Lethal Outlook: A Psychic Eye Mystery (5 page)

As we came closer to the café, I saw Purcell sitting outside at one of the tables. She spotted Candice and lit up like a Christmas tree. Then she spotted me and the fuse blew.

I waved enthusiastically and flashed her a big ol’ smile. I’m nothing if not obnoxious. “Play nice,” Candice warned out the side of her mouth.

“Don’t I always?” My smile was as wide as Kansas and my wave began to take on a frantic appearance.

“No,” Candice said evenly. “Which is why I’m telling you to knock it off.”

I lowered my hand and a little of the toothy wattage and waited for my partner to take the lead with Purcell. “Gwen!” she said, extending her arms wide for an impromptu hug with the beat cop.

“Hey, Candy,” said Purcell, squeezing back tightly. I caught her sniffing Candice’s hair. (Ah, Candice Fusco, breaking hearts everywhere.)

They parted and Candice motioned to me. “You remember my partner, Abby Cooper?”

I stuck out my hand like I was drawing a trusty six-shooter. “Good morning, Officer Purcell! It’s so good to see you again! I’m sorry if we kept you waiting.”

Purcell barely looked at me and she gave my hand a pretty limp-wristed pump. “Hi,” she said—which I thought was also a bit limp wristed.

The wattage on my smile amped back up again. “Hey, Candice, how about an espresso?” My tone was perhaps just a weeeee bit tight.

“That’d be great, Abby,” Candice said stiffly, with a hint of warning in her eyes.

“I’ll be back in a jiff!” I gimped quickly away. My personal tolerance for rudeness hovers just a smidge above zero. Rude, mean, or overtly cranky people set me off and often bring out my own inner snarky side. I figured the five or ten minutes it took me to get through the line and order the coffee might
be just long enough to cool my jets—lest I say something I might regret.

Unfortunately, at this normally very popular café the line was nonexistent, so my cappuccino and Candice’s espresso came up lickety-split.

I returned outside, juggling my cane, our drinks, and three scones (in an attempt to play nicey-nice with Officer Moody, I’d purchased her a baked good), only to find Candice and Purcell still exchanging pleasantries. Well, Candice was exchanging pleasantries. Purcell was openly flirting.

“That was fast,” Candice said, and not in a way that suggested she was entirely happy about it.

“There was no line,” I told her, taking my seat and vowing to eat my scone quietly. “I brought you a scone too, Officer Purcell,” I placed it in front of her and tucked a folded napkin next to the wrapped bun.

“I’m on a low-carb diet,” she said without even looking at the scone.

My eyes dropped to the tabletop, where I counted to ten.

Candice jumped in quickly. “The reason I called for coffee, Gwen, is that Abby and I are thinking of getting involved in a local missing-person’s case.”

“Oh, yeah?” she asked. “Which one?”

I glanced up to see Candice taken aback. “There’s more than one?”

Purcell chuckled. “There’re almost two million people in the Austin metro area, Candy. Of course there’s more than one.”

“Ah,” Candice said. “Good point. We were thinking of looking into the Kendra Moreno case.”

Purcell scoffed. “Good luck.”

Candice cocked her head. “Tough case so far?”

“Word is that it’s turning into one of the toughest,” Purcell told her. “CSI was all over that house and found nothing—and I mean
nothing
—to indicate foul play. It’s like the woman just disappeared into thin air. You ask me, she got sick of being a stay-at-home mom, planned this whole vanishing act, and split on the husband and kid.”

“But why would she leave her son?” Candice pressed. “I mean, I heard on the news that the husband found the little toddler alone in the house with no supervision. What mother would just walk out on her child like that?”

Purcell merely shrugged like she didn’t know and didn’t much care. Candice pushed for a little more, though. “Is there any evidence that maybe Kendra was struggling with depression or mental illness?”

“The detectives are still working through all that,” Purcell said, taking a sip of her coffee. “The parents are convinced something happened to their daughter, and the husband’s already lawyered up.”

“The husband’s already got an attorney?” I asked with a meaningful look at my partner.

Purcell kept her eyes on Candice when she answered. “Yep. Which looks a little suspicious, don’t it?”

It did, but for even more reasons than Purcell currently understood.

“Who’s the attorney?” Candice asked almost casually.

Purcell eyed her quizzically. “Does it matter? Defense attorneys are all scum, if you ask me.”

Candice made a note in her pad before backing up the conversation with her next question. “So why do you believe Kendra planned this vanishing act and took off on her own?”

“Well, it’s either one or the other, isn’t it?” Purcell said. “I mean, either the husband did it and we’ll have a hell of a time finding the body—if we ever do—or she ran off because she didn’t want to be a mom anymore.”

I was liking Purcell less and less as the conversation progressed, and I’d started by not liking her at all. Still, I kept my opinions and any further comments to myself.

Candice continued to probe for info over the course of the next ten minutes, but it was pretty evident that the officer didn’t have anything significant to offer us. It was clear that we’d enter the case with very little to go on. “Can you get me a copy of the case file?” Candice asked near the end of my patience level for Purcell.

The beat cop tilted her chin back and laughed heartily. “Not likely, Candy.” Candice frowned and Purcell softened. “Listen, the best I can do is give you the name of the lead detective, but I gotta be straight with you: APD ain’t gonna like a private investigator with a
psychic
tagalong butting into their business.”

Purcell had actually used air quotes around the word “psychic.” I wanted to sock her in the nose. I felt Candice’s firm hand on my wrist under the table. “I get the fact that APD, as a whole, is pretty skeptical about any intuitive insight,” she said calmly. “But our track record speaks for itself, and the fact that Abby has worked for other police departments as well as the FBI and the CIA should carry some weight.”

“Not around here,” Purcell replied. “And not with a mandate from the DA about how no one in the department is to solicit or take info from any so-called psychics.” At this point, Purcell actually looked at me. “Around here,” she said, “law enforcement thinks people like you are a joke.”

I could feel my face flush and my heart start to pound. For an instant I saw red and I badly wanted to unleash my temper on the woman looking at me like I was garbage. Instead I got up, gathering my coffee cup and napkin, and said, “If you’ll excuse me.”

I gimped my way back into the coffee shop and found a table in the corner. I sat down, turned my back to the other patrons, and worked to quell my anger and hurt feelings.

Candice found me just a few minutes later. “I’m so sorry,” she said gently, taking up the seat next to me.

My eyes were brimming with tears, and I didn’t know whether it was because I was mad that Purcell had hurt my feelings or because I was ticked off at a world that likely would never completely accept what I could do. There were just too many people like Purcell out there who would scoff at the very notion that I actually had a legitimate talent. “It’s fine,” I said, blinking furiously and donning my sunglasses so that she wouldn’t see how upset I was.

“Hey,” Candice said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “She just doesn’t know how amazing you are, Abs.”

I nodded and swallowed hard. “It’s fine,” I repeated. Candice hardly looked convinced. “Really,” I said, getting up from the stool where I’d been having my little pity party and motioning for us to go.

Once we were outside walking back toward the parking garage, I took a deep, steadying breath and was able to say more than two words. “Did she give you anything more after I left?”

“Nope,” Candice said. “But I sure as hell gave
her
an earful.”

I stopped walking. “Wait, you what?”

“I reamed her out,” Candice said, still moving.

I hobbled hastily to catch up with her. “Why would you do something like that? She was your only source at the APD and she has a gigantic crush on you! Someone like her could be a
huge
asset to you in the future. Especially if she climbs up the ranks.”

Candice wrapped her arm around me again. “As long as she’s such a bitch to you, Sundance, she’s no good to me. There’ll be other sources. And if not, well…as long as I’ve got you for a partner, why would I really need anyone else?”

My eyes welled up again, but for a completely different reason this time.

A
fter the meeting with Purcell, Candice and I drove to our office. I had a client at ten and she wanted to get to work on Kendra’s case. I knew she’d want to find out who was representing Kendra’s husband, but now that she’d cut ties with Purcell, I also knew that was going be a bit of a challenge. “Where’re you thinking of starting?” I asked once we’d unlocked the door to our suite.

“With you,” Candice said. “But I’ll wait until after you’re done with your client.”

I eyed her curiously. “Wait, you want to start with
me
?”

Candice flipped the light switch and moved with me into my half of the office. “There’s something I want to try,” she explained. “You know how, when you work with the feds, you always have a file to focus on?”

“Yeah.” I wondered where she was going with this.

“Well, I’ve watched you carefully when you work one of
their cases, Sundance, and sometimes you don’t even open the file. You just close your eyes, put your hand on the front cover, and start pulling relevant stuff out of the ether. It’s amazing.”

I blushed. Candice was at the top of my list of favorite people today. “You want me to pretend to have Kendra’s case file in front of me and see what I can come up with, right?”

Candice winked. “Yep. I was thinking that I could work up a list of questions for you to help guide us through an intuitive discussion, and who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky.”

I considered that for about two seconds. “I think that’s a
great
idea!”

“Cool. We’ll meet in my office at eleven, talk until noon, then go to lunch. On me.”

That gave me pause. Candice ate healthy…like, wheat-germ-with-a-side-of-tree-bark healthy. “Are you also picking where?” I asked cautiously.

She rolled her eyes. “You can choose as long as it’s not another hot dog, burger, or nacho place.”

I scowled. “What’s left?”

“Plenty,” she said, turning on her heel to leave me to ponder the possibilities.

My client was super nervous and a little bit late, which made her energy very scattered, and it took me a minute to try to sort through it and spit out a reading that would make sense. She seemed pleased with the results, however, and I was just happy to tune in on something other than murder and mayhem for a change. She was a lovely woman, with lots
of exciting things on her horizon, so I was feeling pretty good by the time we wrapped it up.

Once I’d shown her out, I moved into Candice’s office. My hips were killing me and I really wanted to take a pain pill, but I didn’t want to dull my sixth sense, which can happen with certain meds, so I steered clear. I promised myself that I’d take a pain pill at lunch (and boy, did I have a great idea for where!).

“I think your limp is getting worse,” Candice said, looking up from her computer to study me critically.

“I had physical therapy yesterday, remember?” The day after my physical therapy sessions was always the worst. This could be because, although I saw my therapist once or twice a week depending on my schedule, I was supposed to do some additional exercises and stretches every day. I avoided these like I did pretty much every other unpleasant thing in my life.

“It wouldn’t hurt so much if you’d do your home therapy like you’re supposed to,” Candice remarked. She knew me pretty well.

“Did you come up with some questions for me?” I decided to change the subject before things got testy.

“Yeah, but come have a look at this first.”

I moved around her desk to stand next to her and she swiveled the monitor of her computer slightly. On the screen was a grainy photo of a sizable group of women standing formally in three curved rows. The Web site indicated they were part of the Travis County Women Lawyer’s Association.
Candice pointed to a woman with short chestnut hair in the third row. “Who’s that?” I asked.

“Chelsea Gagliano. Tristan Moreno’s attorney.”

“How’d you get her name?”

Candice gave me a sideways grin. “Purcell finally coughed it up after I reamed her out,” she explained. “I only caught a glimpse of your client when she came in here yesterday, but this could be her, couldn’t it?”

I squinted at the screen. It was really hard to tell because the photo was of a terrible quality. “Maybe,” I said in a tone that suggested I definitely wasn’t sure.

“Yeah, I’m not convinced either. It could have been her, but it easily could have been someone else.”