Crime Seen (33 page)

‘‘And speaking of studies,’’ said Dave, wagging a finger at us to follow him back down the stairs and around to a new room just off Dutch’s study, ‘‘in here is the room that I’ve just finished.’’ He opened a door.

As I passed him, I noticed he gave a big wink to Dutch, and the minute I was inside I knew why. In a little doggy bed on the floor was a cute little dachshund puppy, who struggled off the bed on chubby legs and over to us. ‘‘A puppy!’’ I yelled and clapped my hands as I squatted down. ‘‘Dutch, when did you get it?’’

‘‘Yesterday,’’ he said. He came over and sat on the floor next to me. ‘‘I’m calling her Tuttle.’’

‘‘Unusual name,’’ I said as Eggy sniffed the puppy and happily wagged his tail. ‘‘I think Eggy likes her.’’

‘‘He better,’’ said Dutch and looked up nervously at Dave. ‘‘Can you give us a minute?’’

Dave nodded and closed the door behind him. ‘‘So what’s going on?’’ I asked. I let Tuttle go and she and Eggy began to chase each other around the room. ‘‘I mean, I don’t think Virgil’s going to take kindly to you getting a puppy.’’

‘‘He doesn’t have to worry about it,’’ Dutch said.

I reached out and grabbed his arm in alarm. ‘‘What have you done with Virgil?’’ I demanded.

Dutch laughed. ‘‘He’s with my mother,’’ he said. ‘‘She’s always loved that damn cat, and her own kitty, Moppet, died last year. I could tell she was ready for another one and I thought it was a good solution.’’

‘‘You gave away your cat?’’ I said.

‘‘I gave my mom a loving companion and solved the issue of space for my girlfriend.’’

‘‘So this is why you’re doing all the construction?’’ I gasped. ‘‘You did this all so that when I came over I wouldn’t feel cramped?’’

Dutch reached into his pocket and pulled something out. He opened my hand and placed a beautiful Tiffany key ring and a shiny new key in the palm of my hand. ‘‘No, Abby. I did this so that when I asked you to move in with me, we wouldn’t have space or cats or anything else between us.’’

Tears welled in my eyes as I looked down at my palm. ‘‘Oh, Dutch,’’ was all I could manage.

‘‘I miss you when you’re not around,’’ he said. ‘‘I can’t sleep when you’re not next to me, and I worry a lot about what you’re up to.’’

I laughed and reached up to cup his face in my hands. ‘‘I can’t believe you did all this for me,’’ I said to him.

‘‘So say yes,’’ he said.

‘‘Yes,’’ I said. ‘‘As soon as I find a renter for my place, I will move in with you.’’

Dutch smiled and wiggled his eyebrows. ‘‘I may know someone who’s a little tired of their living arrangement and is looking for a house to rent.’’

‘‘You do?’’ I asked.

‘‘And you do too,’’ he said. ‘‘Why don’t you call Candice and see if she’s had enough of living in a Pepto-Bismol bottle?’’

As I leaned forward to kiss his socks off, I said, ‘‘You think of everything.’’

Winking at me and using his best Humphrey Bogart voice, he said, ‘‘That’s why you got the radar and I got the brains, sweethot.’’

Read on for a sneak peak at the next Psychic Eye adventure from Victoria Laurie

Death Perception

Available September 2008 wherever books are sold or at
penguin.com

Death has an energy.

It is thick as sludge, heavy as iron, and pulls you down into yourself like an imploding building. And as I sat across from the concerned mother of a very sick young woman and tuned in, it was the last thing I wanted to feel. ‘‘Please tell me my daughter will be all right,’’ she whispered, her voice filled with fear. She’d obviously read the look on my face after she had asked about her daughter.

I had two choices here: I could tell her the truth or I could avoid telling her that her daughter had no hope—no chance at all. I looked up, prepared to meet those pleading eyes and be straight with her, but when I did . . .

I.

Just.

Couldn’t.

‘‘Marion,’’ I said softly, ‘‘the energy I’m feeling here isn’t good.’’ A tear slid down Marion’s cheek, yet her eyes remained fixed on mine, unblinking and welling with moisture. ‘‘I believe you and the doctors are doing absolutely everything you can to save her,’’ I added. ‘‘And I don’t think there is one thing more you can do to change the outcome. You have done everything humanly possible to help her fight for her life, and if she survives, it will be because of all the efforts you’ve made. The rest is up to her.’’

Marion swallowed a sob as I fought to hold my own emotions in check. ‘‘I can’t lose her,’’ she said. ‘‘She’s my only daughter, Abby. I simply cannot face life without her!’’

I took a deep breath. Breaking down in front of this woman would only add to her fear. ‘‘I know you’re scared out of your mind right now, Marion. But your daughter needs you to be okay with whatever her outcome is. She needs to know that if she loses the battle against her illness, you’ll be able to go on. That’s the one gift you have left to give her, Marion. The one thing you can still do for her is to reassure her that you are strong enough to live your life to the fullest, even if she’s not around.’’

Marion buried her face in her hands and I reached forward to rub her shoulder. ‘‘It’s my fault,’’ she sobbed. ‘‘It’s all my fault.’’

‘‘How could this possibly be your fault?’’ I asked.

Marion’s body shuddered as she tried to pull herself together. ‘‘Julie called me from college. She said she found a bump on the side of her neck. She said it was about the size of a pea. I told her that it was probably a cyst. I had them when I was her age and didn’t think anything of it. I told her that if the bump was still there when the semester ended, we’d get it checked out. The cancer had six more weeks to spread to the rest of her lymph nodes.’’

I bit my lip. Oh, man, that was rough. ‘‘Marion,’’ I whispered to her. ‘‘My crew is saying that there was no way you could have known. You didn’t do this, and even if you had rushed her to a doctor right away, the end results would likely be the same.’’ This was another lie, but at this point the only thing I could do for this woman was allow her the chance to forgive herself. Marion lifted her chin and stared me in the eyes, and I willed myself to look back without blinking. ‘‘It wasn’t your fault, sweetheart,’’ I said firmly. ‘‘You couldn’t have known.’’

She nodded just as my appointment timer gave a small
ting
! We were out of time. Marion stood and I handed her several tissues to go with the one in her hand. ‘‘You’re very kind,’’ she said to me as she took the tissues.

‘‘So are you,’’ I replied, leaning in to give her a long, hard hug. ‘‘Now go and be with your daughter,’’ I said, stepping back. ‘‘I’ll keep Julie in my thoughts and prayers, and you call me anytime you need someone to talk to, okay?’’

Marion sniffled and handed me some bills. ‘‘I will,’’ she said hoarsely.

After she’d gone I went back into my office and sat down heavily. Turning my chair to the window I put my feet up on the sill, leaned my head back, and let the tears flow.

Sometimes, my job really sucked.

‘‘Hey,’’ said a voice behind me.

I swiveled my chair around and looked up at my business partner, Candice Fusco, standing just outside the door. ‘‘Hey,’’ I said, my voice shaky.

‘‘You okay?’’

I inhaled deeply and wiped my cheeks. ‘‘Tough session.’’

Candice came into the room and sat down on the other side of my desk. ‘‘Want to tell me about it?’’

I attempted a smile. ‘‘Just the psychic blues,’’ I said. ‘‘I’ll be okay.’’

Candice gave me a sympathetic look. ‘‘Must be hard to see what you see sometimes, huh?’’

I cleared my throat. ‘‘Can be. Is that a file you need me to look at?’’ I asked, changing the subject and pointing to a folder in her lap.

She nodded. ‘‘It’s our latest assignment. Family wants to see if we can hunt down the missing father. He disappeared six months ago.’’

I sighed. I didn’t want to look at the file just then. I’d seen enough death for one day, and I didn’t think I could tune in on another family about to be torn apart by the worst-case scenario. ‘‘Any chance it can wait until tomorrow?’’

Candice smiled. ‘‘Of course. You look like shit, anyway. Why don’t you go home to that hunka-hunka-burnin’ love and have him take your mind off things.’’

That got a giggle out of me. ‘‘Thanks for understanding, girl,’’ I said as I stood up. ‘‘I’ll see you at the gym bright and early, okay?’’ Candice and I were also workout buddies.

‘‘Sounds good. You hang in there, Abs.’’

I left my office, which sits in an old but charming building in the heart of downtown Royal Oak, Michigan, and stopped at the liquor store, where I picked up a bottle of wine—okay, two bottles of wine—then boogied home. With relief, I noticed my boyfriend’s SUV already parked in the driveway, but then I also spotted a beat-up blue pickup parked in the street. My handyman and business partner, Dave, was also in attendance.
Damn
, I thought. I was really hoping it would be just my honey and me.

As I breezed through the door, I was greeted by the smell of fresh baking bread and a roast in the oven. My boyfriend Dutch can
hang
in the kitchen— hence the reason Dave was taking so long to finish the addition he’d started three months ago, since he kept getting invited to dinner. ‘‘Abs?’’ Dutch called when he heard the door open.

‘‘Hey, babe,’’ I said wearily as I flopped on the couch. I was immediately pounced on by my dog, Eggy, and Dutch’s new puppy, Tuttle, who wriggled and fought each other for my attention.

Dutch poked his head out of the kitchen doorway, took one look at my face, and said, ‘‘You okay?’’

I nodded. ‘‘Yeah,’’ I said with a sigh. ‘‘Just a really long day.’’

Dutch brightened. ‘‘Your practice is back up and kickin’, huh?’’ My professional psychic practice had suffered greatly when I’d had to take a three-month hiatus to recover from a bullet wound I had gotten in February.

I nodded again. ‘‘It is good to be earning my own keep again.’’

‘‘Dinner will be on the table in two minutes. Can you let Dave know?’’

I rolled my eyes. ‘‘Ah, yes, our foster child. I’ll let him know.’’

Dutch grinned. ‘‘He’s bound to be done sometime, Edgar,’’ he said, using his nickname for me, after the famed psychic Edgar Cayce.

‘‘Oh, trust me, if anyone can milk the clock, it’s Dave.’’ I pushed up off the couch and trudged to the stairwell.

‘‘Be nice,’’ Dutch called after me.

I headed into the bedroom and found Dave on a ladder with the world’s smallest paintbrush. I rolled my eyes again and cleared my throat to get his attention. ‘‘Hey, Abby,’’ he said as he swiveled around. ‘‘How was your day?’’

‘‘Productive,’’ I said to him. ‘‘I got
so
much done!’’

‘‘Good for you,’’ he said, turning back to painting the wall with itty-bitty strokes.

I scowled. He’d missed the hint. ‘‘Wouldn’t that go on better with a roller?’’

Dave swiveled back to me again. ‘‘Yeah, but you don’t get the great texture results that you get with a brush. Trust me, when this is finished, you’ll appreciate the attention to detail.’’

‘‘
When
being the operative word here,’’ I said with a grin.

‘‘True craftsmanship takes time,’’ Dave said and took a whiff. ‘‘Dinner smells like it’s about ready.’’

‘‘You mean you can smell something other than paint fumes?’’ I asked.

Dave smiled. ‘‘This snout smells all,’’ he said, pointing to his slightly oversized nose.

‘‘Yes, Dave, dinner is ready. Put the paintbrush down and come to the table.’’

Dave nodded and I headed back downstairs. As I walked into the kitchen Dutch handed me a glass of the wine I’d brought home. ‘‘Here,’’ he said. ‘‘It’ll take that edge off.’’

I smiled at him and leaned in to wrap my arms around him. ‘‘You’re a really great boyfriend, you know?’’

Dutch gave the top of my head a kiss. ‘‘So you
need
to keep telling me.’’

I laughed and sat down at the table. A moment later Dave joined us and Dutch handed out plates of food piled high with roast beef, mashed potatoes, green beans, and fresh bread. ‘‘Man!’’ Dave said as he ogled his plate. ‘‘All my old lady ever serves up are TV dinners!’’

I gave Dutch a pointed look that said, ‘‘See?
This
is why he won’t go home!’’

Dutch hid a smile and pulled a package from under his chair wrapped in plain pink paper with a matching bow. ‘‘Here,’’ he said, passing it to me.

‘‘What’s this?’’ I asked, my mood lifting.

‘‘For you,’’ he said. ‘‘Open it.’’

‘‘Is it your birthday?’’ Dave said with a note of panic and a mouth stuffed with food. ‘‘ ’Cuz, no one told me!’’

‘‘It’s not my birthday,’’ I said to him, and eyed Dutch quizzically. ‘‘And it’s not our anniversary . . .’’

‘‘It’s a ‘just because’ present, Abs,’’ Dutch said. ‘‘Now open it.’’

I ripped off the paper and realized it was a book. Turning it over, I read the title.
‘‘Cooking for Dummies,’’
I said, all the joy leaving me.

‘‘Yeah!’’ Dutch said with enthusiasm. ‘‘You know, because you’re always telling me you wish you could cook.’’

I scowled at him, because, for the record, I was
not
always telling him I wished I could cook. This was Dutch’s not-so-subtle attempt to domesticate me, something I fought him tooth and nail on. ‘‘Ah,’’ I said, a flicker of anger entering my voice. ‘‘So, all the copies of
Cooking for Absolute Idiots
were sold out?’’

Dutch sighed. ‘‘Edgar . . .’’ he began.

I flipped open the book and pretended to read. ‘‘Ah! Here’s something I can handle! Quick dinner suggestions: First, remove outer plastic wrapping from popcorn package . . .’’

‘‘Opened up a can of worms, there, buddy,’’ Dave mumbled to Dutch.

‘‘Abby,’’ Dutch tried again. ‘‘I didn’t mean—’’

I dramatically flipped a few more pages. ‘‘Ooooh! A recipe for pizza! First, look up local delivery options in your neighborhood. Next, pick up phone and dial number . . .’’