Lethal Outlook: A Psychic Eye Mystery

by Victoria Laurie

  “I’d be happy to take care of that for you, ma’am,” he said with a warm smile, handing over his card. One thing about the people in Austin—they sure are a friendly lot.

  “Awesome! I’ll call you in the next day or so,” I promised.

  Once we were back in Candice’s car, she turned to me, curious. “Bugs?”

  “Scorpions,” I replied with a shudder as I fished out my phone to plug Russ’s contact information into my contacts list.

  “Blach,” Candice said, adding a shudder of her own. “Where’d you see one of those?”

  I rolled up my sleeve and pointed to the little purple dot on my arm. “Right there!”

  “Yikes,” she said as she started the car. “Please tell me one didn’t land on you in our new offices.”

  “Naw, he’s a squatter at the new house, and I’m gonna have Russell over there evict his creepy little ass—”

  “Careful,” Candice warned, “or you’ll need to take a second job just to pay the swear jar.”

  “Terisk.” I said, and stuck out my tongue at her. (Mature done skipped me by.)

  She laughed before changing the subject. “Okay, so what’d you get from Tristan?”

  I rolled my window down a little. It was turning into a lovely warm day. “He’s a tough nut to crack. I mean, my first impression was that he’s an innocent player in all of this, but then he started lying about when things may have gotten heated between him and his wife, and now I don’t know what to think.”

  “I already dug through his public records,” Candice said. “The only thing on Tristan’s record is a DUI about nine years ago. He hasn’t had so much as a traffic ticket since then.”

  “You’re sure? No record of domestic violence or any other kind of assault?”

  Candice shook her head. “Nope. Since the DUI he’s been clean as a whistle.”

  “Well, that fits with what I found in the house,” I said. “I mean, the energy in the kitchen was pretty neutral. If Kendra and Tristan fought, they either didn’t argue often or they argued in another room of the house.”

  Candice tapped her lip thoughtfully. “Well, that makes sense if you’ve got a little kid around, doesn’t it? I’m assuming Colby would have been present a lot at mealtime. Maybe if they argued or fought, they did it only when their son wasn’t within hearing distance—like in their bedroom, for instance.”

  “That makes sense. But Tristan was definitely lying about a time when he and Kendra got into it and things escalated. I know he’s done something physical to his wife that he regrets very much. The question in front of us is: How long ago?”

  Candice nodded and added, “If it was in the past few days, then that’s a very bad sign.”

  “Yep. But if it was years ago and she never reported it and he’s worked to control his anger issues, then it’s not such a big deal.”

  “Do you think that’s the case, Abs?”

  I sighed. “I want to say yes, but I wish we could’ve gotten a feel for the energy in the rest of the house.”

  “And what about that part where Tristan said he called his attorney when he couldn’t get the police to take his wife’s disappearance seriously?” Candice said.

  “It sheds a whole new light on the fact that he lawyered up, doesn’t it?” I agreed. “Maybe now that he knows we know about his attorney, we should just go meet her and see if she’s the woman who came to my office.”

  But Candice seemed reluctant. “I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, the woman who came to see you worked pretty hard to conceal her identity. If we just show up at Gagliano’s office and she is the mysterious Ms. Smith, seeing us might totally freak her out.”

  “Agreed, but right now don’t you think it’s the fastest way to identify if Tristan really did murder his wife? If we have that as an advantage, Candice, then we can focus on helping the police make a case against him and hopefully find Kendra’s remains and give her parents some closure.”

  Candice eyed the dashboard clock. “Okay,” she said at last. “But let’s not simply show up at the office, Abs. If someone there remembers that we asked to meet with Tristan’s attorney and we’re later connected to solving the case by the press, they could connect the dots and think she’s the one who leaked it about her client.”

  “I’ll go along with whatever you want to do,” I assured her.

  Candice lifted her smart phone out of her purse and tapped at the screen for a bit before setting the phone down and typing an address into the car’s GPS. We then drove north away from the city for a good fifteen minutes, exiting just inside the neighboring city of Round Rock. Candice followed the directions until she pulled to a stop in front of a six-story office building with blue-tinted windows and gray slate walls. On the signage I could see in big white print that we’d come to a stop in front of the law offices of Turner, Kramer, and Marr. Candice picked up her cell again, scanned the street, then made a call. It was quickly clear to me that she was attempting to connect with Tristan’s lawyer.

  After inquiring at the switchboard, Candice was patched through. “Ms. Gagliano?” she said in a voice that didn’t sound like Candice at all. “My name is Mercedes Roosevelt, and I may be able to help with the location of Kendra Moreno. Can we meet?” There was a pause, then, “I know I should go to the police, but I really don’t want to. You see, I’ve had encounters with them before, and it didn’t go so well for me. I’d really rather not get involved in an official way, if you know what I mean.”

  I crossed my fingers and a moment later Candice smiled and said, “Great. I’m sitting inside the restaurant right across from your office.” I looked to my right. We were parked in front of said restaurant. “I’ve got long black hair and I’m dressed in a purple sweatshirt and jeans.” (For the record, my short-blond-haired friend was wearing an ivory-colored leather jacket and dark blue dress slacks.) After another slight pause, Candice said, “And, in case I’m able to spot you first, ma’am, what’re you wearing?”

  I eyed the office, squinting at the windows as if I could peer inside and see Chelsea Gagliano.

  “A black suit?” Candice repeated, and I pulled my attention back to her. “Well, that should be easy enough to spot.” Candice rolled her eyes and I smiled. “All right, see you in ten minutes.”

  After Candice hung up the phone, we waited and watched the front of the office building across the street. “Shouldn’t we move?” I asked nervously as the minutes ticked by.

  “Why would we want to move? She’ll have to walk right by our car to go inside and we’ll get a really good look at her when she does.”

  “Yeah, but she might see us.”

  “So?”

  “If it is the mysterious woman who came to my office, she’ll recognize me at least.”

  Candice shrugged. “So what if she does, Abby? Out here in the open no one’s going to connect us to her. And if Moreno’s attorney is the lady in question, and if she does spot us, then all she’ll likely conclude is that we’re working the case, which is what she wanted from us anyway.”

  I weighed that and decided that Candice was right. A few minutes later a trim woman with chin-length ash brown hair, wearing a gorgeous black suit and patent leather pumps, came out of the building and began to walk briskly in our direction. I felt my heartbeat quicken, but only because I’m not very good at all this sneaky spy stuff.

  As she paused at the curb to wait for an opening in traffic, I said, “It’s not her, Candice.”

  “Hold on,” my partner replied. “She’s not close enough to tell for sure, Abs.”

  “She is for me,” I insisted. Her energy was different. So was her posture. This woman carried herself with such an air of confidence that it was easy to tell the difference between her and the woman who’d come to see me a few days before.

  Still, I sat very still as Chelsea Gagliano crossed the road and passed directly in front of our car with only a cursory glance in our direction. Her focus was on the restaurant and meeting Mercedes R
oosevelt. As she passed through the door, Candice turned the ignition and shifted into drive. “You’re right,” she agreed. “That’s not her.”

  We drove for all of two stoplights before either of us spoke. I was the first to break the silence. “It could have been another attorney from that same office,” I said. “Someone assisting Chelsea with Tristan’s representation.”

  Candice nodded. “Yep. And if that’s the case, then we can’t risk walking into that law firm and exposing her.”

  I sighed and my stomach grumbled. It was close to lunchtime, and all I could think about was what a bummer it was that we’d just left a perfectly good restaurant. Candice eyed me slyly. “You’re like that plant from that play Little Shop of Horrors,” she said.

  I laughed and balled my hands into fists, pumping them up and down as I dropped my voice a few octaves and sang, “Feed me, Seymour!”

  Candice didn’t even consult with me on where to eat. She merely parked in front of a quaint-looking bar and grill and we went in. “Eat something healthy for a change, will you?” she asked while she looked over her menu.

  I hid an eye roll and hunted for something fried. I come from a long line of junk-food lovers, and luckily for the Coopers and the Kirschners (Mommy dearest’s side of the family), we all seem to live long, happy, high-metabolism lives without the nuisance of heart disease, obesity, or high cholesterol. I was banking on that double dose of good-luck genes to carry me through every salty, greasy, delicious meal, as I fully expect to depart this world holding tightly to a Coney dog and a basket of chili cheese fries.

  After weathering Candice’s withering look of disapproval when I ordered the fish and chips, I asked her what she thought we should focus on next for Kendra’s case.

  Candice drummed her fingers on the table for a moment while she thought that through. “We’ll have to continue to keep an eye on Tristan and Bailey, but I’d still like to expand the suspect pool by researching Kendra a little more thoroughly. Maybe there’s something in her associations that we can focus on, some hidden clue on her Facebook page that’ll lead us to Kendra’s body and a suspect.”

  “I wish I could narrow down where she is,” I said, frustrated by all the obstacles in this case.

  Candice sat up and leaned her elbows on the table. “What’d you get when you focused on her remains again?”

  “That she’s buried in the woods somewhere.”

  “How do you know she’s specifically in the woods?”

  I thought back to the first impressions I’d written on my diagram when I’d focused on her remains. “Well, for one thing, I picked up a strong, earthy dirt smell, and I think I remember sensing a lot of plant life all around her. The surrounding area feels dense with it, in fact, and there’s a dampness to the air there that you don’t get with places that are out in the open.”

  Candice was looking at me as if she were wondering how I could pick all that out of the ether.

  “It’s a gift,” I told her with a wink.

  She gave me a lopsided smile. “Any landmarks nearby?”

  “No, not really. Wherever she is, it’s not densely populated. There may be a few nondescript structures nearby, though.”

  “Nondescript structures?” she repeated. “Like what?”

  I rubbed the welt on my forehead. The Excedrin I’d taken after my trip into the elevator was starting to wear off. “Not sure. Could be houses or it could be small shops or something like that. There’s nothing around her, Candice, that feels significant enough for my radar to pick up and identify. I know because since I first hit on her remains, I’ve tried several times to home in on her location. The best that I can do is tell you I think she’s east of downtown, but where and how far, I couldn’t say.”

  Candice played with her straw. “There’s a lot of greenbelt in east Austin.”

  “There’s a lot of greenbelt everywhere in Austin,” I said. We lived in a city known for its surrounding acres of greenbelt.

  “Needle in a haystack,” Candice muttered just as our food arrived. “Beyond frustrating to have so many clues and not be able to put them together.”

  “Now you know why I eat so much comfort food,” I told her, popping a fry into my mouth.

  Her expression clearly said that she thought that was no excuse.

  Chapter Eight

  I got home later that day feeling dispirited and like Candice and I were really spinning our wheels and going nowhere. We’d made attempts all the rest of that afternoon to contact Kendra’s friends, but either the word was out about us or Kendra’s friends weren’t very friendly. We couldn’t get a single person to e-mail or call us back.

  After tossing the ball around in the backyard with the pups for half an hour, I did feel better. Nothing perks you up like a little pup time. As I was setting down their dinner, the doorbell rang.

  I wasn’t expecting anybody, so I approached the front entrance warily and checked the peephole before opening the door. Truth be told, when I saw who was out there, I almost pretended I wasn’t home. After thinking on it for a few seconds, though, I finally gave in. “Dave,” I said levelly to the dusty guy on my front porch.

  He gave me a little two-finger salute. “Abs. How’s the arm?”

  “Fine.”

  “Good, good,” he said. I could see he was lugging a big duffel bag, but I’d be danged if I was gonna ask him about it. “Mind if I come in?”

  I did mind. Dave was sort of the last person I wanted to deal with at the moment, especially after such a long and fruitless day. He seemed to read my hesitation because he added, “It won’t take long. I promise.”

  I stepped reluctantly to the side and let him in, and the moment he was through the door both Eggy and Tuttle left their dinners to come racing out to greet him. The traitors.

  Moving into the kitchen, Dave set his big duffel on the table and unzipped it.

  I eased myself into a chair and put my feet up, wondering how long before I could kick Dave out and head upstairs for a hot bath.

  My handyman began removing items from the duffel—a piece of tile, a stained piece of wood, a block of granite, etcetera—and set them carefully and methodically in front of me.

  Before he’d gotten them all lined up on the table, I clamped a hand on his arm. “Hold on,” I said, knowing full well what he was up to. “I can’t do this tonight, Dave. I’ve had a really long day, and the last thing I want to do is sort through home decor.”

  Dave patted the hand clamped firmly to his forearm and offered me his most winning smile. “Oh, I figured with all the wedding stuff and your other work that you were avoiding me for a reason,” he said. “Which is why I’ve made it super easy for you, Abs. In fact, if you’ll unhinge your hand from my arm, I promise you’ll really only have to make one decision and be done with it.”

  “One decision?”

  “Yep.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him but let go and sat back with crossed arms. “Okay,” I said cautiously. “Color me curious.”

  Dave laid out all the rest of the items from his duffel, and I began to notice that he’d brought only one of each sample. Taking a seat, he said, “I’ve known you a long time, right?”

  “Four years,” I affirmed, although, with Dave, it sometimes felt like a lot longer.

  “And I’ve worked on a few of your houses in that time, right?”

  “Five…and counting.”

  “Right,” he said. “And I think I know your taste pretty well by now. So what I did was make all the selections for you, keeping both your taste and Dutch’s taste in mind. If you like the look, then all you have to do is say yes and my guys will get busy ordering and installing all of it first thing in the morning.”

  I leaned forward. Dave suddenly had my full attention.

  Encouraged, Dave began telling me about the samples. “See, I know you guys like your floors dark, but not too dark, so I picked this sample because it’ll give the floors a grounded feeling without showing every speck of
dust.” Dave then held up a hardwood floor sample that was a rich chocolate and exactly the color I would have chosen.

  I nodded to encourage him to continue.

  “And I also know that you both like your horizontal surfaces above the floors light, so for the bath and kitchen granite, I thought this would suit both of you. It’s mostly white with some tans and a speck of blue-gray here and there, and then it’s got these little threads of red running in patches all over. I tried to bring a sample big enough where you could see all that and—”

  “I love it,” I said, cutting him off before he took up my entire night talking about the granite.

  Dave smiled like he’d just scored ten yards in the fourth quarter. And I wanted to scowl at him, but the truth was that the granite sample he’d just shown me was absolutely gorgeous and I loved it instantly. “Knew you’d like it,” he said, moving that to the side.

  For the next hour and a half Dave took me slowly and methodically through every single choice, from cabinets to countertops to backsplash to molding to bathroom tile and everything in between. I had to hand it to him, because most of what he showed me was exactly my taste, and even those selections where I would have gone lighter or softer, I could see that Dave had picked the sample as a compromise between my taste and Dutch’s.

  “That does it,” he said at last, after showing me the photos of the lighting fixtures he’d selected for the outside of the house. “So what do you say?”

  I grinned at him and reached for his hand. “I sometimes forget what a good friend you are, Dave. Sorry about that.”

  My handyman actually blushed. “So that’s a yes?”

  I laughed. “It’s a yes and an invitation.”

  “An invitation? To what?”

  “Dinner,” I said. “I want you to stay for dinner.”

  Dave grinned too. “Thought you’d never ask.”

  Since Dutch was still stuck at the office, I had to “cook” dinner. And by “cook” I mean dial the phone and order a pizza. Still, it was a delicious pie—when I cook I go all out—and by the time Dave left around nine, we were both in a pretty good doughy-cheesy food coma. I was on my way up the stairs when the front door opened and in came my hunka man.