Nightingale's Nightmare (Cassadaga Book 4 (12 page)

“I don’t know, just curious.”

“What, you think all black people have knives? Ain’t that a bit racist for you?” Latisha was drawing herself up into an arrogant pose.

“I wasn’t meaning anything racist.” Nightingale again saw the knife. “I had the impression of a knife, one with a black handle and white stars.”

Latisha blanched and her skinned paled. She moved her lips but no sound came out. Taking a breath, she said, “Really? You have a very active imagination.”

“It wasn’t my imagination. The knife had blood on it, Latisha.” Nightingale stared intently into Latisha’s eyes
. “The knife belongs to you, doesn’t it?”

Latisha’s eyes widened before she spoke. “I think you better be careful who you go accusing
‘bout things.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, just asking if you own that knife
?”

“No.”

Latisha turned quickly away from Nightingale, then snatched her mail from the box. She marched passed Nightingale and pushed open the glass door with one motion, the door falling slowly closed behind her as she walked back to the apartment.

Seventeen

The spontaneous impressions didn’t stop with the knife. It was a rapid fire assault. When she had spoken with Helen later in the day, images had sprung to mind, unsolicited. Skulls surrounding Ralph was one thing she was impressed with, not to mention wine bottles hidden in Helen’s basement. Nightingale wasn’t even sure Helen drank. But who knew, maybe she did?

When Nightingale gave readings, she turned on her gift. When she concluded, she turned it off, preferring not to be bombarded
with impressions. This had been her training. A medium had to exercise control or the impressions would just get out of hand. This new occurrence was baffling.
Everything was out of control
. She felt like a raw nerve caught in a rose bush, being punctured every time she moved.

Bill was due over for dinner in the evening, and she wondered if she should mention what was happening? Would he understand? Hell, she didn’t understand! How could she expect a by-the-book, logical deputy to understand what was happening?

She remembered when they had first dated how he’d told her about reading a couple books about reincarnation. At the time she had been impressed that someone like him would be open to the concept of past lives, let alone have read a couple books on the subject.

She would tell him.

He would understand.

He had to understand if they were going to remain together.

~~

“Lucy, I’m home!”

Nightingale turned her attention away from the salad she was preparing as Bill walked in the door. She grinned at his humor.

“How’s my favorite redhead?” Bill unhitched his holster and placed it on the couch arm.

“ ‘Lucy’ is fine.” She continued chopping the yellow pepper on the cutting board. “There’s wine in the fridge, if you want.”

“Yeah, I want.” He walked to the fridge, pulling out the bottle of Merlot, placing a kiss on Nightingale’s cheek
as he passed her at the counter. “Tough day. Had a nasty punk to deal with who thought the world owed him a favor.”

Bill reached two glasses down from the open shelf above the sink, pouring wine for each of them. “You look like you could use a drink.”

Nightingale’s eyes swung up from the cutting board. “Umm, you could say that.” She put her knife down and took the glass into her hand.

Knives.

“Nasty punk, huh?” Nightingale took a sip.

“Yeah. He thought Wal-Mart’s prices weren’t low enough, so he helped himself to some merchandize.” Bill walked toward the dining room chair and sat down. “Then he thought he would impress us by taking a swing at me. Bad mistake.”

“You don’t look hurt?”

“He missed.”

“I see.”

“How was your day?” Bill appeared to be relaxing as he sipped his wine.

“Disturbing.”

“How so?”

“Well, you know how I turn on and off my abilities?”

“Yes.”

“The switch is on. All the time.” Nightingale joined Bill at the dining room table. “It’s like I’m a walking Geiger counter, detecting everything in my path whether I want to or not.”

“I don’t get it. Explain.”

Nightingale sighed. “It’s hard to explain; I don’t have an explanation. I’m just turned on. Psychically speaking, that is.”

Bill’s eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled. “The turned on part sounds good to me.”

“Stop!” Nightingale smacked his arm good naturedly. “I ran into Helen and I got all these impressions. Sculls were surrounding Ralph. And then there were hidden wine bottles in her basement. That was after I saw Latisha at the post office. And what I saw with her was a bit scary.”

“What do you mean, scary?”

“I brushed by Latisha and that stimulated an impression. I saw a knife with a black handle and white stars. There was one drop of blood dangling on the point of the knife.”

Bill’s face took on an interested expression.

“Then I saw the knife hidden in a big black purse in a closet. I mentioned it to her and she got huffy. She walked away, mad at me.”

“Why was she mad?”

“Because I asked her if she owned such a knife. She thought I was making a racial statement. Like, all blacks own knives, or something. But I wasn’t.”

“Does she own such a knife?”

“She said no, but her face lost color and her expression changed. That was her knife I saw, and she knew it. I could feel her energy shift totally. That’s her knife. I wouldn’t care, but it had blood on the tip. And she didn’t admit to ownership.”

Bill sat silently now, sipping his wine, contemplating.

“What are you thinking?” Nightingale broke the silence.

“
Describe the knife to me.”

“Like I said, it had a black handle and white stars engraved on it.”

“Any other details you can remember?”

“Well, the point was kind of odd. It wasn’t pointed as with most knives; it had a double point.”

“Possibly a cooking utensil?”

“I guess it
could be. I’m not that familiar with cutlery.”

“
I think you might have stumbled across something.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Remember your ex-husband? The guy with the knife in his back?”

“Of course I remember.”
Nightingale stared at Bill, wondering where he was going with that comment.

“You just described the knife we found in his back.” Bill set his glass down on the table. “Black handle with white stars engraved into the butt
. That’s what was sticking out of his back. And it had that peculiar double point feature.”

Nightingale didn’t say anything, digesting what she was hearing. “But I saw it in a black purse. In a closet.”

“Maybe that’s where it used to be, but it ended up stuck in your ex’s back.”

“Why would Latisha stick a knife in Brad’s back?” Nightingale was confused.

“Didn’t she used to work for him?”

“Oh, yes, she did say that. I forgot.” Nightingale’s eyes were wide as she looked over top of the wine glass. “
But why would she kill Brad? He was that bad of a boss?”

Bill grinned. “I don’t know, but your impressions could lead us to another avenue of investigation.”

“To Latisha.” Nightingale made the statement simply.

“When I go to work tomorrow, I’ll look into Miss Latisha.” Bill picked his wine glass up again. “Why do you think this switch on business started
with you?”

“I
don’t know. I had a terrible dream last night. Afterwards, I’m receiving impressions like crazy. It’s bizarre.”

“Yeah, that’s bizarre
, all right.”

“Too bizarre?”

“Compared to what? You talk to dead people. That’s bizarre in itself.”

“Then you don’t think I’m crazy?”

“You, my redheaded beauty, crazy? Nah, just crazy for me.” His eyes crinkled when he said the words.

“Yeah, I’m crazy for you,” Nightingale said, feeling relieved.
“Crazy as a loon.”

Bill rolled his head back and laughed.

Eighteen

Zach pulled up in front of Jorie’s house and parked his car. Some people might have called this a date, but Zach felt he was extending friendship to a woman who was recently widowed. He hadn’t been on a date in more years than he could remember. Being that personally close to someone was not appealing. Besides, his baser needs could always be
very well satisfied through the appropriate contacts for a stated sum of money. Not that anyone but Chloe knew that little secret about him. Nothing personal, strictly business.

Jorie met him on the other side of the front door, all cheery and bright eyed.

“Let me grab my purse,” she said, pulling away from the door, reappearing in seconds.

Jorie bounced down the stairs to the sidewalk, leading the way to Zach’s car.

“I’ve been wanting to see this movie ever since I saw the previews on TV,” she said with enthusiasm, jumping into the front seat. “Somehow I missed it the first time through.”

“I haven’t been to the dollar theatre, but I’ve heard it’s nice.” Zach started the car and headed to DeLand. “We could eat at Gator’s after since it’s right there in the same shopping center.”

“Ooh, that would be wonderful!” Jorie all but squealed her delight over that suggestion. She cutely looked over at Zach, a smile beaming all over her face.

Jorie was an attractive woman. She was small in stature and very feminine, with short cropped
blonde hair. Not Zach’s type at all. He always ordered up an Asian woman. Ever since being in Viet Nam, he had preferred Asian women, thinking them sensual, feminine and petite pleasure givers.

“John Travolta is my favorite actor,” Jorie said. “I used to watch him on
Welcome Back, Kotter,
the TV show
.”

“He’s okay. I like
Morgan Freeman and Tom Cruise.”

“Oh, you like action types.”

“No, I like good acting.”

“Who’s your favorite actress?”

“Hmm, lots. Sally Fields, she’s great. Meryl Streep, what an actress. But I also like Cher and Nicole Kidman.”

“What’s your favorite movie?”

“
Full Metal Jacket
.”

Jorie raised her eyebrows. “
Oh, I wouldn’t have guessed that one. Kind of violent.”

“I was in Viet Nam. The movie was accurate. I could see myself in every scene.” Zach turned the corner into the parking lot.

“I love the
Sound of Music, Gone with the Wind
and
You’ve Got Mail.”
Jorie gathered her purse and opened the door. “But I could name a whole bunch more that I adore.”

“Romance,” Zach said flatly.

“Yes. Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan are perfect together. I love their movies.”

“Romance,” Zach repeated. He was not a fan of romantic movies, comedy or otherwise.

They walked toward the entrance of the theatre and spotted Margarite coming out.

“Well, are you two going to the movies?” Margarite stood back a bit, taking in the view of Zach and Jorie.

“Yes, I haven’t been out of the house in ages,” Jorie replied. “Zach is so sweet to take me to the movies.”

Oh, now that bit of news would flow like lava all over the community, Zach thought.
Be nice to someone and suddenly there’s a romance going on.
Shit!

“Well, have fun. You deserve it.”

Margarite walked away to her car and Jorie tucked her hand into the crook of Zach’s arm.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

~~

Later that night, Zach was brushing his teeth before bed. He looked into the mirror at his frothy mouth, th
e froth matching his hair color, reviewing the evening spent with Jorie. He had actually told her he didn’t like blonds, that he preferred Asian women. Yes, he had been that direct with her, after she had insinuated there could be more to follow their evening.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been so blunt. Maybe he should have thought about her feelings before he was so honest with her. He swished some mouthwash around in his mouth and spit it into the sink.
Maybe, maybe.

But then, wasn’t it better to be honest? Why lead her on when he really didn’t want a relationship? And Jorie definitely wanted a relationship. She’d been married for a good number of years to Joe. The woman was used to cohabitating with a man and
no doubt preferred that arrangement.

But Zach had always lived alone since Viet Nam. His personal habits were his and his time belonged to him. He enjoyed living alone.
He didn’t have to answer to anyone or be responsible in any way to another. Why, he didn’t even have a pet! And if he didn’t clean off the bathroom mirror, which did happen at the moment to have flecks of toothpaste splattered on it, no one had to be concerned. The mirror could stay like that for a month. Or he could wash it off. It was his choice.
His
choice.