Sixth Sense (A Psychic Crystal Mystery) (26 page)

“And twenty-two-year-old Natasha Hemmingway? Tall, tan and shapely, Tash was stripped naked, almost decapitated, and let’s not forget tortured, before she was hurled off the top of Centennial Tower. She was pretty smashed up, but even broken bones can’t hide burn marks.”

Jack held the third handful of grisly photos right up to Katherine’s face, and if she didn’t get out of there this minute, she was going to vomit all over them.

“Oh, my god,” Katherine whispered, rising out of her swivel chair, swaying as she gripped the edge of the desk.

“What are you trying to do to the girl?” Juliette protested. “She’s not one of your cops, she’s your wife!”

“Don’t you think I know that? I’m trying to prep her for what she’s going to be up against in Florida, so she vomits in this office and not all over the Graysville police chief.”

“Will you excuse me for a moment?” Katherine managed.

“Take all the time you want, sweetheart.”

Katherine avoided looking at the black-and-whites and barely made it to the bathroom before she tossed the remainder of her airplane lunch. Dammit, Jack knew he’d get this reaction. It was just what she didn’t want to happen. She would not lose her cool again, she promised herself, rinsing out her mouth with water. She splashed more water on her face until the room stopped spinning and she could catch her breath.

When she returned to the conference room, Jack had strategically spread out the rest of the photos in glorious, gory detail across the table.

“Gee, Kate, you don’t look so good. Maybe you should go and lie down.”

Juliette flashed him the evil eye and Jack relented.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Kate,” he said, his tone softening. “I won’t let you end up like Meredith, Montana, and Natasha, or the rest of the girls. But if we can solve these murders, more cases will come our way.”

“And if we can’t?”

“I have faith in you, honey, and you have to have faith in me. We solved the Sydney Strangler case together, and we can solve this one. It’s very high profile.”

Katherine closed her eyes and fought to regain what was left of her dignity.

The eyes of the country were on Graysville. Which meant the eyes of the country would now be on her, again.

Why was she, an inexperienced thirty-year-old, tapped by the Homecoming Homicides task force to work such a high profile case? Simply put, she was in the right place at the right time, or the wrong place at the right time, depending on how you looked at it. Jack had tried scaring her away with those gory crime scene shots, but she was sticking. She’d committed to their detective agency—Jack’s dream—and she wasn’t going to let him down.

“When do we have to leave?”

“I’ve booked us on the first flight out in the morning.”

“Jack, that’s too soon. What about Romeo? We just got him and now we’re leaving him alone?”

“Juliette will watch Romeo. Now go to the house and unpack, and then pack again. We’re due at Mama’s for a welcome-back dinner. You too, Juliette.”

“Jack, this is such short notice. It’s a little too much. I was counting on some more alone time, just the two of us.”

Jack gathered her into his arms and squeezed her tightly before he kissed her forehead and whispered against her hair, “I know, honey, and I want that, too. You are my top priority. But we can’t just think of ourselves. Lives are at stake.” Then he released her and smiled. “Besides, Mama won’t take no for an answer,
and
she’s making her special-recipe fried chicken.”

If you have enjoyed
Sixth Sense
, you will want to read the sequel:

Homecoming Homicides

by

Marilyn Baron

A Psychic Crystal Mystery

Book Two

Prologue

Rodney Willis inhaled the aroma of fresh blood. In his opinion, nothing else even came close to the scent of suffering. The blood was slick and sticky and velvety, and he was practically swimming in it. He’d nearly slipped on the floor this morning while he was in full clean-up mode, getting ready for the new contestant.

The candidate on the table had been a real trooper. He had to give her credit. She’d performed superbly, even exceeded his expectations, although she was rather noisy. He’d had to muffle her screams. The bitch had bitten him, had probably given him rabies, if that was possible. He’d have to research that on the Internet. He was finally forced to drug the little vixen, and after that it wasn’t nearly as much fun.

When she’d come around again, she complained of the cold. He had to keep the temperature of his workshop near freezing, so he’d obligingly covered her with a blanket and softly soothed her with meaningless prattle while he continued his work. She was pathetically grateful, probably holding out hope that he wouldn’t kill her if he was considerate enough to cover her. It suited him to kill her with kindness for the time being. It made it easier for him in the end. He nearly swooned as he remembered the touch of his hand on her naked breast, the feel of her pulsating heartbeat as it tripped like a frightened rabbit and then slowed in resignation, finally sliding into defeat as it stopped altogether when all the blood had drained from her body.

And speaking of hearts, he was going to have to have a long overdue heart-to-heart with his big brother, Donny. Last night had been too close for comfort. The screams and moans and tiresome begging sounds coming out of his workshop had drawn the idiot to the door, and he’d had to do some fancy footwork to get him to go away. Donny knew the workshop was off limits and yet he couldn’t help poking around. He had been looking for Traci; he wouldn’t have wanted to see what was left of her.

Donny was dangerously fixated on that girl. Rodney had allowed him to stay for the contest and watch Traci model Queenie’s dresses, but he didn’t get to view the aftermath. Someone of Donny’s delicate nature would never understand what had to be done. He always wondered where the girls had gone, and he’d always been satisfied when Rodney had said, “They had a previous engagement.” But not this time. Not with Traci Farris.

Donny had to be kept in the dark. Rodney needed Donny’s help in carrying the bodies, which Rodney would lovingly clean and delicately wrap. Donny was stronger than an ox. Donny’s father had been big and strong, too, at least from what Rodney remembered. His own father had left them a long time ago, left Queenie to raise her two boys alone. Donny was special, but Queenie always said both her boys were special to her.

Rodney had inherited his mother’s slimness and dark good looks. Everyone said he favored Queenie. And that, Rodney took as a supreme compliment. After all, Queenie was a winner.

He looked over at his mother’s picture and smiled. “There’s no one like you, Queenie. Never was before, never will be again. Only one even comes close.”

He’d promised his brother another scavenger hunt tonight. This one was a reverse scavenger hunt. They weren’t hunting for anyone. Instead, they were delivering something. Donny wasn’t to ask what was in the package. That would ruin the fun. He’d picked out the new dump site, and he couldn’t wait until it got dark.

He knew the rules of jurisdiction. As long as he continued to dump the bodies on campus, the FBI couldn’t get involved unless they were invited in. And the campus police and city cops—more like the Keystone Kops—were clueless. They had no intention of asking the Feds to their party. In the end, they’d bowed to public pressure. With the notoriety of the case, the outraged parents had demanded it. But as far as he was concerned, even with the FBI intervention, it wasn’t an even match. He was already on Number Six, and they had no idea who he was or when he would strike next or why he was doing what he was doing. At this rate, he’d rack up his goal of thirty girls in no time.

He was rather enjoying this little contest of wits. Of course, now that the FBI was involved, he’d have to be more careful. FBI or no FBI, the campus police and city police were engaged in a pissing contest, and they were so busy getting in each other’s way they’d left the field wide open for him. Unfortunately, they had thrown a wrench into his plans when they called in Crystal Ball Kate, that psychic he’d seen all over the news. But she was no match for someone of his skills and abilities. And, just for fun, he might teach her a lesson, too.

Tomorrow, after work, he would go trolling for Number Seven, and he would save the best—Katherine Crystal—now Katherine Crystal Hale—for last, unless an opportunity to snatch his prize came along earlier. Then he wouldn’t be able to resist her. He’d jump right on it.

It would be more difficult, considering she was now a consultant for the Graysville Police Department. And that big brute of a husband of hers, Beauregard somebody or other—the one with all the names, who called himself Jack—would be guarding her around the clock.

But he was smarter than they were. And eventually the Atlanta cop would let his guard down, and then he would make his move at exactly the right time and the right place.

Chapter One

One week earlier

Traci Farris had been running for what seemed like miles. Running away from Jack Armstrong’s apartment. Running away from what easily would have been an ugly confrontation with Jack’s fiancée, Philippa Tannenbaum. Running away because she’d rather die than face Flippy and relive that look of shock and betrayal on her best friend’s face.

“Wait,” a man’s voice called out. Traci turned toward the sound in midstride and nearly collided with a concrete bus bench.

Gasping for breath, she stopped short and grabbed the bench post for support while her heart raced to play catch-up with her feet. She just wanted to disappear, to be swallowed up by the earth as twilight settled like a shroud over the ghostly quiet town of Graysville.

The man at the bus stop—he was more of a big hulk of a boy—flashed her a dazzling smile that transformed his flabby face and lit up the night. It was a friendly face, and right now Traci desperately needed a friend. She’d seen him around campus from time to time. Hard to miss. He was very slow, but sweet, helpless, and harmless. He’d waved to her a number of times on her way to and from classes, and she’d waved back. She recalled helping him count out change once at the University bookstore.

The boy fixed her with an endearing look.

“Don’t you remember? I saw you in the show. You signed your picture for me.”

Puzzled at first, Traci suddenly remembered where she’d last seen the boy-man. He’d approached her after last year’s homecoming pageant with his program in hand, asking for her autograph, just another star-struck fan, a backstage hanger-on. He’d been shy and appreciative when she signed his program. She’d been flattered. The boy had been lost in the crowd of people that night, agitated and confused when the cameras started flashing and the well-wishers surrounded her, almost crushing the two of them.

“I’m waiting for my brother to pick me up,” the boy announced in a monotone. “He’s late.”

“I’m sorry,” Traci managed, leaning against the post of the bus bench, still winded. “I really have to be going, but if you need to call your brother I have my cell phone right—” She realized then that she’d run out of Jack’s apartment without her purse or her cell phone. She wasn’t going back there anytime soon. “Well, I’m sure he’ll be along soon,” Traci said, happy to focus on someone else’s problems for a moment. “But I’ve got to be going.”

“Where are you going?”

Traci couldn’t answer because she didn’t know.

“I’m going to the end of the world,” the boy announced, smiling.

Perhaps she hadn’t heard him correctly. “The end of the world?”

“That’s where I live,” said the boy. “Here.” He placed his right hand over his heart and then pointed a fat forefinger to a yellowing piece of paper pinned to his pitifully outdated flowered shirt. Didn’t the boy own a coat? It was freezing outside. At least she’d had the presence of mind to grab hers before leaving the “scene of the crime.” A Miami girl, born and bred in the sun, she hated the cold with a passion.

Traci followed the boy’s black button eyes as they moved down insistently to the note. Did he want her to read it?

“My name is Donny Willis,” she obliged. “I live at 5555 Skyline Road. Please take me home.”

“You’re real pretty,” said Donny. “Just like my mama. My mama was real pretty, too.”

“Thank you,” Traci said, her heart beating back to a near-normal pace. “But I really need to go now.”

“If my brother doesn’t come, I’m supposed to take the bus.”

Looking around, Traci suddenly felt exposed standing at the isolated bus stop as darkness got a choke hold on the sky. She’d passed a few stragglers, girls walking in pairs, scurrying home before curfew, probably packing heat. Normally the campus would have been alive with people. But nothing was normal anymore in Graysville. Every girl on campus was scared and wondering who the killer would grab next.

If she had her cell phone she could call one of her sorority sisters for a ride home. Or one of those walking or driving student safe escorts services. Or 9-1-1. She looked around. There wasn’t a pay phone or a policeman in sight. Where were the cops when you needed them?

But if she went back to the sorority house, Flippy would find her and demand an explanation. Her friend, her
former
friend, deserved an explanation. But Traci had no excuse for her actions.

A fresh set of hot tears streamed from Traci’s eyes. Flippy had every right to hate her. Traci knew from the beginning she’d been wrong to poach what belonged to someone else. But she’d done it anyway.

Jack had been depressed about his football injury. He’d needed sympathy and a shoulder to cry on, and Traci had been more than available.

Tired of Jack’s self-pity routine, Flippy was too busy now with her own life to babysit him. Once, she’d even let it slip to Traci that she wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing by marrying Jack. That she’d waited so long for love to come along and it never had. That her mother had been thrilled when Jack finally proposed. Barbara Tannenbaum was a force of nature. Flippy had spent her entire life trying to please her mother, so she and Jack had set a date. But that could have been just girl talk, pre-wedding jitters. Jitters or not, Flippy’s uncertainty didn’t give Traci a license to steal. Or stab her best friend in the back.