Abby Cooper, Psychic Eye

by Victoria Laurie

I was a block away from my home when I noticed a car making its way through the side streets with me. Tired of feeling fearful, I pulled over and waited to see if the car would pass me. Instead it pulled up right alongside and Milo and Dutch looked out from the front seat.

  "Afternoon, Abby," Dutch said jovially.

  "Why the tail, boys?" I asked, not necessarily annoyed.

  "We got a call from Connie Franklin today, and she says you guided her in our direction. She's coming in tomorrow to see if she can offer any information, and as a thank-you we thought we'd just make sure our favorite little clairvoyant got home safe and sound."

  So now I'd graduated to "Clairvoyant," huh? Dutch must have been doing some reading. "Thanks. I appreciate it. This going to happen a lot? You know— just want to be prepared to stop at every stop sign and obey all traffic signals."

  "It might," Dutch said noncommittally.

  "Okay, good to know. Thanks guys." I waved at them and then pulled away from the curb, fellas in tow. When I got home I had to laugh as they watched me from the street to make sure I got inside safely. As I reached for the front door, it suddenly opened on its own and I jumped back as Dave, coming out at the same time, startled me. I lost my balance on the step and Dave reached over to grab me and prevent my fall. Just then there was a blur of movement and urgent shouts from behind me. Lost in the confusion I was shoved violently aside as two shadows barreled past me into the house as they tackled my handyman.

  As I watched in horror, Milo and Dutch tackled Dave, wrestled him to the living room floor, flipped him onto his stomach and had him handcuffed faster than you could say, "Yippee-ki-ay."

  "Stop!" I shouted as I jumped into the fray, pounding Dutch on the back with my fists and trying to pull him off of Dave. Eggy, secure behind the babygate in the kitchen was barking like a rabid dog, throwing himself against the gate trying to help both me and Dave.

  "Ow!" Dutch yelled as I slapped the back of his head. "Abby, what the hell?!" he shouted at me, still bent down with his knee planted squarely in Dave's back.

  "Get off him you IDIOT!" I screamed, and Eggy took his barking to new heights, jumping up and down trying to come over the top of the babygate.

  Dave, whose face was beet red and shoved firmly into the wood floor, squeaked out, "I can't breathe…"

  "This is my handyman, you moron!" I shouted as I continued to try and pull Dutch off of Dave. Finally I got Dutch to stand up, but he kept a wary eye on the man on the floor.

  "Your handyman?" Dutch repeated a moment later when the synapse finally connected.

  "Yes! He works for me!" I said, helping Dave get to his feet. "Uncuff him right now!"

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Milo reholster his gun, and a chill went down my spine. I'd had no idea he'd even drawn it, and I wondered how close we'd come to real tragedy. Dutch looked around the living room at all the saws, tools, extension cords and plywood, and a sheepish look came over his features. He quickly stepped forward and unfastened the handcuffs.

  The moment the cuffs were off, Dave turned to Eggy, who was still barking and held up a hand in a "stop" motion. My dog became instantly silent. In the back of my brain I registered this as something just short of a miracle, but I was more concerned with the state of my handyman as I began to brush off the sawdust and dust clinging to his shirt. Dave gently moved me aside, then wheeled on Dutch with a menacing look. "You're damn lucky there's a lady present, pal, cuz I've got half a mind to take you outside and introduce your face to some concrete."

  Dutch stared at him with hard, flat features. He wasn't the least bit intimidated.

  Completely flustered and embarrassed, I figured it was time to throw my two cents' worth in as well. "Detectives, I believe you two have worn out your welcome yet again. It would be best if you left immediately," I said as I pointed to the open door.

  Nonchalantly, Dutch turned to the door and with Milo close behind, left the house. The moment the front door closed, Dave rounded on me. "You want to tell me what the hell that was all about?"

  I jumped a little, surprised by Dave's tone—I'd never heard him raise his voice before. "Dave, I am so sorry! I had no idea they were going to jump you like that! Really!"

  "Who are they, Abby?" he demanded.

  "They're Royal Oak police detectives."

  "What the hell were they doing here?"

  "Well, one of my clients was murdered on Thursday, and at the crime scene they found the cassette tape of the reading I'd given her. They think there may be a connection between what I told her on the tape and her killer so they followed me home to make sure I got here safely."

  Dave's eyes had grown wide as my words tumbled out of my mouth. After a moment he asked, "Are you in danger, Abby?"

  I smiled bravely up at him and brushed some of the sawdust from his beard. "I don't know, Dave, but I'm trying to be careful. We don't know who killed my client, and until we catch her killer I'm not sure who's safe in this town."

  Dave's mouth set in a firm line as the wheels in his head churned. "Abby, I know tomorrow is Saturday, but I need to install something for you. Is it okay for me to come over tomorrow?"

  I was startled by the question and took a moment to answer. In the silence Dave quickly added, "There won't be a charge for the labor, Abby, but I need to get in here tomorrow."

  I found my tongue again and answered, "No, Dave, of course I'll pay for your labor. What is it that you need to install?"

  "A burglar alarm."

  An hour later I finally locked the door behind Dave. He had put in the overtime measuring and cutting thin pieces of plywood, then inserting them into the frame of every window, locking them into place so that no one could jimmy the windows open from the outside. I felt safer already.

  I took my dinner out on the porch that night making sure the back gate was securely locked and the door to the porch was fastened as well. While I ate I thought about what to do next.

  The incident at my office had scared me, and although I knew that the smart thing was to leave the detective work to Dutch and Milo, I still felt a heavy responsibility to Allison that I wasn't sure I could let go of. I had let her down in her moment of need, and I wondered what that meant for me from a karmic standpoint. I needed to set things right. I couldn't bring her back, but I could work to bring her killer to justice. No, I wouldn't walk away. Not yet, anyway.

  Chapter Six

  Sunday evening I had just finished with my last client when my business line rang. Hurrying into my office, I picked it up with a crisp "This is Abigail."

  "I need an appointment," demanded a gruff male voice.

  "Okay, just a moment while I get my calendar," I said, reaching across the desk and pulling my blue appointment book toward me. "All right, sir, my first available appointment is Wednesday, November nineteenth. You can have your choice of times …"

  "No. I need one right away," the voice interrupted.

  I became aware in that moment of the hair sticking up all along my arms and a chill creeping along my backbone. "I'm sorry, what did you say your name is?" I asked.

  "Bob Smith." Liar, liar, pants on fire…

  "Well, Mr. Smith, I don't seem to have anything earlier than November available. I'm sure there are other psychics out there who might be able to fit you in sooner…"

  Click. The phone went dead. Replacing the receiver quickly, I hit *69 and was told that the number I was calling did not have that feature available. I hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment, then it rang again, startling me. I snatched up the receiver and snapped, "Listen, pal, I am not interested in giving you a reading. Take your business someplace else, okay?"

  "Abigail?" a woman's voice asked.

  I blinked twice and said, "Uh, hello? Uh, yes, this is she. I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else. Who's this?"

  The voice gave a nervous chuckle. "It's me, Connie Franklin. I'm sorry, is this a bad time?"

  "No, no, Connie. I apologize. Some weirdo just called me and gave me
the willies, and I thought it might be him calling back. What can I do for you?"

  "You said you wanted to know when the services for Allison were, so I was calling to let you know. I didn't think I'd get you in person. I didn't know you worked on Sundays."

  "Yeah, I'm typically here all weekend, for my clients who can't get away during the week. So when are the services?" I asked, reaching for a pen and paper.

  "The coroner won't release her until Wednesday or Thursday, so to be safe her attorney has scheduled the services for Saturday morning. The casket is closed, so there won't be a viewing and, truth be told, Allison had very few friends. She kept to herself quite a bit, you know."

  "I know. I told her in her reading she needed to get out more, and enjoy life. It's just too bad she didn't take my advice."

  "Oh, but Abby, she tried, you know? When she came back from seeing you, all she could talk about was how what you said had affected her. She vowed to start socializing, and she even went as far as to join one of those Web site dating services."

  I blinked in surprise. This was a freaky coincidence. "You're kidding. Do you remember which one?" I asked.

  "It's that one that's always on TV. Heart2heart.com, I think it is. She went out on one date, and then that was it. She didn't want anything more to do with it."

  "She went on a date?" I asked, amazed at Allison's gumption.

  "Yeah, but she didn't really talk about it to me. It was weird. She told me all about this guy before her date, and seemed really excited. Then I called her the day after and she sounded so depressed. She wouldn't tell me what happened though. She said she just didn't want to talk about it. To my knowledge she never went out on another date again."

  "Do you remember the guy's screen name?" I wanted to look him up on the Web site. A thought occurred to me that perhaps he had dark hair and maybe this was the man I had warned Allison about.

  "Yeah, I thought it was goofy when she told me. He called himself 'Mr. Hardbody.' Sounded pretty arrogant to me, but they exchanged a couple of e-mails and Allison thought he was sweet."

  I jotted the name down and thanked Connie after she had given me directions to the funeral home. I promised her I'd be there.

  I left the building checking over my shoulder and bumped into Stuart, the weekend and evening security guard.

  "Hey, Stu, how's it going?"

  "Evening, Abby. Just fine. You calling it a night?"

  "Yeah—hey, would you do me a favor? Would you mind walking me to my car?"

  "There's still plenty of daylight, Abby. You nervous about someone?"

  "I had a client who wasn't really happy with his reading and has been giving me a little trouble," I lied. "Would it be an inconvenience?"

  "Not at all. You parked in the garage?"

  "No, I'm out back." I had given up my parking space even though it meant I was now dashing downstairs every two hours to feed the meter. The garage was just too scary for me.

  Stuart walked me to my car, and I took side streets home again. Something about the man who'd called looking for an appointment earlier had given me the creeps.

  After dinner I went to my study and got online, calling up Heart2heart's Web site and entering my password. I typed "Mr. Hardbody" into the search field, and within seconds a picture and a profile appeared.

  The picture showed a fairly good-looking man beaming out from the computer screen as he reclined on a seat on a boat. I took in his hair color—not quite brunette, not quite blond but a murky in-between light brown. He looked like he was a swell guy. I read the profile, and no alarm bells went off. I drummed my fingers on the desk as I stared at the picture, and in a moment of bravado I sent him an e-mail suggesting that I thought he was cute and inviting a response. Not even a minute later my little mailbox informed me that I had mail.

  I read the opening line and fought the urge to roll my eyes. "Dear Mystic Lady, your subtle beauty and dazzling smile suggest a heart I'd love to dance with. Shall we meet?"

  Whoa, this guy didn't waste time. Now I was stuck. Did I meet him? What if he was Allison's killer? What if she had gone out on a date with this guy, and things had gone wrong, and he was really some kind of a stalker, or serial killer? I stared at his profile and picture. My intuition gave no bells or whistles of alarm. "What the heck," I said and sent my reply, asking where and when.

  Mr. Hardbody's real name turned out to be Dirk, and I arranged to meet him at a coffee shop just two blocks from my house. I figured I'd get a feel for him there, and if I felt even the smallest prickle of alarm I could end it right away.

  Ten minutes later, I signed off and put in a call to my sister. "Hey there," I said when she answered.

  "Hi, Abby. How was your day?"

  "The usual." Liar, liar, pants on fire…

  "Did you have any standout readings?" My sister loved to hear about the people I read. Tales of my clients were a bit of a soap opera for her, and typically I would rattle off a list of the highlights, but I just didn't have it tonight.

  "No, not really, Cat. They were all kind'a same-ol', same-ol'."

  "Oh," she said, sounding disappointed. "So what are you doing tomorrow?"

  "I thought I'd paint the bedroom." My entire house was colored the same mottled gray in every room, and I'd finally gotten sick of it. My thought was to start in the bedroom and work my way down.

  "What happened to your handyman?"

  "Nothing. He's working on the floors this week. I thought I'd save a little money and do the painting myself." The moment the words were out of my mouth I realized my mistake and wished I could reel them back in.

  Cat wasted no time pouncing on the opportunity. "Save money? Abby, I'll get my checkbook, how much do you need? I can wire it to you if you need it. Have you gotten some furniture in that house yet? Why don't I just send you an even ten thousand so you can cover Dave's labor and get some decent furniture…"

  I groaned as I heard her shuffling papers, no doubt searching for her checkbook. Into the phone I pleaded, "Cat Cat, stop! Listen, I don't need any money. Please put your checkbook away. We've been over this, I'm fine! Plus, you know I won't cash a check from you." We'd had this identical conversation at least a hundred times before. My sister was ridiculously wealthy, and where I was concerned she had an overzealous generosity that knew no boundaries.

  "Abby, this is silly. Why don't you just let me take care of this? You wouldn't have to worry about saving up until you got money, you could just get done what needs to get done and be finished with it already."

  "Cat," I began, taking a long breath of patience, "like I told you the last time we had this discussion, I want to do this on my own. It's important to me that I do this myself. As always, I'm very grateful that I have such a generous sister, but this is my house, my responsibility, and my choice. Can you understand that?"

  There was a long pause and finally Cat relented. "Fine, Abby, be stubborn, but I still say it's ridiculous to be in a home without a stick of furniture. But if you don't want my help then you don't want it."

  Ah, guilt, my sister's favorite dish du jour. "Cat, you know I appreciate the offer. You're the most incredibly generous sister a person could have."

  "Mmmm-hmmm…" Great. I'd wounded her.

  Okay, I'd have to toss her a bone. "You know what you could help me with?"

  "What?" she asked cautiously.

  "Well, I have another date from that Web site set up for tomorrow, and I was hoping you could give me some advice about what to wear."

  An hour later my ear was sore from pressing the receiver to it. Cat had given her advice, and given it, and given it, to the point where I was exhausted. I finally managed to end the conversation and crawl up the stairs to bed. I thought about the man I would meet the next day. Wouldn't it be ironic if the last man to date Allison Pierce ended up being someone I fell for? Left side heavy feeling. Yeah, I had to agree. Nothing about this guy struck me the way Dutch's profile and personality first had. But we all knew how that one ended
.

  Since finding Allison's body, Dutch hadn't given me anything more than a wave. Not that I could exactly blame him for being wary, of course. After all, in the short time we'd known each other, I'd been embroiled in not one but two murder cases.

  Still, it was a shame that someone so promising had been scared off. I was starting to feel like I would never meet Mr. Right. Maybe I just needed to lower my standards a little. I fell asleep that night with a scowl on my face.

  The next day I woke up early and got to work painting the bedroom. Dave wouldn't be back until Tuesday, so I spent the whole day in quiet solitude with nothing but the sound of a roller squishing up and down the wall.

  I finished just in time to get ready for my date and hopped into the shower, taking the time afterward to blow-dry my long hair and pick out a dressy outfit of linen slacks and silk shirt. I applied my makeup with care, then at six-thirty I walked out the door and down the street two blocks to the coffee shop. I arrived right on time, but when I went in and looked around no one jumped up from a chair to greet me and I didn't see anyone matching Dirk's description. I got an iced tea and took a seat in a nearby booth to wait for my date.

  Dirk's profile said that he always arrived right on time. We had agreed to meet at six forty-five, and when he breezed through the door at seven o'clock minus an apology for being late, I realized punctuality wasn't all Dirk had lied about. He'd listed his height at five ten, and by my estimation he was off by two to three inches. When I stood to shake his hand in greeting I met him eye-to-eye. Now maybe he'd gotten confused when measuring himself or perhaps he thought that by puffing his hair way up like Elvis he could put one over on us womenfolk. My thought was that we womenfolk just weren't that dumb.

  Dirk smiled and winked as he flashed me a grin. I noticed that he also had a pretty severe overbite, and I forced a polite smile when he introduced himself with a slight lateral lisp.

  "You must be Abby," he said, thrusting his hand out.

  "Yes," I said, extending my hand in greeting. "Hello, Dirk, it's nice to meet you." Liar, liar, pants on fire.