A Vision of Murder

by Victoria Laurie

  I glared reproachfully at Dutch. “Hey, you can come over if you want. We’re getting Thai from Pi’s, Dutch’s treat, if you want to join us.”

  Dave smiled again at me and said, “That’s okay, Abby, my old lady’s probably pissed that I’m not helping her clean up the mess. I better get back before she blows a gasket.”

  To this day I have no idea what Dave’s common-law wife’s real name was; his nickname for her had always been “old lady.” Even though it wasn’t flattering, I knew he was completely devoted to her. “Sure thing, buddy,” I said as we walked toward the exit. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow and see how you’re doing, all right?”

  “Cool,” he said and punched the automatic door button on the big front doors opening them wide for us to all walk through.

  When we got outside we all came up short. The snow was coming down in huge flakes that coated everything in sight with alarming speed. “We better get going,” Milo said, eyeing his car and the snowy roads nervously.

  Without further conversation the three of us piled into Milo’s Beemer and headed to Dutch’s, stopping at Pi’s on the way for four orders of pad thai. A short time later Milo dropped Dutch and me off, then headed home to have dinner with his wife, Noelle.

  Dutch and I shuffled into the house and I carefully helped him off with his coat, then he helped me with my sweatshirt, both mindful of the other’s injuries. “We’re quite a pair, huh?” I said as we moved into the living room.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “Want a beer?” I asked after setting our dinner on the coffee table and heading toward the kitchen.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “It’d be good to check out the news and see how much snow we’re going to get,” I said from the kitchen as I pulled two Sam Adamses from the fridge and heard the TV click on.

  “Mmmm.”

  “Here you go,” I said, taking my seat again next to Dutch.

  “Grmmph,” he said and opened the Styrofoam lid to reveal his extra-spicy dinner.

  “Looks like the Red Wings are going to have another great year,” I said as a sportscaster came on screen and led with a recent Motor City victory.

  Head nod.

  “Okay, what the hell is wrong with you?” I asked, snatching the fork out of Dutch’s hand as it hovered above his rice noodles.

  To his credit, he looked slightly taken aback for all of two heartbeats. Then his brow lowered, his mouth became a firm line and he growled, “I just don’t understand how you could be so stupid.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Dutch didn’t respond. Instead he snatched the fork back and jammed it into his food.

  I angrily grabbed it right back and said, “You’ve got a hell of a lot of nerve there, pal!”

  Dutch reached for the fork and I pulled it away with a sneer. When he reached for it again, I threw it into the kitchen. “Explain yourself!” I demanded, glaring at him with the full force of my anger.

  Dutch clenched his jaw a few times, his eyes becoming small, his anger building, but instead of talking to me he got up and limped into the kitchen where he pulled a clean fork from the utensil drawer and hobbled back to the couch. Continuing the silent treatment, he gingerly sat down again and, holding his fork tight, he aimed it toward his food.

  Without hesitation I snatched up his dinner and walked into the kitchen where I hovered it over the trash can. “Start talking,” I demanded.

  Dutch glared at me for a long moment, his face turning red until finally he got up and came slowly over to me. He moved close enough to invade my personal space as we had ourselves a staring match, all the while he refused to speak. “You’re an ass!” I said finally and began to turn the Styrofoam container end up.

  With amazing speed Dutch caught my arm, freezing the motion, and bellowed, “Stupid! Dumb! Idiotic! Obtuse! Moronic! As in walking into a house where you know a crazy, drugged-out psychopath could be waiting for you!”

  My mouth opened at the force of his voice, a booming thunderous sound that reverberated off the walls. I had never seen him so angry, and it shocked me to the core. “I . . . I . . . I . . .” I stammered.

  “Don’t you get it?” he continued, undaunted by my reaction. “That guy could have broken your pretty little neck like that!” he said, snapping his fingers an inch from my face. “You told Milo that you knew someone had broken into that house before you entered, and you still went in before calling me, or Milo, or the police or . . . anyone else!”

  “But . . .” I managed.

  “But what, Abby? But you didn’t know he was still in there? Bullshit! You’re the best damn psychic I’ve ever met, and I know that you knew that guy was still there.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes as the truth of his words echoed in my ears. He was right. In the back of my mind, as I’d entered my house, I’d known I wasn’t alone. I’d been so angry at the violation that, foolishly, I thought I could exact some revenge by jumping the intruder and kicking his ass. Instead, I’d been the one who’d gotten kicked, and I was damn lucky that nothing worse had happened to me. “Okay,” I said lowering my gaze, totally ashamed of myself. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

  And in that moment, Dutch took me completely by surprise again. Letting go of my wrist he took the Thai food out of my hand, set it on the counter, grabbed me around the waist and pulled me to him, crushing me in a bear hug that hurt my back and battered ribcage something fierce—but I wasn’t about to complain. “I couldn’t handle it if something happened to you again,” he whispered into my hair. “I can’t take any more calls like the one I got from Dave today. You’re just gonna have to trust me on this one, Edgar, I need you around, okay?”

  I nodded against his shirt, soaking up the smell of him, finally understanding how much he cared about me. It scared and thrilled me at the same time, and I didn’t want his hug to end.

  Finally, though, Dutch let go of me, and took my face in his hands, lifting my chin for a soft kiss. “Want some cold Thai food?” he asked, back to his old charming self.

  “Lead the way.” I smiled and he took my hand and we ambled back to the couch for warm beer and cold Thai. It was one of the best meals I ever ate.

  Later that night Dutch followed me upstairs. It took him almost ten minutes to climb twelve steps, but eventually he made it. We crawled under the covers together and held onto each other all night long.

  In the morning I was up first, and headed downstairs to feed Virgil, Dutch’s cat, and Eggy. I had only one can of dog food left, and really needed to go out for more but looking outside I knew I wasn’t going to get very far. It had snowed about seven inches during the night, and although the road had been plowed, Dutch’s car was buried from view in the driveway. Sighing, I headed into the kitchen where I threw on a pot of coffee, and tossed a few eggs in the pan for Eggy. I’d have to stretch the dog food until I could get to the store, which by the looks of it wouldn’t be until tomorrow.

  As I was tossing a few more eggs into the pan for Dutch and me, the house phone rang and just as I reached for it, I heard him get the upstairs line. I went on with my cooking, aware of a mumbled conversation happening upstairs, and wondered who could be calling Dutch so early in the morning.

  While I was setting the table he came gingerly into the kitchen, his limp always more pronounced in the morning.

  “How’s it feel this morning?” I asked.

  “A little tender. I didn’t think to take the doughnut when Dave swung by to pick me up on the way to your house.”

  I winced. “Sorry ’bout that.”

  “Peace,” Dutch said, indicating it wasn’t a topic we needed to revisit. “Coffee?” he asked as he scratched his rumpled head and stifled a yawn.

  “Already on the table,” I said as I moved past him on the way to the counter to retrieve the eggs and hash browns.

  Dutch swung an arm around my middle catching me before I could move all the way past. “Where’s my kiss?”

  “Also at the table,” I giggled
.

  “Next to the sugar?” he answered playfully, not letting me go.

  “Go,” I said, laughing as I gently pried myself out of his grasp. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Dutch sighed and ambled over to take his seat, where I heard him take a big slurp of his coffee. I grabbed the bowl of eggs, hash browns and juice and juggled them to the table. As I set them down I asked, “Who was calling you so early in the morning?”

  “Kiss first,” Dutch demanded with a playful grin.

  I rolled my eyes and leaned forward, giving him a nice wet one before sitting down and looking expectantly at him for an answer.

  “Well?”

  “That was an old friend of mine, Peter Satch,” he said as he scooped a huge mound of eggs onto his plate “We were buddies at U of M when I was in graduate school, and we were both in the same MBA program together.”

  “Criminal justice?” I asked as I too spooned a portion of eggs onto my plate.

  “Yeah. Anyway, we’ve kept in touch off and on over the years, and I’d heard that he had taken a job at Interpol. On a hunch I thought maybe he could help us out with Jean-Paul. I don’t care what the newspaper reports say—I got a funny feeling that guy was no war hero.”

  I smiled at my boyfriend. Apparently my sixth sense was rubbing off on him, because a few months ago a statement that began with, “I got a funny feeling,” would have been reserved only for the doctor’s office. “I couldn’t agree with you more,” I said. “There’s some really bad energy in that house, and I know it’s male. It’s got to be Jean-Paul’s.”

  Dutch chewed his food for a minute, then looking at me curiously, asked, “How can you tell it’s male versus female?”

  “Male energy feels heavier, thicker, more . . . pronounced,” I said, trying to put into words what was so hard to describe. “Female energy feels lighter, softer, less . . . I don’t know, there, I guess.”

  “Huh,” he said, nodding as if he understood exactly what I’d said.

  “So what did Peter have to say about Jean-Paul?” I asked.

  “Oh, he was just returning my call. I told him that I had a friend who’d purchased a house from a guy whose origins were a little suspicious. I gave him Jean-Paul’s vitals and he said he’d do some research and get back to me.”

  “Sounds good,” I said, feeling like that was a step in the right direction. Just then Dutch and I heard a rumbling sound outside and we both got up to investigate at the same time. I beat him to the window and laughed when I saw the source of the noise. Dave was busy rumbling up and down the driveway with a snowplow attached to the front of his truck, clearing out a path for Dutch’s car. I went to the front door, opened it and waved at him. He waved back and made one more push with the plow making a clear path from the garage to the street.

  He lowered the window then and called, “Morning, honey!”

  “Hey, Dave!” I called back and waved at him to come in, “I’ve got hot coffee, eggs and hash browns. Can I tempt you?”

  “I’ll be right in,” he yelled back, smiling broadly. Dave never turned down food.

  A few minutes later, as I was making a place for him at the table, we heard him come through the front door stomping off the snow and removing his boots. “That was some storm we got last night,” he called from the foyer.

  “Thanks for the shovel, buddy,” Dutch called back.

  “Sure thing. I didn’t want Abby trying to tunnel out after what she went through yesterday,” Dave said as he rounded into the kitchen.

  I grinned at him as I gave him a steaming cup of hot coffee. “Always looking out for me, aren’t you?”

  “Well, since you manage to get yourself into more trouble than anyone else I know, I figure between me and Dutch it’s at least a two-person job.”

  Dutch and Dave laughed and nodded at each other while I gave them each a dark look and took my seat. “Ha, ha,” I said, snapping my napkin into my lap.

  “This looks great,” Dave said as he settled into an empty chair.

  “Glad I made extra,” I said, only now realizing that I’d had the thought to make a lot more than I normally would for two people.

  “So what’s on your agenda?” Dave asked me as he took up his fork.

  “Well, there’s not much I can do without my car.”

  “I figured,” Dave said. “That’s why I wanted to come over and see if I could give you a lift to your place to get it. While I’m there I can also cover up that window.”

  “Oh, crap!” I said, only now realizing that with my window smashed out snow had probably piled up in my living room.

  “Yeah, we’ll need to get that taken care of today,” Dave said, noting my anxiety.

  “I’ll get ready,” I said bolting out of my chair and depositing my dishes in the sink. I wanted to get to my house as soon as possible.

  As I headed out of the kitchen I heard Dutch say to Dave, “Don’t let her out of your sight today, got it?”

  “Way ahead of you, partner,” Dave replied.

  I rolled my eyes. Men have such little faith.

  Twenty minutes later Dave was happily plowing out my driveway while I sat shotgun. We zoomed back and forth about ten times until he was satisfied I had a clear path out to the street, then we parked and trudged up the front walkway to the door. I unlocked the door and we stepped inside. My anxiety eased a little when we entered as I saw that only a little snow had made its way in. Luckily, the window was shielded from the heavy snowfall by a fir tree, which was why my intruder had obviously selected it from all the others in the house.

  “I’ll get the wood,” Dave said, and darted back through the door. I walked to the kitchen and pushed open the swinging door, noticing the black splotches of powder left behind by Milo’s fingerprint crew. I sighed when I walked into the kitchen and looked around at all the mess. Shrugging my shoulders I got the broom and a paper bag from the pantry and began sweeping up. While I worked, I heard Dave in the other room pounding nails into my window frame. I’d have to order a new window, which would probably take a week or two to come in. The wood wouldn’t look pretty, but since I was already staying at Dutch’s, it hardly mattered.

  I finished in the kitchen and moved into my bedroom, investigating what damage my attacker had exacted there. I groaned as I entered the room, which was a total wreck. Clothes and bedding were strewn everywhere. It seemed the entire contents of my closet had been pulled from their hangers and thrown about in a windstorm. Something curious struck me as my eyes roamed the space, however. Two large holes had been torn in the drywall on the far side of the room. It reminded me of the condition of the house on Fern Street and I moved to the other side to investigate. Just then my intuition began to buzz loudly, and as I kneeled down to take a closer look at the holes I turned on my radar and focused on the message buzzing in my head. Look in the floor . . .

  I cocked my head slightly as the thought swirled in my mind. Look on the floor? I asked as my eyes darted around, searching the clutter for some kind of clue.

  As I asked that question my left side felt thick and heavy, my sign for no. Something was off. Crouching again by the holes in the wall I put my hand on one of them and completely opened up my intuition. I needed to concentrate on what my guides were trying to tell me. Look in the floor . . . came the thought, and in my mind’s eye I saw the living room of the house on Fern and a small swallow dart around in a circle, then land on the floor. The bird then began to peck at the carpet like a woodpecker.

  “Oh!” I said aloud. “I get it!”

  “Get what?” Dave asked from the doorway as he looked at me curiously.

  I jumped when he spoke; I’d been so focused on my intuitive message that I hadn’t heard him come in. “Jesus!” I exclaimed, and put a hand to my heart.

  “Sorry,” he said sounding sheepish. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “No,” I said taking a deep breath, “I didn’t hear you come in. Listen, Dave, I gotta go somewhere, are you done?”<
br />
  “Yeah, I’m all set. Where do you need to go?”

  “I’ve got to go back to Fern Street. Can you cover for me and call Dutch, just tell him that I’m still here cleaning up and I’ll be home in a little while?”

  Dave’s eyes had gotten huge at the mention of Fern Street, and got even larger when I asked him to lie to my boyfriend. “Are you out of your friggin’ mind, Abby?”

  “Nope,” I said coming around to the other side of the room to move past him. “There’s just something that I have to check out. I’ll be okay, really.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dave said stepping in my path, barring my escape. “You’re not going anywhere. I promised your boyfriend I’d keep an eye on you, and given his considerable connections to the FBI and local law enforcement, something tells me I’d be looking at nothing less than three to ten if I let anything happen to you.”

  “Fine, then come with me.”

  Dave’s eyes bugged even larger. “Again, I gotta ask you, are you out of your friggin’ mind?”

  “Dave, I am going to that house on Fern,” I said sternly. “You can either come with me, or you can stay here and cover for me. Those are your choices. Pick one you can live with.”

  As Dave stared down at me with considerable frustration, the muscles in his jaw working through the dilemma, I did feel a little sorry for him. He knew I could outrun him, and wouldn’t think twice about doing so. My driveway was now snow free and that meant I could zip right out with nary a backward glance. If I wanted to go somewhere, most likely he wouldn’t be able to stop me. That meant he’d have to cover for me and hope for the best. Apparently, that was one gamble he wasn’t willing to bet the farm on. After a minute he took a deep breath. Letting it out slowly he moved his hand to his chin and gave a good tug on his beard, then said, “Fine! I will go with you to Fern. But we have to make a few stops first, and I’m driving just so you don’t get any ideas.”

  I smiled broadly at him and said, “Smart man, Dave.”

  An hour and forty-five minutes later we were finally headed in the right direction. I’d had to wait while Dave made several pit stops. The first to a grocery store where he purchased a bottle of water, a spray bottle, some string and several cloves of garlic. Next, I’d bitten my tongue as he’d driven to a nearby church and we’d waited twenty minutes for a priest to bless the water that Dave then poured into the spray bottle. After that, I’d opted to stay in Dave’s truck while he drove to a small gift shop and bought a holy Bible, a crucifix and about ten rosaries. He’d then gotten back in the truck and threaded the cloves of garlic and three strands of string into a smelly necklace, looped the rosaries through the cloves and string and secured the crucifix to his coat.