Psychic Undercover [With The Undead]

by Amie Gibbons

  He’d only fallen asleep once outside when daylight savings time caught him off guard but cleaning him that night was so not fun.

  He’s about as cool as a cat when it comes to water, and after I bathed him, he didn’t come out from under the couch for a day.

  ###

  I made good time to downtown and parked behind the van in an alley we’d had sectioned off with construction signs.

  “Thanks for joining us,” Grant said as I climbed in the back of the van.

  I grinned, wide and painful. Mama says I get the whole grinnin’ when nervous thing from Daddy.

  “Camera.” Grant held up a gold necklace with a red gem and I moved my curls out of the way.

  He stepped behind me and clasped the necklace on, fingers grazing my neck.

  Heat rushed through my face and my skin rose like the general just called it to attention.

  He walked back around and tapped the fake gem resting in the hollow of my throat.

  “Testing.” He glanced over and my eyes followed his to the monitor.

  The picture of Grant was a wall of blue button-up, but perfectly clear, and I could hear both the real Grant and the electronic echo a fourth of a second later.

  He handed me an earbud and I fiddled it into my right ear.

  Grant told me all the general rules I’d heard a million times before, whenever one of the others went undercover, but I listened raptly cuz this time it was me.

  “You ready?” Grant asked when he was finished.

  I took a deep breath and my stomach wriggled.

  What were the odds I wouldn’t screw this up?

  “Of course, sir. Hey, what do you think of my outfit? I think it’d work better with a cowgirl hat, and I can’t believe I don’t have one. I mean, I’ve lived in Nashville for how many years now? But I was-”

  “It’s fine,” Grant said, holding up a hand.

  I grinned. “Should I try not to babble like that in there?”

  “No, you can babble. It’s part of your cover.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, ditzy college girl.”

  “Hey!”

  Grant actually smiled. It was just a flash, but it stayed in his eyes.

  “Where are Jet and Dan, sir?”

  “Bridges is up front. Kowalski is already in the club. He’s your first back up.” Grant tapped his ear. “Kowalski!”

  “Yes, sir?” came crystal clear a second later and I jumped.

  “Club noise interfering at all?”

  “Some, sir, but I can hear you fine.”

  Grant nodded at me.

  “What?” I asked. “Oh! Test it, right. Jet, can you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear, baby girl. I got your back.”

  “Okay,” Grant said, opening the door.

  I walked through Printer’s Alley, smilin’ at the few people around me. If the noise in the distance was any indication, Broadway was a lot more hopping.

  Awesome thing about Nashville? It’s always Friday night somewhere.

  I walked into Lonnie’s with no problems, no one at the door to card people on a weekday night, and it was pretty sparse, but that was a good thing. Less crowds in case anything happened and the guys had to get to me.

  And even better, less wait to sing.

  I inched by a group of older ladies smoking near the door and coughed as the cloud of stale cigarette air stung my lungs.

  Oh yeah, this was why I hadn’t been to Lonnie’s in a while. Kind of hard to sing well when your lungs are gettin’ coated with smoke.

  I signed up to sing, grabbed a glass of wine and asked the bartender if she knew of anyone hiring singers. She said she’d let anyone who came in know I was lookin’.

  I perched on a stool at the narrow bench running along the raised back of the bar, giving me a good view of the dance floor and stage.

  I finished my drink, watching the performances, alcohol tangoin’ with my stomach when my name flashed up on the board.

  I walked up to the stage, hands shaking so bad I was sure everyone could see them.

  I grinned as I climbed the stairs to the stage. Somehow the small amount of people made it worse, like maybe if it was crowded, they’d pay less attention to me.

  The music started and the tension flowed out of my shoulders and my smile relaxed.

  Oh yeah, I wanted them to pay attention.

  And I was good at this.

  I sang my heart out with the bouncy country song and took a deep bow at the end, grinnin’ for real at the applause.

  I climbed off the stage and into the still clapping crowd, blushing at the shouted compliments as I walked back to the bar.

  I signed up again, putting on a sadder country song so I could get my wail on.

  What if I sing all night and the guy doesn’t even show?

  Then I’ll sing all night. Oh damn.

  When I got to the bar, there was a guy servin’ now.

  “Hey,” I said when he got to me, putting on my brightest smile and laying my accent on thick. “I’m actually here hopin’ to get a singin’ position a few nights a week. I know people hire from here. You know anybody lookin’?”

  “Actually, yeah. One sec.” He smiled and walked to the other end of the bar. He said something to a guy there and pointed at me.

  The guy turned.

  He was cute in a cowboy kind of way. Shaggy brown hair, rugged face with just a bit of scruff, light blue eyes, broad shoulders, a little short for a guy.

  He wore jeans and a big belt so shiny you knew he’d never been closer to horses than a pony ride at a kid’s birthday party.

  “Hello, darling,” he drawled in a Texan accent I was sure was fake (so the darling sounded like dahhlinn).

  If you took that away, I was pretty sure it was the same voice I’d heard in my vision talking to Mr. Kurt.

  “Hi!” I said. “Are you the guy hirin’?”

  I looked at the bartender and he nodded then wandered off.

  “I am. Len Lovell.” He smiled with perfect teeth, but didn’t offer his hand.

  So I stuck out mine. “Ariana Finn.”

  He didn’t move and I waved the hand in front of him.

  “Are you germ-a-phobic or something?”

  “Yeah. Sorry, darling. I’m sure you’re not carrying nothing, but better safe than sorry,” he said, sweet as chocolate puddin’. “I hope you’re not offended.”

  “If you’re offering me a job, I’m not offended.” I put down my hand.

  “Slow down, darling.” He laughed. “I run a very private club. We’re real particular about who works for us. You have to swear not to tell anyone anything about the club. Not the people in there or anything you see.”

  “You’re not some kind of Manson family, or a sex club, or anything, are you?” I asked with wide eyes.

  He laughed. “No. We have a lot of important people in our club, it’s more a secret society than anything else. If you do get the job, you’ll have to sign a confidentiality agreement. But the pay’s good, and my clients are wonderful tippers.”

  “Okay. And you swear you’re completely legit, like you just want a singer? No special favors on the side? Cuz I don’t do that.”

  He laughed again. “And I don’t do women, not that you aren’t pretty.”

  My jaw dropped. I’d never met a gay guy before. I mean, I probably had, but not one I knew was gay.

  “Close your fly trap, darling, it’s not that uncommon.”

  I laughed and it was completely genuine. “My mama says close the fly trap too. Well, that’ll be a nice change of pace.”

  His forehead drew together.

  “I had a few problems with my last boss,” I said.

  Yeah, I wished I had that problem with my boss.

  “So do I audition or somethin’?” I asked.

  “How about you do a few more numbers here, just to make sure you’re not a one hit wonder woman? And then, after I do a background check to make sure you’re not a psycho,
I’ll tell you where you can come for a live audition.”

  “You can do a background check at night?” I asked, as though I didn’t already know that was a duh.

  “Yep, by the time you get one or two more songs done, darling, I’ll know everything there is to know about ya.”

  “That’s really scary when you think about it.”

  But I smiled back. Dan took care of all my background stuff. He basically took everything on record about me, bumped it all up a year and changed the last name.

  I did three more songs, getting a good mix of pop and country.

  Len was on his phone the next time I saw him and I waved as I headed for the bathroom.

  “Having fun, Ryder?” Grant whispered in my ear soon as I was in the bathroom.

  “Gah!” I jumped and someone laughed.

  Probably Dan.

  “Sorry, sir, kinda forgot you were there. What, the singing? Aren’t I supposed to be doing that?”

  Oops, that was a little sassier coming out than’s safe when talkin’ to a moody Grant.

  “I wasn’t reprimanding you,” he said. “I was actually asking.”

  “Oh, well it’s kinda hard to tell sometimes. Yes, I love to sing. We’re going to have to come back here. Is Len checking me out?”

  “Not him, he’s having someone from a different location doing the actual check,” Dan said. “We’re tracing it now.”

  “General?”

  “Get back out there but keep your distance. Let him come to you,” Grant said.

  “Got it, but one sec.”

  I turned them off so I could go to the bathroom, then went back out.

  Len flagged me down from the bar. “Hey, pretty lady.”

  “Did I pass?” I asked.

  “You are not a psycho.”

  “I actually knew that. I meant, do I get the live audition?”

  I bounced on the balls of my feet. It wasn’t part of the act, I actually do bounce when I’m excited. It bugs the crap outta Grant.

  “Yes. You have a lovely voice.” He gave me a card with an address and a weird, old looking symbol on it.

  “Be there tomorrow night at six, just come in the employee entrance. Does that work for you?”

  “Yeah, perfect. But... um... how late does the job go? I have class in the, well not early morning, but morning.”

  “Just until ten on week nights. Weekends start at eight and go till at least midnight. Most performers stay as long as the tipping holds out.”

  “Okay. Um, Mr. Lovell, what should I wear?”

  “Anything you’re comfortable in, just tasteful. I run a classy place.”

  “So no jeans?”

  “No, nice jeans are fine, just nothing... sluty.”

  “Oh,” I giggled. “I wasn’t planning on going racy, Mr. Lovell. I mean, this is a job.”

  “Fantastic, I will see you tomorrow, and please call me Len.”

  I nodded with a big grin and he waved before leaving.

  “Stay for a bit just in case anyone’s watching,” Grant said.

  I looked around the club and still didn’t see Jet. “Where’s Jet, sir?”

  “We switched out. He’s following Lovell.”

  “So you’re here?” I turned and Grant cleared his throat.

  “Stop that, Ryder. You look like you’re having a fit.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “It’s okay, just go sit down.”

  I did as he said, sipping on my drink.

  “Good job tonight, Ryder.”

  My heart swelled and I smiled.

  Grant was proud of me. Me?

  “Thank you, sir.”

  ###

  “I need a latte,” I said to Jet and Kat as we headed to the office after breakfast the next morning. We’d talked over the case and drifted onto how Grant was not taking it with his usual cool-headed logic.

  Kat checked her phone. “I think we have enough time to stop at Alfonzo’s.”

  “And not be late?” Jet asked.

  “Eh, so we’re a few minutes late. It’s not like-”

  Jet’s phone ringing cut her off and he lifted it to show us Grant’s name flashing across the screen.

  “We said his name one too many times,” I said. “We summoned him.”

  “I’ve seen and read this in so many fantasy things,” Kat said.

  Jet shushed us and answered. “Yes, sir?”

  He paled and stopped walking.

  “Uh-oh,” I said as his face twitched and his eyes darted back and forth.

  “Five minutes, sir,” Jet said, snappin’ the phone shut.

  “What?” I asked.

  “We’ve got to get our stuff and meet Grant at Percy Priest. We have another dead girl.”

  ###

  Dan texted us the address and Kat let me and Jet tag along in her van.

  The crime scene was on the west side of the lake, down south in some no man’s land between Antioch and the lake where small bunches of suburbia kissed the woods.

  In one of the hidden patches of civilization was a tiny shopping center with motels, a grocery store and a Chinese restaurant.

  The girl was found in the industrial dumpster behind the restaurant when a worker took out the trash during opening for the morning.

  The cops had already pulled her out, layin’ her straight in the parking lot, and Kat made a face as we walked up. Grant and Dan had already gotten rid of the local cops somehow, but I could tell getting something off her after all those hands on her would be difficult.

  She was an average height brunette with brown eyes, dressed in a knee length black party dress, again with no shoes, and I’d bet my badge, no panties too.

  Kat did her thing even though from her face I could tell she wasn’t going to get much of an initial impression either. Too many cops stompin’ around, too much moving of the body.

  “She was drained. TOD’s one to three this morning,” Kat said. “That assumes the temperature inside the can would be a bit warmer than the air outside. Other than that.”

  She waved me over, muttering under her breath about ham-fisted, clueless cops ruining her crime scene.

  I kneeled next to the girl on my blanket, lit my incense, and hoped the scene wasn’t too far gone.

  I grabbed her face.

  Nothing.

  I shook my hands out and tried again. Nope. She was cold all the way through.

  “Sorry, General.” I shook my head.

  “Nothing?”

  Man, I hated that tone in his voice. Disappointment. The anger’s scarier, but the disappointment hurts more.

  “You’re with Kat. You are going to help with the autopsy, and you are going to soak yourself in that sandalwood, do a vision dance, I don’t give a damn. Just get a vision.”

  Wow! He was worse than normal crabby Grant.

  I guess serial killers have that effect on him.

  The boys finished the scene while I left with Kat.

  “Where does he leave their purses or wallets?” I asked once we were on the road. “Jo didn’t have one, but maybe that’s cuz she was going back inside the club. Her stuff could’ve been there and someone just moved it later. But this girl wasn’t dressed for the woods or gettin’ fast food; she was out on the town. Why dump her there? And what’s the thing with the shoes?”

  Kat shrugged. “Could have lived near there in one of the suburbs, could have gotten off a little boat anywhere along the shoreline. And the Four Corners Marina is just down the road.”

  “Oh yeah. Yacht party?”

  “Possibly.”

  We got to the office and unloaded Unla Doe. Yes, Unla. Hey, you try coming up with names that start with U.

  I helped clean the body while we shot out theories. Each crazier than the last. We switched to analyzing what we already knew when we went off on a tangent and started talkin’ killer clowns.

  After cleaning, she gloved up and I braced myself.

  Kat cut the chest and inserted the device that l
ooks like big hedge clippers to crack it open.

  I hate that sound. There’s nothing more disturbing than seeing, or hearin’, someone break a rib cage open. But you get used to it, supposedly.

  Crack. “What else,” Crack, “do we know?” she asked, voice even, like she wasn’t prying someone’s chest open so she could dive in. Crack.

  “I’m not sure.” Crack. “The rapes and taking trophies suggest serial killer, but he drained the bodies.” Crack.

  “He could be draining the bodies as part of his ritual.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think so. It seemed almost… like I could feel he didn’t care about that part.”

  Kat put the chest clippers away and I froze.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Maybe he was hired!”

  She flinched and I covered my mouth.

  “Sorry.”

  “About what, Ryder?” Grant swooshed in through the sliding doors.

  “I kinda yelled. Sir, what if the killer was hired?”

  “What if, Ryder?”

  “Well, I mean, that’d… um.”

  “We don’t know more than we did before. If he was hired, fine, who hired him? Why?”

  “It’s about that club, sir.”

  “Well yeah, Ryder. What else ya got?” He turned to Kat. “Fingerprints and blood?”

  “Over here.” I led him to the plastic tray we put the evidence on.

  He signed for it (like I said, chain of evidence is sacrosanct) and grabbed it to take it to the lab upstairs. “Vision?”

  “No.” I took my place by Kat again.

  “Try harder.” And he was gone.

  “Rerr,” I hissed. After the doors closed, of course. “Have you ever worked a case like this with him? Cuz he seems to be takin’ it pretty personal.”

  “We had one serial killer about three months after I started. After the third body was found, I almost quit, Grant got so bad. The guy killed and mutilated teenage girls and Grant did not take it well.”

  Mutilated?

  I wrapped my arms around my stomach. “Enough said, thanks.”

  I lit incense and ran my hands up and down the body, but nothing. She was completely dead, not even a ghost of a psychic vibration.

  ###

  “Hey.” I met Jet at his desk. “Know who she is yet?”

  “Miranda Parks.” He looked up from his computer. “She was twenty-one, a junior at Belmont, and pre-law. Her prints were in the system from a background check she did for an internship at the legislature last summer. Dan and Grant left to talk to the father.”