“Are you sensing anything, Piper?” Mitchell asks.
“I’m not sure.” I stop short when I reach the trough. The smell of smoke is intense here. I’m about to tell Mitchell when I start choking. Smoke fills my nose and lungs.
“Piper!” Mitchell rushes to me, catching me as I black out.
Chapter Two
A wet tongue swipes my face from my chin to my forehead. “Ugh, Jez,” I murmur, rubbing my face.
“Sorry, pumpkin. She insisted on seeing you,” Dad says, coming into my bedroom.
“What happened?” My lungs feel like they’ve been deprived of air.
“You passed out at the crime scene. Mitchell caught you right before you hit your head on that metal trough. You can thank him for the fact that you don’t have a concussion.”
I passed out in front of Officer O’Reilly. I sit up and lean against my headboard. Jez takes that as a signal she’s allowed to join me on the bed. She hops right up and puts her face in mine. I cup her cheeks. “Mommy’s okay, Jez.”
She licks my nose and lies down next to me, placing her head in my lap. I stroke the top of her head to settle my nerves—and possibly hers. She worries about me.
“I really thought I was off to a good start with Officer O’Reilly. Now, she must think I’m crazy.”
Dad sits down on the edge of the bed. “Actually, she thinks you’re allergic to smoke.”
“You mean she thinks I have asthma?”
He nods. “Officer O’Reilly is a very practical woman. She likes to rationalize everything, and since she hasn’t seen your abilities up close, that’s how she interpreted you passing out.”
I guess I can live with that.
“Can you tell me what happened? Did you have a vision?”
“No. I just smelled the smoke and felt it filling my lungs.”
“Hmm. You didn’t experience the sensation of burning alive?”
I shake my head.
“We can be thankful for that then. It must be the most awful way to die.”
“I didn’t even read the victim. Or anything else. I was only reacting to the smell of the smoke.”
“That’s a good thing.” Dad places his hand on top of my left hand. “Don’t look so upset about it. If you had a vision of the victim being burned alive, we’d probably be in a hospital right now.”
Even though my visions don’t physically hurt me the way the victims I see are killed, they feel real. It’s like a phantom pain, and I can’t convince my brain it isn’t actually happening to me. As much as I hate it when nonbelievers look at me like I’m some kind of freak show, I have to admit I feel like one when I get incapacitated by something that isn’t actually happening to me.
“Where’s Mitchell?” I ask.
“Working the case with O’Reilly.”
I toss the covers aside. “I should be there, too.”
Dad holds up a hand. “Pumpkin, it’s late. My guess is Mitchell will be showing up any minute to check on you.”
“Late?” We went to the farm this morning. It can’t be that late. I grab my phone from the nightstand. “How is it nine o’clock?” My eyes widen at Dad, thinking something must be wrong with my phone.
Before he can answer me, Mitchell comes walking into my room. Jezebel immediately jumps down from the bed to greet him. She’s loved him from the start. So much so that I often wonder if she thinks he comes here to see her instead of me. Mitchell bends down to greet her and then approaches the bed.
Dad stands up. “Well, you’re in good hands, so I better get home now.” He kisses me on my forehead.
“Thanks, Dad. Sorry I made you miss lunch with Mom. And dinner, too.”
“Just feel better. I’ll see you both tomorrow.” He walks out, and Mitchell takes Dad’s former spot on the bed.
“I don’t know what happened. How was I out for so long?”
“I don’t know, Piper. I had to stop O’Reilly from calling an ambulance. She was sure you needed medical help, but your dad was able to convince her he could take care of you. I wanted to go with you both, but…”
“You have a job to do.” We can’t let our relationship come between Mitchell and his ability to do his work, or Chief Johansen won’t let me consult on cases anymore. Or worse, Mitchell will lose his job.
“I brought Chinese food,” Mitchell says. “If you’re up to it.”
“I’m starving.” All I’ve eaten today is a muffin. I might be stick thin due to my fast metabolism, but I have a ravenous appetite. I toss the covers off me, and Mitchell offers me his hand to help me up. The old me would have glared at him and swatted his hand away, but I’ve learned to stop being so independent and allow Mitchell to help me sometimes, so I take his hand.
Jez follows us into the living room, where Mitchell has the Chinese food on the coffee table. Mitchell grabs plates and makes the tea that he got with the food. I prefer coffee, but I don’t complain.
“So, O’Reilly was impressed with you today.”
I raise a brow at him. “Really? Impressed by how easily I faint?” That’s pretty much all she saw me do.
“No, she was impressed with how quickly you assessed the crime scene. You know, figuring out there was a blanket on the hay and that the body wasn’t burned on it either.”
“That was obvious, and it had nothing to do with my abilities. It was simple observation.”
“Observation is an important part of police work, Piper.” He hands me an egg roll.
I take a big bite, not happy that I wasn’t able to show Officer O’Reilly how much I can really help at a crime scene. “I didn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know.” I take another big bite.
“There’s always tomorrow. Why are you so eager to win her over anyway?”
I’ve already driven three officers out of the station. It might not have been my fault they were each transferred, but I had a part in it. “I don’t want to get a reputation of being someone who’s difficult to work with.”
Mitchell laughs, and I’m not at all sure what is so humorous about that, so I smack his arm.
“What is wrong with you? This isn’t the least bit funny.”
“Yes, it is. When I first started working with you, you were nearly impossible to get along with, and that didn’t bother you.”
“Yeah, because I was actually trying to get rid of you.” I’d thought I made that pretty clear at the time.
He bumps his shoulder against mine. “Good thing you finally came to your senses, huh? Look at what you could have missed out on.”
“If you’re finished inflating your own ego, can we get back to the case at hand?”
“If I didn’t know you love me, I’d be insulted right now.”
I roll my eyes and finish my egg roll.
“O’Reilly and I talked to Tony Trevino’s wife.”
“And?”
“She didn’t have much to say, actually. It was a little odd. O’Reilly has some theories as to why that is, but I want you to make an assessment for yourself tomorrow when we talk to her again.”
I’m sure she’ll love having to be questioned all over again with me present. The woman just lost her husband. “Are you sure she’ll speak with me tomorrow after already being questioned by you and Officer O’Reilly today?”
“She won’t have a choice. Besides, she thinks you were injured on her property. She’ll most likely cooperate so she doesn’t have to worry about you suing her.”
“Sue her for what? Losing her husband in the most horrific manner and then having an overly sensitive psychic pass out on her property?” It’s absurd.
“I may have mentioned her barn wasn’t up to code as far as the ventilation system was concerned.”
“How would you even know that?” I ask.
He bobs one shoulder. “I might have fibbed, but no one questioned it.”
“Mitchell, you have to stop doing things like that for me. You are going to get yourself in serious trouble.”
“Don
’t worry about me.”
I roll my eyes. The man has spent the entire time he’s known me trying to weasel his way into my heart, and then when he does, he tells me not to worry about him. He’s impossible.
Mitchell and I show up at the Trevino farm at 9:00 a.m. Tuesday morning. Dad goes to the office instead since we have a background check to work on, and as Mitchell keeps saying, Dad and I can’t sacrifice the P.I. agency for the consulting jobs we do for the WPD since he may need to come work for my agency if his involvement with me gets him fired one day. Officer O’Reilly is waiting for us when we arrive. She’s leaning against the driver’s side door of her patrol car, cleaning her sunglasses on the front of her uniform shirt.
“Ms. Ashwell, how are you feeling today?” she asks.
“Fine, thank you. And please call me Piper.”
“You got it, Piper.” She motions for us to lead the way. That must be a thing with her, or she’s just acknowledging that Mitchell is her superior.
Instead of going to the barn, we head to the farmhouse itself. It’s a large home some distance from the barn. The house has flower boxes in every window and green shutters that look like mini barn doors. Mitchell rings the doorbell.
A woman with curly brown hair answers. She’s wearing jeans and a white T-shirt that is smudged with dirt. “Detective Brennan,” she says.
“Good morning, Mrs. Trevino. May we come inside?” Mitchell asks her.
“Of course.” She steps aside, her gaze meeting mine. “You must be the one who fainted yesterday. I assure you we are checking into the ventilation codes for the barn. My husband oversaw the building of the structure, but that was many years ago. If some law has changed, we will make the necessary—”
I hold up a hand to stop her. “I’m sure you will. There’s no need to worry about that right now.”
“We can talk in the living room,” she says, gesturing to the large room to the right of the entryway. “Can I get anyone something to drink? Coffee? Tea? Water?”
“No, we’re fine,” Officer O’Reilly says, taking a seat on the couch.
Mitchell and I sit down beside her, and Mrs. Trevino sits in the armchair.
Since Mitchell and Officer O’Reilly have already questioned her, I figure I should get this started. “Mrs. Trevino, when was the last time you saw your husband?”
“Sunday night before I went to bed.”
“Did he seem fine to you?”
“Nothing seemed out of the ordinary if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Do you know what time he went to bed?”
“I was already asleep, so I can’t say for sure.” She laces her fingers in her lap, but her hands are clenched.
“At any point during the night, did you roll over and see your husband sleeping?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I’m a sound sleeper. I usually don’t wake up until the roosters start crowing.”
“And what time is that?”
“Five thirty. Exactly. They’re better than alarm clocks.” She offers a smile, but it’s forced.
“Was your husband already out of bed?”
“Yes.” Her voice shakes.
Officer O’Reilly sits forward on the couch. “Mrs. Trevino, I know it’s difficult to go through all this again, but it can also help trigger something you might have forgotten the first time we spoke.”
I nod to Officer O’Reilly, grateful for her help. “Even the smallest detail that you might think is inconsequential could give us a lead to follow.”
Mrs. Trevino inhales a shaky breath. “Each night, I set up the coffee pot to automatically brew at four in the morning. That’s when Tony got up. He always took his morning coffee to the barn when he fed the animals.”
I turn to Mitchell. “Did you find the coffee mug in the barn?”
“No.” He flips open his notebook and removes a pen from his shirt pocket. “What does his mug look like?”
“I’ll show you.” Mrs. Trevino stands up and motions for us to follow her. She brings us into the kitchen, where the cabinets are the same green color as the shutters on the front of the house. She opens the cabinet next to the sink and removes a large red mug. She holds it out to me.
I take a deep breath and center myself before taking the mug in my left hand. Mitchell gives me a small nod as I transfer the mug to my right hand.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee and smoke fill the air.
Mitchell grabs the mug, yanking it from my hand.
“Is it her asthma?” Mrs. Trevino asks.
I realize I’m choking again, like I did in the barn. I meet Mitchell’s gaze. How can this be? If Tony Trevino didn’t have his morning coffee, why did I smell coffee and smoke in the vision? I can’t make sense of it.
“You’re sure your husband never had his coffee yesterday?” I ask.
“I’m positive. The mug was still in the cabinet here.”
“Can you think of any reason he’d go to the barn without it?” Officer O’Reilly asks.
“No. None. Like I said, he always brought his coffee out there. He hated the cold. Even during the summer months, he depended on his coffee to warm him up early in the morning.”
“He was anemic,” I say.
“Yes. How did you know that?” Mrs. Trevino cocks her head at me.
“Poor circulation from anemia often leads to the person feeling cold, especially in their extremities,” Officer O’Reilly says.
I’m relieved she saved me from having to explain how I really know Tony Trevino was anemic. Sometimes things just come to me as truths. I don’t know why, and I can’t explain it, but I know those things to be facts. “I’d like to see the barn again.”
Mitchell gives me a look, but even he can’t deny going back to the barn is inevitable. This is a murder investigation after all.
“Of course. Go right ahead. Do you mind if I stay here, though?” Mrs. Trevino asks.
“Not at all,” Mitchell assures her, handing the mug back to her. “We’ll let you know when we’re finished out there.”
Mrs. Trevino opens the back deck door for us since it’s a more direct route to the barn through the backyard.
“That was good thinking back there, Piper,” Officer O’Reilly says. “We never would have known Tony’s morning schedule was thrown off if you didn’t tell Mrs. Trevino to consider all the little details.”
“Thanks.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet. Piper’s abilities are incredible,” Mitchell says.
Officer O’Reilly smiles. “I’m sure having a very accomplished police detective for a father has been a big help.”
“Yes, but I was actually talking about Piper’s psychic abilities.”
I know Mitchell said the officers at the station already filled Officer O’Reilly in on my psychic abilities, but I’m still not excited to talk about them out in the open like this.
“Everyone has their talents.”
The way she says it makes me pause. Literally. Mitchell and Officer O’Reilly stop walking as well. “Do you think I’m lying?” I ask her.
Officer O’Reilly holds up both hands in front of her. “Not at all. I’ve heard the stories, and I think you’re very good at what you do. I just don’t think it’s psychic abilities allowing you to do it. I believe you have great observational skills and acute deductive reasoning. You’re simply misjudging that for some psychic phenomenon.” She bobs one shoulder as if it’s no big deal.
From what Mitchell has told me about her, I’m not surprised she’d try to reasonably explain what I do.
Mitchell’s jaw tenses. “O’Reilly, you should know Piper had a big part in you getting this position. Chief Johansen was hesitant to fill it, but Piper’s senses told her you’d be a good fit for the WPD. You should be thanking her, not criticizing the way she works.”
She waves her hands in front of her. “I’m not criticizing her at all. I think she’s a great P.I.”
Officer O’Reilly hasn’t seen any proof of my abi
lities, so I can’t blame her for trying to understand what I do in the only way she knows how. “Mitchell, it’s fine. Really,” I say, but it’s clear he’s not about to let up.
“Did you not hear me? Piper read your name off a list and knew you were the one the chief would bring on board.”
“I’m sure she looked into me and made that decision based on my credentials and number of cases solved.”
“No, she didn’t,” Mitchell insists, his face reddened with anger. “Your name just popped out at her when she read the list. That’s how her abilities work.”
Neither one of them is going to concede on this, so I loop my arm through Mitchell’s. “Let’s go. We have a case to solve.” He allows me to pull him along, and I whisper, “Enough. You do not fight my battles for me. Besides, I need to get along with Officer O’Reilly whether she believes in my psychic abilities or not.”
He sighs. “Okay. Whatever you want, Piper.”
What I want is for people to accept me for who I am, but I’ve had too much experience to the contrary to think that will ever happen.
Chapter Three
The barn doors are wide open, I’m assuming on Mitchell’s insistence so the smoke smell would clear out. It won’t help with any visions I have, but it’s a start and will hopefully allow me to sense the things I need to read inside the barn.
“Do you have an inhaler?” Officer O’Reilly asks me.
“No because I don’t have asthma.” I look her straight in the eyes. “The smoke I’m sensing isn’t what’s lingering in the air. It’s the smoke that choked the victim.”
She furrows her brow. “That is the smoke that’s lingering.”
“Yes but no. I’m sensing the amount of smoke that suffocated the victim, not solely what’s left here.”
“Wait, are you saying he didn’t die from being set on fire?” Mitchell asks. “Was the body set on fire after he was killed?”
Fight Fire with Foresight (Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. Book 12) Page 2
