Victoria's Destiny

by L. J. Garland

  He shook his head. No wonder she’d been requested at parties and invited to country homes. She was very convincing.

  “I see danger. It surrounds you, follows you.” Her voice was calm, almost monotone.

  “I’m a cop.” He chuckled but didn’t get a rise out of the woman.

  “It hunts you, Detective. Even now it searches.” Her eyes slid shut, and her brow creased. “It knows you. Desires your destruction.”

  The hairs on River’s neck prickled. He realized she wasn’t referring to danger in general but a particular person. Probably the copycat Valentine Killer.

  “And a woman in teal. At your side. You…fight against her warnings.” She tilted her head. “She is…she…. Oh, goodness.”

  “What?” He leaned forward, wanting to know more, and a thought struck him. Why did he give credence to the words of a well-rehearsed palm reader and not to a woman who professed to have life-altering visions about people she didn’t even know?

  Her eyes opened, fear shining like a beacon. “The sign. I’ve never—”

  “At last, I got the lock installed on the patio entrance.” Dauscher strode into the room. “How are we doing in here?”

  Shocked into reality, River leaped to his feet. “Finished. The lock’s finished.”

  Dauscher looked from River to his grandmother. “Mam-maw, have you been teasing my new partner with your palm-reading tricks?”

  Her lips pursed, and she bowed her head. “Maybe. He was having some problems and—”

  “Nonsense.” River waved her comment away. “I asked her to do it.”

  “Really?” Doubt covered his partner’s face.

  He nodded. “Yeah. Just for fun. Right?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Dauscher’s grandmother lifted her chin. “It was all in fun, Theodore.”

  “Well, I’ve got to grab the tool box, load it in the car.” He headed toward the back of the house. “I’ll be ready to go in a minute.”

  The moment they were alone, the older woman grasped River’s arm. “Thank you. Theodore doesn’t like it when I read others. All just hocus pocus to him. But we know different. Don’t we?”

  “Sure.” River patted her hand, but something she’d mentioned niggled him. “What did you mean by ‘the sign’?”

  “I can’t say.” She glanced around the room as though someone might be listening. “But you know. Don’t you?”

  A sliver of ice formed in his stomach. There was no way she knew about the Valentine Killer’s sign—the same sign the copycat had left behind. She either overheard something Dauscher mentioned or is one hell of a guesser.

  Without warning, her grip tightened on his arm, her nails digging into his jacket. She captured his gaze with intense brown eyes. “Promise you’ll listen to the girl who’s got you in knots. Lives depend on it. Promise me.”

  What else could he say? “I promise.”

  The big guy returned, toolbox in hand. “Ready?”

  “Yeah.” He smiled at the old woman who still clung to his arm. “I hope you sleep better.”

  They walked out onto the porch. Dauscher hugged his grandmother, a sight that warmed River’s heart. When his partner stepped aside, she held her arms out to him, and River moved into her warm embrace.

  “Remember your promise,” she whispered with fierceness into his ear.

  He realized she meant every word she’d said. Could she really read palms, or was she an old woman with an elaborate romantic streak?

  When she released him, her face shone. “Next visit, there’ll be an extra bowl of peach cobbler for you.”

  “Mam-maw makes the best cobbler known to man.” Dauscher chuckled and ambled down the steps.

  “Of course it is.” She waved to them from the porch. “It’s an old secret family recipe. I got it from the Vanderbilt’s cook when I was invited to a party at their summer home, the Biltmore House.”

  * * *

  Vicki leaned against the railing of the rooftop deck, watching the sun dip down into the ocean. She sipped her wine and sighed. Here was a ritual she could enjoy for years to come.

  “So, you haven’t said a word.” Wineglass in hand, Becca propped her elbow on the railing, myriad gold and silver bangles jingling on her arm. “How was your dinner with the handsome detective?”

  “You’re going to make me talk about it?” Vicki’s shoulders sagged. She’d spent the entire day alternating between wishing the phone would ring and trying to forget anything ever happened.

  “That bad?” Dismay rang in her friend’s words. “And here I thought I’d set you up for a night of romance.”

  “Dinner was good.” She flopped onto the overstuffed patio chair. “Afterward, things went downhill.”

  Becca slid onto the chair next to hers. She kicked off her sandals, tucked her legs beneath her, and turned her full attention on their conversation. Her eyes reflected a mix of pain and sympathy. “So what happened?”

  “Well, it started with him walking out of the restaurant.” The memory of his long strides toward the exit while she’d sat staring after him heated her cheeks.

  “He just left you sitting there?” Her brown eyes flew wide, and her tone rang with outrage.

  Vicki’s heart swelled. Who said white knights had to be men? She and Becca had come to one another’s defense for as long as they’d known each other. And here her dearest friend was, lance in hand, at full gallop, ready to skewer any potential threats.

  “Yes.” She held up her hand. “But I think I might have misunderstood what was going on. When I caught up with him outside, he…kissed me.”

  “He kissed you?” Her anger morphed into delight. She leaned over the edge of the chair, her gold hoop earrings flashing in the dwindling daylight. “Sounds pretty great to me.”

  “It was wonderful.” She remembered the heat of his mouth, the soft teasing brush of his lips followed by a deeper, all-consuming kiss. A mass of butterflies fluttered in her belly. Why wouldn’t he just call? Her shoulders rose and fell with a sigh, and she shook her head. “But from there, it all sucked. Right in the middle of an amazing kiss, I had a vision.”

  “No.”

  “And to top it all off? It was about him.”

  “Oh my God. How horrible.” She reached over and squeezed Vicki’s arm.

  “Yeah. His destiny is tied to the guy who killed the carriage driver behind the movie theater.” Guilt poured over her, heavy and thick. Becca’s fate was tied to the killer as well. Her breath hitched at the knowledge she kept from her friend. Desperation kept the truth forever on the fringes of her tongue. She wanted to warn her, needed to keep her safe. But how could she tell her best friend her destiny was death?

  Vicki gulped down her wine. Snatching the chilled bottle from the coffee table, she poured another glass.

  “Well, that just stinks.” Becca stared out at the ocean. A breeze toyed with the soft curls framing her troubled face.

  “Yeah, well. He’s the cop investigating the murder, so it’s no big surprise.” She meant her words to be light, but they came out flippant. Lifting her wine, she drank, emptying the glass by half.

  “Do you think he’ll call?”

  God, I wish he would. “Who knows? He didn’t say a word on the ride home. Barely even said good night.”

  “But you didn’t see how he was looking at you at the art show.” Becca pointed a finger at her. “His eyes were glued. Hell, half the guys there were ogling you.”

  “And the other half?”

  “The other half was ogling your detective.” She laughed. “The point is he’s into you. He’ll call.”

  “We’ll see.” She drank more wine, musing the possibility. The kiss they’d shared had promised more. Then the vision, and everything fell apart. And I just told him about my curse. God, I probably scared him away. The damn curse had touched every aspect of her life—especially the ones she held dear like her parents and Becca. It’d ruined the few relationships she’d taken a chance on. Why not this one a
s well?

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I just need some time.”

  “Well, I need to get some painting done tonight.” She slid her hand up and down Vicki’s arm in a gesture of love and reassurance. “Gotta be up before dawn to open the shop down on the Riverwalk. The girl who handles the morning stuff called in sick.”

  “You want some company?”

  “I’d love it. But I need to do inventory before I have to open.” Becca rose and stretched. “When you wake up, head on over.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Vicki downed the rest of her wine in one swallow and willed the liquid sleep aid to turn off her brain.

  “I’ll be up late. So if you need to talk, I’m here for you.” Becca slipped on her sandals then leaned over and kissed the top of Vicki’s head. She sauntered to her studio door and paused. “Oh, yeah. Coffee. Bring lots of coffee.”

  Vicki laughed, the sound cutting the cool evening air. “Will do.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Balancing two cups in a cardboard carrier on her hip, Vicki knocked on the door to Becca’s shop. The lights inside illuminated the small upscale gallery, but all was quiet. She checked her watch. An hour before opening time.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed two men jogging along the river. One of them pointed toward the shops farther down the Riverwalk. A tingle jolted through her body. Oh, no. Another body. They found another body.

  She rushed down the sidewalk in the direction the jogger had pointed. The muffled scuffs of her tennis shoes on the concrete marked time with her racing heart. Her throat tightened at the thought of whom she might find. Becca, River, or the woman at the pub? She choked back a sob, realizing the odds favored someone she knew.

  All too soon she stumbled to a stop, the coffee in the cups she carried splashing and slapping against the plastic lids. Distinctive yellow police tape snapped in the cool morning breeze flowing from the Savannah River. Nearby, a police officer kept watch over a handful of people who gawked at the macabre scene. But Vicki’s gaze traveled beyond them all, riveting on the crisp, white sheet covering the body.

  Oh God. This is it. On stiff legs, she shuffled to the line. With each step, her chest tightened, choking the air from her throat. Who is it?

  The body lay nestled in the curve of the stone-paved street that exited the Riverwalk up to Bay Street. A sharp gust slashed across the ground, ruffling the edge of the sheet. Mauve fingernails on a pallid, lifeless hand peeked from beneath the starched whiteness. A middle-aged cop standing nearby took notice and hurried over. His eyes wide, his mouth set in a thin line, he bent down and plucked the edge of the sheet, tucking it back in place.

  Vicki expelled a short burst of breath, and relief surged through her, leaving her light-headed. Not Becca or River. There’s a chance I can still save them both.

  One of the joggers she’d followed to the scene stood on his toes, as though trying to get a better view. “What do you think happened to her?”

  “It’s unconfirmed,” a heavyset guy on her left answered. “But I think the killer used a knife.” The distinctive sound of a 35mm camera shutter snapped three times. “She was found by a couple of drunk college students.”

  “How utterly gruesome,” the jogger murmured and clutched his partner’s arm. “Robbie and I will be locking our doors tight tonight, that’s for sure.”

  “Wouldn’t hurt. Lotta weirdos out there.” Two more snaps came from the camera. “You wouldn’t believe the crazy stuff I’ve seen while tracking down a story.”

  Vicki turned toward the guy with the camera. He swiped the back of his hand across his pudgy button nose and gave her a quick once-over through round, wire-rimmed glasses. When his gaze met hers, his eyes widened, filling the circular lenses.

  “You.” The single word shotgunned from his mouth. He held up his free hand as though she might strike him and stepped back.

  Astonished, Vicki clutched the cardboard carrier, almost dislodging the cups. The guy who’d written the article about her in the paranormal rag, the slimy bastard who’d spouted all those horrible lies about her stood right in front of her. He’d found her, tracked her like a damned bloodhound.

  She pointed at him, icy anger coiling in her stomach. “How—?”

  “Ms. Victoria Spiere?” a deep, commanding voice interrupted.

  She glared at Lenny Johnston then rounded back toward the crime scene and jerked in surprise. Oh my God. It’s him. “Matthew?”

  “Ms. Spiere, would you step over here please?” He lifted the police tape, and she scooted beneath.

  After straightening, she stared at him. It’d been close to ten years since he’d last made an appearance. He must be almost fifty. And other than an extra line or two at the corners of his eyes, he looked the same as when he’d come to her house and saved her from Scarecrow. He even wore the same type of well-pressed dark suit and tie.

  After swift inspection of the crowd, he nodded to the attending police officer, who touched the rim of his police hat in confirmation. Appearing satisfied, Matthew peered down at her. “Ms. Spiere, please come with me.”

  He led her to the other side of the street near the end of the stone wall. When he stopped and turned to her, she realized they stood far enough away from both the onlookers and police so their conversation couldn’t be overheard. With his back to the wall, he gave her a quick head-to-toe assessment then scanned their surroundings, his gaze sweeping the area with a soldier’s vigilance.

  “There are some things you need to know,” he said, his tone low and serious.

  “Yeah.” In an attempt to get him to focus on her, she stood on her toes. “Like what the hell are you doing here?”

  That won a second glance. And a raised brow.

  “Right to the point, is it? Good.” He nodded, shifted his attention over her shoulder. “I’m here to tell you to watch your step.”

  “Well, if you’re referring to the jerk who outed my curse in a national UFO magazine, you’re a little late.” She jerked her thumb, indicating the line of spectators. “He’s probably taking pictures of me for his next big exposé right this second.”

  “I’m not referring to Lenny Johnston.”

  His response sent an unexpected jolt through her, the cardboard tray almost slipping from her grasp. He knows that scum sucker?

  “If not the UFOP hack, then who?” A car door slammed, and she peered over her shoulder. The nose of a smoke-gray Chevy Malibu peeked around the bend in the street. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. “Do you mean Detective Chastain?”

  “He’s part of it.” Matthew placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention. “His presence in Savannah isn’t serendipitous. Nor is yours. You’re both part of it.”

  “Part of what?” Vicki shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Use your gift, Victoria. So far you’ve stood by, an observer.” He inclined his head toward her. “You need to reach beyond.”

  “Reach beyond what?”

  “Work with him.”

  “Don’t you think I’ve tried?” She shook her head, feelings of helplessness and irritation colliding. “He won’t listen to me. He thinks I’m the murderer.”

  “Make him listen.” He squeezed her shoulder. “I’m still watching over you, but there’s only so much I can do.”

  Matthew had always appeared at critical junctures in her life. When she was eight, he saved her from Scarecrow. When she was eighteen, her parents died, and he stopped her from committing suicide. I just turned twenty-eight, and here he is again. Is this another crossroads where Death is shadowing me?

  She twisted toward the murder scene. River strode over the convoluted cobblestones, pausing at the police tape blocking the upper part of the street from pedestrians. Detective Dauscher joined him, said something to which River replied. When he looked up, his focus snapped to her, locking with pinpoint accuracy. Somehow, he’d known she was there.

  “Vicki,” he called. Ducking beneath th
e tape, he hurried in her direction.

  She pivoted to Matthew, needing to ask how she might convince River she wasn’t a murderer, and found nothing but the stone wall.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “What are you doing over here?” Goose bumps swathed River’s arms—before getting out of the car, he’d sensed Vicki nearby. He’d searched the line of bystanders for her face, but she hadn’t been there. Then his focus had been drawn across the cobblestones, and there she stood. Coincidence? Had to be. No other answer fit into his concrete world of facts and evidence. “How did you get past the police officer?”

  Her eyes shifted, but not to the cop near the crowd. She scanned the Riverwalk. Who was she searching for?

  “I was supposed to meet Becca at her shop, but she didn’t answer. I saw a crowd and came over. I saw the body and thought…I thought….” She turned toward where the victim lay.

  “Me?” He shook his head. She really believes her predictions will come true. “I’m fine.”

  “I see.” Her brows drew together, anxiety dominant in her eyes.

  “Still doesn’t explain how you got past the officer.”

  “Does it matter?” Her slender shoulder rose and fell. “You won’t believe me.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “There’s this guy I know.” She looked down the empty street behind her. “He’s…um, helped me out a couple times.”

  “Where’d he go?” River ran a hand through his hair. Was she telling the truth?

  “I guess he left.” She faced him, her eyes dark with worry.

  River weighed her answer. Was the guy real? A breeze from the river scuttled over the ground and wafted the blonde tendrils framing her face. The sight brought a round of primal hunger low in his stomach. He swallowed, focused. “What’s his name?”

  “Matthew.”

  “Matthew what?”

  “Just Matthew.” She hugged herself but held his gaze steadfast. “And he knew you. Said your job here in Savannah wasn’t an accident.”