by Teri Barnett
“You’re going to be busy with the investigation,” Able said.
“I know. But I’ll make it a point to carve out some woman time to shop or whatever, if you need me, Zoe. Or man time, for you Dad. Whatever I can do.”
“Thank you, Morgan. I’ll let you know,” Zoe said, reaching for Morgan’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “My sister, Rennie, is in town for the gathering so maybe the three of us can at least grab tea and cupcakes over at Hannah’s and chat about some details.”
“I’d like that very much.” Morgan smiled, then grew serious. “I wish I could stay, but I need to go get this investigation underway. Honestly, I thought I was putting murder behind me when I left Detroit and moved to Bijoux.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t have been more wrong.”
Chapter Five
“What do you have for me, JJ?” Morgan asked as she closed the station door behind her.
JJ looked up at her from his computer monitor and shook his head. “Nothing new since I texted an hour ago.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Two other psychics killed in the last three months. How weird is that?”
Morgan perched on the edge of JJ’s desk. “What are the locations?”
“First one was in Traverse City. Second, Detroit. Now here. No real pattern, just a bit of a zig zag around the state.”
Morgan stood and walked over to the Michigan map hanging on the wall. She placed a red pin in the three spots and considered them. “Well, it does make a ‘V.’ Other than that, I got nothing.” She rubbed her chin. “Any other psychic fairs going on in those areas at the time of the murder?”
“Ah. Good thought. Let me look into that,” JJ said, swiveling around in his chair.
Morgan’s phone pinged. A text message from her ex-partner in Detroit Homicide, Elizabeth Shore. Perfect timing. She looked up at JJ. “Thanks, JJ. I’m going to call Liz and see if she can tell me anything about their dead psychic.”
Morgan hit the call button on her phone and stepped into the alleyway next to the police station.
“That was fast,” Liz said. “Is it really that slow in Bijoux?”
“I wish. Just had another murder turn up out at the nature preserve. We’re waiting for the M.E. to confirm, but when you’ve been working homicide as long as we have, you just know.”
“I do know. And wow. I thought Bijoux was a sleepy little beachside town. What is going on there?”
“It’s just plain crazy. Another event – hosted by Caleb Joseph, of course - and another murder.” Morgan rubbed her eyes. “I’m beginning to wonder if I am some sort of jinx. Or if Cal is.”
“You’re more of an acquired taste than a jinx. And from what you’ve said about Cal, he just seems more cute and annoying than a lure for a killer.” Liz said.
“I never said he was cute. Just annoying.”
Liz laughed. “You didn’t have to, I could hear it in your words. It sounds like that reporter of yours is blaming you again.”
“She’s not mine. And yes, she keeps yammering on about the hunt for the ‘Detroit Killer.’ And she’s now added ‘Ann Arbor Killer’ to her menu of misinformation.” Morgan sighed. “Speaking of which, our research shows a psychic was murdered in Detroit last month. Did you happen to catch that case?”
“Actually, yes, my team is working on it.”
“Anything you can tell me about it? I’m trying to connect some dots, if possible.”
Liz didn’t answer right away, so Morgan knew she was choosing her words carefully. While she and her former partner always brainstormed ideas, they also worked hard to keep overzealous conjecture out of their investigations.
“Look, I understand if you don’t want to make too many assumptions, probably more than most. But the woman killed last night was a psychic as well. And there was another psychic killed about three months ago up in Traverse City, but you probably already knew that. If it’s the same person, they sure as heck are getting around.”
“And we have a pattern of behavior. Going after people who predict the future. Possibly an axe to grind because they want a different outcome than they’re being told,” Liz suggested. “That’s about as far as we’ve gotten.”
Morgan snorted. “Aren’t all fortunes the same? They wave a hand, deal some cards, and suddenly you’re getting money, love, and a fancy new career sometime in the future?”
Liz laughed. “We think too much alike.”
“Well, I suppose it’s a possible angle, anyway. It’s crazy to think someone could be killed over something like a psychic reading, though we have seen murders happen over a lot less,” Morgan mused. “God, I don’t even want to start thinking about a potential serial killer.”
“Yeah, no. Me neither. Hold on a sec.”
Morgan heard some muffled talking in the background.
“Hey, sorry, I’m going to have to go. Duty calls. But, real quick, I texted earlier because I found some notes from Ian’s case. They were folded up and stuffed under a flap in the bottom of one of the banker’s boxes holding another case’s files. Not saying they were deliberately hidden, don’t know yet, as the case numbers were similar. And I’m still vetting the information, but I feel like we’re getting closer to finding out exactly who killed Ian. I am still keeping this all on the downlow on the outside chance the investigating detectives were trying to hide something.”
Morgan took a deep breath and let it out. To bring her husband’s killer to justice and put him away was one of the things that kept her going. It also kept her up most nights, replaying the details of the day he died. She needed justice for Ian, as much as she needed it for herself. Finding his killer might finally allow her to let go of the pain and grief she still carried inside and move on. An image of Caleb’s face popped into her mind and she pushed it away. Not that kind of moving on. She sure as heck wasn’t ready for that. “I can’t thank you enough for all your help Liz,” she said.
“Of course, Morgan. What are partners and friends for? You would do the same for me. I’ll keep you posted. Miss you. Gotta go.”
Morgan slipped the cellphone back in her pocket and leaned against the limestone wall of the Bijoux police station. Had the notes been misfiled or was there more to it? She couldn’t think of anyone who would purposely muck up Ian’s case. A veteran cop himself, Ian had been beloved by all. He’d mentored so many young detectives over the years. She knew there were bad eggs in the Detroit PD—heck, cops gossiped more than most people…but would one of them purposely hide or suppress crucial evidence in the murder of one of their own?
She sighed and carefully tucked away the churning emotions bubbling up. Ian’s death still packed a wallop for her. The ache in her heart, the catch in the pit of her stomach. She rubbed her upper right arm, with its tattoo of the heart with a knife through it. Ian had had a matching tattoo. Five years. Five years since Ian was murdered. While the bone-jarring pain of losing him had lessened, it never really left. You don’t forget the people you lose, they’re always with you, just in a different way. At least she could now bear to remember the good times, along with the sorrow. She straightened and went back into the station.
“Did Liz have anything we could use?” JJ asked from behind his computer. He looked up when Morgan didn’t answer right away. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” Morgan waved a hand. “She couldn’t tell me much, other than it’s an ongoing investigation. She did float an interesting theory, though. Maybe this person wants a better fortune. When they don’t get it, they go off on the psychic. Weirder things have happened.”
She could almost see the wheels turning in JJ’s head as he considered the idea. His eyes took on a sharper look and his lips were pressed into a tight line. “I suppose it’s possible. Maybe that’s where the word ‘Fraud’ carved into the wax comes into play.”
“Speaking of, have you heard back from Doc McVie about the autopsy results?”
“Did someone say Doc McVie? His ears must’ve been burning.�
�� JJ and Morgan turned toward the door as Maggie Cornet, Doc’s assistant M.E. and former almost girlfriend of JJ, strode in carrying the box of evidence gathered from Edna’s body. The tall, thin brunette placed the box on the front counter and smiled. “Hey, JJ.”
JJ stood, retrieved the box, and headed toward the back room. “Thanks for bringing this by, Maggie,” he said over his shoulder.
Maggie watched JJ walk away and smiled at Morgan. “He likes to play hard to get.”
“You know JJ and Hannah are dating, right?”
“I’ve heard rumors, but these sorts of things are changeable, right?” She shrugged. “No sense in closing any doors just yet,” she said and exited the station.
Morgan shook her head and checked her watch. It was almost time for the Walk into The Light orientation over at the Firefly Bed and Breakfast. “JJ, I’m going to head over to the Firefly and see if I can find any information on Edna,” she called out. “See if Edna had any possible rivalries or enemies. Text me after you’ve gone through Doc’s report and confirm cause of death.”
“No need.” He walked back out holding the folder. “Death by asphyxiation. She was strangled. Given the marks he found, likely with a rope.”
“That’s pretty damn personal,” Morgan said. “You’d have to look a person straight in the eye while you killed them. It would take a fair amount of strength, too.”
“Poor Edna.” JJ shuddered. “Wood’s trying to pull DNA from the neck markings, checking clothing, the usuals, but nothing yet.”
Morgan’s phone pinged. “Looks like Doctor Pete is almost done with Griselda. She’ll be ready for pick up by end of day. I’ll swing by there and get her as soon as I’m done at the B&B.”
“You planning on keeping her here at the station?”
Morgan considered the question. This cat had no one and leaving it here alone, caged, seemed like cruel and unusual punishment. Especially after the trauma of losing her owner. “I’ll keep her with me. No sense in upsetting the poor thing any more than she already has been.”
“Ah, you do have a soft spot in there.” JJ winked. When Morgan started to object, he raised his hand. “No worries. Your secret is safe with me.”
Chapter Six
“Welcome, psychics, tarot readers, empaths, intuitives, to our first annual Walk into the Light Psychic Gathering.” Caleb looked around the eight hundred square foot event room at the Firefly Bed and Breakfast. Not a full house but pretty close to it. He estimated about forty people had turned out for the opening night meet and greet. He was happy with the participation, especially considering it was the inaugural year. That and the fact that one of the psychics was now lying dead in the town morgue. Or maybe that’s what drew the crowd. His eye caught Morgan’s where she was standing at the back of the room. In a flash he remembered what it was like to have his arms around her. The night she saved his life. When he’d pulled her close and held on and she had fit perfectly against him. Damn.
Cal shook himself out of the memory and redirected his thoughts. Whatever the reason for the good turn-out, he hoped Morgan wouldn’t scare anyone off with her official police business tone. She wasn’t exactly open-minded when it came to the paranormal. “Hopefully, I didn’t miss any of the categories.”
“Palm Readers! Don’t forget us. We always leave an imprint.”
The crowd laughed.
Cal grinned. “Thank you for the reminder.” He adjusted the microphone at the podium, raising it slightly to accommodate his six-foot frame. “I’m looking forward to spending time with each of you over the course of the long weekend. The psychic fair begins day after tomorrow, Saturday, ten a.m., at the Raven’s Nest Bookstore. There will be another meet and greet at the bookstore tomorrow at noon, so you can see the table set up and your space. I hope you’ll take advantage of the between times to visit our town shops and beach. If you’ve reserved a spot for the fair, you’ll find a table with two chairs already set up for you. It’ll have a tag with your name on it. I suggest you arrive around nine on Saturday if you’re planning on personalizing your space. If you’re bringing your own table and chairs, please arrive by eight a.m. so we can help you find a good spot to set up. The deck is all booked up, but we have available spots on the grass under the trees.
“Have you burned sage and energetically cleared the areas for us?” someone in the back asked. “After all, Bijoux is the most haunted town on the Lake Michigan coast. We can’t have your spirits interfering with our personal spirit guides.”
“Oh, and don’t forget Messie,” another person offered. “That Lake Michigan sea monster could show up anytime and disturb the energetic web.”
“It’s always hard to tell what Messie is going to do,” Cal said. “But Rennie Buffet, owner of the Crystal Blue New Age Shop over in Lac Voo, will do the honors of calling in the directions and performing a sage cleansing before we start.” He motioned to his right. “Rennie, would you please stand up so that everyone knows who you are?”
Rennie Buffet, a mid-sixties roundish woman with gray hair piled on top of her head and wearing a flowing black dress, stood and waved at the group. “Welcome to Walk into the Light!” she said. “For Saturday, I thought I’d do an overall clearing with sage, then go to each of your tables and clear you and your personal reading space as well.”
“I’m allergic to sage,” a psychic to the far left called out.
“Ah, I’ll bring some Palo Santo and we’ll do you and your area ahead of everyone else’s,” Rennie said. “Then you can go get a coffee while I finish the rest.”
The psychic nodded and held her hands up in thanks.
“Of course, as one of you noted, this is a pretty darn haunted town so none of us, of course, can promise there won’t be any shenanigans from the spirit world, no matter the precautions we take.” She leaned toward the crowd. “We’ll just have to be aware of where the messages are coming from when we read for our clients.” She shrugged and smiled. “I’m sure you already do that anyway.”
Morgan had been hovering near the back of the event room, listening to the chatter coming from the audience and various people walking in and out, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Well, that was debatable here.
As Rennie was nearing the end of her Q and A session, Morgan strolled forward, her gaze scanning the colorful crowd. A few people were slumped in their seats, while others sat wide-eyed and seemed to be hanging on every word spoken by the woman who looked like an older version of Morgan’s soon-to-be stepmom, Zoe. Morgan caught Cal’s eye and motioned for him.
He nodded. “If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, our fearless police captain, Morgan Hart, calls. Please go ahead and read through the agenda and I’ll answer any questions in a few minutes.”
Cal strode down the center aisle and followed Morgan as she stepped outside the room. “What’s up that couldn’t wait? I’m in the middle of orientation.”
“Nice to see you, too.”
“I know you well enough to know this isn’t a social call. Do you have news about Edna?”
Morgan sighed. “Yes. Confirmation she was murdered. Strangled. Doc is still searching for any DNA that’s not hers or anything else that can help us.” She leaned in toward him, catching just the faintest scent of pine, and whispered, “There have been two other murders, similar to our victim’s, in the past three months. Traverse City and Detroit.”
Cal’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, that doesn’t bode well, does it?”
“No, it does not.” Morgan’s chin pointed in the direction of the audience. “What do you really know about this group? Any rivalries I should know about?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” He paused for a moment, then grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the stage. “Let’s find out.”
What the hell? Morgan yanked her hand free. “Stop being so dramatic,” she stage-whispered “And we’ve already discussed this. I don’t want you investigating.”
“Not investigating. Just helping.”
Morgan looked away, not meeting his eyes, but noting every other eye in the room was on both of them. “I can’t keep you safe if you insist on inserting yourself into the middle of things,” she said in a real whisper. “Look what almost happened last time.”
“Ah. Okay. Here on out, I absolve you from any responsibility.” He resumed walking her to the stage and pulled her up to the dais.
“You know it doesn’t work like that.”
Cal’s eyes met hers. “It does this time.” He pulled the mike from its stand. “I’m so very sorry to have to share this news with you, but Captain Hart has just confirmed it was, indeed, our dear friend, Madame Edna Marisol, who was dead found yesterday at Lac Voo Nature Preserve.”
“It was murder!” a deep male voice boomed from the back of the room.
A wave of gasps and exclamations rippled through the audience.
Morgan grabbed the microphone from Cal. “The gentleman who shouted out ‘It was Murder.’ Can you please stand and share with us why you think it’s murder? Do you have information or details?” She glanced around the room, her eyes landing on an imposing man who stood and crossed his arms over his chest. He was about six foot three, two hundred-forty pounds, silver gray hair, full-on Tom Selleck Magnum mustache. “And you are...?”
“Jack Steve, at your service.” He bowed and the crowd applauded.
“He’s our guest speaker this weekend,” Cal whispered to Morgan.
She nodded and whispered back to Cal, “Yeah, I recognize the two first names.” Morgan waved Jack up to the stage. He walked up to Morgan and nodded at Cal. Morgan cupped her hand over the mic and addressed the older man. “Did you know Edna?”