3 The Ex Who Conned a Psychic

by Sally Berneathy

  Amanda laughed.

  Charley snorted. “Oh, please. I think I’m gonna be sick. I wonder what ghost vomit looks like?”

  “Both my mothers are fine,” she said.

  Jake slid the pen through his fingers, tapping first the top and then the bottom on the table. “You’re going to be around to testify at the trial, right?”

  “Of course.” They’d already discussed that. She was eager to testify, to send the evil trio to prison. What was he working up to?

  “You’re not concerned about those crazy people retaliating?”

  She laughed again. That was it? He was worried about her being afraid to testify? “I sleep with a .38 in my nightstand. Besides, if I testify against them, they’ll be in prison for the rest of their lives. That will make it pretty hard for them to retaliate.”

  “Or they may be dead. Their crimes make them eligible for the death penalty. Does that bother you?”

  “Seriously? After what those people did, you think I wouldn’t want them eliminated from this world? Is that what this is all about? You’re worried I won’t show up for the trial because I couldn’t stand it if those awful people get the death penalty and my testimony is part of the reason?”

  He dropped the pen to the table top and leaned forward intently. “No. That’s not what this is about. Even if you decided not to testify, we’ve got plenty on them with Dawson and Grant. This is—” He swallowed and leaned back then cleared his throat and tried again. “This is about me asking you to go out with me, and for some reason, I’m having a really hard time doing that.”

  Amanda blinked. “Oh!”

  Charley rolled his eyes. “Oh, good grief.”

  Jake grimaced and stood, focusing his attention on the folder. “I’m sorry. Forget it. I’m being inappropriate.”

  “Yes! I mean, no, you’re not. Yes, I’d love to go out with you.”

  Charley groaned.

  Jake sat back down and smiled. “How about Saturday night? We could go to dinner and catch a movie. Is that what people still do on dates?”

  “Works for me. I haven’t done this in a while, and it sounds like maybe you haven’t either.”

  He shrugged and rifled the papers in the file with his thumb. “Yeah, you’re not the only one with a crazy ex.”

  Charley frowned. “What does that mean? What’s he trying to say?”

  Amanda thought Jake had been pretty clear.

  She wasn’t sure how she was going to manage a date with the two of them in attendance, but she wasn’t going to refuse. One way or the other, death or divorce, she was not married to Charley. Maybe her new friend Teresa would be able to move him to a higher plane soon. That brought back her thoughts of Teresa’s crime.

  “Oh, hey, on my way in here I ran into somebody I went to high school with, somebody you just talked to. Teresa Landow.”

  Jake shook his head. “Teresa Landow? Oh, you mean Teresa Hocker?”

  “Hocker? Yeah, she said she was married. Well, that she was a widow. That you think she killed her husband.”

  Jake arched a dark eyebrow and said nothing.

  “Come on! I’m going to see this all on the ten o’clock news. Not to mention I’m having dinner with the woman tonight. I’d kind of like to know if I’m going to be breaking bread with a murderer.” Not that it made any real difference. Even if Teresa was a murderer, some husbands deserved to be murdered, and she needed Teresa’s help getting rid of Charley.

  “At this point, she’s a person of interest. We found the body yesterday so we haven’t had time to go through all the evidence.”

  “So it’s the old the estranged wife is the first suspect.”

  Jake grinned, one side of his lips quirking slightly higher than the other, giving him a mischievous rather than dangerous appearance. “It does happen that way sometimes. Estranged wives can be really angry. They’ve been known to make threats.”

  “You mean things like stripping the husband in question naked, tying his hands and feet, pouring honey on him and leaving him on a fire ant hill in west Texas in the middle of August? Drilling a hole through his forehead, inserting a peg and hanging a potted plant from it? Those are just pleasant fantasies that help a woman get through an ugly divorce.” She folded her hands on the table. “So, was Teresa’s divorce ugly?”

  Jake laughed. “You don’t want to know whether she’s a murderer. You just want to hear the gossip about her.”

  Amanda shrugged. “Gossip, murder, whatever. I need to be prepared. How did the husband die? Should I worry about her bringing a gun to the restaurant or using the steak knife to slit my throat? In that case, I suppose we should just order cheese enchiladas.”

  “You have a real talent for melodrama.”

  “Thank you. Now, how did she off the evil ex? Anthony, I think she called him.”

  “Anthony Hocker, owner of Anthony Hocker and Sons Investments.”

  “Sons? They have kids?” Teresa didn’t seem the motherly type.

  “No kids. Some people do that with company names because they think it makes them sound more trustworthy. Anyway, if you’d actually been watching the ten o’clock news, you’d already know about the murder. It was the top story on all the channels. Somebody shot him three times in the face in his own garage, poured gasoline all over him and set him on fire. Between the gun shot damage and the burns, his body was so badly damaged we were only able to identify him from his wallet, his watch and ring, and the fact that he was the only person in his home.”

  Amanda drew in a deep breath and sat back in her chair. “Wow. That does sound like the murder was personal.”

  Charley shuddered. “Maybe it’s not such a good thing that woman can see me.”

  All of a sudden Teresa had become that woman?

  “And, yes, their divorce was ugly and high profile,” Jake said. “He had a lot of money and a young girlfriend. He had enough money to pay for a shark attorney to try to keep his wife from getting anything. Their divorce has made the news a couple of times. Woman’s got quite a temper. She threatened him on the ten o’clock news. That’s pretty damaging.”

  Amanda flinched. At least her threats to Charley never made the news, but plenty of neighbors had heard, giving rise to suspicions about her when Charley was murdered. “That doesn’t make her all bad just because she was married to some jerk who knew how to push her buttons.” But it might be a good idea to get Teresa’s help in sending Charley on his way as soon as possible before Amanda had to visit her in prison. It could be difficult to process a spirit in the middle of the prison visitation room.

  Jake folded his hands. “As I said, at this point, she’s a person of interest. So are several other people.”

  “Is she the most interesting of those several people?”

  “We’ll know more when Ross finishes his work on the trace evidence.”

  “Ross Minatelli? The forensics guy who worked on Dawson’s case?”

  “Yeah, there’s only one Ross Minatelli.”

  “Oh, good. I liked him. Is he around? Could I maybe talk to him?”

  “Yes, he’s around, and, no, you can’t talk to him. Go meet your friend for dinner and have a good time. Just be sure to take your .38.”

  Amanda sucked in a quick breath at his implied warning. Did Jake have evidence he wasn’t telling her about? “Really?”

  “I’m kidding. Relax. Even if she killed her husband, she has no reason to kill you.”

  “That’s true. I hated her in high school, but she didn’t even know I existed then. I was surprised she remembered me.” Amanda rose and gathered up her things from the table. “Okay, so I’ll…” She swallowed, suddenly feeling like the awkward nerd she’d been back in high school when Teresa was the cheerleader and she was the invisible girl.

  I’ll see you on Saturday. The words stuck in her throat.

  “Saturday night,” he said. “Pick you up about six? Is that too early?”

  “Six is good.”

  Jake esco
rted her to the front door. “I’ll check movie times and call you.”

  Amanda stepped out into the warm September sunshine. She felt herself smiling as she walked down the steps toward the parking lot.

  “You are not seriously going on a date with that man. You’re a married woman!”

  That wiped the smile from her face. She whirled on Charley. “Death parted us, damn it! When we were married, you were never around. You were always off somewhere with some woman or working some scam. If you’re going to insist we’re still married, then you need to go away all the time like you did before.”

  “I’m not going anywhere! If you try to go on a date with that man, I’ll be right there, reminding you that you’re not free to do that.”

  Amanda brushed past him and continued toward her motorcycle. Teresa had no idea what she was getting into, wanting to establish contact with her deceased estranged husband. She was worried she might go to prison if he didn’t tell her who murdered him. Going to prison or being haunted by her ex…it was a toss-up.

  Chapter Three

  Amanda pulled into the parking lot of Amanda’s Motorcycles and More. Located in the northwest section of Dallas off Harry Hines Boulevard, it wasn’t the best area of town but it wasn’t the worst either. A few older homes mingled with small businesses like hers, and she was able to have her shop on the first floor with her apartment above it. Convenient.

  She entered the shop to find her assistant, Dawson, sitting on the floor beside a new, shiny black Indian Chief Vintage bike. “Guy just brought it in this morning,” he said without looking up from the design he was creating. His attention was completely focused on what he was doing. Motorcycle art and computers were his passions. Amanda wasn’t sure which he was most passionate about.

  “Nice,” she said. “Both the bike and your art work. When you get a chance, I have some things I need you to look up on the Internet for me.”

  “Okay.”

  Charley laughed. “Hope you’re not in a hurry. He’s not going to look up from that bike for a while. It is pretty. I’m glad they’re making Indian bikes again. I used to have an old Indian. Wish I still had that bike. Wish I could still ride motorcycles.”

  “You ride on the back of mine everywhere I go,” she muttered.

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  Amanda ignored his wistful tone and started toward the room designated an office because it housed the computer and landline telephone and had a door that would close.

  “Some guy’s waiting for you,” Dawson said. “I put him in the corner room since there’s nothing in there but some greasy parts. I gave him a folding chair.”

  Amanda stopped and looked down at her assistant, at the back of his head because he was still totally focused on his work. “What guy?”

  “I don’t know. Somebody who knew Charley. I told him I could have you call him, but he wanted to wait. He’s been there about an hour.”

  Amanda peered at the opening of the enclosure in question but couldn’t see anything except various used parts lying on the floor.

  Charley disappeared into the room then came out again, noticeably paler. “Don’t go in there!”

  What horror could make a ghost go pale? Amanda’s heart constricted and she suddenly wished her .38 was closer than the nightstand upstairs. She scanned the motorcycle parts and tools scattered around the area. Maybe she should take a large wrench to meet this guy.

  “Let’s go get an early lunch.” Charley tried to take her arm. The attempt sent a shiver through her.

  She stepped away from him, suddenly more suspicious of him than frightened of whoever sat waiting. “Why?”

  Dawson looked up from his work and pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “I don’t know why. He just said he wanted to wait so I let him. Is there a problem? Do you want me to go with you to talk to him?”

  “No!” Charley protested. “Don’t drag Dawson into this. Let’s go for a bike ride. I really miss riding a motorcycle.” His flustered attempts to keep her from meeting with the mysterious man in her office actually calmed Amanda. If Charley was worried about her safety, he’d tell her outright. His nervousness told her he was probably worried about what the mysterious man was going to tell her. It wasn’t the first time that had happened both in life and after death. It usually involved either a woman he’d cheated with or somebody he’d scammed.

  “I’ll be fine,” she told Dawson. “But keep an eye on the doorway in case I need you.”

  He nodded, already immersed in his work again. She headed toward the small room.

  “Amanda, you don’t want to do this. No good can come of talking to Ronald Collins. He’s a complete jerk. Gambler. Drug dealer. Crazy man. Sorry excuse for a human being.”

  “Friend of yours?” she asked.

  “No!”

  Amanda entered the room. Sitting on a metal folding chair among the dirty, greasy motorcycle parts was a dirty, greasy man. Actually he wasn’t really dirty or greasy, but he somehow gave off that aura, especially his eyes which were bottomless pits of grease and dirt.

  Even though he didn’t bother to get up when she entered the room—an inexcusable error of etiquette in Texas—Amanda could tell he was tall. Arms with stringy muscles protruded from his wife-beater T-shirt, and his gut strained against the thin fabric. His scraggly brown beard seemed an attempt to make up for the total lack of hair on his shiny head.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, remaining in the open doorway in case she needed to back out fast.

  The facial hair moved as if it was alive…or had small creatures running around in its depths. The man was, Amanda realized, smiling, though his cold eyes weren’t. “You’re Amanda. Charley showed me pictures of you. I’m Ronald Collins. Me and your husband used to be friends.”

  “I doubt it.”

  The facial hair did another dance, moving in a downward pattern. Frowning? Scowling? Glaring? Threatening? His eyes remained flat, dead and greasy. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She crossed her arms and tried to match the coldness in his gaze. “Charley didn’t have friends. He had enemies and criminal associates and scam targets. Which one were you?”

  Ronald Collins nodded. “Yeah, that’s Charley. Well.” He rose, and Amanda felt a brief flash of hope that he was leaving, giving up on whatever mission had led him to her place. Instead he pulled a piece of paper from the back pocket of his stained khakis. Slowly he unfolded it and offered it to her.

  Accustomed to working on motorcycles, Amanda had no problem with getting her hands dirty, but she flinched from touching that sheet of paper that had been in the man’s back pocket, was probably warm with the heat from his body.

  “What is it?” she asked, tucking her hands safely behind her. “If that’s some kind of an IOU, you need to file a claim against Charley’s estate. He’s dead, and he was in debt when he died so I wouldn’t count on recovering very much.”

  “And he was married to you when he died. Last I heard, Texas is still a community property state. I had to pay off enough bills for my ex-old-ladies to know that.”

  If only Charley had signed those divorce papers before he died! Amanda was pretty sure there was no such thing as a posthumous divorce, but she could ask Dawson to look on the Internet just in case.

  Collins thrust the paper toward her and Amanda stepped backward.

  “Think you’re too good to touch something I been handling? Think my hands are too dirty?”

  Amanda flinched as the man correctly expressed her feelings, though those feelings had more to do with the ugly expression in his eyes than the dirt under his fingernails.

  Collins chuckled, turned and laid the paper on the seat of the chair where he’d been sitting. “Take a look at it when I’m gone. Take it to your daddy, the highfalutin judge Charley had in his pocket, and let him look it over. I talked to a lawyer. It’s all legal.” The facial hairs moved up and around. This time a smile settled in his eyes, but it was the kind of smile the e
xecutioner gave just before he dropped the guillotine. “This is just a copy. I still have the original Charley signed selling this place to me.”

  Anger swelled inside Amanda, clenching her jaw and knotting her stomach. She did not doubt for one minute that Charley had signed over her shop to this obnoxious man.

  Collins swaggered toward the doorway, toward Amanda. He disgusted her. He frightened her. But she stood her ground, meeting him glare for glare, refusing to let him leave with the idea that he’d beaten her. “Get off my property.” She moved aside to let him pass.

  Again he gave her the executioner’s smile. “Whose property?”

  Fury seething through every inch of her body, she turned to watch the man walk out of the shop. He paused a couple of times along the way to run his fingers possessively over bikes waiting to be repaired. Amanda gritted her teeth and said nothing until the front door closed behind him.

  She snatched the paper off the chair and looked at it. A handwritten—Charley’s handwriting—transfer of the building and all contents…signed by Charley and two witnesses. “CHARLEY!”

  Dawson shot up, paint brush in one hand, eyes wide. “What? What’s happened?”

  He’d been completely engrossed in his work, totally unaware of the drama playing out nearby. Typical Dawson.

  “That man who just left, the one waiting for me. He’s got some kind of document saying Charley signed over this shop to him.”

  Dawson frowned. “I don’t understand. This is your place. Charley never worked here.”

  “I know. But unfortunately, I was married to the jerk when I bought this place and I was still married to him when he signed it over to that creep. I doubt if he can enforce the terms of that document, but I think he’s going to try to cause me some problems.”

  “Charley’s been dead for almost four months. When did he sign it?”

  “Over a year ago, and that brings up a good question. Why did that man suddenly decide to do this? As soon as you get a chance, could you get on the Internet and see what you can find out about him?”