Vision Of Love (Cold Case Detective Book 0)

by Pandora Pine

  VISION OF LOVE

  By

  Pandora Pine

  Vision Of Love

  Copyright © Pandora Pine 2017

  All Rights Reserved

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First Digital Edition: November 2017

  dedication

  To Julie Ann and my beloved Memere.

  Thank you for reuniting us after thirty-five years.

  1

  Carson

  “Yes, Mrs. Salazar, I’m sure Javier isn’t cheating on you,” Carson Craig, the West Side Psychic, said. He wasn’t sure. Not even close.

  Carson had no idea if her husband was cheating or not. He didn’t hear voices. He hadn’t had a vision. Didn’t have an inkling. Not even a gut feeling. Carson Craig was a sham.

  His mother had the gift. Several of them, in fact. She talked to dead people, had premonitions and visions.

  As hard as Carson tried, he saw nothing and no dead people were sitting around his Conant Street store waiting to dish about their dead relatives. The only gift he got from his mother was her piercing blue eyes. Luckily for him, he got his father’s flair for drama.

  Cornelius Craig, Corny for short, would have made a great carnival barker of old. His father was as handsome as he was charming, which was as big a liability as it was an asset, according to Carson’s mother.

  “I’ll see you a week from Tuesday, Mrs. Salazar. Just like always.”

  “You are a godsend, Carson.” The tiny Dominican woman hugged Carson to within an inch of his life. She grabbed a couple of her usual candles and a brightly colored blue sugar skull, that he’d marked down earlier since the Day of the Dead celebration ended nearly a month ago on November 2nd.

  After he rang up her purchases, he saw her to the door, locking it behind her, and flipped the sign to closed.

  “Another day, another dollar, Mama,” Carson said to the empty shop. He knew that his mother could hear him, even though he couldn’t hear her back. “It never gets any easier being here without you. I swear, every time I hear the bell over the door tinkle, I expect it to be you walking through it.”

  Bertha Craig’s only rule was to use her psychic talents for good. She may have seen visions of winning lottery numbers, she but never played them, not wanting to take advantage of her power of sight. She’d set up shop in the Witch City, Salem, Massachusetts, in the early 1980s and had made quite a name for herself.

  Corny had made quite a name for himself too, in the Salem News’ Police Log. He was always getting picked up on charges of petty theft. When he wasn’t working the front end of the store booking appointments and selling crystals and other items, he was an excellent pickpocket. Salem was packed with tourists from Memorial Day through Salem’s biggest night: Halloween.

  When Carson was ten years old, there were big changes in the Craig house. His little brother, Cole, was born and his father was given the boot. Bertha was sick and tired of bailing Corny out of the local jail and with another tiny mouth to feed, she didn’t have the time or patience to deal with his tomfoolery, as she called it.

  Last year breast cancer had taken Bertha far too soon. Her last request was that Carson take care of his younger brother, and that they both keep the family business alive. To this point, twenty-year-old Cole hadn’t demonstrated any of their mother’s psychic abilities, but that hadn’t let Carson stop him from obeying their mother’s dying wish.

  Before her passing, Carson had worked in the front of the store, just like Corny had done, selling crystal balls and cashing customers out from their psychic readings with his mother. He’d also been responsible for talking them into booking additional time with Bertha and for getting those customers to recommend her to their friends and family.

  Bertha always used to tell him he was the reason the business was so successful. Aside from Corny, she’d tell him, he was the biggest bullshitter who ever shit between two shoes. It was true. It made Carson happy to think back on the fond smile Bertha would gift him with when she’d compliment his ability to romance the customers.

  After Bertha found out there was nothing further that could be done to treat her cancer, she’d done everything she could to teach her sons what she knew about her gifts. She spent days going over the tarot deck explaining what the cards meant alone and in concert with each other.

  Carson had been quick to pick up what Bertha had been teaching him, but none of the knowledge had been innate to him. When he shuffled and flipped the cards, he knew it was just the luck of the draw. It wasn’t because Sprit pulled the cards or because his own gift pushed him toward choosing one card over another. His gifts from Corny took over from there. He was able to pull a reason for the cards and how they applied to any situation and walk of life out of his ass from there.

  Mrs. Salazar and her standing weekly appointment was living proof that his mother's teachings plus his father's chicanery were allowing him to keep his mother's dream alive.

  Cole, for his part, was working part time in the store and attending Salem State University. He was studying to become an accountant. As much as Bertha wanted to see West Side Magick succeed, Carson wanted his younger brother to have a bankable career more. He’d used Bertha’s life insurance money to pay for Cole’s tuition.

  A distant crack of thunder brought Carson back to the present. He didn't remember the local weatherman forecasting rain for tonight and who had ever heard of New England having a thunderstorm on the first day of December anyway?

  Maybe it wasn't a crash of thunder that he'd heard but a big truck rumbling over a pothole. Carson shook his head and moved toward the back of the shop where he blew out the candles he'd lit for his reading with Mrs. Salazar.

  He wasn't a religious man by any stretch of the imagination, but he whispered a silent prayer that her husband wasn't cheating on her. He might not have the gift of second sight, but he did have a gift for reading people.

  His customer was in her late fifties and was suffering from a severe case of empty nest syndrome. Her oldest daughter was away at design school in Rhode Island while her youngest daughter had gone off to California to pursue her dreams of becoming an actress.

  Carson didn't need to be psychic to know Mrs. Salazar was lonely.

  He ran his fingers along the Tibetan chimes hung in the back corner. They were his mother's favorite. She kept them in her reading room, because so many of her clients were calmed by their gentle tinkling sound.

  Carson had asked his mother a thousand times in the last year to ring the chimes if she were present in the store with him, but they'd never sounded unless he’d touched them. He couldn't honestly say if he'd ever felt her presence or not, but he kept her alive in his heart and that was enough.

  Still able to hear the tinkle of the bells, Carson ran his fingers over his mother's clear crystal ball, which for some reason looked a bit cloudy to him. "Must be a trick of the low light," he mumbled to himself. Just as he was about to move away from the crystal ball, a rumble of thunder shook the building, quickly followed by a brilliant bolt of lightning that lit up the entire shop.

  Carson tried to pull his hand away from the crystal ball, but he felt like he was glued to it. Worse, he could swear he felt the electricity from the lightning coursing through his body. His eyes focused on the crystal ball which had now gone completely cloudy. "What the ever-loving fuck?" Carson whispered.

>   When he slammed his eyes shut, he could see an image of a dark-haired man dressed in a crisp white dress shirt and a tie that seemed to be patterned with Christmas trees.

  Carson gasped when he was able to focus on his handsome face. The man had deep green eyes which were filled with terror. His hands were held up at either side of his head and he seemed to be mouthing the words, "Please don't shoot me."

  Behind the man's head was a sign proclaiming, "Merry Christmas from Gemtronics!"

  Carson startled when the man's body jolted and a crimson stain started to spread over the heart of his white shirt.

  "No! Jesus, no!" Carson screamed, as the man melted to the floor. Other people rushed to the man's side. One ripped his shirt open and started performing CPR. He could see another person dialing 911 on his cell phone.

  Carson stayed focused on the man's too-green eyes. Where they had been animated and full of fear just moments ago, he could see the life draining out of them now. Seconds later, the stranger was dead.

  "No..." Carson's hand slipped from the crystal ball. He slid to the floor, landing in a boneless heap, before curling into the fetal position. Never before had he seen or felt anything remotely like that.

  The stranger's fear and pain had been his own. When his heart had stopped beating, Carson would swear his own heart had stopped for a beat or two as well.

  Slowly, the realization dawned on him that what he'd just experienced was his first psychic vision.

  From where he lay on the floor of his mother's reading room, he could hear a faint sound. It took a moment for him to recognize the sound. It was the Tibetan chimes jingling.

  2

  Truman

  Truman Wesley stared out his office window at the tiny flurries of snow that had started to float past. He usually loved early December snow, but there was nothing about today that could cheer him up. There were twenty-four days until Christmas and he was going to have to fire one of Gemtronics’ employees in about twenty minutes.

  Michael Davenport had worked for the company for almost fifteen years. On the record, he was being let go because of budget cutbacks. Someone on the assembly line needed to go because the company wasn’t making as much of a profit at the end of the fourth quarter as it had been projected to make. Off the record, Mike had been chosen as the one to go because of his increasingly erratic behavior, absenteeism issues, and suspected drinking problem.

  Truman had heard some gossip a few months back about Mike’s wife kicking him out of their house and not letting him see his kids, but knew that he couldn’t count on that as fact. Even if he could, it was no reason to fire or not fire an employee.

  As far as he was concerned, this was business. It wasn’t a personal decision. Mark Rutherford, head of HR, told him this morning what needed to be done and like a good little soldier, Truman was doing it. Hell, he didn’t even know Mike Davenport and probably couldn’t pick him out of a photo lineup.

  It was almost as if Gemtronics were two different companies: the factory where the electronic motherboards were made and the business offices which housed C-level executives, sales, marketing, customer service and HR.

  It was rare to see the CEO on the factory floor and was even rarer to see a manager from the factory up in one of the business offices. The two sides of the company even had separate cafeterias.

  “You about ready to do this, Tru blue?” Cassie Wilkes popped her head in his office.

  “Yeah.” Truman shook his head no. Cassie was another member of the human resources team and Truman’s best friend. Letting a person go was the worst part of his job, but at least today he wouldn’t be doing it alone.

  “That looked super convincing.” She slipped inside the office and shut the door quietly behind her.

  “It’s right before Christmas and we’re the ones giving this poor shit the axe. It should be Kevin Paulson in this damn meeting doing his own fucking dirty work.” Kevin was the factory manager who had offered Mike up like a lamb to slaughter.

  “Tell me how you really feel, Truman.” She rested her elbows on the front of his desk.

  “I’m serious, Cass. You mean to tell me that this couldn’t have waited until after Christmas?” This situation had kept him up most of last night. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a bare patch in the hardwood floor running from his kitchen through his living room.

  “I hear you. I really do, but this task has fallen into our laps. Come on, the sooner we get this over and done with, the sooner we can get to feeling better.” Cassie stood up and moved toward the door.

  Truman took a deep breath and grabbed the folder with Mike’s name on it and his final paycheck inside. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to be feeling better for a long time.

  The conference room was empty when he and Cassie stepped inside. Truman hated this particular room. It had no windows, for starters and it was the room where he’d been forced to let other employees go in the past.

  To be fair, it had also been the scene of happier times. New employees had signed offer letters in this very room, while others had been told about raises and promotions, but it was the darker moments that stuck with Truman.

  “I din’t know we wuh gettin’ Christmas bonuses this yeah,” Mike said when he walked into the conference room a few minutes later.

  Truman’s gut twisted over his words. The office executives, himself and Cassie included, were getting Christmas bonuses, even though sales were down for the fourth quarter. The factory workers, who Truman knew could use the money far more than the C-level executives, were not.

  “Have a seat, Mike.” Truman stood up and offered Mike the seat next to his own. There was separation paperwork Mike needed to sign and it would be easier to do so if he were sitting next to him, rather than Cassie. “Have you met my co-worker Cassie Wilkes?”

  Mike shook his head. “Nice to meet ya.” He took his seat.

  Truman sat back down and cleared his throat. “Unfortunately we’re not here to talk about a Christmas bonus.”

  “Weah not?” Mike’s eyebrows knit together.

  “No.” Truman took a moment to study the other man. He looked to be in his early thirties, the same age as Truman, but that’s where the similarities ended. Mike looked liked he’d lived a hard life. His eyes had no spark of joy in them and his face looked used. Not well lived in, but like this was a man who spent his free time drinking and smoking, rather than working out in the gym and eating salads.

  “Then why am I heah?” his dark eyes narrowed. Truman was their sole focus.

  Knowing he needed to man up and just get this done, Truman sat up a little higher in his seat. “Profits have been down in the fourth quarter and because of that, we have to let someone go.” He paused to let the news sink in.

  “Oh, and you called me up heah to tell me who that is so I can fiah them?” A tiny glint of hope appeared in Mike’s eyes.

  “No, Mike,” Cassie jumped in. “Unfortunately, you are the employee being let go today.”

  “I’m losin’ my job?” he shouted, pushing out of his chair to stand. He towered over Truman.

  “Mike, please have a seat.” Truman stood up as well. Even standing, Mike was still several inches taller than his own 6’3”. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

  “You have to understand this wasn’t our decision to make. Management made the decision and since we’re members of the human resources team, we’re carrying out that decision,” Cassie said gently.

  “I don’t care if yoah the fuckin’ President of the United States, sweetheaht. This fuckin’ sucks!” He slammed both of his fists on the table making it jump.

  “We know it does, Mike, but please have a seat.” Truman opened the folder in front of him. “We have your final check and some paperwork for you to sign and some information about filing for unemployment.”

  “How much severance pay am I gettin’?” Mike’s eyes burned with rage, and he was still on his feet.

  “Management didn’t say an
ything to us about any severance package.” Truman felt a bead of cold sweat trickle down his spine.

  “You mutherfuckin’ assholes are firin’ me a month before Christmas with no fuckin’ severance pay? How am I gonna pay my rent or get my kids presents? I’ve been a good employee for fifteen yeahs. I’m here every day, nevah called in sick. Nevah came to work drunk and this is the thanks I get? Fuck you!” Mike grabbed the check and advanced on Truman, throwing him against the closed conference room door. “Listen to me, you little puke. You haven’t heard the last of me.” Shoving Truman hard to the floor, Mike opened the door and stalked out.

  “Call security!” Cassie shouted into the hallway before running back to Truman. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Truman was most definitely not okay. He wasn’t okay by a long shot. He just wanted to go home and curl up in front of the television with a drink and his dog, Sadie, but he had a feeling not even those things were going to take the fear of this day out of his head any time soon.

  3

  Carson

  Carson Craig, the West Side Medium, was going to die. He wasn’t usually the kind of man given to drama, but he really felt like his head was going to crack open like a coconut, but instead of spilling out coconut water, it was going to be his brains dribbling out all over his pillow.

  After what happened last night in his mother’s reading room, dream, hallucination, fainting spell, he had no earthly idea how he’d managed to drag himself home. Thankfully, the home he’d shared with his mother and now with Cole was only upstairs from the store. Forty-four steps to be exact.

  Cracking an eyeball open was pure torture. Pain radiated through his skull and he felt like he was going to throw up. This felt like the worst hangover he’d ever had in his entire life.

  Being a bit of a seasoned drinker, Carson threw a leg out of bed and set his bare foot on the cold floor to anchor himself. It didn’t help. What it did do was send a shiver through his entire body. Damn, he hated the winter. He pulled his frozen foot back under the covers.