Death at First Sight

by Lena Gregory

  She gagged and slapped a hand over her mouth. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Indecision and stark terror held her frozen in place. She shook her head, as if she could clear the image from her mind, but it would be permanently etched there. She crept forward, one inch at a time. “Ms. Hawkins?” She forced the words past the lump in her throat. Another step. “Mrs. Haw . . .” The scream finally tore free, and she turned and ran from the theater.

  “Oh my . . .” She fumbled the bag from her shoulder and frantically dug for her phone. Where the . . . “Okay.” She pulled the phone out and dropped the bag on the sidewalk. Tiny fingers of fear crawled up her spine. She glanced over her shoulder, scanned the parking lot, and searched the shadows crouched among the trees that surrounded the building. She sucked in a breath, but an iron vise gripped her chest, and she couldn’t get enough air. Tremors shook her hands, and it took three tries before she managed to dial 911.

  “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

  Cass pressed her back to the brick wall of the building, continuously searching the surrounding area. She sucked in a breath and fought to push the words past the lump of fear that had lodged in her throat. Was whoever killed Marge still lurking around?

  “Nine-one-one. What is your emergency?”

  She thought briefly about running around the building to her car, but fear paralyzed her. “At the theater. Marge Hawkins . . .”

  “Hello?”

  Cass’s teeth started to chatter, and she clamped them tightly together.

  “Hold on, honey,” the woman on the line reassured her. “I’m sending someone over right now.”

  * * *

  Sirens reached Cass’s ears, and she sucked in a deep breath. She slid down to sit on the grass, with her back pressed against the wall. The shock that had had such a firm grip on her finally eased its hold. Help would be there any minute. She squeezed her eyes closed, but an image of Marge popped into her head.

  The bruise that marred Marge’s cheekbone beneath her right eye, the bright red mark on her neck . . . Odd. The mark on her forehead that could only be . . . Cass’s eyes shot open, and she began to hyperventilate. An eddy of blackness crept into her peripheral vision. She dropped her head between her knees.

  “Miss Donovan?”

  Cass lifted her head. Chief of Police Otis Langdon was bent over her. Great. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and struggled to her feet.

  Chief Langdon backed up and pulled his pants farther up around his considerable girth. “What’s going on here?” He left his hands on his hips and glared at her from puffy, bloodshot eyes.

  Cass sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. She held his gaze and tried to steady herself. “Marge Hawkins . . . in the theater . . .” A hiccup interrupted her, and the chief glanced over her shoulder and through the door she’d left open in her haste to flee. “In the pit . . .”

  A scowl drew his thick, gray eyebrows down into a V, reminding Cass of two fat, gray caterpillars crossing paths. “So? What’s the problem? She do somethin’ to ya?”

  Cass shook her head and forced a harsh whisper through her dry throat. “Sh . . . she . . . she’s . . . dead.”

  Chief Langdon’s frown deepened. “Wait here.” He walked away, leaving Cass to panic in peace.

  Of all the officers on the force, why did Langdon have to be the one to answer her call? Why couldn’t Tank have come? She leaned forward and massaged her temples. Nothing would relieve the hammering of the stress headache. Can this day even get any worse?

  A passing car caught her attention. The models would be arriving soon. She picked up her bag and phone and walked around the building, toward the parking lot, hoping to intercept the models before anyone went in. She glanced at her phone. What? How could that be possible? Only fifteen minutes had passed since she dropped her coffee.

  “What did I tell you?” The irate voice stopped her in her tracks.

  “I . . . uh . . .” She looked up from the phone and stared at Chief Langdon. His usually ruddy cheeks had gone an even deeper shade of purple.

  “I don’t want to hear it. I told you to stay put.” He strode toward her, finger pointed at her face. “Did you touch anything in there?”

  She quickly shook her head but then thought better of it. “Well . . . not by Ms. Hawkins, anyway. I had only started to walk over to see if she was all right, but then I realized she . . . wasn’t.” She forced down the bile creeping up the back of her throat.

  Another car pulled into the lot, saving her from whatever he’d been about to say. Taylor Lawrence pulled up beside them and climbed out of the car.

  Tank. A sigh of relief escaped Cass, prompting another scowl from Chief Langdon.

  “Hey, Cass.” Tank tipped his head toward Cass before turning his attention to Chief Langdon. “What’s going on, Chief?”

  “We got a dead body inside.” Chief Langdon spared Cass a suspicious glare before walking away to talk into his radio.

  For a brief minute she tried to hear what he was saying, then decided she didn’t really care and turned her attention to Tank.

  “You all right?” Tank put a massive hand on her shoulder and pulled her close for a hug. She wrapped her arms around him and enjoyed the brief illusion of safety. Tank was built like the vehicle he was nicknamed for, and being in his arms was like being wrapped up all nice and tight in a protective shell. Stephanie was a lucky woman. Not only was her husband built like a warrior, he had the personality of a teddy bear.

  Tank grabbed both of her shoulders and set her back to study her expression. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded and wiped tears from her face. “I’m all right, Tank. Thank you.”

  “Good, because Steph’ll have my ass if I let anything happen to you.” His grin filled his hardened, steel gray eyes with mischief, but then he sobered quickly. “What happened?”

  Cass sniffed and took a deep breath. “Marge Hawkins is in the theater.” She leaned past Tank to spy Chief Langdon pulling things from his trunk. “She’s dead.” Whispering made no sense. It wasn’t like anyone was around to hear, but she couldn’t seem to speak the words out loud. She’d never liked Ms. Hawkins, but finding a dead body . . . A shiver ran up her spine.

  Tank blew out a breath with a whistle and turned. Chief Langdon was stringing crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

  Cass followed his gaze. “Shouldn’t you be doing something?”

  “I am.” Tank smiled and rubbed her arm. He let his hand fall when Chief Langdon approached.

  “The crime scene unit will be here any minute. We’ll go in with them.”

  Tank nodded. “Did you confirm, Chief?”

  Langdon spared him a scathing glance. “Just keep an eye on your friend here. She’s our only witness.” The way he said witness made it sound more like suspect.

  Sirens split the early-morning peace once again. More police cars, a crime scene van, and an ambulance all crowded into the small lot. Chaos ensued. Cass moved to stand beside her car, and Tank stuck to her side like glue.

  “Can you tell me what happened when you got here, Cass?”

  She shivered, the cool fall air nipping at her. “I went in and turned on the lights—well, some of them anyway—and I noticed someone sitting in the pit.”

  “The pit?”

  A growing crowd had formed around the small theater. Some of the kids and their parents had begun to join the bedlam. “The seats down in the front of the stage where the musicians sit.”

  Tank nodded for her to continue as she scanned the growing sea of faces. Was the killer standing there watching? Another chill ran up her spine, but this one had nothing to do with the cold. “Um . . .”

  Chief Langdon emerged from the front door and crouched to rub his fingers along the stoop. He stood and glared at Cass.

  Cass turned and looked behind her. Nope, he was
definitely looking at her. She braced herself as he walked toward her.

  “Come with me, Cass.” He gestured toward his patrol car.

  Her mouth fell open. Her gaze shot to Tank, who wore a similarly shocked expression. Under other circumstances, it might have been comical. Now . . . not so much.

  Chief Langdon took hold of Cass’s arm and guided her gently toward the car. He turned her toward it and told her to put her hands on the roof. He began to pat her down.

  “You’re frisking me? This has to be some kind of joke.” She tried to face him, but he stopped her.

  “Chief, what’s going on?” Tank finally found his voice.

  Langdon ignored him, speaking instead to Cass. “I’m taking you in for questioning.”

  “What! Are you crazy? Why can’t you question me here?”

  “I’m taking you down to the station.”

  She huffed out a breath. “You were friends with my father, Otis. How can you do this?”

  “You have the right to remain silent.” He turned her to face him and caught her gaze. “I suggest you do.” He guided her forward as she sputtered.

  She looked for Tank, hoping he’d intervene, but he had already stepped away and was talking on the phone. She scanned the sea of faces watching her. Most of their stares had hardened from curiosity to anger.

  Cass sighed. Such was the beauty of living in a small town. When she came home last year to bury her parents, the town had mourned with her. While making the final arrangements, the florist, whom she’d gone to high school with, had come around the counter to offer a hug and to cry with her. The funeral director’s expression had been a grimace of true grief, rather than the grim but distant expression he usually would have deemed appropriate for such a somber occasion. The priest had concluded the ceremony with a hitch in his voice. That warmth had kept her on Bay Island after the funeral.

  Now, that same sense of community hurt as the stares of accusation followed her. In a matter of minutes the entire town knew she was under suspicion. Marge had lived her whole life on Bay Island. Cass had returned only last year, after a seventeen-year hiatus.

  As they rounded the side of the building, Cass saw Jay Callahan, Ellie’s husband. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Cass sucked in a breath, but Jay turned and walked away, his smirk firmly in place.

  She followed his progress through the crowd until her eyes met the hard, dark stare of the stranger from the deli. A deep scowl marred his features as his gaze met hers and held.

  She must have slowed, because the chief tugged on her arm and leaned close. “I might not be able to arrest you, yet, but I can make your life miserable for a little while, and I’ll definitely be watching you.”

  He guided her into his car, putting a hand on top of her head, his arm casting a shadow across her face. A shadow? Ellie! She searched for her as the chief pulled out through the crowd. Nothing. She’d tried to reach Ellie from Dreamweaver Designs last night, with no luck, even though it had been so late. Had that shadow during Ellie’s reading been the death of her mother, or something more sinister? She had to find her.

  4

  “Thank you for picking me up, Steph.”

  “No problem.” She rubbed a hand on Cass’s arm but quickly returned her attention to the road ahead of her. “Tank called and said to come get you. I’m sorry it took so long. I don’t know what the holdup was.” She glanced over at Cass and grinned. “He said Chief Langdon was being an ass.” Laughter danced in the other woman’s eyes.

  Chief Langdon had been friends with Cass’s dad, and she and Steph had tormented him with their antics when they were kids. It had always been good-natured, until recently.

  “When did Langdon get so . . . serious? I remember him being a little cranky sometimes, but I don’t remember him being so mean.”

  Stephanie shrugged. “I don’t know, really.” She frowned. “Once you left for college, I didn’t have much contact with him. Then, when you came back and opened the shop, he seemed . . . I don’t know . . . weird, or something.” Stephanie shook her head and stared straight ahead out the windshield, seemingly lost in her thoughts.

  Stephanie had been her best friend growing up, but when Cass left, they’d fallen out of touch. When Cass came back home, seventeen years later, their friendship had resumed as if no time had passed. Stephanie had even accepted, with no questions asked, Cass’s vague excuse for why she’d returned.

  Cass hadn’t yet been ready to explain why she’d given up her psychiatric practice to open a psychic shop on the boardwalk, or why she’d divorced her no-good, cheating ex-husband. She still wasn’t ready to talk about it, and Stephanie didn’t pry.

  They pulled into Cass’s driveway, and Stephanie shifted the car into park, jolting Cass from memories better left untouched. She stared out the window at her childhood home. The three-bedroom cottage sat right on the beach, down a ways from Mystical Musings and the boardwalk, on a quieter, more secluded stretch of beach, which was great in the summer. Now, though, the damp evening chill settled in her bones.

  Bee sat on the porch swing, rocking slowly back and forth each time he shoved against the railing with his foot. Cass sighed and climbed out of the car. Stephanie followed her up the steps to the wide, wraparound porch.

  Cass flopped back into an overstuffed chair she kept on the porch, closed her eyes, and waited for the inevitable bombardment of questions. It didn’t come. She opened one eye.

  Bee continued to rock back and forth, the creaking of the chain almost hypnotic. “Hey, there, beautiful.”

  A small smile tugged at Cass. “Hey.”

  Stephanie perched against the edge of the railing and stared out across Gardiners Bay. The gentle lapping of the small waves against the sand worked to soothe Cass’s raw nerves as nothing else could. Grateful her friends understood her need for silence, Cass laid her head back against the seat.

  Thanks to Chief Langdon, she’d lost a full day at Mystical Musings. That was the last thing she needed at this time of year. Weekends were the busiest times for tourists, and the season was quickly coming to a close. Losing a Saturday would hurt.

  The setting sun peeking through the trees made shadows dance across the small patch of lawn and the wooden walkway that led to the beach. The deepening shadows on the porch made it almost impossible to make out—shadows!

  “Ellie!” Cass jumped up from the chair, slamming her knee into a small table. “Ouch!”

  Stephanie straightened from the rail and looked over her shoulder, but Bee continued his rhythmic rocking.

  “What are you talking about? I don’t see anyone.” Stephanie squinted into the growing darkness.

  “No, she’s not here. I have to find her.” The memory of the shadow passing over her wouldn’t let Cass rest unless she checked on her.

  “What’s the big deal about finding Ellie?” Steph folded her arms across her chest, obviously not going anywhere without an explanation.

  A sigh escaped before Cass could stop it. “All right. I gave Ellie a reading yesterday.”

  “Yeah, I heard.” A grin split Stephanie’s face, and Cass couldn’t help but cringe at the reminder of the run-in at the deli.

  “Well, while I was reading her . . .” Cass swallowed past the lump in her throat. She wasn’t really psychic, not in any traditional sense anyway, but the last time she’d encountered a shadow during a session, a death had followed as well. She looked up. Stephanie and Bee were staring wide-eyed, practically drooling with anticipation. “A shadow crossed over my vision, and everything started to get dark.”

  Stephanie frowned. “Has that ever happened before?”

  Cass blew out a breath and looked directly into her friend’s eyes. “Only once.”

  “Well, would you care to elaborate?” Bee finally stopped swinging and leaned forward, twisting his hands together, reminding Cass of an
old woman fretting.

  She shook her head. “No, not really.”

  Bee relented, albeit reluctantly, but Stephanie held her gaze a moment longer.

  Cass held her breath. The last thing she wanted to get into right now was her failed psychiatric practice or the death of her patient. “Not right now, anyway. I’ll tell you about it later, but right now I really need to find Ellie.”

  Bee shot to his feet. “Are you crazy? The sheriff already questioned you about her mother’s . . . uh . . . well, you know.”

  Cass gave him a dirty look he probably couldn’t see in the dark. “I have to check on her. If you two don’t want to come, I’ll do it myself.” She hobbled down the steps, her knee throbbing.

  “I said it was crazy, honey.” Bee heaved himself off the swing and tossed the end of his scarf around his neck. He smiled. “I didn’t say we wouldn’t come.”

  “Steph?”

  Stephanie shrugged. “Oh, what the heck? Let’s go.” She started forward but stopped short. “But if Jay’s car is there, I’m not stopping.”

  “No problem.” Cass got back into the passenger seat with Bee in the back. He sat with his elbows resting on both front seats and his head poking between them. Apparently, his respect for her need for solitude had ended when they left the porch.

  “So, what happened when you got to the police station? Did they put you in a cell?” He shivered. “Tell me everything.”

  “No, they didn’t put me in a cell. They did fingerprint me, though, and put me in an interrogation room. You know, the ones with the one-way glass.” She turned her head and grinned at him. “It was very CSI.”

  Bee laughed and clapped his hands together.

  Stephanie harrumphed. “You two are taking this awfully lightly. Cass was questioned about a murder.”

  Bee waved off her concerns. “Eh, she obviously didn’t kill the old battle-ax. Someone’ll figure it out. Besides, there are probably plenty of people who’ll be happier with Marge out of the picture.”