“She really is amazing,” Kelli replied, “and funny, too. She’s scoring off the charts on all the tests we performed today. We’re videotaping everything so you can watch it later.”
“Great,” I said walking her to the door. “I wish I could be there.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she told me. “She’s so genuine in her eagerness to help; I’m going to make sure the two of you stay in contact.”
We said good night, and I watched from the porch while Kelli got into her car and drove away.
Chapter 8
The next morning I was up early. I was still very tired and didn’t want to get out of bed, but something told me I needed to get back to thinking about this case. I sat on my bed in the lotus position and tried to recall the images I’d seen last night. Because I fought not to let my mind reach out, the images were not as clear. The only thing I could bring into focus was the tattoo on the devil-man’s chest. I kept coming back to it, no matter how many times I pushed it away. I wished I could study it on paper. I thought if I got it out of my mind and onto something I could hold in my hand, I might be better able to stop my mind from reaching out the distance—plus, maybe Cavanaugh could show it around and get a bead on who this guy was.
I called my sister, Cassandra. Aside from being a managing phenom, she is also one of the best artists I have ever seen. My parents tried to get her formal training, but she refused, telling them that drawing was her hobby and her way of relaxing. She told them that if she had to do it for a living, it would no longer hold any enjoyment for her. Mom and Dad immediately let the subject of formal training drop, because they didn’t ever want her to stop creating her beautiful pictures.
“Piercing the Veil, how may I help you?” she answered. I laughed. For a Goth chick, my sister was too cheerful.
“Hey, Cassie,” I said. “I need a big favor.”
“I will trade you favor for favor,” she answered. “What do you need?”
I told her what I wanted and asked her what favor I could do for her.
“Mom and Dad have to take Nana back to the doctor this morning, something about her medication not working,” she said.
“She still thinks she’s the Pope?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she laughed. “Personally I think she’s hilarious, particularly the Pig Latin dinner blessings, but I think Dad’s getting a little tired of having holy water thrown in his face every time he enters the room.”
“I thought she only did that once a day?” I said.
“I guess she thinks Dad is a special case,” she told me. “Mom says she lies in wait for Dad to enter a room, and after she’s doused him, she screams, ‘Get behind me, Satan!’”
We both roared with laughter.
“Anyway,” she continued when she caught her breath, “I have to go get my car from the mechanic’s at one this afternoon. I shouldn’t be gone more than an hour, and I don’t want to have to close the store. We’re a little busy this morning for some reason. Can you get away from Johnson’s detective for an hour?”
“No problem,” I said. “I had a little episode last night, and I’m taking the day off.”
“Are you okay?” she asked, concerned. “Forget I said anything. I’ll just close the store while I’m gone.”
“Absolutely not,” I told her. “I’m fine, but I do want you to do the picture for me. Are you too busy in the store for me to come early? I want to get the picture to Cavanaugh before lunch.”
She told me that wouldn’t be a problem. I let her know that as soon as I showered and dressed, I would be there. I jumped in the shower and hurried through my makeup and hair, arriving at the store a little after ten in the morning. As I pushed my way through the door, the pungent odor of herbs, scented candles, and incense filled my nose. Despite the odd inventory, the store had a welcoming feel to it. No matter what was going on in my life, the moment I walked through the door of this shop I always felt relaxed and at peace. It felt like home.
Cassie wasn’t at the counter in front, so I passed the displays of potions, medicine bags, and charms, and made my way to the back of the store. I found her bent over a box of Wiccan calendars that I’d ordered last month.
“Hey,” she said when she spotted me. “Where should I put these?”
I had ordered a metal carousel display that I planned to use for printed materials. I’d left it sitting in the storeroom, awaiting the arrival of the calendars. I helped her set it up and we loaded the new calendars in the metal racks. We stood back to view our handiwork.
“So,” Cassie said, dusting off her hands as she walked to the counter. “What’s this picture you want me to draw?”
I described to her the tattoo I’d seen in my vision. I told her about the brown-clawed hands with sharp, black nails squeezing the heart. The heart’s pure-white wings were crumpled and broken in the beast’s clawed grasp. I also described to her how the blood from the heart tipped the wings, flowing over the claws and dripping off of the bottom of the heart. With a few adjustments to the wings and dripping blood, Cassie recreated the image in my mind exactly as I’d seen it. When she added color, I just stood there in awe of her talent. This was what I saw. This was precisely what covered the devil-man’s chest.
“Cool tat,” Cassie said. “Too bad it belongs to a psycho kidnapper.”
“Yeah,” I said, looking at the vibrant colors. “I’d better call Cavanaugh so he can get this out.”
“He shouldn’t have a hard time finding the artist who did this,” she commented as I dialed Cavanaugh’s cell. “This is original work, and tattoo artists are a fairly close-knit community. They know each other’s work.”
I nodded to her as Cavanaugh answered his phone. He didn’t say the usual greeting one would expect to hear. “Damn it, Rommy,” he snapped at me. “You’re supposed to be resting. Why aren’t you resting?”
His voice came across my cell so loud that I had to yank the phone from my ear before he blew out my eardrum.
“Christ, Cavanaugh, you sound like Johnson,” I said. “Don’t get your shorts in a twist, I am resting. I just thought that you would be interested to know that I have a picture of that tattoo I saw in my dream last night.”
“You found it somewhere?” he asked incredulously.
“No,” I told him, “I had my sister draw it from my memory.”
“All right,” he said, sounding disappointed. “I’ll come by your house in a little bit to pick it up.”
I was surprised by his tone. I bet Johnson never mentioned how talented Cassie is. He probably thought the picture was one step up from a stick figure. Oh well, I thought, he’ll see different when he picks it up.
“I’m not at home,” I told him. “I’m at my parents’ shop. You can pick up the picture here.”
The silence on his end went on for a long time; I thought he had hung up.
“Hello?” I said.
“You are supposed to be at home resting,” he said hotly, “not gallivanting around town!”
“I’m fine,” I said. For some reason, I wanted to soothe his temper, “And I am not gallivanting; I’m here to get my sister to draw the tattoo so you can put it out there and see if we can’t find out who this guy is.”
“You’re not even supposed to be thinking about this case,” he steamed. “Do I have to have you sedated or something?”
I rolled my eyes.
“And don’t roll your eyes at me!” he irritably. “I’m on my way, and when I get there you are going straight back home to rest. And you’re going to stay there, even if I have to tie you to the bed!”
“Oooh, kinky,” my sister said, shamelessly eavesdropping.
Having his rant overheard by my sister seemed to cool his temper. He sighed. “I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he told me and hung up.
Cassie looked at me with her eyebrows raised. “He’s a bossy one,” she said.
The bell above the door tinkled, and we turned to greet the customer. The McCain sisters, dres
sed in their usual flowered prints with matching hats, breezed into the store.
“Good morning, girls,” they chimed.
We returned their greetings and watched as they ambled around the shop. Neither Cassie nor I offered any assistance, because the McCain sisters knew the store’s inventory better than we did. The oldest practitioners in the area, they were two of the highest-ranking priestesses in the Coven of Felina. Their patron goddess was the Egyptian goddess Bast, the sacred cat. You would never know that these two sweet little old ladies practiced witchcraft and were revered leaders of their coven. They looked like anyone’s grandmothers. Neither had ever married nor had borne any children. They claimed that their devotion was to their goddess and the multitude of cats they rescued and cared for. They considered these cats their babies, and would always show us pictures of new additions to the family. The last I heard, they were sitting for a portrait of the two of them and all of their cats, painted by a local artist. I wondered how they managed to get the cats to stay still in one place for the portrait. Not everyone can have the advantage of a narcoleptic cat like Pollini.
I turned back to Cassie. She was looking at the picture of the tattoo.
“So when is this detective coming?” she asked.
“He’s on his way. Why?” I asked her. She had a mischievous glint in her eye. I was afraid that she was planning something in that devious mind of hers.
No matter what age we grew to be, Cassie was still my little sister, and like all little sisters, she loved to put me on the spot or embarrass me. It was in good fun. She was never cruel, and I knew she would never grow out of it.
“No reason,” she said innocently. “It’s just that usually the detectives that Johnson partners you with are too scared to tell you anything for fear of Johnson ripping them a new one. This guy was arguing with you and yelling. I’m impressed. You’d think by the way you two were going at it that you were married.”
The rotten brat, she timed it perfectly!
“You got married,” Agatha McCain shrilled behind me, making me jump.
I spun around to find her beaming at me. She grabbed me into a perfumed hug. “Congratulations, dear, how exciting,” she said.
“No,” I protested. “I’m not married.”
My denial fell on deaf ears, just as I knew it would.
“Mary? Mary!” Agatha McCain yelled to her sister across the shop. “Andromeda’s married! Isn’t it wonderful?”
“No,” I cried. “I’m not married! I didn’t get married!”
I turned and glared at Cassie. She had her hand over her mouth, snickering at the joke she’d played. The McCain sisters were the biggest gossips in town. By lunchtime, every regular customer to the shop would think I was married.
Just great!
Mary McCain bustled over to me and pulled me into a hug. For such a fragile-looking old lady, she just about cracked my ribs.
“Oh that’s wonderful, dear,” she beamed at me. “I wish you had told us sooner; we haven’t prepared a blessing.”
“But I’m not married,” I said, trying again to get them to listen to me.
The bell above the door tinkled, and Cavanaugh walked in.
“Oh look,” Cassie said gleefully, “it’s hubby.”
Both ladies ran up to Cavanaugh and began to exclaim over him.
“Oh, he’s so handsome, Andromeda!” Mary said.
Agatha nodded her head in agreement. “And virile, too!” she chimed in, eyeing his chest and shoulders. “What fun you’ll have making babies with this one.”
Cavanaugh arched a questioning brow at me. He was amused, the jerk!
“I’m not married,” I said for what seemed like the hundredth time.
“Rommy,” Cassie said with an evil grin, “why don’t you introduce them to your new husband?”
I lowered my head to the glass display case that I was leaning on. My forehead connected with the cool, glass surface with an audible thunk. I lifted my head slightly and brought it back down. Thunk.
“I’m. Not. Married,” I said in a muffled voice. I punctuated each word with a thunk from my forehead to the glass. Thinking only a concussion might get me out of this, I continued to hit my head on the display case. I could still hear the McCain sisters chattering about blessing our union. They started verbally making a list of what herbs, candles, oils, and other items they would need. On my next thunk, a large hand slid between me and the glass, stopping my downward motion. Instead of cool glass, my forehead touched Cavanaugh’s warm palm. He pulled me away from the counter by my shoulders, setting my back to his front.
The McCain sisters were ecstatic to see us standing there together. They beamed at us and waited expectantly for me to introduce him.
“Agatha and Mary McCain, this is Detective Nick Cavanaugh, who is not my husband,” I said, trying once more to convince them. Maybe Cavanaugh would have better luck.
“Ladies, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said.
I tried to step away from him, but he held me firm to his front.
“Oh, Andromeda, what a lucky girl you are. Don’t you think so, Mary?” Agatha said.
“Yes, indeed,” Mary nodded, smiling.
“Oh no, ladies,” Cavanaugh chuckled. “I’m the lucky one. I got myself one fine little woman, here.”
I struggled to turn around so I could blast him, but his grip on my shoulders kept me in place, so I reached down and pinched his thigh—hard.
“Ow, you little demon!” he whispered, grabbing both my hands in his and wrapping his arms around me so I couldn’t move at all.
Both women continued to beam at us until Mary glanced at her watch.
“Oh Holy Mother Bast!” she swore. “Aggie, we need to hurry or we’re going to be late for the fertility ceremony we’re performing for the Martins.”
Agatha shook herself and hurried over to the dried herbs.
“Get extra of everything,” Mary called, picking through the oils and incense. “We can combine Andromeda’s marriage blessing with a fertility ceremony.” She gave Cavanaugh a sly look. “Not that they need it,”
Cavanaugh chuckled and kept a hold of me while the McCain sisters paid for their items and left the store. The moment the door closed behind them, Cassie fell onto her stool, laughing like a hyena. I struggled in Cavanaugh’s embrace and stomped on his foot to finally get him to release me.
“You are evil to the core!” I glared at my sister. ‘Do you realize what you have done? This is going to be all over town by lunchtime. Oh God, they’ll tell Mom and Dad!” I moaned.
“Looks like the honeymoon’s over,” Cavanaugh said in mock sadness.
I whirled on him and took a menacing step forward. He raised his hands in defense and backed up, laughing.
“I’m not talking to you!” I seethed, and stomped off to the back of the store.
“Aw, Tink, don’t be mad,” he chuckled, following me.
I walked up to a display of luck amulets. Bypassing the metal charms, I grabbed one of the small, leather luck pouches and slipped the cord over my head. I turned and stomped back to my sister at the counter, digging into my purse as I went. Slapping a five-dollar bill in front of her, I paid for the necklace. Cassie arched a brow at me and rang up the sale.
“What’s with the…luck amulet?” she asked, pulling the little pouch attached to the cord around my neck up for inspection.
“As you can see,” I said, waving my arms around and almost smacking Cavanaugh in the face, “my luck has been nothing but crap lately.” I dragged the pouch out of her hand by the cord and tucked it down the front of my shirt. “I can use all the help I can get.”
Cassie rolled her eyes at me and slipped the picture of the tattoo in front of Cavanaugh and me. He picked it up and examined it closely.
“So this resembles what you saw in your dream?” he asked.
“No,” I said, “this is an exact copy of what I saw.”
He whistled and looked at Cassie. “You drew this
from just her description?” he asked, impressed.
Cassie got a little flustered, as she always did when someone complemented her drawings. She shrugged her shoulders at Cavanaugh and busied herself straightening up the counter.
“You should be a sketch artist for the department,” he told her. “We only have one good one, and he’s in such demand, you have to be put on a waiting list to use him. They only have him do high-profile cases now.”
Cassie scoffed. “Riiight,” she drawled, “and leave my cushy 150-grand-a-year job. No thanks. Besides, I see the crap Rommy has to put up with, with you detectives. You couldn’t pay me enough to work with a bunch of Neanderthals.”
Cavanaugh thumped his chest with his fist and grunted.
“I rest my case,” she laughed. “I like him, Rommy; he has a sense of humor.”
“Yeah,” I told her, “it’s even more warped than yours.” I turned and gave her a beady-eyed glare. “You will be confessing to Mom and Dad about the trouble you started this morning, or I’m bringing Nana down to visit your club. What a perfect combination, holy water and Goth vampires on a Friday night. Now that’s fun.” I gave her a gleeful look.
“You fight dirty,” she said with a glare. “You would do it, too, wouldn’t you?”
“You betcha,” I promised.
“Fine,” she said, admitting defeat.
Cavanaugh’s cell rang, and he checked the caller ID. He moved over to the candle display to take his call. After a brief conversation, he hung up, tucked his phone back into his pocket, and sauntered back to the counter.
“I gotta go,” he said, picking up the picture of the tattoo and sticking it in his jacket pocket. He gave me one of his sexy grins. “I’ll be late for dinner, honey,” he said as he walked past me to the door.
Cassie let out a snort of laughter, but put her hand over her mouth when I looked at her.
“I am going to shoot you with your own gun,” I told him.
We could hear his chuckle as he walked out the door. I glared at Cassie. She pulled her hand from her mouth.
Lightning Strikes Page 10
