by Dale Mayer
He pulled up behind Kirk again and said, “Keep her away from me. You gotta keep her away from me. She’s dangerous.”
She turned to look at Jimbo. “You want to do the honors?”
With a grin Jimbo walked around to Carlos, and, even though he was kicking and screaming, Jimbo grabbed Carlos’s hand and pulled him forward. And then, under duress, he slapped Carlos’s hand on top of Queenie’s.
Kirk watched her face as the visions hit and kept hitting. She turned and let her hand fall away, giving it a good shake, as if something nasty was stuck to it. “It is more than just our money,” she said quietly to everyone. “He’s been stealing from other people too.” Turning to address Kirk, she asked, “Have you had a rash of break-ins in this area?”
Kirk looked at her in surprise. “Yes we certainly have. Are they his jobs?”
“Yes. He got lucky at one place. He found one of the bags full of cash in a house. He grabbed it and ran.” She walked around to the car, pointed to the black leather bag. “That one. He doesn’t even know how much he got. But, when we came after our money, he decided to run.”
In the meantime Kirk had already snapped handcuffs on Carlos’s wrists and said to Jimbo, “Make sure he doesn’t move, but you don’t get to hurt him.”
Jimbo smiled. “I don’t need to hurt him. And he ain’t going nowhere.”
At that, Kirk walked over to Carlos’s car and did a quick search. “His luggage is in here. He’s got a box of paperwork, a laptop, some other electronics, like hard drives, but the money is in the trunk.” He opened a second bag to see it was not as full but also held cash in smaller denominations.
Queenie said, “That’s ours. We take in a lot of cash money in small denominations, and he pays us out the same way. I presume he banks the rest. And he owes us all a ton of money.”
“This isn’t a free-for-all,” Kirk said. “We need a commonsense way to figure out who gets what.”
“He has a ledger in this box,” she said, “of how much he has systematically been stealing.”
Kirk spun and looked at her.
She nodded. “I saw it in my vision.”
At that, Kirk walked to the back seat of the car, pulled out the box, lifted the lid again, moved the laptop and, sure enough, there was a ledger book. He pulled it out and read off names. “Jimbo, $2,140 as of”—he looked at his watch—“today.” But it was hard for Kirk to know how accurate these figures were until he came to Queenie’s name. He turned to look at her. “What was that figure you said you saw earlier?”
“He owes me $2,795.”
Kirk tapped the ledger and said, “Bingo. This ledger is the actual money owed to everyone.”
They all surged forward. “Can we get it?”
He looked over at Carlos. “How do you want to play this?”
Carlos shook his head and muttered, “You can pay them. I shouldn’t have taken their money in the first place.”
“No, you sure as hell shouldn’t have,” Kirk snapped. He went back to the trunk and grabbed the bag Queenie had said was from the amusement park, pulled it forward and using the light from the trunk, started counting.
Based on the ledger, there were a lot of people to pay out.
After he paid Jimbo, Kirk said, “Can you round up the rest of the employees? The park should be closed now anyway, shouldn’t it?” He put a checkmark beside Jimbo’s entry and went through the list. He was amazed at how much money Carlos felt he could get away with. “So you were going to run, taking everybody’s money, trying to hide afterward?” he asked in a conversational tone. “You realize that wouldn’t have worked, right?”
“Sure it would have,” he snapped. “Who would have known?”
Kirk laughed. “Seriously?”
Carlos looked at him in confusion. “Yes, seriously. Who would have known?”
Kirk looked over at Queenie, who was giggling. “You really don’t understand you got the real deal with Queenie, do you? Because she would have known. She’s the one who sent me back here. She’s the one who came with me because she figured out that, once I mentioned you might run, you’d be disappearing tonight.” He glanced over at Queenie. “Any idea where he was running to?”
She turned to Carlos and said, “California. He was heading to see his mother in California.”
At that, Carlos’s jaw dropped. He sagged to the ground.
Jimbo looked over at Kirk as if to ask if it was okay to leave Carlos unattended.
Kirk nodded and said, “He’s not going anywhere, Jimbo, especially not now that we have the money he stole.” He glanced over at Queenie as he counted out the money due her and handed it to her. “Now do something about that damn website.”
She gave him a cheeky grin, pocketed the money and said, “Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t.”
He groaned. She was just as irritating as ever. But, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel that was a problem.
Chapter 11
Saturday Morning …
Queenie awoke the next morning for the first time feeling a sense of renewal. Some new beginning was occurring. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she’d take it. She would miss the people at the amusement park, but she was on a whole new trajectory.
The fact that she was back to being friendly with Kirk was a new adventure as well. She knew it wouldn’t go anywhere, and that was fine. She wasn’t ready for anything else either.
But to consider they could be friends, well, that put a smile on her face. She hopped out of bed, got a shower and walked over to her laptop. She had sent an email last night before going to bed to Nick, the webmaster who had run Carlos’s website, asking him for a price and/or suggestions. She could only hope he’d answered and that his price was doable.
While her laptop booted up, she put on coffee. She stepped outside on the balcony, but the sky looked dismally gray. She wouldn’t let it get her down though.
With coffee dripping, she checked her email to find that Nick had gotten back to her. She read his reply and crowed with delight. He would give her a deal: set her up a simple website, but one that would allow her to hook up for payments online with a secure email delivery system for sending her readings. He also gave her suggestions on how to do readings over Skype and similar programs, like Voom. She was enthralled at the idea.
He could have her up and running in three days. She’d have to write up some material to put on the website and needed to put up a pricing scale. He suggested starting at fifty for a reading. She sat back in awe.
“I’ve been doing readings for five bucks. Would people pay fifty?” she wondered, but it was hard to imagine such a thing. At that new rate, she wouldn’t need very many in a day to more than cover her business and living expenses. To start off with, one a day would be absolutely huge for her. At least this way, it was under her control. She could do however many readings she deemed possible and would push off the others for another day. She would book them over the next few days, or, if they felt wrong, not do them at all.
She responded with a big thank-you and a bunch of questions as to what materials he’d need and whether she should have recommendations or references.
As she waited for his response, hoping he would respond immediately, she got up and poured herself a cup of coffee. She checked her fridge, but a whole lot wasn’t there. She found some bread. She popped it in the toaster, and, while she waited for it, she sat back down again. Thankfully Nick had already answered her.
He suggested references, preferably if she had some from reputable people with real names, not names like Jimbo.
She laughed out loud at that. “I can probably get some,” she said thoughtfully. She’d worked for a lot of detectives over the years. Then she read the rest of his email out loud.
“You should also have a set of prices for difficult clients, for clients who want readings in a rush, for people who want over and above a simple reading, and your readings should have a certain time frame. No more than ten minutes,
or make it, say, fifty dollars for one question, for example, and possibly a hundred for three.”
He’d given her a lot to think about. She told him to go ahead and get started. She’d send him a deposit, and she’d start working on what to put on her website. He responded by saying he’d send her some mockups later in the day. Did she want a particular color scheme?
She thought about that. The typical purples and lavenders were such psychic colors that she knew she needed to include those as people would expect them. Still, it should be colors that made her smile. She sent him some suggestions, then researched other psychics’ websites.
Most were tacky and perpetrated the charlatan feel. That wasn’t what she wanted. She sent him a couple links with a note saying she didn’t want hers to look like this. The emails went back and forth as she had toast and coffee. He sent her a couple websites he thought would be nicer, and she fell in love with one. They were akin to some of the horoscope websites, and there was a vast difference between those. But this one was something simple, and he promised it was easy to change themes and colors down the road and how the text could always be changed. So she left it to him.
And then she had to sit down and do some initial accounting. She pulled out all the cash she’d collected the previous day and set up a budget. When she took off the internet fees, hosting fees and shopping cart fees, she then looked at how many days she could last with the money she had, like how much she’d need for food and was there a cheaper way to keep herself for the next month? But, as she sat back and took a closer look, she realized she wasn’t in bad shape.
The money Kirk had rescued for her yesterday was the most she’d had in a long time. She had always been frugal, but now she had enough to relax for at least sixty days plus the rest of this current month, which made it close to eight weeks without having to worry about money coming in daily.
She’d have put aside more from her years of hard work, but she’d spent so much on private detectives to make sure her son truly was dead—until the money ran out. Still, the process had served its purpose. She’d finally accepted that her son was dead, and that had allowed her to move forward.
She had another month’s buffer that she’d scrimped and saved for as her warning before panicking about money. So, with more than a three-month cushion between her and destitution, she could sit back and feel a whole lot better about her decision to go out on her own.
She smiled, wondering how else she could use her skills to draw attention to what she could do for people. She thought about the local newspaper, wondering if they had done a lot of coverage on the amusement park itself. She went to the newspaper’s website, noting a couple of the articles Carlos had tagged. She contacted one of the reporters.
Queenie explained how she was going independent and asked about getting an article regarding her new website.
The reporter laughed and said, “Sure, but then I’d be putting my name to something that is probably a crooked deal from the beginning.”
“It’s only a crooked deal if your wife’s new business is a crooked deal,” she said coolly. “Not too many people are out there doing piano-tuning.”
There was a shocked silence on the other end of the phone. “How did you know about my wife’s piano-tuning?” he blasted at her.
“The same way I know you’re wearing one red sock and one blue sock,” she said drily. “I’m the real deal.”
A heavy sigh could be heard on the other end as he must be considering her words. “Shit. Are they really those colors?”
“You’re color-blind, aren’t you?”
He groaned. “I so am.”
She chuckled. “That’s all right for your business. I don’t think it matters.”
“Nope, it doesn’t. Okay, I’m convinced, so I’ll write an article. I can’t do it this weekend though. How about Tuesday next week?”
“Sure. Will we just talk over the phone?”
“Why don’t we meet at a coffee shop?” he suggested. “I’ll write it and submit it to my editor. I can’t guarantee they’ll run it, but there’s no real reason to consider they won’t.”
“Good enough,” she said. “Thanks.” She ended the call with a warm fuzzy feeling inside. She’d gotten her first promotional event set up. She sent a text to Nick. I hope the website will be live by Tuesday. I’m meeting a reporter to do an article on my services now that I’ve left the amusement park.
It will. Now I have a deadline, Nick replied.
She laughed, closed her laptop and walked out onto the balcony. She was restless, keyed up with energy but no outlet. She wasn’t sure what the hell to do right now. It was only ten o’clock in the morning, and she’d already set so much in motion. She needed to take the money to the bank, and she probably should do a bit of shopping.
With that in mind, she grabbed a notepad, a second cup of coffee, sat out on the small balcony and considered her budget for food for the next couple weeks and wrote down a tentative menu. If she followed the budget and her menu planning, it would help her save money. She listed a few of her favorites, and, by the time she was down to next Wednesday’s meal, her phone rang. She glanced at it and saw it was Kirk. “Good morning,” she said gaily.
Silence ensued.
“What’s the matter? Am I not allowed to be happy?”
“If I knew quitting your job would make you this happy, I would have suggested it a long time ago.”
“But you didn’t know what I was doing a long time ago,” she said, her voice calmer, quieter. “And I wouldn’t have listened to your advice anyway.”
“Now that is very true,” he snapped. “Besides, I did know what you were doing. I was worried about you, so I kept an eye out to make sure you were okay—at least for a little while.”
“Do you have a reason for calling?” Some of her good mood was falling away.
“I do. They brought up the woman’s body. Her name is Bonnie Jenkins. Her daughter contacted me a few days ago about her mother. I’ve talked to the sheriff about the knot. He sent me some pictures.”
“Great.” She shook her head as reality came smashing down. “Are you sending me the photos?”
“I can. Or can you tell me what it looks like?”
“If this is another test, I wouldn’t bother,” she said, “because I’m deliberately not looking. I don’t want this to be the same guy, remember?”
“I don’t think it can be the same guy because I checked, and he’s still in prison.”
Relief swept through her. “Oh, my God. I’m so grateful for that bit of information.”
“Why? It just means you’re right. It’s a copycat.”
“Sure, and true the devil you know is better than the one you don’t. But that was one hell of a nasty-ass devil.”
“It was, but that doesn’t mean his copycat is any nicer. What kind of guy wants to kill in the same method somebody else did?”
“I don’t know. Someone lacking self-confidence? Have you done a search yet to see if any other bodies with that handkerchief trademark pop up?”
“No. I just got off the phone with the sheriff. I’ll start on the databases in the next hour or so.”
“Good,” she said, her voice drifting away as images of all the other murdered women’s cases she’d been involved in came to her mind. “What color was it?”
“Blue.”
“Already one difference.”
“I know. But maybe he couldn’t get red ones.”
“No, I think it’s more about making it his mark. Making it his kill.”
There was a thoughtful silence on the other end. “You’re probably right,” he said finally. “You usually are.”
“Not often enough to count,” she said sadly. “That woman still died.”
“That’s not your fault. I tried to tell you that before, but you just weren’t hearing me.”
“I was connected to them. I was so plugged into that case. I swear she was alive and thought we’d keep her that way. But th
e Handkerchief Killer got ahead of me somehow.”
“We’ve been over this before,” he said gently. “You have to let it go.”
“I thought I had,” she said, feeling her throat clog up with tears. “I thought I had.”
“Your involvement with the police was well publicized in the press at the time.”
“I remember,” she said, anger evident in her voice. “It’s one of the reasons I was so off my game. Every time I turned around, a microphone was shoved in my face. People were touching me all the time, and you know what my rule was about not being touched.”
“And yet you don’t seem to be too bothered by it now,” he said curiously.
“Maybe,” she said quietly. “It depends. I’ve learned to put in a few defense mechanisms. At least when somebody casually touches me on my shoulder now, I don’t freak out and see who he slept with the night before or what he might have done on a weekend ten years ago.”
“Still no more control over the visions? During these last years?”
“Yes, some, but I need more control yet.”
“Sorry? What do you mean?”
To clarify, she said, “I didn’t have any visions for a long time. I deliberately shut down that part of my life. I was house-cleaning and waitressing, doing odd jobs, anything I could, running errands, mowing lawns, to keep Reese and me safe. But, after I lost Reese, I went berserk for a while. In the hospital, when I was under, I was caught up in what seemed like never-ending unsolvable cases. The same women were being killed, the same kids tortured. As if not seeing them enough while working them, I was forced to live them over and over again. When I woke up, I didn’t have any abilities. It seemed like I had burnt out for a while. When I asked the doctor about it afterward, he said it was just the medication.”
“And so that coma burned you out?” he asked.
“Or the grief. I don’t know about burned out but maybe overwhelmed. At the time I didn’t care.” She reached up and rubbed her temple. There were so many sad memories from that time … “When I recovered enough to access my abilities, all I wanted was to contact my son. I wasn’t a medium, but I’d have done anything to communicate with him. It’s bad enough he died while I wasn’t conscious, but to wake up and know his little body had already been cremated and buried without me seeing him …” She stared at the railing in front of her, wordless for a long moment. Skipping part of the story, she added, “Then I realized that, by not using my abilities, I’d been out of practice. And I needed to use them to keep them. So I worked at the amusement park. Unfortunately it seemed like my abilities came back with a vengeance. And some things I saw I’d have preferred not to know.”
