Dead Wrong (A Cree Blue Psychic Eye Mystery Book 1)

by Kate Allenton

  DEAD WRONG

  A Cree Blue Psychic Eye Mystery

  Kate Allenton

  Copyright © 2017 Kate Allenton

  All rights reserved.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement (including infringement without monetary gain) is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Please purchase only authorize electronic editions and do not participate in, or encourage, the electronic piracy of Copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or use fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Coastal Escape Publishing

  Discover other titles by Kate Allenton

  At

  http://www.kateallenton.com

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 1

  N o trace of my identity existed in the message, or so I hoped. My white-gloved hands allowed for no fingerprints. The moisture sponge I’d used to seal the flap was devoid of DNA. The letter inside and address on the front was typed. No one would ever prove I wrote this. My conscience was free and clear, or it would be in three days when the letter reached its destination.

  “God speed,” I whispered as I slid the envelope into the mail bin. I’d taken all the necessary precautions. I looked like a proper young lady going to Sunday tea. Only in the south could I get away with the clothes I was wearing, and no one thought twice. I’d chosen this dress on purpose, vintage and untraceable.

  My wide-brimmed hat blocked the hot afternoon sun and did more than act as an accessory. It hid my identity. Head down; check. No hair color visible; check, check. I felt like a mixture between a villain with a secret plan and a superhero trying anonymously to save the world. I like to think I fell somewhere in between. The thought made me giggle despite my churning gut. It happened every time I mailed one of my special life-changing letters.

  I headed back into the parking garage and slipped inside my Jeep before I took a deep, satisfying, calming breath. I’d gotten away with it again. I tossed the hat into the passenger seat. My brunette hair cascaded down my shoulders, and I gave it a little tousle making it as frazzled as my nerves.

  The daze that followed sitting quietly in my car was like a clearing out of the closet in my head, making space for new crazy energy to enter. A mental reboot for the next game changer I’d write.

  I fumbled through my purse, grabbing my phone seconds before it rang. I always thought of it as a creepy benefit of being psychic, but I was beginning to think maybe I had more than one wire crossed. I probably had several. “Hello.”

  “Cree Blue, you had better be two seconds away from walking in this door.”

  I moved the phone several inches away from my ear as Charlotte’s tirade continued. Her high-pitched angry tone was like shoving pencils up my nose into my brain. If I were a betting girl, I’d lay money she was related to the inventor of dog whistles, car alarms, and the one note that no one could ever seem to hit in the national anthem.

  Charlotte was my business partner and best friend, and she often reserved that tone for times when I left her with the new hires in the kitchen or when she was destroying new computer viruses. She was versatile like that.

  I was like the mastermind behind New Creations, recipe inventor extraordinaire. We were legendary in the culinary world, well, at least in our own minds. She worked on entrees, while I stuck with the sweet desserts, but the creations weren't the reason for her tone. I was late. It was the story of my life.

  “Sorry, I had to mail the letter. It couldn’t wait.” I shoved the key into my ignition and started the Jeep, revving the engine to prove I was actually on my way.

  “The letter?”

  “Yep. It’s gone. No way to get it back unless I break a few federal laws and pry the mail drop box back open.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” she teased. “Well, we both know that one was time sensitive, so you’re forgiven for making me deal with these lunatics. I’ll give you ten minutes to get your ass here, or I’m going to have to hire you to connect with their dead carcasses after I beat the crap out of them for arguing about which new video game is better than the others.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Charlotte’s death threat was a new low. She was a techie. She could deal with gamers and computer nerds with her eyes closed.

  “Don’t get a ticket, but hurry.”

  “Flash them your boobs, and they’ll be in shock until I get there.” I pulled out of the parking garage. “Or make yourself a strong drink.”

  “Liquor, lots of liquor should work. I’m timing you.”

  I ended the call and tossed my phone into my purse. Flashes of different things were already entering my mind. That wasn’t the unusual part. Flashes came to me all the time; when I was walking through the grocery store or making dinner and even once mid climax. The explosion of information almost kept me in bed for an hour. I didn’t have the heart to break it to my then boyfriend that it wasn’t anything he’d done. I let him keep his little ego fantasies. I was sweet like that.

  Generally, I could ignore the flashes without even trying, but the letter I’d just mailed had sent a vibrational shock of live electrical currents zipping up and down my spine like an elevator on speed. One day those currents would make me meltdown, but today wasn’t that day. I still had work to do.

  My business cards didn’t read, Psychic Medium. I still hid in the closet to everyone but my immediate friends and family. I didn’t spout that I had clairvoyant gifts. I originally hadn’t wanted them. I never grew up seeing dead people and was never warned when someone might die. I was a normal kid, well, as normal as one can be calling out lottery numbers before the lady on TV. The day my father died changed everything. Ghosts, spirits, premonitions, all now bombarded the inner workings of my mind without any way to turn those images off.

  I turned in beneath the Lady Blue Plantation’s iron gate. Trees lined the drive, providing a canopy-like tunnel down memory lane emerging into the expansiveness of my ancestral home.

  Charlotte stood out like a breath of sunshine on the porch, sipping an umbrella drink with her feet propped up on the southern antebellum railing. A look of relief stretched across her face when she spotted me. It was a shift in the energy, a happily anticipated welcome home. The sins of my tardiness would soon disappear like the liquor in her glass.

  She slowly rose from her perch and had reached my Jeep by the time I stuck it into park and killed the ignition.

  “I thought you’d never get here.”

  “Did you put the boys in timeout and tell them mommy needed a drink?” I asked, slipping out of the car. My gaze traveled
to the ballroom window. Goosebumps covered my arms. The rush of adrenaline from mailing the letter was slowly subsiding. A new emerging apprehensive energy filled the air buzzing around me and through my body, tugging at me to hurry.

  “I’ve been out here hiding.” She grinned.

  “Did they all show?”

  “Not everyone. We still can’t reach Winston.”

  “That’s okay. We’ll proceed without him. Send condolences and flowers from the group. His grandfather died.”

  “How…” Her question died off. “Never mind.

  She knew better than most that I’d get visions, flashes, stuff I didn’t even want to remotely know, and it was all shown to me, everything but the purpose and the plan for the direction of my own life.

  Laughter and talking died down as I entered the ballroom. Each analyst returned to their computers, ready and willing to help in my crazy venture. We were changing lives working together. Each person made me better and more efficient.

  Their fingers clicked away at the keyboard. Mission control was already up and running. The screens around the room illuminated blue, sitting dormant ready for the surprise images to pop up on the screen. Today was the day I’d been mentally preparing for. An active case I wasn’t sure any of us would ever be able to un-see.

  “Nice of you to join us.” Jitters called out from across the room. His nickname suited him well. He was always hyped on coffee; his fingers on the keyboard were always lightning fast. There wasn’t a clue or hint ever missed when he was working Insight.

  Insight was a computer program and equipment designed by my science-loving father who’d made it a personal mission to prove to the world that the Blues weren’t a bunch of lunatics. When I was plugged in, the visions in my head were transferred to the jumbotrons in living color like a connection through space and time, letting everyone in the room experience what I saw while tuned in.

  I tried for an apologetic smile, but I’m sure it came off more as a kiss-my-ass kind of grin as I pulled my white gloves off and tossed them on one of the empty desks.

  Doctor Stone stood in the middle of the room next to the reclining hospital-type bed. The machines that monitored my vitals were already turned on. The only thing he needed to proceed was his guinea pig.

  We’d done this song and dance for the last three years. I had quit needing the instructions my father had left after the first few times. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  “Which file are we working today?” Charlotte asked as she slid behind a computer screen.

  “Sam Render,” I announced and watched as the others exchanged the same look they gave each other every time we played this game.

  “His case is still active and in the news. Why aren’t we working on a cold case?”

  “Gut feeling.” I winked at Jitters and headed to the locker to pull out the newest wrapped brown paper bag inside. “Everyone knows the drill?”

  They all nodded. I kicked off my shoes before climbing up into the hospital bed, never once giving the guys a peek of my Wonder Woman underwear beneath my dress. Doc Stone covered me with a blanket before sliding the rubber cap-like helmet over my head. My windblown hair was about to be matted with jelly-like goop. The things I did for answers.

  I let out a shaky breath as he held the injector that looked like a common caulking gun with the cold sticky substance inside. It reminded me of that gel they put on a pregnant women’s belly before a sonogram to see the little baby inside. This was kind of the same thing. Everyone was about to see the crazy images in my head.

  “You ready?”

  “Always.” I smiled and closed my eyes, bracing myself for the Antarctic chill soon to follow. One by one he filled the holes first with the goop and then with the probes. I looked like Medusa with all of the cables attached to my head. This entire system had been my father’s baby. He’d had the whole thing running from our basement for years before he passed away when the secrets of the Insight program were shared with me.

  “Video is rolling,” Jitters called out, adjusting one of the cameras on me and another on the screens. It was his backup to his backup of the computer recording. He was kind of paranoid like that.

  The doctor stepped back with his finger hovering near the switch. “Just say when.”

  “Light me up like a frat boy at his first keg party.”

  He flicked the switch, and within seconds, the screens in the room flickered to life. Brilliant flashes of colorful light entered my mind before settling into place like a picture being exposed in a dark room. First one, and then two, and then more. Images of everything I was thinking of in my mind filtered across the hanging screens like a homemade movie of my twisted thoughts. I was only looking for one image. The one that calmed my soul like no other; my father’s face. It was always there in the recesses of my mind.

  I tore open the brown package resting on my lap to find a sweatshirt inside. Small. Old. Torn. Blood-stained. Fingerprint residue from the police lab processing it for clues still clung to the surface. Little holes had been cut out, probably to check for DNA.

  “All systems are a go. Session is in order,” Charlotte called out.

  “Case File 54 Sammy Render.” My voice was loud echoing through the room as I leaned back into the pillow, clutching the clothing tight in my hands. I closed my eyes, letting the emotional energy from the sweatshirt meld and soak into my skin, invading my pores.

  Annoyance.

  Odd that it wasn’t the typical fear. I shoved my own thoughts aside and embraced the essence, letting the feeling of annoyance coil down my spine as my heart raced with anticipation. I waited for the connection, wrapping it around me like a wet blanket. “Let’s hunt.”

  Images flooded my mind. I was a silent witness. I always was.

  Sammy Render was a short kid. If I had to guess, he was about the age of ten, blonde hair, cute, and rambunctious. He was in a crowded park, kicking soccer balls with a friend on a dark and cloudy day. The leaves on the trees danced in the wind. Thunder rumbled in the distance. A storm was coming. The energy was like a living, breathing thing. There were a dozen people around. Women sitting on park benches talking while their children played. It was a typical park. Monkey bars, swing sets, slides, and a large grassy knoll that backed up into woods where kids kicked balls around or played games. My energy was tethered to Sammy’s in the grassy area. When I was in Insight and focused, I’d flash exactly to the energy where I needed to be in that moment and able to observe everything surrounding it.

  “Are you ready for this?” a boy taller than Sammy called out. His sweaty black hair was slick to his head while he juggled a soccer ball with his feet. He popped the soccer ball high into the air, and when it started to descend, he jumped. His foot met the ball with a force that sent it flying high and hard over Sammy’s head. It sailed straight into the swell of green trees and walking trails before it disappeared out of sight.

  Annoyance made sense. I would have sent the little punk in after it.

  “Aw, now why did you go and do that, Frankenstein?” Sammy yelled at his friend before jogging toward the woods. Sammy called Frankie, Frankenstein.

  Thunder grew louder, and lightning crackled in the sky. One of the mothers on the bench called Frankie’s name as Sammy cleared the treeline.

  Frankenstein turned to run to his mom, glancing back only once to where Sammy had disappeared into the trees. I shook my head and followed in behind him, unsure I wanted to see what happened next.

  Sammy was twenty feet up an oak tree where the soccer ball was lodged between two branches. He was lying against one of the thick branches, shimmying out to the smaller branches that extended out like fingers on a palm.

  I wanted to catch him. I wanted to scream that he needed to get his butt out of that tree. Hell, if I’d been there, I would have offered to replace the ball with ten more. Heights weren’t my friend. It made me dizzy just watching with my feet firmly on the ground.

 
He swung and missed. The crackling of the branches was loud to my ears.

  “He’s going to fall.” I covered my mouth with my hand as he swung again. He missed. The pops of the branches filled the silence. He and the branches were falling with the grace of an eighty-pound boulder toward the ground.

  I cringed for impact, squeezing the sweatshirt tighter in my grasp.

  Sammy landed with a thud on the broken branches. The tip of one was sticking out of his shoulder, soaking the fabric with blood around the wound. He yanked the branch free. A guttural cry of pain sprang from his lips as uncontrollable sobs filled the air.

  I squatted next to him. The need to comfort him was overwhelming. I tried to rest my hand on his arm, knowing neither of us would feel the connection.

  Sammy struggled out of his sweatshirt, tossing it aside and tore open the shirt beneath to examine the jagged open wound. The blood was flowing faster. Sammy’s face paled, and his head lolled from side to side seconds before his eyes rolled back and lids fluttered shut. His body went limp, and he fell over.

  The news reports mentioned searchers combing the woods when looking for him. The only trace they’d found was his bloody sweatshirt and the broken branches on the ground.

  I’d known going into this that Sammy was still alive. My spirit guides had told me so. The community feared the worst, and in a way, I did too. Whoever had taken Sammy hadn’t come forward yet. While their hope was fading after weeks of searching, I was looking for a living, breathing, scared-to-death little boy, and I wouldn’t stop until I found him.

  My dad’s face flashed in my mind. He smiled triumphantly like he had the day I graduated college.

  Doc Stone’s gentle but firm voice filled my ears. “Stay focused on Sammy, Cree. You aren’t done yet.”

  It was hard not to grasp the image of my father and hold it forever. The ache in my chest clenched tighter until tears slid down my cheek. “Sorry, Dad,” I whispered and returned my gaze to Sammy.