A Grave Prediction (Psychic Eye Mystery)

by Victoria Laurie

My jaw fell open. “You’re kidding,” I said to him. He’d never handed me a case and told me I had no other option but to solve it.

  “Unfortunately, I’m not. If you don’t prove yourself as a valuable asset, then we’ll lose you. We need Whitacre to go to bat for you. To do that, he’s got to have something that he can point to. Something that makes him look good.”

  I drummed my fingers on the arm of my chair, considering Brice’s statement. And then I did what came naturally to me—I looked into the ether again and checked out a little more of what was really going on. “Someone’s pissed,” I said. “Someone powerful is personally pissed off at me.”

  Brice shrugged noncommittally.

  “Why?” I asked. “What’ve I done?”

  “You exposed an injustice,” Brice said simply. I had a feeling Gaston had told him to keep the political details to himself.

  I peered again into the ether and expelled a small gasp when I saw the truth. “Skylar,” I whispered. Months before, I’d worked on the case of a death-row inmate wrongly convicted of murdering her son. I’d never dreamed I’d make a powerful political enemy for doing the right thing.

  “Lots of heads rolled,” Brice said—his way of telling me I’d hit the nail on the head. “Lots of money went to the settlement. It cost someone their political clout, and they have powerful friends who’re now making waves.”

  I lifted my chin defiantly. “Screw them,” I said. “If the FBI wants to fire me, that’s fine. I can work for you guys off the books and no one has to know. You can send Dutch home with a case file here and there and I can have a look. I’ll even do it for free.”

  “That’s very generous of you, but you should know that it’s not just your name and reputation on the line here, Cooper. All of us who’ve gone to bat for you, who’ve insisted on working with you, we’re in the line of fire too.”

  My shoulders slumped and I turned to look behind me. There were seven agents at their desks, not including my husband, Brice, or Gaston, whose reputations could be called into question. All because they believed in me. Taking a deep breath, I turned back to Brice and said, “Okay, then.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s not like I have a lot of choice here, Brice. You need me to play nicey-nice with the L.A. bureau? Fine. I’ll do it. But I get an expense account.”

  “You do,” he agreed. “Seventy-five dollars a day not including hotel or your hourly rate.”

  He said that like he thought it was a generous offer. “Gee, Brice . . . the timing on this is a little awkward, but I think I need to inform you that my hourly rate just went up.”

  My boss raised an eyebrow. “It did, huh?”

  “Yep. Inflation. You know, a gallon of milk is getting crazy expensive these days.”

  “How much?” he asked me, clearly unhappy that, even while forced to accept an assignment against my will and better judgment, I was trying to negotiate a better deal.

  “Well, as I’ll be spending two lonely weeks in L.A., away from my paying clients—”

  “You can do readings by phone,” he said, because he knew full well I could.

  I adopted a mock smile. “Oh, you mean those clients I already have scheduled during the day? Yeah, how about you clear that with the L.A. bureau? Tell them I’ll just need a conference room all to myself for a few hours four days a week while I make my way through my private client list.”

  Brice dropped his chin and rubbed his temples. “Can’t you just reschedule them, Cooper? You do it for us all the time.”

  “Oh, I’m going to reschedule them, but I’ll have to put them off for two weeks or schedule them for a session at night after I finish up putting on the dog and pony show for the L.A. frat boys, which I definitely don’t want to do, and all of that will be a huge pain in my ass and not something I’m willing to do without some form of compensation.”

  He stopped rubbing his temples and eyed me curiously. “You have two full weeks of clients already on the books?”

  I smiled genuinely this time. “I have six full months of clients already on the books, my friend.”

  “Damn,” he said with appreciation. “Word’s really getting out about you, huh?”

  I brushed my knuckles against my shirt. “Told you I had mad skills.”

  He laughed. “Okay, okay, what’s this gonna cost us?”

  “Eight grand,” I said, going for broke.

  Brice rolled his eyes. He knew I was pushing it. “Four.”

  “Six,” I countered, setting my jaw. No way was I taking less. “And you can double that lame-ass food allowance while you’re at it. And no crappy motel in some seedy neighborhood either. You put me up someplace nice or no dice, Brice.” I bounced my eyebrows to emphasize my point . . . and of course my exceptional rhyming skills.

  In turn, Brice lowered his brow and frowned hard at me.

  I squared my shoulders and raised my chin to show him I wasn’t scared of him. (Much.)

  With a grin he suddenly put out his hand. “Deal.”

  I let go a little breath of relief and before offering my hand, I said, “I totes would’ve taken five.”

  His smile widened. “I would’ve gone up to seven.”

  I was about to pull my hand away when he grabbed it and shook it quickly. “A deal’s a deal, Cooper,” he said.

  I got up and waved at him dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. If you need me, I’ll be at home packing. Oh, and Dutch is going to take a long lunch today, so don’t give him any crap when he’s not back by one.”

  “Does he have an appointment or something?” Brice asked.

  “Yep,” I told him. “He’s not going to see his wife naked for the next two weeks. I suspect he’ll want to make a memory that’ll last him till I get back.”

  Brice actually blushed and I chuckled all the way to the exit.

  * * *

  My hubby drove me to the airport at three, which was good because I was still trying to reschedule the last few clients I had on the books for the next two weeks. Dutch’s lunch hour was stretching to half the day, but at least we both had contented smiles on our faces. “You don’t have to go, Edgar,” he said, using his preferred nickname for me (coined after he read a book on famous psychic Edgar Cayce).

  “Yes, I do,” I replied.

  “No,” he insisted. “If you get kicked out of the consulting pool, so what?”

  “It’s not me getting kicked out that I’m worried about.”

  Dutch made a face. “So they kick me out too. Who cares? Milo and I are making enough on the side. With a little planning, we wouldn’t even feel the lost income.”

  Dutch was far more irritated that I’d been pushed into this deal with the L.A. bureau than I was. “Okay, allow me to amend my earlier statement. It’s not me or you getting kicked out that I’m worried about. Brice wouldn’t be Brice without that job. If he got kicked out, he’d stay home and mope, which would drive Candice crazy, which would drive me crazy, which would have serious consequences for a certain stubborn cowboy I happen to love a whole hellofa lot.”

  Dutch pursed his lips. “I see all roads lead back to me.”

  “Don’t they always?”

  “They don’t have to. Only the one that brings you back home.”

  I leaned over to rest my head on his shoulder. “Sometimes you say the most perfect thing.”

  “I’ll work on coming up with a few more for when I pick you up in two weeks,” he said, kissing my forehead.

  I lifted my head and eyed him suspiciously. “You’re banking on the fact that I’ll be willing to get naked with you if you’re supersweet to me, even though you know I’ll be crazy tired when I land, aren’t you?”

  “Nooooo,” Dutch said.

  My inner lie detector hit the red zone. “Oh, really?”

  “What if I also promise to cook you dinner as I
ply you with sweet nothings?”

  That piqued my interest. “What’d you have in mind?”

  “Spaghetti alla carbonara,” he said immediately.

  Damn him. He knew I loved all things bacon and pasta. “There you go, exploiting my weaknesses,” I told him.

  Dutch adopted his best Humphrey Bogart and said, “I plan to miss yous, sweethot.”

  “We’ll see,” was all I committed to. The truth was we both knew I’d be naked before the pasta was al dente, but this whole flirtatious banter stuff was part of our ongoing courtship, and I enjoyed making Dutch wonder if he could really coax the clothes off me on my first night home.

  Dutch dropped me at the Delta skycap and I checked the two bags I was bringing, got my boarding pass, and meandered inside. While I was waiting in the security line, my phone beeped and I thought about ignoring it but gave in and answered the call on the last ring before it went to voice mail. “Hey, Brice. I’m about to go through security, so if you’re calling to check up on whether I actually went to the airport, you can rest assured that I’m a woman of my word.”

  “I never doubted it,” Brice said.

  My lids lowered to half-mast. “Really, Brice? Really?”

  “Okay, maybe I put the odds at fifty-fifty, but that’s not why I’m calling.”

  “Not the sole reason at least,” I muttered.

  “Have you seen or heard from my wife?”

  “Candice?” I said. “I sent her a text to let her know that you guys were banning me from my beloved Austin and sending me away for two weeks of purgatory in La-La Land to defend my honor against some FBI boys ready to receive me with pitchforks and torches, but I haven’t heard back from her.”

  “Glad you kept the drama out of it and just stuck to the facts,” Brice said.

  “I’m a colorful and expressive person. You want the facts, just the facts, fire me and hire Joe Friday.”

  “Hire someone less of a pain in my ass than you, Cooper? Why would I ever want to do that?”

  “I don’t know. . . . You like boredom? Predictability? The wrath of your wife if you ever actually do fire me?”

  “No one wants that last part, Cooper,” he said. “No one.”

  “True that. Anyway, I haven’t heard from her,” I said, inching forward and trying not to look suspicious enough to be pulled out of line and strip-searched.

  “Yeah, well, she’s not answering my calls,” Brice said. “Or my texts.”

  “She’s probably working a case.” Candice was a licensed PI, and she and I shared an office and often worked cases together, but I hadn’t joined her on anything since before the holidays.

  “You know more about her cases than I do,” Brice said. “Did she mention what she’s working on?”

  I barely held in a sigh. I wanted to reply that it wasn’t my turn to watch Candice, but Brice had been a little on edge about his wife’s whereabouts ever since she’d disappeared on us to run off to Vegas and do some undercover stuff for a mobster. It’s not as bad as it sounds, but it’s close. “No, I don’t know what she’s working on, but I’m sure she’ll call you back soon. She just needs to wrap up whatever she’s working on and she’ll be home for dinner.”

  At that moment I felt a sinking feeling in my gut—an intuitive sign that what I’d just said wasn’t going to happen, which wasn’t especially odd as Candice sometimes worked very late, especially if she was on surveillance. “Or maybe a nightcap,” I amended. Again I got that sinking feeling. Hmmm, that was curious. “Midnight snack?” I tried. Sink. Sink. Sink. “Well, crap. That’s weird. Breakfast tomorr—?”

  “Cooper, what’re you even talking about?”

  “Nothing,” I said quickly. Candice was probably fine. She was always fine. Nothing was wrong. Just because she wouldn’t be home for dinner or by midnight was not a reason to freak out. “Listen, security is calling me forward. I gotta go.”

  I hung up on Brice and moved through the security line—managing to avoid the strip search while I was at it. (Score!) After getting some chips, a Snickers, mints, bottled water, and Excedrin for the two weeks of headaches I was bound to incur, I made my way to my assigned gate and sat down with a sigh.

  After unwrapping the Snickers and taking a satisfying bite, I dialed Candice’s number and waited for the inevitable voice mail. She picked up on the first ring. “Sundance,” she said easily. “How you doin’, kiddo?”

  I sat up a little, surprised that I’d reached her. “Brice is looking for you,” I said by way of hello.

  The honeyed sound of her laughter echoed into my ear. “I’ll bet,” she said cryptically. “I’m assuming, given the background noise, that you’re at the airport.”

  “Yep,” I said, chewing another bite of the Snickers. “This whole deal sucks.”

  “It does,” she agreed. “You doing okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said, slouching again. “Stupid politics these bureau boys play. Why don’t they all just pull out their winkies and some measuring tape and leave us the hell out of it?”

  She chuckled again. “Want some company?” she asked.

  I eyed the tarmac moodily. “Brice said I had to go alone.”

  “Oh, did he, now?”

  “Yeah. I begged him to let Dutch come with me, but he said it’d only cause problems. You know, too much testosterone from the hubby might send the fists flying.”

  “I’ll be your Huckleberry,” Candice said, smooth enough to make Val Kilmer swoon.

  My radar pinged. It suddenly occurred to me that I could hear some pretty distinct noises coming from Candice’s side of the conversation. Then the hair on the back of my neck prickled like when you get that feeling that someone’s looking at you. I sat up straight again and swiveled in my seat. Coming down the corridor was my gorgeous partner in crime, turning heads as she glided along trailing a carry-on behind her. I broke into a wide grin before getting up to race toward her and throw my arms around her.

  “You are the best friend ever!”

  She laughed in surprise and hugged me back, then said, “Easy, Sundance. People are starting to stare.”

  I let go only long enough to grab her by the elbow and drag her over to my seat. “What’re you doing here?” I asked, following quickly with, “Not that I’m not happy about it, I mean . . . obvs, but still, what made you think you needed to come with me?”

  Candice pulled up her phone, tapped the screen, and began to quote a text I’d sent her. “‘Candice, your total ogre of a husband is forcing me against my will to go to L.A. to teach a bunch of bureau pretty boys Intuition One-oh-one. He’s already admitted no one out there wants me to come and I’m only going as an experiment. They’ll probably tar and feather me before the first day is over. Or burn me at the stake. Or shove me in a trunk, drive me out to the desert, and let the vultures pick my bones clean. He says that you and Dutch can’t come, and that I have to solve some impossible cases or we’ll all lose our jobs! But, no pressure . . .’”

  I gulped. Brice was right. I was a little heavy on the dramatics. “And you thought that meant that you should buy a ticket and come with me?”

  Candice stared levelly at me before shifting her gaze back to her phone and quoting the next text I’d sent her. “‘Without you there to have my back, how the hell am I supposed to do this? After I fail, it’ll be my fault when our branch closes, and our husbands lose the only jobs they’ve ever loved! This is nothing but a fast train to Divorce Depot, I tell you!’”

  I winced. “You should know by now that I’m given to exaggeration.”

  She placed a hand over her heart in mock surprise. “Say it ain’t so, Sundance.”

  I offered her the bag of chips as a consolation prize. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. But this assignment sucks. I don’t want to go it alone.”

  “Like I said,” she purred. “I’ll be your Huckleberry.” />
  “Brice is gonna go ballistic,” I said when she settled back to open the chips.

  “He should know better than to force you into something like this alone and to forbid me from having your back.”

  I pointed at her. “You’re so right. He should’ve expected exactly this scenario.”

  She nodded. “Damn straight.”

  At that moment Candice’s phone rang. I recognized the ringtone as the one she’d assigned to her husband. Her only reaction was to arch an eyebrow while she peered into the bag of chips, ready to select one.

  “How long are you gonna make him sweat?” I asked when the call finally went to voice mail.

  “Not sure,” she said. “How long’s the flight?”

  Chapter Two

  • • •

  I could hear Brice yelling through the phone pressed to Candice’s ear. It made me want to giggle meanly. But then I decided that maybe it wasn’t so cool that I was the cause of an issue between the married couple. I mean, I’d been at the center of enough angst between Candice and Brice over the years. Maybe I was pushing the limit.

  “I’ll take that under advisement,” Candice said smoothly, without a hint of the anger that I knew was simmering beneath the surface. Candice doesn’t cotton to being yelled at. Brice is about the only person who can get away with it and live to talk about it.

  There was a little more yelling from Candice’s phone before I reached over and gently pried it away from her. “Brice? It’s Abby,” I said, holding the phone so that Candice could hear too. “Before you start yelling at me, you should consider how often I fly off the cuff when put into an uncomfortable situation like the one you’re sending me into. And you should also consider that the only thing that usually keeps me in a calm, reasonable, and professionally courteous frame of mind is Candice. I’m not the only one who needs her here with me, Brice. You need her here with me too.”

  There was a lengthy pause, then, “Fine, Cooper. As usual, you and my wife get your way. But if any word from Whitacre gets back to me about the two of you causing trouble, I’m going to yank both of you back here and discard your FBI credentials so fast it’ll make your pretty little heads spin.”