Second Sight (Prescience Series Book 1)

by Denise Moncrief

  “When did he leave?”

  She studied his question. “About three in the morning, I think. He only stayed a couple of hours.”

  “Did he speak to you?”

  “Yeah, he wanted to talk about the old man that died. But I didn’t want to talk to him, so I told him to leave me alone. Herb pulled his drafts for him.” Her eyes widened. “Oh. I’m not getting Herb in trouble, am I?” Then, she slapped her hand over her mouth.

  Nick shook his head. “I’m not worried about whether Herb should be pulling drafts or not.”

  The tension that knotted her forehead eased.

  “Are you sure about the time he left?”

  “He paid his tab about an hour after the band stopped playing. They left a little after two. He might have left a little earlier than three or a little later. I wasn’t keeping up with the time. The place was packed last night, and the crowd was restless and cranky. And I have a headache. I had some complainers last night too. More than usual.”

  “Do you remember when the woman came in?”

  The panic returned. She jerked once as if she was trying to shake off her nerves. “No, I don’t remember seeing her come in.”

  Her eyes shifted right to somewhere over his shoulder. She lifted her fist to chew her thumbnail.

  “Jerilyn, you have something to tell me about her, don’t you?”

  She sniffed. Her eyes darted back to meet his and pleaded with him to not ask her any more questions.

  “If there’s something I need to know…”

  “You won’t believe me.”

  “Try me.” He barked his demand because his patience was running thin.

  She swallowed hard. “I saw her lying on the floor.”

  “So you were the first to find her?”

  Jerilyn wagged her head hard. “No. I saw her on the floor…days ago.” She paused. Fear erupted across her face. “The night the old guy gave me that red stuff to mix in his drink…that was the same night I saw her lying on the floor like that.”

  The red stuff? The red stuff was probably strawberry syrup mixed with Jane Doe’s blood. He hadn’t been able to prove that yet, because he hadn’t yet gotten Deville’s tube from Jeri. He’d added two and two, and had come up with a theory. Jeri had said his concoction looked like strawberry syrup and smelled vile like blood. Someone had left a circle of strawberry syrup around the hole in Jane Doe’s neck. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to connect the dots.

  It disgusted Nick that Deville had probably mixed the gross concoction with Crown Royal and drank it. Wouldn’t that make someone sick at their stomach? He’d heard of people drinking blood so they could pretend to be vampires. He didn’t get it. Why would anyone want to drink blood? Why would anyone want to pretend to be a vampire?

  He returned his attention back to Jerilyn. “So she’s been in the bar before? Does she pass out on the floor very often?”

  It seemed every muscle in Jerilyn’s body tensed. Her panic had escalated. “No. I mean I saw a vision…”

  Nick bounced back from her. “What are you talking about? A vision?”

  She hung her head. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “So what are you? A psychic?” He punched his question with as much disgust as he could manage. The department had endured the bad publicity that came with entertaining the crazy theories of so-called psychics and mediums. He didn’t want to join the ranks of the cops that couldn’t live those bad decisions down.

  His sarcasm seemed to freak her out even more, so he backed off and tried another line of inquiry. “Who is she?”

  “I don’t know.” Vehemence punctuated every word.

  “Does the bouncer know her? What’s his name?”

  “Herb. No, I don’t think so.”

  “Will he give me the same story?” Maybe he’d messed up allowing them to spend so much time getting their stories straight. He should have separated them immediately.

  “I don’t know.”

  He wagged his finger at her. “You stay right there while I talk to Herb.”

  A crowd had gathered. A van showed up with a local news logo painted on the side. So much for keeping the thing off the news. He groaned. Ed would not be happy.

  Herb crossed his beefy arms as soon as he saw Nick approaching him. Herb had the appearance of an ex-con. No wonder Jeri was nervous about admitting Herb had pulled a few drafts.

  “What’s your full name?” Nick pulled a pen and pad of paper from his pocket.

  “Herbert James Conrad the fourth.”

  Oh God, there were four of them.

  “You go by Herb?”

  The man grunted.

  “Which one of you found the woman on the floor?”

  He blinked. “Me.”

  “When did you first notice her there?”

  “After I turned on the lights.”

  “What time was that?”

  “About six.”

  So Herb was a man of few words.

  “Have you ever seen the woman in the bar before?”

  Herb shifted from one foot to the other. His defensive attitude sprouted all over him. “Never seen her before tonight.”

  “Did you notice her when she came into the bar?”

  “Naw, I don’t remember her coming in.”

  Nick couldn’t believe that. “Don’t you stay right by the door all night?”

  Herb appeared a bit sheepish for a moment. Then, he dropped any hint of embarrassment and practically stabbed Nick with his response. “What? A guy can’t go take a leak?”

  Truth was, she’d probably come into the bar while Herb was pulling drafts for the photographer.

  “Do you remember what time the photographer left?”

  Herb rubbed his stubbled chin. “About three…maybe three fifteen.”

  So Herb knew whom Nick meant.

  “Was he alone?”

  “Yeah.”

  Dragging information out of Herb was like dragging a mountain.

  He let his exasperation at Herb’s reluctance show. “Have you ever seen him before?”

  Herb seemed to ponder his question a long time. “I’ve never seen him in the bar, but I’ve seen him around the Quarter a lot.” He leaned forward. “He gives Olivia the creeps.”

  “Do you think she’s ever seen him before?”

  “Isn’t he the guy that was with her when the old dude croaked?”

  Such a way with words this one had. He motioned for another officer to come over to them. “Get his name and address and his statement.” He pointed at the other cop but spoke to Herb. “Tell this officer what you just told me. Don’t argue unless you want me to haul you into the station for violating your parole.” He glared at Herb, and the man flinched. “Stay close. I might have more questions for you.”

  There was a huge question mark in the policewoman’s eyes. Sure, she’d probably already heard that the woman in the bar had died from falling and bumping her head on the table, but what she didn’t know was that there was more to this story than this one incident.

  Nick didn’t believe in coincidence.

  Chapter Seven

  Nick’s Uncle Ed would have a cow if he found out Nick was giving Jerilyn Bowman special treatment. But then, maybe he wouldn’t be too upset when he found out she was Nashville PD Deputy Commissioner Bowman’s daughter. It wouldn’t take much digging for Ed to figure out who “Olivia” was. Ed would have probably given him some wiggle room until it became obvious the situation was about to embarrass him. So keeping his interview with Jerilyn on the down low was a dicey idea at best.

  He’d chosen a restaurant off the beaten path in Kenner for their interview. Less likely to run into a cop he knew personally.

  “So why did you run away from home?”

  She growled at him. Actually, growled. Maybe that wasn’t the best question to begin the interview.

  “Hey, I was just curious. You don’t have to snarl at me. It’s not like I’m gonna call him and tell him what yo
u say.”

  She simmered down as if by magic. “I didn’t run away. I came down here to go to med school at Tulane.” She lifted one shoulder, a semi-shrug. “I just didn’t mention it to my parents when I dropped out, changed my look, and went by a different name. Daddy would never guess I was tending bar, what with my good Baptist upbringing and everything.”

  He refrained from smirking. There were a lot of good Catholics tending bar. He had a few of those in his very Catholic family. He would never understand the Baptist obsession with drinking and dancing. Nick didn’t think either one of those activities would send a person straight to hell. Not like lying to your momma. That was a death sentence.

  She twirled her fork in her pasta and pulled it up, dragging several long strands from the plate to her mouth. The woman acted like she hadn’t eaten days.

  “Why don’t you want your parents to know where you are?” He held up one hand. “I remember what you said about your father, but just from talking to him, I can tell he’s worried about you.”

  She lifted her blue-green eyes to meet his. “You talked to him?”

  “I needed background when I was looking for you.”

  Why had he just lied? For some reason, he didn’t want her to think he’d betrayed her.

  His answer seemed to satisfy her, and her easy acceptance of his bald-faced lie sent a stab of guilt shooting straight through him.

  She began her narrative in a husky voice. “They aren’t really my parents. I found out from my aunt that I’m adopted. She named me in her will as her only surviving heir, her daughter. I’m pretty stinking rich, you know. That’s why I could afford to go to Tulane Med School without student loans.”

  “Then why are you living like you’re a…”

  Her eyes flashed with fire. He’d almost said too much.

  “Like I’m a what?”

  He shook his head. Nick wasn’t even sure how he’d intended to finish the sentence.

  “There’s nothing wrong with working for a living, Moreau.”

  He never said there was. Didn’t he work his butt off to make a living? Cops didn’t make a ton of money. A lot of cops had a side job. Didn’t she know that? Maybe she didn’t. Daddy was a deputy commissioner.

  “I tried to accept the reasons they said they didn’t tell me, but I couldn’t. I always had the feeling there was something they were keeping from me. It hurt that I had to find out the truth the way I did. It just kept eating at me that I had been lied to my whole life. It really, really hurt that the woman I thought was my carefree, adventuresome, no-strings-attached aunt had given me up because she didn’t want to be burdened with me.” She stabbed her pasta with her fork, and the tines clinked against the restaurant-grade, white china.

  “You know your parents could have sat back while she gave you up to strangers or even…”

  “Yeah, I know. She could have aborted me. So what are you saying? That I should be glad I’m alive? I am.”

  He pushed down the sympathy he felt for her. He wasn’t there to be her therapist.

  After watching her attack her food for a few minutes, he finally tackled his steak. Not something he typically ordered, but he was starving, and he couldn’t for the life of him remember when he had last eaten anything besides junk food from a vending machine.

  “I asked them who my father was.” Her pause was loaded with hurt feelings. “They said they didn’t know, but I have a feeling that they do. If… If…”

  He held her gaze. Pain rimmed her eyes.

  “Surely, they would have told me if my father was my birth father, wouldn’t they?”

  He didn’t know her parents well enough to speculate about their motives, but he did know that Lance Bowman was an authoritarian. That kind of personality would not mesh well with a free spirit, the kind of free spirit that Jerilyn seemed to be.

  “Of course, you wouldn’t know if they’d tell me or not.” She set down her fork and wiped her mouth with a black napkin. “Do you believe in premonitions?”

  “Call me Nick.” The offer of familiarity had slipped from his mouth before he could stop it.

  She smirked at him. “Isn’t that breaking procedure…just like taking a person of interest out for lunch?”

  He scratched the itch that had begun irritating him behind his ear. “I figured you weren’t going to settle down enough to tell me what I want to know otherwise. You do seem a lot calmer now.”

  “Oh, I see. So this is just you trying to weasel information out of a suspect?”

  “I never said you were a suspect. Should you be?”

  “I haven’t murdered anyone.”

  “Everyone is a suspect until they aren’t.” He’d become a cynic.

  “Okay, then.” She picked up her fork again.

  His smile widened into a grin. He’d never liked his women dumb. Jerilyn had some smarts. Of course she had, she’d been admitted to Tulane Med School.

  Whoa! Wait! Stop! Why was he thinking about her like that? Not good. Bad. Very bad. He had to put the brakes on that kind of dangerous thinking. Nick couldn’t rule her out as a person of interest. Not yet anyway. Sometimes the person of interest turned into the suspect.

  Change the subject. Now.

  “Do you know a man named Sheldon Deville?”

  She paused for a moment. “No. I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name before. Who is he?”

  “Weirdo.”

  She seemed to drift off somewhere else for a while.

  He nudged her back to the present and the conversation. “I need to get that tube from you. Have you washed it?”

  “No. I haven’t touched it since I put it on the shelf in my apartment.”

  “I still need to get it.”

  She shuddered. “When I was putting it in the baggie, the thing felt sticky. It could have been because my fingers were sticky from washing up the dirty glasses. Every glass in the bar feels sticky after I dump it into that nasty dishwater. Now that I know what was in the tube…”

  He shook his fork at her with a piece of meat stuck to the tines. “The health inspector is going to shut you down one day.”

  She shrugged and winked. “Not my problem.”

  “So you think you saw this woman days before she ended up on the floor? In your head?”

  “It was the morning that guy left the tube behind. Right after he’d left. It’s always dark in the corner, and you know, we’ve had a shooting in the bar. And it was late. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. But then when the weirdo grabbed my wrist…”

  Her unfocused gaze seemed to wander off to someplace far away.

  “Jerilyn, you haven’t told me everything about that, have you?”

  “You read people pretty good, don’t you…Nick.”

  He quirked one side of his mouth. “You’re deflecting.”

  She folded the napkin and placed it next to her water glass. “Yeah, I am. Because what he said to me was just so weird.”

  Weird seemed to be her favorite word.

  “What did he say?”

  She closed her eyes. “He said I was the chosen one, and he was giving the gift to me.”

  “The gift?”

  She opened her eyes and stared at him, her gaze pleading with him to give her clues to the mystery of the man’s words.

  “So you think this gift is…”

  “Have you ever heard of second sight?”

  He laughed because the subject was intensely uncomfortable for him.

  “I’ve seen other visions besides that.” She seemed to be waiting for him to explode with curiosity.

  “Yeah, what do you think you’ve seen?”

  “I saw someone aim a gun at you, and then I saw you grab your chest.”

  “So I’m going to get shot? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I didn’t say it made sense.” She reached across the table and took his hand. “Please, be careful. What if… What if that’s the gift he passed to me? The ability to see the future?”

/>   He flung her hand off and pushed back from the table. “Are you out of your mind?” He tapped the table with his finger. “If I get shot, I’m gonna come looking for you because I’m gonna figure this was a threat and you knew ahead of time that it was gonna happen.”

  She shook her head, fast and hard. “If I knew when it would happen, I swear I’d tell you.”

  He’d heard enough. The woman was a nut job. He should have known. Anyone that would dye her hair blue… He’d almost let her suck him in. Well, at least, she’d shown her hand early in the game.

  “Please, you have to listen to me. Other people might be in danger. What if I am seeing things that are going to happen and you don’t listen to me?”

  He pressed his lips together. The sooner he could get the tube from her, the better.

  “Do you want to set yourself up like that? It’s best to remain silent, you know.”

  He motioned for the waiter to bring him the check. Once he’d paid the bill, he marched her out to his car. The ride to her place was stonily silent. He parked at the curb and waited for her to get out.

  She didn’t make a move to exit the car. “I need you to tell me it’s just my imagination.”

  His words dropped from his lips, sharp and pointed. “It’s just your imagination, but if it isn’t, you and I are going to have a more intense discussion at the station.”

  She glared at him from the passenger seat. “You’re the one who took me out to dinner, Nick. I didn’t ask you to do that.”

  He returned her glare with a steely gaze of his own. “I didn’t take you to the station because my boss would have recognized you and called your father, but maybe your father needs to know where you are.”

  She yanked the handle and slung the door open. “Go ahead. Call him. You want me to leave New Orleans?”

  “You are a witness to a serious crime. You have to stay in town.”

  “Make me. I have nothing more to say to you. Don’t bother me again.” She slammed the door, and the car shook.

  She was a cop’s kid. She probably knew damn well he couldn’t make her stay in New Orleans without arresting her. Arrest her for what? His probable cause was thin. The blue hair he’d found at the crime scene wasn’t enough. A good lawyer could argue its lack of evidentiary value just as Jerilyn had.