Deadly Readings

by Laura Bradford

  “Want to walk back on the beach?”

  “I’d love to. But do you mind if I take my shoes off? I love the feel of the sand on my feet.” Her hand reached out for his arm as she gently kicked each foot forward. She reached down and picked up her sandals.

  It felt so good to walk along the beach and forget about all the chaos of the past two weeks. The pounding surf was hypnotic in its ability to drown out unnecessary thoughts. The only thing he wanted to concentrate on right now was getting to know Elise. Unfortunately, they’d been walking for more than thirty minutes and it was getting late. They both had work in the morning.

  “I had a really great time tonight, Elise.” He stopped and turned toward her.

  “I did too. I’ve almost forgiven you for dunking me,” she said with a sweet laugh.

  The sound of the surf faded as he reached out and gently pushed a wind-blown curl from Elise’s forehead. She was so nice and so pretty and he didn’t want the night to end yet.

  He wanted so desperately to lean over and kiss her, but just as he was building up the guts to do it his cell phone rang. Mitch shrugged his shoulders apologetically and pulled the flip phone from his back pocket.

  “Detective Burns.”

  He covered his opposite ear to drown out the crashing waves.

  “Looks like we’ve got another homicide, Mitch.”

  “Where?”

  “In the parking lot off Sandpiper Lane.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty.”

  He cursed softly under his breath as he shut the phone and put it back into his pocket.

  “What’s wrong, Mitch?”

  “Another body. This time in a parking lot just a few blocks from here,” he said quickly. “I’ll walk you back to your place and then I’ve got to go.”

  “I should go too.”

  He touched her shoulder gently. “Elise, let me check this out. I’ll tell you what I can first thing in the morning.”

  • • •

  He saw the body as soon as he pulled into the parking lot twenty minutes later. He slammed on the brakes and jumped out of his car.

  “What do we have?” he asked the officer nearest the body.

  “Male victim, early thirties. Looks as if he was hit with a wooden object of some sort.”

  Mitch grabbed a flashlight from his glove compartment and shone it on the lifeless body lying on the ground in front of him.

  Ben Naismith.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tuesday, June 22

  9:00 a.m.

  “Got those pictures for you, Mitch.”

  He reached for the folder the department photographer held and flipped it open to the first shot of Ben Naismith’s body.

  “Three murders in two weeks. In Ocean Point, no less,” Pete said, looking over Mitch’s shoulder at the photograph.

  “I know. Hell, Pete, I wasn’t prepared for the first one, let alone two more. But I’m gonna figure this out. One way or the other.” He pulled the second picture out of the folder and leaned over it, examining each and every detail.

  “I really appreciate you getting these to me so quickly, Pete.”

  When there was no reply, Mitch looked up to find his office empty. It wasn’t a surprise though; he didn’t seem to be aware of much of anything this morning except for the fact that he was swimming in a shark tank and didn’t know how to get out.

  Mitch sat down at his desk and rested his head in his hands. Never in his life—with the exception of his father’s death—had he felt so overwhelmed, directionless. What he needed was a plan.

  He pulled out each picture Pete had left and studied them closely. Like the other two victims before him, Ben’s body was facedown. A blow to the back of the head was the cause of death according to the medical examiner’s preliminary report, and the man’s right index finger was pointed outward just like the first two victims.

  “Each victim was killed on a Monday night . . . after spending time at the boardwalk,” Mitch said aloud. “Could there be some crazed person vacationing here who has selected his victims after seeing them on the boardwalk?”

  He reached for his recorder with disgust and hit the red button.

  “Elise pointed out that Monday night is a big night for locals on the boardwalk. So maybe it’s not a tourist at all. Maybe the killer is someone local. But why these three people? What do they have in common?”

  His eyes went immediately to the profiles of the first two victims, which were still taped to his wall over the card table. He opened his top drawer and pulled out the new sketch he had compiled during the night.

  “All three victims are residents of Ocean Point, two of the victims were alumni of Ocean Point High School, and one was still attending school there. We’ve got two females and one male, so it’s doubtful that the suspect is avenging a particular sex.

  “All three victims had consulted Madame Mariah prior to their demise . . .”

  A loud knock at the door interrupted him. He pressed stop.

  “Come in.” He looked up as the door swung open, his boss’s face set with rigid lines.

  “Mitch, what do we have on this latest victim?”

  “I’m reviewing all three cases right now, sir.” He waved his hand in the direction of the crime scene photographs and individual profiles spread out in front of him. “The most interesting link is the fact that all three victims had consulted a particular fortune-teller the evening they were killed. Both of the female victims were reportedly warned of tragedy by the psychic, but I’m not sure what the latest victim was told. If I had to take a guess, I would say it was a similar fate based on the way he looked when he walked out of Madame Mariah’s place last night.”

  “Those psychics are all crazy. I wouldn’t put it past any of them to cause an event and then make a ‘prediction’ to validate their so-called abilities,” the chief said, his face darkening with anger. “Get in her face, Mitch. Break her.”

  Break her?

  To his boss, though, he merely nodded.

  “And if this doesn’t prove to the town council that we are understaffed, I don’t know what will.”

  He didn’t know why, but he felt as if he should applaud when his boss finished speaking. Maybe it was everything he had read at the Sumter library that made Mitch so quick to judge his boss’s every word and facial expression. But it was more than that. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that he was getting his own firsthand proof that something wasn’t right where these murders and his boss were concerned.

  When the chief left, Mitch reached for a clean sheet of paper and made two separate columns. He labeled the first column as possible motive, and the second column as possible suspect. As he considered the crime scene photographs and personal profiles in front of him, he quickly wrote down several scenarios.

  “The fortune-teller could be involved directly, or via someone else, as a way to prove to people in Ocean Point that her services are far more than just entertainment.” He stopped for a moment, his pen poised above the paper as he considered the next possibility. “We’ve got a developer who has been pushing for demolition of Madame Mariah’s pier so he can build a luxury condo complex that will bring him big money. And as Elise said last night, if the fortune-teller is perceived as a danger to residents, then approval from the town council for the pier’s demolition will be swift.”

  Nor could he forget the chief. Maynard had certainly run into plenty of opposition over his request for more manpower in the department. The council members had all said they were basing their opinions on a lack of crime in Ocean Point.

  “A sudden increase in crime, particularly violent crime, proves them wrong, and the chief right,” Mitch said quietly.

  And then there was the fact that his boss despised psychics. The embarrassment the chief had endured in Sumter was big enough to make him leave a department and the seniority he’d reached.

  Mitch quickly folded the paper into a small square and placed it in his wallet for safekeeping
.

  He couldn’t ignore the chief’s order though. The fortune-teller angle would have to be examined first. He pulled the telephone directory out from under his phone and flipped to the pages marked “N.”

  Mitch ran his finger down the page and stopped when he reached the listing for Ben and Kelly Naismith. He picked up the telephone and pressed the first few digits of the number, then stopped. Even though he hadn’t known Ben well, he owed the man’s widow a personal visit.

  11:00 a.m.

  Mitch shut the car door and turned to look at the house. The small yet attractive cottage held a welcoming feel. A hand-painted sign beside the front door caught his eye. Although he was too far to make out the details of the sign, he could tell that there was a picture of a lighthouse beneath the words “Ben and Kelly’s Place.”

  His feet felt like lead as he walked up the narrow sidewalk. A maroon sedan with out-of-state license plates was parked in the driveway. Family members, no doubt.

  He knocked on the door and waited. A few moments later the door was opened by a balding man in his mid to late sixties with puffy, red-rimmed eyes.

  The man looked at him curiously. “Can I help you?”

  Mitch pulled his badge from his shirt pocket and held it up for the man to see. “Good morning. I’m Detective Mitch Burns with the Ocean Point Police Department. I was hoping to have a few moments with Kelly if she’s up to talking with me.”

  “Please come in. I’ll go get Kelly.”

  Mitch stood in the front hallway and waited. Pictures of Kelly and Ben graced the walls, a young couple ready to face life together. He ran his hand over his eyes and through his hair. Nothing about these murders was easy. He couldn’t bring people’s loved ones back, and at the rate he was going he couldn’t offer them justice either.

  He looked up as he heard the sound of soft footsteps. Kelly Naismith walked toward him, her eyes hooded, her mouth contorted with grief. He held out his hand and grasped the woman’s trembling fingers.

  “I’m so sorry about Ben.” He slid his hand around the woman’s shoulder and pulled her in for a gentle hug. The tension in her body dissolved as she began to sob. Mitch held her for several moments until the crying stopped.

  “I didn’t know Ben all that well. Mostly because I don’t make all that many men’s group meetings. But it took all of about one meeting to know he was a special guy.”

  He pulled a tissue from his shirt pocket and handed it to Kelly. The lump in his throat grew as he watched the woman wipe at the never-ending stream of tears pouring down her cheeks.

  “Have you found out who did this to my husband?” Her voice was raspy, hard to decipher.

  “I’m working on that, and I promise you I won’t rest until I know who did this.” He reached out and gently raised the woman’s chin so as to look her straight in the eye. He needed her to know, to believe in him. “I know what you are going through right now. When my dad was murdered we had no answers and that destroyed my mother. I won’t let that happen to you and I won’t let that happen to Ben.”

  She shook her head slowly, and a glimmer of clarity briefly resurfaced in her gaze.

  “Kelly, I know that several of our officers spoke with you last night after Ben was found, but I have some questions for you too.”

  “Okay.”

  “Where was Ben last night?”

  “He got home from work around six o’clock and we had dinner together. Then I had a meeting to go to and Ben decided to go up on the boardwalk to see Mariah.”

  “The fortune-teller?”

  “Yes. Ben started going to her for readings a while ago and he seemed to get a lot of strength from that. It was one of the reasons that he joined the men’s group at church. She said it would be good for him. You see, he was the kind of person that liked to have a road map in life and he believed that Mariah helped give him that.”

  “Did you see him after his reading last night, before he was killed?”

  “No. I was expecting him home at any moment . . . and then the doorbell rang . . . and the police were standing there.” The woman’s voice broke, the tears returning. “I don’t understand who would want to hurt him, he was the sweetest man I have ever known. He lived a good life, a clean life, a religious life . . . and this is what he got in return?”

  The woman’s voice increased in pitch as she continued to ask questions that had no answers. “Ben couldn’t walk past a child without saying something to make them smile. H-he volunteered in a homeless shelter once a month because he had a heart of gold. I-I just don’t get this. Who would want to hurt him like that?”

  “I don’t have that answer yet. But I will . . . you can count on it,” Mitch said, although he knew his words were little comfort. “Thank you for your time, and if you need anything at all, please call me.”

  He squeezed her hand once again and stepped outside. His heart was heavy with sadness. He wanted to spare Kelly the added heartache that came from not knowing. She needed to mourn her husband the right way. Not with anger and questions shadowing her grief. It was no way to live.

  12:15 p.m.

  His head was throbbing when he returned to the office. As hard as it was to watch the girls’ families, seeing Kelly was even harder. It hit too close to home.

  He replayed his conversation with Kelly over and over in his head. The Madame Mariah connection to all three victims was simply too big of a coincidence. But how and why it played into the murder was still anyone’s guess. He reached for the still-open phone book on his desk and flipped to the yellow page section. Madame Mariah’s number was listed under the “Psychic” heading. He quickly dialed the number.

  “Madame Mariah.”

  “Madame Mariah, this is Detective Mitch Burns with the Ocean Point Police Department. I have a few questions for you regarding a murder that took place last night.”

  “Tell me it wasn’t Ben, please tell me it wasn’t Ben,” the woman said quietly.

  “The victim’s name was Ben Naismith.” He decided to keep his hand hidden, act as if he didn’t already know there was a connection between the two. It would make it easier to gage her reaction. “Did you know him well?”

  “Yes. Ben is a regular customer of mine. He likes to have a peek at his future from time to time.”

  “When did you last see him?” the detective asked.

  “Last night. He requested that I do a palm reading for him and I did,” she said, her voice trailing off.

  “And what did you ‘see’ when you read his palm?”

  “I saw tragedy. I told him to be careful.”

  “Did you believe he was in danger?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Why was he in danger?”

  “I can only tell you that he, like the others, was punished for his visit to me.”

  “Punished? And what do you mean by ‘like the others’?” Goose bumps were forming on his arms as he held the phone tightly.

  “The other two victims? They, too, consulted me for a reading. But you know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “They, too, were punished for their visit.”

  Not knowing what to make of the woman’s bizarre words, Mitch grabbed his notebook and jotted down her statement.

  They, too, were punished for their visit.

  “That’s all for now, Madame Mariah, but I must tell you that my questions for you are not over and I will be in touch again soon.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tuesday, June 22

  12:00 p.m.

  Elise deliberately chose a table near the back of the diner that would enable her to observe Daniel Johnson when he arrived. Sam had painted an interesting image of the developer in her mind and she was curious to see how the reality would match it.

  “What can I get you, hon?”

  She looked up to see an attractive waitress with teased blonde hair, a pink tank top, and a tight denim skirt. The woman smiled at Elise, purple gum visible from time to time throug
h the gap between her top front teeth.

  “I’m waiting for someone, but I’ll take a glass of water when you get a chance,” Elise said.

  “Comin’ right up.” The woman leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “You’ve got the best seat in the house for people watchin’ if you’re into that kind of thing.”

  Was she ever. She nodded and smiled at the waitress.

  The first person to walk through the door was a woman in her forties with a briefcase in one hand and a book in the other. She was dressed impeccably in a designer suit. Elise didn’t need to think long. Lawyer. Single. Doesn’t let anyone push her around.

  She sat up straighter in the booth and eagerly waited for the next patron. Her observation skills had always been pretty good, and she enjoyed honing that ability whenever time permitted. At the very least, it was an opportunity to be creative.

  An elderly man was the next to come in to the diner. He was in his sixties and seemed to know the name of everyone in the restaurant. He was easy. Retired. Bored at home, so he found a second family at the corner diner.

  “Here you go.” The waitress placed a tall glass of water on the table in front of Elise. “It’s fun, ain’t it?”

  “What’s fun?” she asked distractedly.

  “Trying to figure people out. I can kill me a whole day just tryin’ to guess what makes ’em tick,” the woman said as she snapped her gum. “The people that come through here—especially during the summer months—can be a real hoot sometimes.”

  “I try to figure out what they do for a living.”

  “Me too. I think everybody likes to guess. They just don’t like to admit it. Well, I gotta go take another order. In the meantime, my name is Fran. Give a holler if you need anything before your friend shows up.”

  Elise reached for her water glass when the waitress left. The cold liquid felt good on the hot summer day.