A Vision of Murder

by Victoria Laurie

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning I hid out in Dutch’s bedroom, watching television and avoiding the man downstairs. I heard him get up and shuffle around in the kitchen. Later I could just make out his voice coming from the study, but I didn’t want to risk bumping into him if I went down to the kitchen. Eggy, however, finally coaxed me out of bed. Poor little guy needed to eat and water the lawn.

  Quietly I crept down the stairs but came up short when I saw Dutch standing in the living room. He was easing into his coat and looking out on the street through the curtains. “Hey,” I said as I stepped off the stairs.

  “Hello,” he answered without looking at me.

  “Going somewhere?”

  “Physical therapy.”

  “ ’Kay. Let me just take a minute to give Eggy some breakfast and I’ll drive you . . .”

  “There’s no need,” Dutch interrupted curtly. “I’ve called a cab. They should be here any second, and I’d rather be driven by someone who knows how to avoid a pothole.”

  For some reason that statement really hurt my feelings, and I bit my lip to avoid tearing up. “I see,” I said after a minute, not knowing what else to say. At that moment my cell phone chirped from my purse on the coffee table. I quickly retrieved it and looked at the caller ID. It was a favorite client of mine, Candice Fusco, who was also a crack private investigator. “Hey, Candice,” I said, attempting to sound breezy. “What’s going on?”

  “Oh, thank God I got you, Abby!” Candice said. “Your voice mail at work said you were taking January off, and I have a case that I really need your help on.”

  At that moment I heard a honk from outside, and without a backward glance, Dutch walked out of the house and closed the door quietly on my feelings. My eyes misted and I swallowed hard. Making an effort to conceal my emotions from Candice, I said, “Of course, I’d be happy to help. What’s going on?”

  “Can I come see you today?”

  I blinked hard and one tear rolled down my cheek. Seeing people today was the last thing I wanted to do, but the alternative was waiting around for Dutch to get back and risk getting my heart trampled on again. “No problem. It’ll take you, what? About an hour and forty-five minutes to get here?”

  There was a small chuckle on the other end of the line. “Actually, I’m already halfway there. I took a chance that I’d be able to reach you. Can I meet you at your office at nine thirty?”

  I wiped my eyes, trying to get a grip. “Absolutely. See you then,” I said and clicked off the phone. I sat on the couch for a few minutes and did my best to collect myself. I wasn’t sure who was to blame for the current state of chilly weather between Dutch and me, but I was leaning heavily toward blaming myself. The problem was I was at a loss as to how to repair it. My impulse was to gather my belongings and head on back to my place.

  Whenever I’d been hurt as a kid, I’d always sought the shelter of my room, and even as an adult I tended to hermit when life got tough. Looking back, I had to admit that I’d walked away from many a relationship the moment they got hard. But I didn’t want to do that here. The truth was that I was crazy in like with a certain stubborn, hardheaded, overly protective FBI agent. At times I liked that Dutch had my back. But there were also moments when the very thing that thrilled me suffocated me too.

  The trick was how to communicate this to him. After all, he was already angry with me. He was pretty independent too, and if I really looked at it, I’d have to admit that it must be just as tough for him to rely on me as it was for me to rely on him. Tiredly, I ran a hand through my hair and got up off the couch. I needed the comfort of a warm shower before I met Candice. Maybe after I helped her out with her case I could talk to her about my dilemma with Dutch. Candice had a great head on her shoulders, and she always seemed to have a string of boyfriends. Maybe she could give me some advice.

  An hour later I had parked my car and was just reaching for my purse when I heard a honk from behind me. I turned to see Candice’s Lexus right behind me as she waved from inside. I waved back and waited by my car while she found a slot. “That was good timing!” she said as she got out and came to greet me.

  “Perfect,” I said, leaning in to hug her. I hadn’t seen Candice in a few months, and I’d missed her. She was the most regular client I had, mostly because my service to her was rather unconventional. For all of my other clientele, the routine of looking into their futures was pretty regimented. But for Candice, my services were very rarely used to look into her personal life. Mostly, she used me as an aid to assist with the white-collar crimes she worked on. I’d helped her nail several embezzlers, cheating husbands and the like. Since our sessions together were different from the norm I always looked forward to them as a way of breaking up the monotony.

  That, coupled with the fact that Candice was such a genuinely likeable person, made her appearance today far less intrusive than it could have been.

  “So how ya doin’, girlfriend?” she asked me as we began to walk over to my office building, located just across the street.

  “I’m okay, you know, busy, but okay.”

  She paused to eye me critically. “Man trouble?”

  I barked out a laugh and said, “It’s obvious you don’t need me, Candice, ’cuz there ain’t nothin’ wrong with your radar.”

  Candice gave me a small smile. “I can always tell. So what gives? You still dating that tall blond drink of yummy?”

  I smirked at her description of Dutch. “Yeah, but we really got off on the wrong foot last night and I’m not sure how to make things right.”

  “What happened?” she asked as we entered my building.

  “I took a cheap shot at him in a moment of anger.”

  “How cheap?”

  “Blue light special. I may have flippantly remarked that it was really tough being his girlfriend.”

  We had reached the elevator by now and Candice pressed the UP button. “That doesn’t sound so bad. You sure he’s just not overly sensitive?”

  “I suppose I should tell you that he was injured on the job recently, and I’ve had to play nursemaid to a guy who’s been very humbled by the fact that he can’t really do for himself while he’s mending.”

  “Ah,” Candice said as we stepped into the boxcar. “That’s different. Well, sometimes, Abby, you just gotta suck it up and admit when you’re wrong.”

  I nodded. “I know, but he’s not in the mood to listen to me right now. When Dutch gets mad, he can pout for a couple of days. If I weren’t living with him right now, I could give him some room and call him in a week and we’d kiss and make up. But the way things are going it promises to be a long couple of days before we’ll be able to talk civilly to one another.”

  “You could always seduce him,” Candice offered as we stepped off the elevator.

  I smiled tiredly. “Yeah, that would be great if the doctor hadn’t ordered no sex for a month.”

  “Sometimes a good tease goes a long way toward taking a guy’s mind off the thing that he’s mad about. Have you given that a shot?”

  I chuckled. “Naw, mostly I’ve been driving over potholes.” We reached my office and I moved forward to unlock the door.

  From behind me I heard Candice ask, “Potholes?” but my attention was focused on the door to my office suite, which had discreetly been jimmied and stood slightly ajar.

  “Shit!” I said, backing away from the door like it had bitten me.

  “What’s the matter?” Candice asked, putting a steadying hand on my shoulder.

  “The door!” I said, pointing to it. “Someone’s broken into my office!”

  Candice wasted no time moving in front of me. In one graceful move she pulled out a gun hidden within her clothing and stepped close to the door, listening. After a moment she leaned against the wall, then, with her foot, gently pushed the door open. With a quick head movement Candice scouted the interior of my front lobby, then motioned for me to stay where I was and placed a finger to her lips—I needed t
o be quiet. I nodded to her that I understood and she disappeared inside my office. A minute or two later she reappeared, a grim expression on her face. Reholstering her weapon and whipping out her cell phone she eyed me as she punched nine one one into the keypad. “I don’t think you want to go in there, just yet.”

  “Why?” I asked, the blood rushing out of my face and my breath coming in quick pants.

  “It’s bad, Abby.”

  I gulped. “How bad?”

  “Hurricane Andrew bad.”

  I groaned and moved around her, careful not to touch the door. As I stepped into my suite, my heart sank. My little lobby was a disaster. The chairs had been ripped open, their stuffing pulled out, the small table to one side was smashed and broken and the few magazines I had laid out for my clientele looked like they had exploded all over the room.

  My hand flew to my mouth as I surveyed the scene, dread filling my stomach like lead and I walked on wooden legs deeper into the suite. My inner office was one huge cluster of paper, as release forms and files had been pulled from my cabinet and scattered all around the small room. My computer was smashed and broken on the floor; the fax machine was in pieces on my desk. The office chair had also been sliced open and its stuffing scattered like large clumps of snow, and my phone was unrecognizable.

  I groaned and leaned against the doorjamb. Intuitively, I knew that my reading room would be the worst of all. A moment later, I discovered how regretfully right I was. As I stepped through the doorway to one of the most precious spaces in the world to me, all I could do was gasp and give in to the large wail that bubbled up inside my chest.

  All the precious crystals I’d collected over the years, some of them huge forty-pound cathedrals that had cost hundreds of dollars, had been smashed to oblivion and scattered like the four winds all over the room. My two overstuffed chairs, where I’d counseled hundreds of clients, were torn and shredded, irreparable. My tape recorder had been reduced to a glob of wires and plastic and every blank cassette tape that I’d carefully arranged on my credenza had been smunched into pieces. The mosaic mirror that I’d treasured and hung with pride on my far wall lay facedown on the floor, it’s center mirror splintered and cracked. The huge waterfall that had given soothing rhythm to the room for so many years lay overturned in a pool of water.

  Someone had gone stark raving mad in my office suite, and the vehemence with which the intruder had taken out his angst felt like it was a physical blow to me. This wasn’t just some robbery. . . . This was personal.

  I mourned the death of so many treasured objects for a while, with Candice offering her shoulder to cry on. A few minutes later, Milo and a foot patrolman showed up on the scene. “Abby?” I heard him call from the lobby. “You in here? Holy cow! What the . . . ?” he said as he looked at the devastation of the room.

  “Someone jimmied my lock and broke in,” I said, my voice hoarse from crying.

  “Did you touch anything?” he asked me, sympathy apparent in his eyes.

  “No.”

  “Good. Where’s Dutch?”

  “At physical therapy. He should be done by now.”

  “Okay, why don’t you get outta here and head home. I’ll get the fingerprint crew started and meet you back at his place in an hour to get a statement. This a friend of yours?” he asked, indicating Candice.

  “Yes, I’m Candice Fusco, a PI out of Kalamazoo. I can also give you a statement if you’d like.”

  “That’d be great. Can you get her home?”

  “I’d be happy to,” Candice said and took me by the hand.

  I followed her through the rubble out into the hallway and down to the elevator like a lamb. I’d gone suddenly numb, the shock of being so violated far worse than when I’d encountered someone in my own home. For many reasons my office suite was even more precious to me than my house. It was the place where I connected to my spirit guides, where I’d experienced such amazing miraculous things, and I wondered if I’d ever feel safe in that space again.

  As we waited for the elevator, Candice reached over to give me a gentle shoulder hug. “I know it looks bad, Abby, but with a little effort you can have it cleaned up in no time. You carry insurance, right? You can replace everything in there. Just be thankful that you weren’t there when someone jimmied the lock. I’d hate to think about what could have happened to you.”

  “Candice?” I said as we entered the boxcar.

  “Yes?”

  “I really want to thank you for offering to give me a lift home, but there’s something I gotta do.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve gotta go see a man about a box. Want to come along?”

  “Sure, but let me drive. I’m not a big fan of potholes.”

  Fifteen minutes later Candice parked just down the street from Opalescence. “Is that where you need to go?”

  “Yep,” I said and got out of the car, a determined look on my face as I marched with the puzzle box in hand toward the store.

  Candice followed at a quick clip behind me, and we paused just outside as I turned to look at her. “Let me do the talking,” I said, getting right to the point.

  She winked at me and said, “Sure thing, I’m just here for moral support.”

  We opened the door and filed in, and right away spotted Maria over by one of the empty display cases, a broom and dustbin in her hand as she stooped to sweep up some broken glass. “Oh!” she said, startled. “I’m sorry, but we’re closed until further notice. I must have forgotten to lock that door when I took the trash to the Dumpster,” she added apologetically.

  “I need to talk to James,” I said without pause. “Now.”

  Maria looked at me for a moment, a hint of recognition in her eyes. “You were in here the other day about some earrings, right?”

  “James?” I asked again, my tone and stance indicating I wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

  Maria hesitated for the briefest of moments, then said, “Wait right there, I’ll get him.”

  As we waited I looked around the shop. Just as I suspected it held the same energy and trace of violence that I’d seen at my office. I was certain that the same man who had robbed James had also left his calling card at my suite, and everything led back to the box that I held in my hands. After a moment James came out with Maria, and eyed me with a rather grim expression. “Hello, Abby.”

  “James,” I replied.

  “Would you like to come back here and talk?”

  “I would. Candice, will you be all right here?”

  “I’m good. You go,” she said easily.

  I walked around a display case and followed James into his office, where he indicated the same chair I’d sat in before and took his seat. We eyed each other across the desk for a moment before he said, “So, I expect you’re here for your check?”

  “Cut the crap, James,” I spat at him. “You know damn well who I am and why I’m here and just so we’re clear, I’m not leaving until you tell me who destroyed my office.”

  To his benefit, James looked completely taken aback. “Abby, I can assure you, I have no idea what you’re talking about. . . .” he began.

  “My office was broken into, and just about every material possession that I hold near and dear was destroyed. And it was done by the same man who attacked you last night.”

  James didn’t speak for a long moment, and I noted the mixture of emotions that flashed across his face, ranging from fear to anger to resignation. “How do you know the two events are connected?” he asked after a bit.

  “Because of this,” I said and placed the box on his desk. “I found this in your grandfather’s house a few days ago, and ever since then someone has been hell bent on causing me grief. Now I know you’re not telling me everything, James, and I’m not leaving here until you offer me a bone.”

  “You should have told me you were the one that purchased the house,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because I could have warned you.”

&nb
sp; “About who?” I asked cocking my head.

  “Him,” James said tiredly.

  “Your grandfather? Yeah, I got a full taste of him already, thanks.”

  “No, my grandfather’s dead,” James said, looking confused.

  “Duh!” I shot back. “That’s what I mean. His ghost tried to kill my handyman, thank you very much!”

  “What?” James said, shocked at my statement. “His ghost? Abby, what are you talking about?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My brother, Luke.”

  “Your brother?” I asked, shaking my head, thoroughly confused.

  “Yes, he was the one that attacked me last night. And I’m afraid he’s probably set his sights on you as well.”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” I said, holding up my hand in a stopping motion. “Isn’t your brother at Mashburn?”

  “He was, until he escaped two weeks ago.”

  A chill crept up my spine as I gaped at James. “Your own brother did all this?”

  “It’s not his fault,” James said quickly. “He’s unbalanced, and when he doesn’t take his medicine he becomes unstable. He’s not aware that what he’s doing is wrong. . . .”

  “So you sold me that haunted house knowing that your crazed brother was on the loose?”

  “I don’t understand what you mean by haunted.”

  “Oh, come on!” I nearly shouted at him. “You mean to tell me you don’t know your granddaddy’s one angry poltergeist?”

  “Again, I don’t understand what you’re talking about!” James insisted. “I lived in that house for years, and I’ve never encountered anything unusual.”

  I sat back in my chair and thought about that for minute, remembering what M.J. had said about people who emitted different levels of magnetic energy. Maybe James hadn’t had a ghostly encounter with his grandfather because his grandfather was neither upset by his presence nor able to show himself to his grandson. “So you don’t know about the woman at the bottom of the stairs either, huh?”