by Teri Barnett
“Maybe. Who knows what lurks in the mind of a psychic? I had a reading with one of them. It was obtuse, to say the least.” He leaned forward again, resting his arms on the table.
“Yeah, that’s my experience, too. What did they tell you?”
“That I won’t be mayor much longer.” He laughed out loud. “Can you imagine? No one wants this job, it’s how I got it in the first place.” He motioned to the waitress and ordered a cheeseburger and fries, along with a Diet Coke. He looked at Morgan and she shook her head. “So, what are you doing about this? We have to keep the town safe. And I don’t need to remind you again...”
“It’s an election year. Yes, I know. We’ve called in the volunteer deputies to do nighttime patrols around town and out at the Preserve.” She pulled the paperwork for the release of records out of her pocket. “And I need you to sign these. We got a hit on a partial fingerprint, but it’s a sealed juvenile record. It requires a court order to release it to us.”
“That’s unusual. Law enforcement usually has rights to open these cases.” Mayor Ed glanced at the papers. “I need to read through these before I can sign them. I’ll bring them over to you when I’m done reviewing the details.”
“Please keep in mind this is an urgent matter. The psychics leave Monday. This could be our only chance to capture the killer.” She leaned back in her chair. “I would think you’d be in a hurry, this being an election year and all.”
“Do not lecture me.” He waved the papers. “Opening a juvenile record which has been sealed like this requires careful consideration. I’ve been an attorney and judge for more years than I’ve been a mayor, so you’re just going to have to deal with it.”
Morgan pushed herself up from the table. “Fine. Call me when you’re ready.” She walked out the door and back to the station.
“How’d it go?” JJ asked when Morgan returned to the station
“He’s going to consider it. Can you believe that?” She picked up Griselda from the counter and buried her face in the cat’s fur. The purr that shook the earth began again.
“Considering what she’s been through, that is one chill cat.”
Morgan turned when the door opened behind her. She recognized the three people entering from the psychic orientation at the Firefly and the fair, though she hadn’t met them yet.
A tall thin man with long blond hair, mid-forties, stood in the middle of the group. “I’m Sven the Seer. We’re on a short break from the fair.”
“And?” Morgan said.
“We—all of us,” he gestured to the others, “have information on the case.”
A short woman wearing a lacy shawl and long velvet dress stepped forward. “Griselda has been calling out to me. She’s very worried about Edna and Rocky.” Her eyes teared as she looked at the cat Morgan was still cradling. “Those two can’t cross over until they know this little soul is cared for.”
“I have a hard time believing Rocky is worried. He didn’t care all that much for Griselda,” Morgan said. “But you should know that.”
Sven stepped between Morgan and the other psychic. “Be that as it may, Edna and Rocky are also both understandably angry. They don’t think you’re doing a very good job of finding their killer,” he added.
Morgan put Griselda back down on the counter. She stepped forward, hands on hips, eyes narrowed. “Do they now?” She eyed the group. “Considering Rocky just died, he should have a little patience. Have either of them told you who did it? All this information you claim to have, do one of you have an ID of the killer?” she demanded.
JJ walked over to Morgan. He placed a hand on her arm. “What the captain means is thank you for the information. We’re doing our best.”
Morgan shook off his hand and dropped her arms to her side. What was she doing, arguing with a bunch of psychics? Holy crap, she really was losing it. “Anything else?” she asked, her tone daring them to speak.
The third person, a man who had been standing behind the other two, stepped forward. He took Morgan’s hands in his. She resisted, but he held tight. “Ian loved you more than anything, Fay, but you need to let go,” was all he said, then released her hands. “It’s not safe. Let it all go.”
Morgan stood there, dumbstruck, as they filed back out the door. “Dammit,” she finally said. “I really hate psychics.”
As the group left, Beau, Doc Pete, and Mr. Dominic, the volunteer deputies, walked in.
“Might as well put a revolving door into the budget for later this year,” Morgan said to JJ.
“Yeah, no kidding.”
Caleb entered behind them and took in the group. “If I’d known there was going to be a party, I would’ve brought a cake.”
Morgan went over to the counter. “These are the volunteer deputies.”
Cal considered them. They considered him back. He shrugged. “And a fine group they are.”
Morgan started to retort, when Mr. Dominic interrupted, “You kissed that girl yet?” he asked Cal, motioning to Morgan with his cane.
Cal choked. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, everybody at the senior center knows you got the hots for this here chickie.”
“You did not just call me chickie.”
Undaunted, Mr. Dominic continued, “We have a pool going.” He rubbed his hands together. “Come to think of it, if you kiss her now, I’ll win.”
“I am a gentleman; I do not kiss and tell, nor do I kiss to fulfill bets.”
“There’s my stuffy professor,” JJ said from his desk. “I wondered when he was going to show up.”
“I am not stuffy. I have morals. And affection is a private thing.”
Morgan snorted. “Really? So you don’t hold hands in public? No PDA for you?” She looked him over. “Are you actually human, or a robot trying to be a real boy?”
Griselda howled from her end of the counter. Cal shot Morgan a squinty look, then turned his focus to the cat. “She’s the only reason I’m here,” he said and dropped a bag of treats on the counter. He pulled a few out. Gris scurried over and inhaled them. “Good kitty,” he muttered as he scratched her ears. “Unlike these humans, who are not so good.”
“For heaven’s sake, get over yourself,” Morgan said. “You’re such a professor.”
“Will there be kissing or not?” Beau asked. “If so, I volunteer.” He eyed Morgan up and down and smiled his toothy smile. “Not like it’d be the first time we locked lips.”
Morgan shivered.
“Wait a minute,” Doc Pete said. “I am also here as a volunteer.” Then he blushed which made his blond hair seem even brighter.
Morgan held up her hands. “Stop it! All of you! You’re only here as volunteer deputies. Not volunteer kissers.” She paused. “Or whatever the word is.”
“Nice try, fellas. But I can’t win unless it’s Caleb,” Mr. Dominic said. He sighed and hung his head. “And he’s too stuffy.”
“Now look here—” Cal began.
“Okay guys.” JJ interrupted. He waved in the trio of deputies. “Come on back to the kitchen. Have a cup of coffee and a cupcake. We’ll discuss what your schedule is going to be for the next couple of days as well as your availability.”
Beau opened his mouth to speak. JJ cut him off. “None of it involves kissing the captain.”
He shrugged. “A guy can hope.”
Morgan shook off the conversation. The kissing stuff was just too weird. Not that she hadn’t randomly felt a tingle when Cal looked at her a certain way, but there was no going down that particular path at least until Ian’s murder was solved. She owed her husband that much. Morgan shifted her focus on the Maine Coon instead and stroked the cat’s back. “What do you know about Tarot cards,” she asked Cal, keeping her eyes on Griselda.
“I know their origins are in the Italian card game, Tarocchi. Late fourteenth, early fifteenth century. They evolved into fortune telling implements in the late eighteenth century.” He offered Gris another treat. “Why ask me when you have a passel of
psychics over at the bookstore you can get info from?” He considered that. “Passel? Huh. What exactly does one call a group of psychics?”
“No clue. That’s your department. And it’s because you have a head full of random knowledge that I’m asking you first. Consider it supplemental research.”
“Any card in particular?”
Morgan retrieved the card found in Rocky’s hand from the evidence box and placed it on the counter between them.
“Ah, The Fool,” Cal said. He carefully picked up the plastic bag and considered the design on the back and front. “Traditional Rider-Waite deck. Surprising, really, if it’s actually his card. Most younger readers use more modern decks at this point in time.” He put it back down. “Interesting choice.”
“Rocky grabbed a deck out of Edna’s van last night. Maybe this is from that deck. He said she’d promised him one of hers,” Morgan said. “What do you think of the meaning?”
Cal raised an eyebrow. “Morgan, I can’t imagine you haven’t already explored all of this.”
“I have but, like I said, supplemental research.” She blew out a breath. “The way you see the world is different than how I see it. As much as I hate to admit it—and you know I do—your view can be helpful once in a while.”
“Better than not at all.” He smiled. “Okay. So, The Fool symbolizes many things. On the surface, one given to folly, a true fool. Go deeper, though, and this card is about completion, taking chances, shrugging off the weight of the world and stepping into your true self.”
“I wonder which one of those messages the killer was trying to send. Rocky did say he was ready to step fully into his role as psychic at the Perch Mouth Thursday night.”
“My opinion? Given that the word fraud was discovered on or around each of the victims, I’d lean more toward the obvious meaning. To fool someone is to deceive them.”
“And a fraud would be a deceiver.” Morgan rolled the thought through her mind.
Cal rubbed his chin. “Maybe the killer thought the psychic was real and he or she changed their mind during the reading. Feeling deceived they killed the psychic and then left a calling card so to speak. It might be worth having this conversation with Jack or Starman, get their take on the card’s meaning.” He checked his watch. “The fair has another couple of hours to go. They’re probably still there.”
“Jack gives me a headache. I’ll start with Starman.”
Chapter Sixteen
Morgan left the station and sat in her truck for a few moments. Organizing her thoughts and questions for Jack and Starman, she watched life in Bijoux go on around her. The end of season tourists wandered the streets with their bags of souvenirs. Several teenagers in wetsuits carried paddle boards, heading toward the beach at the end of Main Street straight ahead. Tut waved from across the way as he rolled out a vintage enduro style Yammie he was restoring. Life in Bijoux went on, in spite of the two recent murders. Humans were either amazingly resilient or blissfully unaware. Perhaps most people lived life somewhere in the middle. With a sigh, she started the truck and pulled away from the curb.
“Dude, you’re such a hack. Go find your own clients,” Morgan heard Starman say as she entered the Raven’s Nest courtyard. He was, of course, talking to Jack. She glanced around. None of the readers were paying attention to them, though a few locals and tourists looked a bit uncomfortable.
“You, sir, are no better than those charlatans who tell old lonely people they’ll find love and be young and beautiful again.” Jack crossed his arms across his wide chest. “And I happen to know you’ve done exactly that.”
Starman waved a hand. “You’re insane, man. Always have been.”
“Well, that’s the pot calling the kettle.”
“Do you two go on like this all the time?” Morgan asked as she approached the pair.
“Only when we’re together,” Starman said.
“You might want to rethink that answer. I’ve seen both of your social media posts.”
Jack and Starman turned in unison toward Morgan. “What are you doing tracking us on social media?” Jack asked.
“So not cool,” Starman added.
“Investigating two murders, remember?”
“We’re not suspects.”
“Everyone is a suspect until cleared,” Cal added from behind Morgan. “That’s our good captain’s credo.”
Morgan frowned. “It’s not ‘my credo,’ it’s good investigative policy.”
He flung an arm around her shoulder. “And you take it to the nth degree.”
She shot him a look.
He dropped his arm and held up his hands. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that. How can we help you?”
“Starman, a word in private, please?”
Starman narrowed his eyes. “How private? Last time you had a private conversation with someone they ended up dead. I’m not looking to shed my earthly form anytime soon, you get me?” He looked her up and down. “Especially considering you might be the killer. That news reporter makes a good case for it, you know. So does my son.”
Morgan made a mental note to have another conversation with Connie. Not that it would probably do any good, but the woman needed to stop broadcasting crazy assumptions. It was unprofessional not to mention slanderous. She’d follow up with Rob later, too. She huffed. “I can assure you I’m not a killer.”
“Though she is especially irritable and angry right now,” Cal interjected. “Given the murders and the fact that she’s pondering dating again.”
“What are you, the peanut gallery? And I’m not planning on dating anyone anytime in the foreseeable future,” Morgan said, exasperated.
“I can give you a prediction about that,” Starman said. He straightened and continued, “I can help you understand your personal anger dynamics so much better through the use of Psychic Astrology.”
“Oh, please,” Jack said. “There’s no such thing as Psychic Astrology. You made that up.” He looked at Morgan. “If you want a true and accurate reading, I am at your service.”
“No. No readings. Ever. Geez,” Morgan said. Her phone pinged. The message was from JJ. I have the release from Mayor Ed and a match on the print. He included a screenshot of the juvenile record. Morgan sighed. “Raincheck on that talk, Starman. Jack, I’ll need you to come down to the station with me. I have some questions for you, and it’ll be more comfortable to talk there.”
“Not to mention the deputy is probably there. She won’t be able to kill you with a witness around,” Starman added.
Jack stared hard at Morgan. “You think I did it. You think I killed Edna and Rocky. Maybe even those others.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Starman shouted. “I’ve known this guy for most of my adult life. He is not capable of murder.”
“What, now you’re best friends?” Morgan asked. “Come on, Jack. Let’s go.”
“What’s this really all about?” Cal asked.
Before Morgan could reply, Jack said, “Like I said, Morgan thinks I killed all those poor psychics.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. You forget my line of work.”
“Well, that seems ludicrous,” Cal said. He looked at Jack. “I’ve never gotten a psycho-killer vibe from this guy.”
“Oh, and you’ve been around a lot of murderers, have you?” The words were out of Morgan’s mouth before she really thought about them. She watched the color drain from Cal’s face. Dammit. It had only been a few months since he’d been held at gunpoint on the beach, his life threatened. Or, more specifically, the life of his gothic romance writing persona of Josie Steele. “Look, Cal—” Morgan began.
He held up his hand. “Save it.” He turned and walked away.
Back at the police station, Morgan motioned to the guest chair across from her desk. “Have a seat.” Jack Steve obliged, shifting until he was comfortable. JJ perched on the corner of Morgan’s desk, his arms crossed tight against his chest.
&nbs
p; “Why do it?” JJ asked. “What do you have against your own kind?”
Jack sighed, but only stared straight ahead, not answering.
“Maybe they had information on him he didn’t want out and this was his revenge,” Morgan offered.
Jack shifted in the chair, but still didn’t speak.
“Nah,” JJ said. “I think he was taking out the competition.”
“Oh for god’s sake,” Jack boomed. “You two sound like a couple of annoying magpies.”
Morgan raised an eyebrow wondering, once again, if the man had a volume control. “Magpies who hold your fate in their hands, so you might want to play nice and cooperate.”
Jack leaned back in the chair, rubbed his eyes, and ran his hands through his thick silver hair. “You have it all wrong. All wrong.”
“Enlighten us,” JJ said. He grabbed his desk chair and wheeled it over, sat down and faced Jack, one knee almost touching the older man’s.
“If that’s meant to intimidate, it won’t work,” Jack said, though he did angle himself slightly away from JJ.
“Jack, we have your print on the card found in Rocky’s hand,” Morgan said.
“How would you get my fingerprints without my permission?”
“Juvenile record.”
“Impossible. That record was sealed. My father’s lawyer specifically set it up to prevent casual access.” Jack considered the information for a moment. “It should have been expunged by now, anyway. That was almost fifty years ago.”
“You have to request a record be removed,” Morgan explained. “And, apparently, neither your father nor his lawyer ever followed up. So, tell us your story, Jack Steve,” Morgan said. “I know what’s in the file, but I want to hear it from you.”
Jack shook his head and took a deep breath. “I’ve lived a lot of years on this beautiful planet, and only got in trouble that one time. I was fifteen and looking to rebel against my family. Got in with a bad crowd. I was their lookout for a liquor store robbery. Up in Saint Ignace. They wanted to buy drugs. The robbery went south and they shot the night clerk. Before I knew it, the police arrived, and we were all arrested.” He sighed. “My family had money earned from the timber industry up north. Dad was able to make the charges against me go away since I wasn’t in the store when the murder happened. He said no one would ever know as long as I kept my nose clean. He held the record over my head, to make sure I held to the straight and narrow.”
