by Mary Frame
But what if I call this accountant person and they want to come here? They could potentially blow my cover with the cop.
I try to work out the problem in my head. No need to descend into a full-blown panic attack yet, but a knock at the door distracts me from my thoughts.
I open the door without taking the time to look through the peephole.
It’s Deputy Dipshit himself standing on my porch, again.
This time he’s brought another officer. He’s a couple years younger than the deputy. His face is more open and friendly, with boyish features and an easy smile.
“Good morning, ma’am. We’re, uh, sorry if we woke you,” the young officer says with a sheepish grin, his bright blue eyes sliding down my bare legs before darting back up.
I glance down and realize I’m still in my underwear and T-shirt.
Deputy Reeves’s expression is as closed off as ever, but I don’t miss the momentary heat in his eyes when his gaze flickers up and down.
The other officer is still grinning at me.
“Oh, crap.” I press my eyes shut, as if that will make everything around me disappear. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute.” I turn and practically run for the stairs, calling out behind me, “Come on in and make yourselves at home.”
I hear a chuckle, probably not Deputy Douchebag. I can’t imagine what would make that stone façade laugh.
Upstairs, Paige is still in her PJs, her hair wild. She’s on her hands and knees, sopping up water from the hardwood floor in the hallway. “Who’s that?” she whispers.
“The cops,” I whisper back.
“Oh shit.”
“Watch your mouth.”
“Are they going to arrest you?”
“I don’t think so. Stay upstairs.”
“Ugh,” she complains but then disappears into her room.
Once I make it into my own room, I shut the bedroom door and lean back against it, needing to catch my breath for a moment and gather my thoughts.
Now I have two cops who think I’m Ruby. And they’re downstairs right now. What could they want? There’s only one way to know and I can’t hide forever.
I throw on the first pair of shorts I find that aren’t wet.
Downstairs, the cops are still in the front room, perusing the items we’ve been setting up in the display cases and on the shelves.
“Do you see this?” The younger officer lifts up an item, showing it to Deputy Reeves. “This stone here helps get rid of negativity. We should put like ten of them in your patrol car. Maybe one up your—”
“Sorry about that,” I say when I re-enter the room.
They both turn and look at me.
“That’s no problem, ma’am,” the younger cop says. It’s weird to be called ma’am when he’s got to be only a few years older than me. “I’m Officer Reynolds. But you can call me Troy.” He holds out his hand and I shake it.
“Can I get you gentlemen anything to drink? I have, um . . . water?”
No money for anything else. Although I think there was some lemonade concentrate in the freezer.
“I would love some—”
“This isn’t a social call,” Deputy Reeves interrupts.
“I apologize for my partner here. He had a bad night.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I murmur, crossing my arms over my chest. “What can I help you with?”
They exchange a glance, and then Officer Reynolds—Troy—is the first to speak. “As you’re aware, you had some business with a Miss Cassie Graham yesterday.”
I nod. It surprises me that the deputy would let Troy take the lead. It’s obvious from their postures and conversation—even if I didn’t know their job titles—that the deputy is the one in charge. People in positions of power don’t easily relinquish those controls. I also find it more interesting than I should that Troy was teasing the deputy when I walked in. What kind of cop talks to their superior like that? What kind of deputy allows it? Especially one that seems so rigid and severe.
“It would appear that you told her to stay away from the boardwalk.” Troy stops, his eyebrows rising, waiting for my confirmation.
I nod again, not seeing any harm in admitting the truth.
“Well,” he continues, “she didn’t listen, and last night she was the victim of a mugging.”
“She was robbed?” I glance over at the deputy. Still Mr. Blank Face. So that’s what he wouldn’t tell me last night.
“Yep.”
Why tell me this now? “What does this have to do with me? I didn’t rob her.”
“You’re not really a suspect,” Troy says with a shrug. “You advised her away from the scene of the crime, which would make it difficult for you to be implicated. However, when the victim made her statement, she was pretty emphatic about how she should have listened to you and how everything you said was accurate. So, the chief wanted us to come talk to you about the case.”
He glances over at Deputy Reeves once more before continuing. “You see, we really have no leads.”
“None?” I ask. “Did Cassie see the person’s face or any identifying marks or anything?”
“Nope. And that’s the problem. It appears the perpetrator came up behind her and put a bag over her head before running off with her purse.”
I frown. “That’s odd. There were no witnesses?”
“No. It was dark and late. Miss Graham was outside the restaurant by herself.”
We’re quiet again for a few seconds while I process the information and they watch me expectantly.
Well, Troy is expectant; Deputy Reeves is unreadable.
Troy shakes his head, his expression sheepish. “Crime isn’t common in Castle Cove. We have zero unsolved cases. So, after hearing Cassie’s story and given our lack of any leads, the chief wanted us to come here and see if you would help us with the investigation, or if you had any . . . you know . . . feelings or whatever.”
Shock pulses through me. I stare at them, unsure how to proceed.
“It wouldn’t be the first time law enforcement asked a psychic to help with a case,” Troy continues. “There was this TV show, Psychic Detectives. She helped catch a killer once and—”
Deputy Reeves interrupts. “Can you help us or not?”
I shake my head, thinking things through as quickly as I can.
Pretending to be a psychic for a college kid to run a quick and harmless con is one thing; pretending to be a psychic for a bunch of law enforcement officials is insanity.
“I can’t.” I think quickly to bolster myself with potential excuses. “I’m trying to start a business. I can’t afford to take time away from that right now. And it’s not an exact science. I don’t always see specifics. Sometimes the information comes through, and sometimes it’s blurry or vague, or nothing happens at all. You might be wasting your time and resources. And I don’t . . . feel anything right now,” I add.
“But—” Troy starts.
“That’s fine,” Deputy Reeves says at the same time, cutting off the younger officer again. He’s already heading for the door. “We’ll let the chief know your answer.”
Troy follows behind him at a slower pace.
“Tell the chief I said thank you for thinking of me,” I tell Troy before he can exit with the deputy.
“I’ll tell him. I’ll talk to my sister, too. She would love to get a reading from a real psychic. Maybe I can send some business your way.”
“Oh. That’s nice,” I say weakly.
Why did I ever open my big mouth?
“Reynolds,” Deputy Reeves barks from his car.
“I better get going. Don’t want to anger the beast.” Troy rolls his eyes before heading down the path to the driveway.
“I heard that,” Deputy Reeves calls.
“I intended you to,” Troy says and then flips him off.
The deputy’s expression gets even more glacial—if that’s possible. “This isn’t a preschool, Troy.”
“Could’ve foole
d me with the way you’ve been whining all morning.”
The car doors slam, locking me out of the conversation. I can’t help but smile as I shut the door even though I’m dying inside.
“Are you going to help the cops?” Paige asks, appearing from around the doorway.
“Are you insane?”
“Maybe they’ll pay you.”
“Running a con on the town is bad enough. I’m not running a con on the cops.”
She shrugs. “Fine.” And then she grins. “I have an idea.”
Chapter Six
“You stole spy cameras from Mom and Dad?”
“They stole them first, from those FBI guys that used to follow us around. I thought we might need them. And I was right. Maybe I’m a little psychic, too.” She tosses me a grin over the top of the computer.
“So let me get this straight. Your plan is to set up bugs and get dirt on all the residents of Castle Cove?”
“Not for like, blackmail or anything, just so you have material and they’ll think you’re a real psychic. Like what you overheard at the restaurant. We could use that kind of intel for readings.”
“You are not bugging anything,” I say. “And I’m not breaking into people’s houses.”
“Not their houses, just places people go a lot. I bet we’ll hear a bunch of stuff.” She taps on the keys for a moment. “This place is like going to one of those Amish farms. There’s no cameras anywhere, didn’t you notice? It’s weird. It’s like living in the last century or something.”
I noticed that, too. Even the general store only uses those big circular mirrors for surveillance. Not that I was planning on robbing them or anything, but scouting for recording devices is sort of second nature to us.
The problem is that I don’t want this lifestyle to be second nature to Paige.
With a sigh, I move toward the computer. “Move.”
She took four cameras from our parents’ stash. They’re pretty high-tech, wireless, and can live-stream to a computer from any location, once I link them to an IP address. They can also connect to satellite, so we’re in luck. After checking each one to make sure they still work, we narrow down the spots in town to plant them.
Then we spend the rest of the day creating flyers on Ruby’s computer.
“We should have a grand opening,” Paige suggests as we’re figuring out what to put on our advertisements.
I nod slowly, still not into the idea completely but realizing there’s not a ton of options.
“We can’t sell Ruby’s products though,” I say.
“Why not? We won’t use that money; we’ll save it for her. We’ll only use the money you get from the readings. Maybe then she won’t press charges on us or try to find us if we leave her with some start-up cash. Plus it would be weird if we have all this merchandise coming in over the next couple of weeks but don’t sell it.”
This whole thing just keeps getting worse and worse, but I nod. It makes sense.
“We need to open in two weeks,” I say. “That will give us time to gather some intel. But we can’t wait too long. I’m not sure how far I can stretch the two hundred dollars we have.”
Paige nods her agreement. “We can do this. Everything will be great.” She smiles at me.
I turn the computer monitor to show her the finished product. “What do you think? I can offer speed-dating-type readings, ten bucks for ten minutes.”
I found a font similar to the one on Ruby’s sign. Grand Opening, it reads. The brightly colored paper promises psychic readings and chakra balancing—for a fee, of course.
“It’s good.” She grins, way more excited about this whole thing than I am.
The next morning, we’re ready to put the plan into action.
“Good morning, Mr. Bingel,” I call to the neighbor as we’re leaving.
He’s outside trimming his rosebushes. He did the same thing yesterday, when I also tried to talk to him, but he still hasn’t said anything back. Not directly anyway.
He mutters something under his breath about how the name Ruby sounds like a hooker. Then his speech rumbles into something about morons and stupidity and foolish girls before he stands up and stalks inside his house. Paige laughs. “He’s funny.”
I’m glad she’s finally in a good mood, but I’m not sure how I feel about the fact that it took getting involved in illegal activity to finally excite her.
“You do the flyers, I’ll set up the bugs,” I say as we walk down the sidewalk.
“Fine,” she agrees, knowing that I won’t budge on this. I’ll let her help, to a point, and even that’s pushing it.
The activity on the boardwalk is slightly more hectic than it was only a few days ago due to the college kids that have trickled into the area since spring break began.
Between planting the bugs, we put flyers up on some of the poles situated around the boardwalk.
When we’ve finished, Paige insists on going to the bathroom before we walk home. I wait outside while she uses the facilities at the hardware store. I spend the time watching the brunette woman at the register, who seems distracted by some guy with shaggy hair leaning over the counter toward her.
People are funny. Their body language indicates they are both into each other, leaning forward, arms open, but the furtive looks they cast each other clearly indicate they don’t want the other person to know. They’re lucky. I wish I could experience something as innocuous as a flirtation. I wish that my biggest problem was whether someone liked me or not.
My back aches and I rub it. I had to sleep with Paige last night due to the wet mattress in my room, and she’s not the easiest sleeper. I got punched in the face twice and kicked in the kidneys at least three times.
The day before, I called the international message-only number Ruby left me to tell her about the leak—and maybe to feel her out and make sure she was still in India and not intending to wing it back stateside anytime soon. I ended up leaving a message with the Indian man who works in a shop a few miles from the ashram. He spoke heavily accented English and kept calling me “Most Honorable Madam Charlotte.”
I didn’t call Ruby’s accountant, although the ache in my back might change my mind. But what if he shows up and blows my cover? We can’t risk it.
A hand tugs at my sleeve. “Would you like to buy a kitten?”
I glance down. It’s a small boy with dark, unruly hair and a dirt-smudged face. He’s no more than six.
“Have you gotten a lot of business with that look?” I ask.
His big brown eyes widen even further. “What?”
I sigh. I could have scripted this ploy. In fact, my parents made me use the dirty urchin when I was a child. It’s effective. And kittens? What’s better than children and kittens? It’s like the perfect con.
“Hey, who’s this?” Paige joins us outside the hardware shop.
“He’s selling kittens,” I tell her.
She grins, pure delight crossing her face as I’m sure she’s thinking the same thing I am.
She nudges me with her elbow. “We should look at them.”
Okay, maybe not.
“No animals,” I say firmly. I’ve already broken enough of Ruby’s rules, not to mention the fact that I’ve stolen her identity.
“We won’t buy one, we’ll just look,” she says before turning to the boy. “Is that okay?”
He smiles, a dimple winking in his right cheek, and then yells, “Come on,” as he darts away.
Paige follows and I have no choice but to tag along behind them.
At the end of the boardwalk, almost to the road, we stop. There’s a saggy box with an older boy sitting beside it. He’s younger than Paige, maybe nine or ten.
“Here’s the kitty,” the little urchin says when we stop.
I crouch down next to Paige and peer in the box. It’s a large, dirty, black cat with a torn ear and a missing leg.
It hisses at me.
“That’s not a kitten,” I say.
“What ha
ppened to his leg?” Paige asks with a tsk, her tone entirely too sympathetic.
I shoot a look at her, but she doesn’t see it. She’s too busy gazing with soft eyes at the cat and the boys.
This is not happening.
“It was a terrible accident,” the older boy says.
They must be brothers. They have the same wild dark hair and spattering of freckles across the bridges of their noses. They’re wearing worn, but clean clothes and they haven’t showered in a few days, if the dirt under their nails is any indication.
Not that that’s very odd for boys. I don’t think.
“What kind of accident?” I ask.
They glance at each other and then the older boy speaks. “He got caught in a trap.” He doesn’t meet my eyes until after he’s done speaking.
I don’t think he’s lying, but I get the sense he’s hiding something.
“What’s his name?” Paige asks.
“Gravy,” the little one says.
My eyebrows lift. “Gravy?”
He nods vigorously. “Will you buy him, then?”
I open my mouth to give a firm and vehement no, but Paige’s face stops me cold.
We’ve always wanted a pet. One time, Paige brought home a stray dog. As soon as our father found out, he took it away. We never asked what he did with it, didn’t want to know. We never tried to bring home an animal again.
“How much?” I ask.
The younger child speaks first. “Ten dollars.”
“Twenty,” the older brother says quickly. “We’re trying to save up money for new bikes.”
I shouldn’t do it. But Paige deserves something normal. Something that other kids do. Something other than running a con. I don’t know if it’s the longing in their eyes, or the fact that I’m a total pushover when it comes to giving Paige what she wants, but the words pop out.
“I’ll tell you what, why don’t you boys help us bring the cat to our house? All my cash is at home.”
They’re both nodding and agreeing before I have all the words out and Paige squeals and throws her arms around me.
“The cat is your responsibility,” I tell her.
“I know, I’ll take care of him, I promise.”