I opened my eyes and jotted down a few more notes about the cheater, then picked up the last picture. This held the photo of an older man, roughly fifty to sixty, dressed in an expensive-looking suit and sharp tie. He looked very well groomed, and immaculately put together. Right away I knew he was a man of power and influence. I closed my eyes again and focused on him. Immediately I saw a marble bust of Julius Caesar. Nothing else came to mind, so I opened my eyes and thought about the image for a minute, tapping my fingers on the tabletop. It suddenly dawned on me that Caesar had been betrayed, stabbed by his own friends.
I picked up the photo of the younger man again and looked at it, the name Brutus swirling in my head. Curious.
I came back to the woman and tried to connect the dots. What did the mask mean? After a moment of trying to think it through I gave up and pulled the file close to me to read through some of Candice’s notes. I always put off reading about the case until after I’d tuned in on the energies of the people involved so that I could avoid any preconceptions. When I flipped to the first page everything clicked together and I was able to decipher what my guides were hinting at.
Nancy Bradshaw was the name of the woman in the photo. She worked at a large insurance firm in Kalamazoo, and had recently brought a ten million dollar law-suit against the CEO of the company, Jackson McBride, who was the older man in photo number three. Her witness was one of the company’s adjusters, Mark Calloway, photo number two, who claimed to see Jackson making inappropriate advances toward Miss Bradshaw.
The insurance company was seriously considering firing their CEO and settling with Bradshaw, and Candice had been hired independently by McBride to clear his name. McBride claimed he never made any kind of advance toward Nancy, inappropriate or otherwise. After focusing in on McBride’s energy, I was inclined to believe him.
As I scanned the rest of the file, something popped out at me toward the end of Candice’s notes. Nancy Bradshaw’s credit history revealed only two accounts: a Visa and a car loan, both only two months old. Prior to that, Nancy Bradshaw had never existed on paper.
Now I knew what the mask was all about, and I also had a very large clue into Liza’s mystery. Quickly, I got up and retrieved the phone from the coffee table. Trotting back to the kitchen I dialed Candice’s number and winced when the line was picked up by a groggy voice.
“Hello?” she said, obviously still half asleep.
“Oh, God, Candice, I’m sorry!” I said, noting the clock on the wall read seven thirty.
“Abby?”
“Yeah, I didn’t realize it was so early.”
“Is something wrong?” Candice asked, alarm in her voice.
“No, nothing’s wrong, I just tuned in on your file and got excited about what I hit on.”
“Shoot,” Candice said, shaking the sleep from her voice.
“Well, your girl Nancy Bradshaw isn’t really Nancy Bradshaw.”
“I’m not following you.”
“Identity fraud. Nancy Bradshaw is an alias.”
“Whoa. Are you sure?”
“My radar says absolutely.”
“Abby, if you’re right, then this is awesome!” Candice said excitedly. “What else did you get a bead on?”
“The younger guy, Mark Calloway, he’s lying his ass off.”
“Yeah, that was obvious to me too. What I can’t figure out is, why?”
“He and Nancy are gettin’ busy, if you catch my drift.”
“Really?” Candice asked, surprised. “This guy’s married with three kids and according to his coworkers, one hell of a devoted husband and father. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen this kind of thing a thousand times before, but the word around the office was that he and Nancy loathe each other, and that’s why it was such a shock to everyone when he stepped forward to back up her story. The shareholders figured that if her biggest enemy was backing her up, then the allegations must be true.”
“Appearing to loathe someone is a good cover for an affair, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’m with you,” Candice said. “So did you get anything on McBride?”
“He’s innocent. Completely set up.”
“Good to know, Abby. Listen, this helps a ton. Thank you so much!”
“No sweat. I’m going to call your grandmother later on this morning to see if I can stop over. When is a good time to call?”
“Anytime, she’s an early riser. Probably been up for hours already.”
“Still, I think I’ll wait till nine or so.”
“Cool. I’ll catch you later, girl. Tell Nana I said hi.”
“Will do,” I said and disconnected. Just then Dutch came into the kitchen and gave my neck a nibble as he reached around my waist and pulled me back into him.
“Hey there, cute stuff. Who ya talkin’ to so early in the morning?”
“Candice. I came down early to focus on her file, and I wanted to tell her about the results.”
“Good news?” he mumbled into my neck.
“Yes, in fact. Turns out I was able to give her a direction that should really help her client. And while I was at it I discovered something interesting about our friend Liza.”
“Oh?”
“That wasn’t her real name.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No. She hid her identity from Jean-Paul.”
“Come again?” Dutch asked, swiveling me around to face him.
“Liza hid her identity from Jean-Paul. I don’t know why, but I do know that she was pretending to be someone she wasn’t.”
“And when he found out about it, he killed her?”
I thought on that for a moment and played it against my radar. My intuition said that there was truth to that statement, and yet it wasn’t the complete story. “Maybe,” I said after a bit.
“So we’re still in the dark about how everything fits together?”
“Yes, but hopefully not for long. How about I make us some omelets, then call Candice’s grandmother? Maybe she’ll have some answers for us.”
Dutch’s stomach growled. “I’m in,” he said, giving my rear a friendly pat.
I made us breakfast and we were in the middle of eating when the phone rang. Dutch picked it up off the table, scanned the caller ID and handed it to me. “It’s your sister,” he said by way of explanation.
I grabbed the phone and depressed the ON button. “Hey, Cat,” I said happily. It had been a few days since I’d heard from her.
“I’m at the airport,” she announced.
I nearly choked on the bite of hash browns I’d just eaten. “Excuse me?”
“I’m coming to Michigan.”
“What?” I squealed into the phone. “But why?”
“Because I just can’t take it anymore!” Cat shouted. “Abby, our parents are crazy!”
“Thanks for the news flash, Cat. But that still doesn’t explain why you’re coming here. What’s happened?”
“They’ve locked me out of the house.”
“Who?”
“Claire and Donna.”
“Your housekeeper?”
“Yes! I did everything I could to prepare that stupid guesthouse for Claire and Sam, and they refuse to move there! Instead, they’ve taken over my house and don’t seem to want to leave, and when Tommy forced me to go over there to kick them out, Donna slammed the door in my face!”
“But she works for you!” I said, aghast that Cat was taking this abuse.
“I know, and I realize I should call the police and have them all physically removed from my home, but I just can’t, Abby. I have to get away for a few days and get some distance from all this. I just called Tommy and told him that I have to fly to Michigan to check on the progress of our investment property, and he’s going to stay with the boys at the Four Seasons until I get back.”
“Cat, do not come here,” I said sternly. The last thing I needed was for my sister to insert herself into the mess of the house on Fern and make herself a target for Jean-Luke
.
“They’re calling my flight. I’ve got to go. We’ll talk when I get there.” With that the line went dead.
I depressed the OFF button and bonked myself in the head with the phone.
“Trouble?” Dutch asked, working hard to hide a smirk.
“Yes, and her name is Cat,” I said, setting the phone down with a sigh.
“She can’t stay here,” Dutch said, looking pointedly at me. He and Cat got along swimmingly just as long as they spent no more than fifteen minutes together in the same room.
“Relax, Cowboy,” I said, leveling a cool look at him. “If I know Cat, she’s already booked the penthouse at the Hilton.”
Dutch looked relieved and said, “Why’s she coming into town anyway?”
“Apparently, the state of Massachusetts isn’t big enough for my parents and my sister.”
Dutch gave me a blank look and then changed the subject. “So what time are we going to see Candice’s grandmother?”
“You’re coming?” I asked.
“Edgar, until this lunatic is caught, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“But what about your physical therapy?”
“I can do a lot of the exercises at home.”
I cocked an eyebrow of doubt in his direction.
“Really,” he insisted. “It’s basic stuff.”
I rolled my eyes and reached for the phone. “I’ll call her now and see what time she can talk to us.”
Ten minutes later I’d hung up the phone after having a very lively conversation with Madame Brijitte Dubois, who was quite bubbly about the prospect of assisting in a thirty-year-old murder mystery. I put the phone on the charger and turned to Dutch, “We’re due at Madame Dubois’s in an hour. I’ll shower first.”
Dutch grunted from his seat at the kitchen table, absorbed in his newspaper, so I headed up the stairs and into the bathroom. I turned on the faucet allowing for the water to heat, then headed into the bedroom where I rooted through my suitcase to find a pair of clean jeans and a sweater.
The weatherman had predicted a warm front moving in from the south, and this meant unseasonable temps for the week in the upper forties—a true rarity for these parts in mid-January.
I carried my clothes and makeup case into the bathroom, shutting the door and sealing in the steam; then I pulled back the shower curtain and jumped as a gasp escaped me.
“Come on in,” said my very naked boyfriend. “The water’s just right.” And with that he scooped me into the shower, pajamas and all.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked as my tank top became soaked.
“Saving time,” Dutch replied as he began to undress me, “and water.”
“Dutch,” I said, stifling a moan as his soapy fingers went to work, and his lips connected to my neck. “Hey, the doctor said no hanky-panky for another week.”
“Mmmmm . . .” he replied and wound his fingers through my hair. Bending my head back he kissed my mouth and I suddenly found myself kicking off my pajama bottoms. Months of suppressed passion seemed to erupt between us as the shower rained warm and inviting water down on us. My fingers found their way along his slippery skin, curling over his muscular arms, his developed pecs and his deliciously narrow hips. Within seconds I found myself completely absorbed in the passion of the moment. I wanted him bad and I suddenly didn’t give a rat’s ass about doctor’s orders.
But just as Dutch and I were entering uncharted territories there was a horrible crash from downstairs, and an instant later Eggy’s frantic barking reverberated throughout the house.
With speed and reaction time I hadn’t imagined he possessed, Dutch let go of me, flew out of the shower and out the bathroom door. I stood a little dazed for a half second against the wall of the shower, then shook myself and quickly turned off the spray. Launching myself out of the tub I grabbed a towel and followed the trail of wet footprints down the stairs, through the living room and was about to step into the kitchen when I heard a sharp, “Stop!” from Dutch.
I looked questioningly at him and he pointed to the floor, which was covered in glass. Among the shards I noticed small specks of blood and I looked back at Dutch who was holding one foot tenderly off the floor, and a squirming Eggy in his arms. “Are you okay?” I asked anxiously.
“I’m fine. Just got a foot full when I came into the kitchen. Can you go get me a towel?”
It dawned on me that he was still naked, and a little embarrassed. I nodded, then rushed upstairs where I retrieved a towel for him, a pair of boxer briefs and a T-shirt from his bureau and his slippers. Before heading back downstairs I stepped back into the bathroom and grabbed a bottle of peroxide, some cotton swabs and Band-Aids, then rushed back to Dutch.
I found him in the kitchen, with Eggy sitting on one of the kitchen chairs watching Dutch intently as he was doing his best to sweep the glass into a pile. The poor guy was shivering slightly as a cold breeze blew in from the broken window over the sink. A brick lay on the counter, and I noticed with a bit of shock that there was a piece of paper attached by a black string poking out from under it.
“Here,” I said extending the towel, clothes and the peroxide. “Do you need help with the glass in your foot?”
“Naw, it was just one big sliver, and I got it out okay. Thanks,” he added, setting the broom down and coming over to me to retrieve my bundle. He avoided stepping into the living room, because his foot was still bleeding. He quickly mopped himself off with the towel and then donned the boxers and the T-shirt. I snuck a few extra peeks before the boxer briefs covered the important parts, inwardly groaning that we’d come so close and I was just destined to be wound with sexual tension for eternity.
After getting dressed, Dutch hobbled over to a chair to tend to his foot while I raced back upstairs and got dressed as quickly as possible, then ran back to take over sweeping duties in the kitchen. I had a neat pile within a minute or two and looked around for a paper bag to deposit the broken glass in. Dutch read my thoughts and pointed to a corner by the fridge. I got the bag and said, “Someone sure wants to get our attention.”
Dutch got up and walked over to me. Putting a hand on my shoulder, he asked, “You okay?”
I looked up at him, the question catching me by surprise. “If you’re asking if I’m rattled, yeah, a little, but I’ll get over it.”
Dutch looked into my eyes and after a moment he kissed me on the forehead, then walked over to the brick on the counter. Using a pair of tongs from the utensil drawer he picked the brick up and turned it over, then extracted the note from the string and, using a pencil and the tongs, he unfolded it.
“What’s it say?” I asked as I dropped the last of the glass into the bag.
“Give it back,” Dutch read, “or else.”
“The box?” I asked, and as I said this, my left side felt thick and heavy.
“I guess,” Dutch said, running a hand through his wet hair.
I watched the move and noticed that there were goose bumps along his arm. He was cold and the open window wasn’t helping. “Hey,” I said to him, “you get upstairs and get some clothes on. I’ll call Dave and have him come over to fix the window.”
Dutch nodded and left the kitchen. I called Dave and told him what happened, leaving out the shower scene.
“If all this guy wants is that stupid box, then I say put it out on your front doorstep and be done with it, Abby,” Dave said after I’d filled him in.
“If I thought that would make him go away, I’d take you up on that, but my spidey-sense is telling me he’s after something more.”
“Like what?”
There was a buzz in my head as Dave asked that question and I tuned in to the message for a moment. In my mind’s eye I saw the swallow again, landing on the puzzle box and pecking at the crest on the lid. There was something about that crest that was significant. What exactly, I wasn’t sure, but I obviously had some homework to do. “I’m trying to figure that out. In the meantime, do you thi
nk you could come over and fix the window?”
“I’ll be there in ten,” Dave said and clicked off.
Dutch joined me in the kitchen and asked, “Did you get a hold of Dave?”
“He’s on his way. Listen, can you take a picture of the crest on the box and e-mail that to T.J.?”
Dutch looked at me quizzically for a moment. “You in a hurry about it?”
I looked pointedly at the window, then back at him. “There’s a connection. I don’t think Jean-Luke is after the box itself, and I doubt he’s after the notebook. There’s something else he wants and that crest is the key.”
Dutch nodded. “I’ll get the camera.”
While Dutch was off taking care of the box, I called Madame Dubois back to reschedule.
“But of course,” she said with her thick French accent when I asked if we could postpone to later in the day. “I will be here for ze afternoon, come when you can.”
I thanked her and hung up, heading off to find Dutch in his study. When I entered I announced, “Madame Dubois can see us anytime this afternoon.”
“Good,” Dutch said as he made several keystrokes on his computer. I noticed that both the camera and the box were on his desk. “We have an errand to run first, anyway.”
“What errand?” I asked as I took a seat in one of the leather chairs in his study.
“We’re going to get some answers out of your friend James Carlier.”
I sat up straighter in the chair. “We’re going to talk to him?”
“Yep. When’s Dave getting here?”
Just then the doorbell rang. “My spidey sense tells me any minute!” I joked.
“Ha, ha,” Dutch said, coming around the desk and messing my hair on his way to the door.
I followed him out to the living room and waited while he opened the door for Dave. “Morning,” I said when he walked in.
“What’s up with your sister?” Dave asked me in an accusing tone.
I blinked several times and asked, “What?”
“Your sister. Cat. She just called my cell phone from a plane now circling Metro Airport and demanded a status on the house on Fern.”
A Vision of Murder Page 17