with a smile, but as I was about to step up to the front steps my intuition went haywire and I stopped dead in my tracks. Something was wrong—very, very wrong. I paused with my foot hovering just above the front step and listened intently to the warning bells clanging in my head. Swiveling to my right I set my foot back on the ground and began to walk away from the front door and over to the side of the house, where my spidey-sense was pulling furiously at me.
When I rounded the corner my breath caught in my throat. My side living room window had been completely smashed in. Broken glass lay strewn all over the stone walkway. Quickly I retraced my steps as a sense of rage overtook me. Someone had broken into my house! I ignored the warning bells and headed up the front steps. I had my key out and placed it quietly into the keyhole. My blood was racing and my heart pounded furiously in my chest.
I slowly opened the front door and peeked in with just my head. I saw no one in the living room, and stepped inside keeping my back to the wall. My eyes roved over the living and dining rooms, and saw nothing out of place. Of course, these two rooms were completely void of furniture, so there wasn’t really anything that could be messed with anyway. I stood there for several seconds, while I listened intently for the sound of the intruder, but heard nothing. Maybe they hadn’t actually entered. Maybe the broken window was just the result of some kid looking for his jollies and finding great satisfaction in pounding in my side window. Left side, heavy feeling—my sign for no way José. Great.
I stepped forward on tiptoe and headed in the direction of the kitchen, which had a swing door that I always perched open, but today was closed. Someone had definitely been in my house.
With infinite care I carefully pushed on the door a millimeter at a time until I was able to peek into the kitchen’s interior. Nothing moved, thank God. Slowly I inched my way through the door and looked around. All of my cabinets had been opened, and most of my brand new dinnerware lay shattered and strewn upon the countertops and floor. Adding to the mess were all of the contents of my kitchen drawers and cabinets. Food, silverware, pots, pans and Tupperware were mixed within the shards of porcelain.
My shoulders slumped as I looked at the mess. “Son of a bitch!” I hissed under my breath as I took a careful step. My foot stepped on a shard of dinnerware, which made a small crunching sound. This would take forever to clean up, not to mention all the broken dishes and glassware I’d have to replace.
Just then I heard what could only be described as a shuffling sound coming from my bedroom. Freezing in place I listened intently, and a moment later I heard it again. Uh-oh!
Careful not to make any further noise I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my cell phone. Flipping it open I pressed the NINE key and at the same time took a very careful step back toward the kitchen door. I’d have to get out of site and hearing distance before I could call for help. My foot again connected with a shard of porcelain and made a rather loud crunching noise, and the moment the sound seemed to reverberate against the walls of the kitchen I heard the shuffling in the bedroom pause. Shit! I froze for a moment, then I heard more movement, but this was much quicker, and headed in my direction.
No longer trying to be quiet I took two long running steps in the direction of the swinging door. As I was about to push through it, the door came back at me with tremendous force pushed by someone crashing through from the other side. In an instant my forward motion stopped with a dramatic THWAK! as I collided with the door and the force of the blow sent me flying backward. When I hit the ground, intense and immediate pain ignited along my back as dozens of tiny shards embedded themselves into my skin. My mouth curled up in pain as I struggled to roll off the painful shards, but just as I was rolling up onto my shoulder, a large shape towered above me and before I even had a chance to put up a defensive arm, a boot-laden foot connected hard with my stomach. I doubled forward into the fetal position by the force of the blow, the wind completely knocked out of me, and the pain of rolling around on shards of glass was suddenly forgotten.
Stars swam before my eyes, and my vision clouded. I didn’t pass out but I came damn close, as I worked to regain my breath and not puke my guts out. After five long, agonizing minutes I finally sat up carefully and looked around. The intruder was gone, and, thankfully, I was still alive.
With slow careful movements, I lifted the cell phone, still clutched in my hand and looked at the indicator, which still held the NINE on the display. With ragged breath and shaking fingers I managed to depress a ONE to join the NINE but just as I was about to press the other ONE the outgoing number disappeared as “Incoming Call” overrode it and my cell phone chirped. It took my beleaguered mind a moment to switch from calling out to picking up, but after a pause I pressed the ON button and said a breathless, “Yeah?”
“Abby?!” Dave shouted into the earpiece, “Abby, is that you?”
“Yes . . .” I said with a breath, relieved that help was just moments away. All I had to do was tell Dave that I’d been attacked, and he’d come running.
Before I could get the words out, however, he cut me off with, “I just came home and my house has been broken into! The place is totaled! And I think it’s got something to do with that house on Fern! Whatever you do, don’t go home alone!”
“Too late . . .” I said as stars danced around my eyes again and another wave of nausea overtook me.
“What? Where are you?”
“Send the cavalry to my house, Dave . . . I’m down for the count.” And with that I lost the battle against puking my guts out.
Chapter Six
“Yee-ouch!” I squealed as one more glass splinter was pulled out of my back.
“Almost done,” the ER doc said patiently.
I wanted to sock him—he’d made that same comment a half hour before. “Can we hurry this along?” I snipped. I had spent my fair share of time in hospitals in recent months.
“Let the doctor work, Abby,” Dutch said sternly. He was mad at me, but I had yet to figure out why.
Milo, who was standing next to Dutch, flipped back several pages in his small notebook to the beginning of my statement, rereading certain sections, his mouth set in a grim line.
“So what do you make of it?” Dutch asked his old partner.
“For starters I think Dave was right, the two break-ins definitely seem related. I’ll know more when the crime scene tech compares the fingerprints he retrieves from each scene—assuming he can find some left behind by our perp, but both break-ins had the same style of forced entry, breaking out a side window, same chaotic ransack to each place, and the only thing Dave can officially say is missing is the file with all the paperwork from your investment company. The question is why?”
I sucked in a quick breath as one more splinter was set free, and after a moment I said, “Someone didn’t want us to buy that house.”
“How do you know?” Dutch asked. I tapped my temple and winked. “Oh,” he said, nodding. “So why would he be so messy about it?”
“What do you mean?” I asked as, blissfully, the last shard was dropped into a pan with a small “ting” and the last bandage was applied to my back.
“You can get dressed now,” the doctor said, stepping around from my back and beginning to scribble notes on my file.
“If the guy who attacked you is the same guy who broke into Dave’s house, and he got a hold of the file from Dave, why go into your house and destroy the place?” Dutch asked.
“B
ecause he was looking for something.” I said as I gingerly got off the gurney I’d been sitting on and walked over to the chair where my clothes were.
“What?” Milo and Dutch both said together.
“That’s the sixty-four-million-dollar question, fellas,” I said as I motioned for Dutch and Milo to turn their backs while I dressed.
Milo turned away immediately, but Dutch only smiled and winked at me, refusing to turn around. Rolling my eyes at him I carefully shrugged out of my hospital gown and slowly pulled on my shirt, forgoing my bra, then gingerly slid into my heavy sweatshirt, wincing as I stretched into the sleeve.
“All right, Miss Cooper, you are free to go,” the doctor said as he finished his scribbling and handed me a small piece of paper. “Here is your prescription for the antibiotic and I would recommend taking Tylenol or ibuprofen for any discomfort you might have. You will most likely be very sore for a few days, especially with that rib. The bone is not bruised or broken but likely to be sore for a week or two.”
“Thanks, Doc,” I said, accepting the prescription. “I’ll take it easy.”
“You bet your ass you will,” Dutch growled.
Crap, he was mad again. This would be a fun ride home. The three of us left my curtained gurney and walked, hobbled and limped out to the reception room, where an anxious Dave bounced up to greet us. “You okay?” he asked me, his eyes searching for anything still bleeding.
“I’m fine,” I said, laying a reassuring hand on his arm. “Just some cuts and bruises. Nothing life threatening.”
Dave let out a sigh of relief and grinned at me. “You want me to take you and Dutch back to his place?”
“Thanks, Dave, but Milo’s got us,” Dutch said quickly.
I stifled a chuckle. Dave drove an ancient truck with a hundred eighty on the odometer, while Milo drove a brand new BMW 750i with plush heated leather seats and a kick-ass sound system. It wasn’t even a contest.
“Oh, okay. I guess I better get home,” he said, sounding a little dejected.
A Vision of Murder Page 8