Chapter Ten
Since Mr. Rake won’t let me anywhere near his wife’s case, Mitchell and I decide to stake out in front of Trevino Farm to see if Marissa goes to meet Eugene Spicer or if he shows up at the farm. Marissa’s been pretty cooperative so far, but I’m not convinced she wouldn’t try to sneak off to see Eugene, even if only to settle her own curiosity about whether or not he killed Tony Trevino to help her.
“There has to be proof of the affair somewhere,” Mitchell says, sipping his coffee. We came well prepared with goodies from Marcia’s Nook as well as a few slices of pizza since we have no idea how long we’ll be out here tonight.
I’m convinced there’s evidence as well. It only makes sense. “I need to get back inside that shed to read her belongings.”
“Nelson Rake isn’t going to allow that. I might have to look around and retrieve something for you to read.”
We’ve done that before when a victim’s family bans me from their home like this, but the problem this time is Mitchell won’t be alone. Officer O’Reilly will be watching him carefully. “There’s no way you’ll be able to pull that off on this case. Officer O’Reilly won’t allow it.”
Mitchell leans his head back on the head rest. “This better be the first and last case I have to work with her. She’s slowing us down.”
Maybe I should try talking to the chief. He might listen if I tell him she’s preventing me from reading the objects I need to read. He’s become a proponent of what I can do, and he’s taken my side before. It might be worth a try.
“Do you really think Eugene Spicer left that note on Nathan’s front door Monday morning?” Mitchell asks me.
“It would make sense. As his father, he’d want to protect his son and keep him away from a crime scene, right?”
“What if the murder wasn’t premeditated?” Mitchell raises his head and turns toward me. “I know you’re going to say that Eugene knew Tony’s schedule, but what if he went there to confront him, not kill him, and things got out of hand? Do you think that’s possible?”
Mitchell wishes he had psychic abilities, and when he’s able to figure something out before I do, he equates it to having good instincts, something that’s important to what I do. But in this case, I think he’s wrong.
“I get the distinct sense that a fire was started to lure Tony Trevino to the barn.”
“The barn where he was already heading, like he does every morning? Why?”
“I can’t explain that. Maybe this person knew they were going to burn the body to try to destroy evidence.” Speaking of evidence… “When can I get my hands on the blanket Tony Trevino’s body was wrapped in?”
“Tomorrow. The lab will be finished retesting it by then.”
Good. My senses haven’t given me much on this case, but the blanket seems to be a key. I just hope reading it doesn’t make me relive Tony’s body being burned. I’ve had the unfortunate experience of seeing a vision from the perspective of a burn victim before, and if Mitchell hadn’t brought me out of the vision in time, I would have wound up in the hospital for phantom symptoms that couldn’t really be treated but rendered me unconscious for days. The fact that Tony died before he was burned cuts down on the chances of me seeing the vision from his perspective. I’d most likely see it as if I were the killer. That in itself is very disturbing, but it also gives me insight into the killer’s thoughts.
“Mitchell, is the WPD watching Eugene Spicer’s credit card activity?” I ask.
Mitchell nods again. “So far, he hasn’t used one, except for at the hotel, but they take that information ahead of time and run the card at checkout to cover expenses to the room.”
“So no help there.”
“No, but if he stops for gas or food, we’ll know.”
“Unless he pays with cash.” Anyone running from the police knows not to leave a trail by using a credit card. If Eugene Spicer is the killer, he did his homework. He got Nathan out of the way, knew Tony Trevino’s schedule, and fled the hotel before the police could question him. I doubt he’d be stupid enough to let his credit card be his downfall.
A light turns off in the front room of the house. “We have activity,” I say. It’s about time, too.
Mitchell puts his coffee in the cup holder. “Do you see her?”
“I’m guessing she’ll go through the garage since that’s where her car is parked.”
Mitchell’s headlights are off, so it will look like his Explorer is parked on the side of the street, unless Marissa sees us. “Slouch down in your seat,” he says as if reading my mind.
I lower my body as much as possible without getting completely on the floor. Marissa’s garage door opens, and a black sedan pulls out. I can’t make out what kind of car it is from my angle. We both sit up in our seats and click our seat belts. Mitchell lets her get a small lead before he starts the car and follows.
Luckily, Marissa doesn’t know Mitchell’s Explorer since he had his patrol car when we questioned her earlier. I didn’t want to take my Mazda on the off chance she’d recognize it from Main Street when we talked at the corner café. As long as Mitchell doesn’t make it obvious that we’re tailing her, Marissa shouldn’t suspect a thing.
I don’t expect Marissa to head anywhere too fancy, where Eugene would be forced to use his credit card. Or maybe he expects her to pay for the meal. I suppose he might under these circumstances. She drives to a Thai restaurant I’ve never been to before. Mitchell parks far enough away that she won’t notice us watching her. We have to hang back and let her go inside first. The fact that Mitchell and I are dating does make it plausible we’d come to the restaurant for dinner, so if she does spot us inside, we can play it off as a date. I’m hoping to avoid being seen altogether, though.
We get out of the car once Marissa is inside the restaurant. Mitchell walks over to get my door and offer his arm. “We should make it look like a date, right?” he asks me.
“My thoughts exactly,” I say, looping my arm through his. I’m hoping the attire for this place isn’t too fancy. I’m wearing dark jeans and a cute coral top, nothing dressy. Marissa was wearing dress pants and a button-down blouse, so I can’t really tell from her outfit.
Mitchell opens the door to the restaurant, and the first thing I see is a beautiful water fountain in front of us. There’s a sushi bar to our left and a dining room just past the water fountain.
“Do you have a reservation?” the host asks us.
“Um, no,” Mitchell says, and I’m sure he’s wondering the same thing I am: is our plan to spy on the dinner date ruined before we even get more than two feet inside? “Do we need a reservation? I’m a police detective, and I’ve had a long day.” I’ve never seen him throw his “badge” around this way before.
“Let me see what I can do. One moment please.” He turns and walks into the dining room.
“Do you see Marissa?” I ask, trying to peer into the dining room.
“No, but I can only see the table in the center of the room.”
There’s an archway, and it conceals the sides of the room from our view. About two minutes later, the host returns. “Right this way please.”
We follow him into the room, and I’m not sure how to conceal our faces from Marissa. If she’s looking this way, she’ll see us for sure, and if Eugene isn’t here yet, she might text him to stay away.
I stop walking. “You know, I think I’d rather sit at the sushi bar,” I say, even though I’d never eat raw fish.
Mitchell cocks his head at me, and I widen my eyes.
“Is that okay?” I ask the host.
“That would suit us better, actually, since you don’t have a reservation.” He motions toward the bar.
We sit down at the sushi bar, and he gets us menus. I’m not sure how I’m going to order anything, though.
“What’s the plan?” Mitchell asks me.
“I don’t know, but we couldn’t walk in there and let Marissa see us like that. I figure it’s safer out here
.” At least if she walks out here, we can turn our backs so she hopefully won’t recognize us.
“I don’t eat sushi,” Mitchell says.
“Neither do I.” I laugh. “Maybe we can order soup or something.”
“And how do we spy on Marissa from out here? Or are you planning to wait for her to walk out with a man and just pounce at that point?”
That could work, but I have another idea. I spin on the stool. “The restroom is over there. Walking by the dining room should allow me to see inside and find out if Marissa is here with Eugene. If she is, we can go crash their table and corner Eugene.”
“Sounds good.”
A waiter comes to greet us. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asks.
Mitchell looks at me and says, “Unsweetened iced tea?”
I nod. “I’ll be right back.” I get off the stool and start for the restroom. I can see the right side of the dining room, but Marissa isn’t seated there. That must mean she’s on the left side, since that’s the only part of the room I’ve yet to see. I’ll have to wash my hands or something to make it look like I’m really using the restroom. I open the door of the ladies’ room, which is unoccupied. I wash my hands quickly and then walk back out. My eyes scan the dining room. Marissa is seated at a small table near the front corner of the room. Her waiter hands her something, and a look of confusion appears on her face. I pause to watch what happens.
The waiter walks away, and Marissa opens what seems to be an envelope. She pulls a paper from inside and reads it. Then she shoves it back inside and stands up. Grabbing her purse, she starts to leave. I move directly into her path.
“Mrs. Trevino?” I say, pretending to dry my hands on my pants. “What are you doing here?”
Her face pales. “I could ask you the same.”
I gesture to Mitchell, who is now walking over to us. “We’re having dinner. It’s tough to date when we’re always working on cases.” I force a laugh.
“Mrs. Trevino, nice to see you,” Mitchell says, putting his arm around my waist to pull off the date ruse.
“You too, Detective.”
“We’ve never eaten here before,” I say. “Can you recommend anything? I’m assuming you’ve already eaten since you’re on your way out.”
“Oh.” She looks back at the dining room. “Actually, I didn’t even order yet.”
“Is everything okay?” I ask, reaching my right hand toward hers, which happens to be holding the letter.
My eyes close.
“Marissa, I can’t meet you. I’m sorry. The police are searching for me. They showed up at my hotel. It’s not safe for us to be seen together. I’ll be in touch.”
Marissa steps away from me, breaking contact. “You know. You did that thing just now, when you touched me, didn’t you?”
“I’m sorry, but we had to know. Do you have any idea where Eugene is?”
She shakes her head. “I haven’t spoken to him. This is the first contact he’s made with me since Tony’s death.” She hands the letter to Mitchell. “Here. You might as well have it. I’m sure Ms. Ashwell already knows what it says.”
Mitchell opens the letter and reads it. “Why would he run if he didn’t kill your husband?”
“Because he knows you think he did,” Marissa says. “Can you really blame him for not wanting to be accused of murder?”
“Mrs. Trevino, do you think he’s guilty?”
She lowers her gaze to the carpet. “I’m not sure. I guess I showed up hoping he would be here and tell me I’m crazy for even thinking he’d do something like this.”
Except if he didn’t do it, that leaves her son as the most likely suspect. “Part of you is relieved he didn’t. You were going to turn this letter over to the police in the hope that it would clear your son’s name.”
Tears streak down her cheeks. “I know that’s awful, but Eugene ran out on me, and Nathan is my son.”
“We completely understand,” Mitchell says. “You did the right thing.”
She nods and wipes her eyes with her fingers. “What happens now?”
“We try to locate Eugene. If he contacts you again in any way, I need you to call me immediately.” Mitchell removes one of his cards from his pocket and hands it to her. “This is my direct number. I don’t care what time of day it is. If you hear from Eugene, call me. Don’t wait.”
She takes the card and nods again. “I will.”
I can’t help feeling bad for her. Her husband cheats on her and tries to divorce her. Then either her son or first husband might have killed her current husband. Sure, she’s getting the farm now, but she might lose everything else in the process.
She starts to leave, but I stop her. “Mrs. Trevino, one more question,” I say.
She turns back to me.
“Do you know Janet Rake?”
She furrows her brow. “No, I don’t believe I do. Why?”
“She died today. In a very similar way that your husband did.”
“You don’t think…” She can’t finish her statement.
“That she’s the woman he was having an affair with? Yes. I do think that. Could we go through your husband’s invoices to see if the name Rake appears on any of them?”
“Of course. I’ll be home all day tomorrow. Stop by any time.”
“Thank you,” I say.
Mitchell and I walk back to the sushi bar, where our iced teas are waiting. “What do you say we actually have a date?” he asks, pulling out the stool for me.
“As long as I don’t have to eat sushi,” I say.
I wake up around four in the morning, clutching my blanket in my hands after having a dream about raking up a blanket buried in a pile of leaves and silver jewelry. I’ve had odd dreams before, but this one is beyond strange. Jezebel raises her head and scoots closer to me.
“Mommy’s okay, Jez. It was only a dream.” Probably from eating Thai food so late at night.
No.
I let out a deep breath. “Or not.” Cryptic visions in the form of dreams are still pretty new to me. I shouldn’t complain about having them considering I’m constantly meditating and trying to improve my abilities. But the fact that my dreams are like clues sent from Batman’s Riddler, it’s more than a little frustrating.
I don’t foresee myself getting any more sleep, considering I have a new vision to make sense of, so I get up and start a new day of searching for a killer.
Chapter Eleven
I can’t handle seeing Officer O’Reilly after the night I had. I’m just not up for it, so I head to the office. Okay, I head to Marcia’s Nook, but that’s close enough, and I need more coffee. The whole pot I drank since waking up from that dream-vision has already run its course.
Marcia is unlocking the store to customers for the day when I show up at her door. “Piper, you look…” She shakes her head.
“Awful. I know. It’s fine to say it. I’ve been up for hours.”
“Come on in. Coffee’s ready.” She holds the door open for me. “Tell me you weren’t up all night reading. I don’t want to be blamed for this.”
“No. It’s the case I’m working on.” I take a seat at a table in the café area while Marcia gets me coffee.
“Can you talk about it?” she calls to me since we’re the only ones here.
“Not really, but I will say it keeps getting more complicated.”
“How is the new officer in town working out?” She caps my coffee and joins me at the table.
“She’s…” I huff. “Not Mitchell.”
Marcia laughs. “No one but Mitchell could be Mitchell.”
“Thank goodness for that,” I say, laughing along with her.
“Seriously though, is she giving you a hard time?”
“No. She’s nice enough. She just doesn’t believe I have psychic abilities, which I didn’t mind at first, but it’s getting frustrating.”
“I see. So how does she explain what you do?”
I take a large sip of coffee bef
ore continuing. “She thinks I’m a very good P.I.”
“You are.”
“I’m not arguing that, but she rationalizes everything I come up with as observational skills and deductive reasoning. Anything outside that she calls theorizing.” I roll my eyes.
“Mitchell must be going crazy.” Marcia leans her forearms on the table.
“Yeah, he’s dismissed her from the scene a couple times. I’m afraid he’s going to get in trouble with the chief if he keeps it up.”
“So, naturally, you’re planning to talk to the chief to keep that from happening.”
I bob one shoulder. Marcia knows me well. “Wait a second,” I say, coming to a realization.
“What?”
“The second victim.”
“There’s another?” she asks.
“Yes, a woman. I think she was having an affair with the first victim, but no one has been able to confirm that.”
“Someone must know about the affair.”
I stare at Marcia. Other than Mitchell, she’s the person I’m closest to. I talk to her when I have a problem. Like now. “Janet must have had someone she confided in. A friend.”
“Most likely, yes.”
“So I need to look into her and find out who she was closest to.” Then I can get proof to back up what my senses are telling me. I can get Dad on that right away. He should be at the office by now. “Thanks, Marcia.”
“I’m not sure I did anything.”
She helps me more than she’ll ever know.
“You did plenty. Can I get two more coffees and three cinnamon buns to go?”
“Coming right up. But shouldn’t you make it four?”
Ugh, she’s right. Officer O’Reilly will be with Mitchell. I guess I should play nicely. “Yeah, make it four cinnamon buns and three coffees.” I look at my coffee. “Better refill mine as well.” I’m going to need the added caffeine boost to deal with Officer O’Reilly.
After paying for my order and thanking Marcia again, I go to my office. Dad is on his laptop already.
Fight Fire with Foresight (Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. Book 12) Page 9
