by Linda Turner
Agatha Elliot’s son had hired a guard to watch over his mother while she was in the hospital, and no visitors were allowed in the old lady’s private room without his say-so. Taking a chance, Jennifer told him she was working with Detective Kelly on the case, and the name-dropping did the trick.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Jennifer stepped into the open doorway and felt her heart constrict at the sight of the old lady. Her attacker had not only choked her, he had punched her a couple of times, blackening her eye and splitting her lip. In spite of that, she was still a beautiful woman, with wavy white hair and flawless skin that Jennifer could only pray she would be blessed with at eighty-three.
It was her spirit, rather than her body, however, that was really battered. From halfway across the room, Jennifer could sense the older woman’s despondency and actually feel her heartache. She was hurting, and not just from the abuse she’d taken. And just that quickly Jennifer knew why she’d needed to see her.
Knocking softly on the doorjamb, she said, “Mrs. Elliot? My name is Jennifer Hart. I wonder if I might speak with you for a moment?”
Caught off guard, Agatha Elliot looked up, then glanced away and made a hasty swipe at the tears that dampened her cheeks. In the second it took her to turn and face her visitor, she’d gathered her dignity around her like a cloak and was once again the proud matriarch of one of the oldest, wealthiest families in the state. “If you’re another reporter, I’m afraid you’re too late to get an exclusive. I’ve already spoken to a man from the Daily News.”
Smiling, Jennifer stepped farther into the room. “No, I’m not a reporter. I...” She hesitated, reluctant to admit she was a psychic after dealing with Sam Kelly’s skepticism. But her gut told her Agatha Elliot was much more trusting than Kelly. Which was probably why she was in her present position, she thought ruefully. “Actually I’m a psychic,” she admitted as she approached the bed. “I’ve been working on your case with the police.”
“Oh, really?” Intrigued, Agatha Elliot sat up straighter in bed, her eyes lighting with interest. “I’ve never met a psychic before. How does that work, dear? Can you really predict the future? What can you tell me about this terrible mess I seem to have gotten myself into without even trying?”
Grinning, Jennifer couldn’t help but like her style. “I can’t tell you how it works—I don’t know. I just seem to know things that other people don’t. Like your jewelry. You’re very worried about the older pieces—”
“You know where my jewelry is?” the woman cut in, relieved. “Thank God!” She motioned to the chair next to the bed. “Please—sit down. You have no idea how worried I’ve been!” Suddenly realizing what she’d said, she chuckled. “Well, maybe you do. It’s just that the heirloom pieces mean so much to me.” Sobering, she admitted, “I know I should have kept them locked up in the safe, but I liked to have them around me. They’re all I have left of my parents, and I always feel closer to them when I wear them.”
Jennifer empathized completely. Her memories of her parents were sketchy—her father was killed by a drunk driver when she was four, and cancer took her mother three years later—but she had their things and her grandparents’ scattered around her apartment so she could touch them when she needed to and remind herself she hadn’t always been so alone in the world.
“I can’t promise that everything will be recovered,” she told her. “But the pieces you care the most about are at a pawnshop on the south side. Sometime within the next twenty-four hours, you’ll get news that they’ve been recovered. The rest, I’m sorry to say, may be lost forever.”
Unconcerned, Agatha shrugged that off. “The insurance will cover the loss—it’s the others that can’t be replaced. So the heart locket my father gave my mother when I was born will be found? And the brooch that’s been handed down to the women in my family for over a hundred years? That will also be recovered?”
“If those are the pieces that hold the most sentimental value for you, then, yes, they should be returned to you. I wish I could be more specific, but I can only tell you what I see.”
Thrilled, Agatha couldn’t have been more excited if Jennifer had told her the police already had not only the jewelry in hand, but the man who’d attacked her. Tears glistening in her eyes, she gave Jennifer a watery smile. “Please don’t apologize. You have no idea what this news has done for me. I’ve just been lying here feeling sorry for myself and thinking nobody in the world cared what happened to me. If my husband, James, were here, God rest his soul, he’d say I was acting like a spoiled little girl who’d lost her toys. He always did tease me unmercifully, but he was usually right. But there I go, rambling like an old woman.”
Agatha grimaced at the thought, drawing a chuckle from Jennifer. “I’m glad I could help,” Jennifer said. “After everything you’ve been through, I just wanted to let you know you’re worrying needlessly. Now all you have to do is get better so you can get out of here.”
“You must come and see me when I do,” the old woman said promptly. “You’ve just brightened my whole day.”
When the phone on his desk rang, Sam barely had time to identify himself before Agatha Elliot gushed, “Detective Kelly? This is Agatha Elliot. I’ve had the most wonderful news! I know where my jewelry is! Can you believe it? Just when I thought I’d lost it forever, it turns up in a pawnshop on the south side. You have to send a squad car over there immediately of course. Before someone comes in and buys it.”
In a bear of a mood after spending the morning in court testifying against a bully who’d beat up and robbed a tourist from Canada three months ago, Sam frowned, shifting gears. “Whoa, whoa, Mrs. Elliot. What do you mean your jewelry’s in a pawnshop? How do you know?”
“It’s the most incredible thing!” she laughed. “I was so depressed I couldn’t do anything but cry about it, then this angel walked into my hospital room just a few minutes ago and told me right where it was.”
“An angel,” he repeated dryly. He should have figured. He had a fender bender on the way to work, he’d been late to court, and the defense attorney had tried to make him look like an incompetent fool on the stand. Now angels. At least that was better than little green men from Mars. The old lady’s brain must have been deprived of more oxygen than he’d thought.
Jotting down a note to call her doctor, he tried to humor her. “Well, hey, that’s great, Mrs. Elliot. Personally I’ve never seen one myself, but if somebody upstairs wants to help us with this case, you won’t hear me complaining. So what’s this angel look like? Did she have wings and a halo and the whole nine yards?”
“Of course not!” Laughing gaily, Agatha said, “She wasn’t a real angel, silly! At least I don’t think she was—though come to think of it, she was dressed all in white. But she was so sweet and helpful and she knew I was worried. That’s why she told me to check out the pawnshops on the south side. That’s where we’ll find the family pieces I’d just hate to lose.”
“I see.” His jaw clenched on an oath, Sam saw, all right, and he didn’t like what he saw. Agatha Elliot was an old lady, hurt and vulnerable and rich. And just that morning she’d been front-page news. That made her ripe pickings for any con artist out there just looking for someone to scam. Like any other city, San Antonio was full of them, and it sickened him. What the hell was the world coming to?
“And what did this angel charge you for this information, Mrs. Elliot?” he asked tersely. “You should have let me talk to her. Did she give you her name? It was probably an alias, but we still might be able to track her down. What did she look like?”
“Young, pretty, with green eyes and this beautiful wavy golden hair that fell to her shoulders,” she supplied promptly. “She said she was a psychic, but she didn’t charge me anything. She just wanted me to quit worrying so I could get well and get out of the hospital.”
Just that quickly the pieces fell together. Swearing under his breath, Sam tossed down the pen he’d used to scribble notes. “This psychic’s name
wouldn’t happen to be Jennifer Hart, would it, Mrs. Elliot?”
“Why, yes, it is,” she replied, pleased. “She was the sweetest girl. And so helpful! Just talking to her made me feel better.”
“I’m glad to hear it, but I wouldn’t put too much stock in what she says if I were you,” he warned. “I’d bet money the lady’s not any more psychic than I am.”
Stunned, the old lady sputtered, “B-but she knew things about me, how worried I’ve been, how much the family pieces mean to me.”
Anyone with a smidgen of perception would have known the same thing, but that was something Agatha Elliot wasn’t prepared to hear. And after all she’d been through, Sam wasn’t prepared to push the point. “You may be right. Mrs. E. For your sake, I hope you are. But if Jennifer Hart is psychic, she hasn’t given us a whole heck of a lot to work with. Do you know how many pawnshops there are on the south side?”
“I haven’t got a clue, but I know you’ll find the right one,” she said confidently. “Jennifer promised me you would.”
Faced with that logic, there was nothing he could say but, “My partner and I’ll get on it this afternoon.”
When he hung up, he looked up to find Tanner balefully watching him from his own desk, which was directly across from his. “Tell me I didn’t hear you right. You didn’t just promise that old lady we’d check out every two-bit pawnshop on the south side.”
“Stop your crying,” he growled. “You’re the one who’s always telling me a lead is a lead is a lead. And like it or not, Jennifer Hart is the only lead we’ve got right now.”
It was nothing less than the truth and they both knew it. Groaning in defeat, Tanner pushed to his feet. “God, I hate it when you’re right.”
“Hell, Bennigan, I thought you got used to that years ago.”
Far from being offended, his friend only snorted and led the way to the door. “Stuff it, Kelly. You’re getting delusional on me again. I’m telling you, you should really get some help for that. The last time you were right about anything, Reagan was in office. I can even tell you what day it was....”
An hour later, they were still jawing good-naturedly at each other when they walked into a pawnshop that was hardly bigger than a closet on Southwest Military Highway. The owner, a tall skinny ex-con by the name of Benny, had a bad habit of stuttering whenever he was nervous. The second they stepped through the front door, his tongue started tripping all over itself.
“Hey, S-Sam! T-Tanner! What’s g-going down?”
“We were hoping you could tell us that, Benny,” Tanner drawled with a lazy grin. “How’s business?”
“Er...not s-so bad. C-could be better.” Tearing his gaze from Tanner, he blanched at the sight of Sam heading for the jewelry display case. “Hey, Sam, you still s-seeing that pretty b-blonde? I’ve got something i-in the other d-day she m-might like. C’mon in the b-back and I’ll sh-show you.”
His eyes hard, his smile easy, Sam said, “You talking about Tina? We split up months ago, right after that hotshot lawyer of hers got her child support doubled. But that’s okay. I’ve been seeing this redhead now, and she likes diamonds. Whatcha got over here?”
“N-nothing y-you’d be interested i-in,” he said hurriedly, only to groan as Sam headed stubbornly for the display case. “Aw, c’mon, g-guys. G-give me a b-break!”
“You seem awful jumpy about this case, Benny,” Tanner said as he followed Sam across the room. His smile abruptly fading, he gave him a look guaranteed to make a guilty man squirm. “You wouldn’t be trying to pull a fast one on us again like you did last month, when you tried to hide that hot watch in plain sight, would you?”
“No! H-honest!”
It was a poor choice of words—Benny had a reputation on the streets for avoiding the truth like the plague—and he only had to see Tanner arch a brow at him to blush crimson. “I mean I—I wouldn’t d-deliberately do s-something like that. Last t-time was just a f-fluke.”
“Of course it was,” Sam said agreeably, easily sliding into the game of good cop/bad cop. “Quit giving the man a hard time, Bennigan. It could happen to anyone. A piece of sleaze comes in to hock a ten-thousand-dollar watch, tells you his dead granny left it to him, and you buy it. Only a fool would turn something like that down, and Benny’s no fool. Right, Benny?”
Benny hesitated, obviously not quite sure what he was admitting to. “Welf...yeah. I mean...no!”
Struggling to hold back a smile, Sam nodded solemnly. “I knew it was something like that. Old Benny’s a good guy just trying to make a living. You can’t condemn him for one lousy mistake.”
Benny fairly glowed at the praise, just as Sam knew he would. He might be as crooked as the San Antonio River, but secretly he longed to be buddies with the cops. All he needed was a few verbal pats on the back, and he’d tell you anything you wanted to know.
“I was just telling Tanner on the way over here that we could really count on you to help us with this case we’re working on,” he continued, idly scanning the display case. “Somebody knocked this rich old lady about and—”
He broke off abruptly, drawing a quick look from Tanner. “What is it? Did you find something?”
His jaw rigid, Sam nodded. “See for yourself.”
He stepped back, giving Tanner a clear view of the contents of the glass case. And there, lying on a bed of dirty cream-colored satin like a lady in a whorehouse, was an antique heart-shaped locket that exactly matched the description of the one that just yesterday had been stolen from Agatha Elliot.
Chapter 3
This couldn’t be happening.
Stomach jumping, knees trembling, Jennifer preceded Sam Kelly and his partner into the interrogation room, only to stop dead in her tracks at the sight of her own image, pale and wide-eyed, in the mirror covering the far wall. Oh, God, she thought shakily. A two-way mirror. It had to be. Someone was sitting on the other side. She could feel their eyes on her, watching her, studying her, waiting for her to crack and to admit God knows what. Merciful heavens, what was she doing here?
Instinctively she turned to flee, but there was no way out. The two detectives had followed her into the tiny box of a room and blocked the only way out. It was then that the panic she’d been trying to keep a firm grip on ever since they’d showed up on her doorstep to take her in for questioning slipped its leash. Hating herself for the weakness, she begged them to listen, to understand, to believe her.
“Please...this is all just some horrible misunderstanding. I don’t know anything about the break-in at Mrs. Elliot’s. You have to believe me! I’ve told you everything I know.”
“Oh, really?” Sam taunted. “Then maybe you’ll explain how you knew where to find this.” Reaching into his pocket, he mockingly dangled Agatha Elliot’s heart necklace in front of her nose. “Look familiar, Ms. Hart?”
It didn’t, not in the least. She’d never seen it before in her life, but she only had to reach out and touch it to know that Agatha Elliot’s vibrations were all over it. “My God, you found Mrs. Elliot’s jewelry! Does she know yet? She’ll be thrilled!”
Relieved, she started to close her fingers around the locket, which was, to anyone sensitive enough to feel it, still warm from generations of loving care. But the detective never gave her a chance. Lightning quick, he snatched it back, his blue eyes icy with reluctant admiration as they raked over her. “You’re one cool customer, lady. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you really cared about that old lady.”
“But I do!”
“Oh, please,” he groaned. “You’re breaking my heart.”
What heart? She almost spit the words at him, only to quickly bite them back. Dear God, what was she doing? Trying to antagonize the man and get herself locked up? Struggling for control, she dragged a calming breath and slowly released it. “I do care about Mrs. Elliot,” she said quietly. “That’s why I went to the hospital to see her. All this worry about the loss of her jewelry has sent her blood pressure through the roof. I wanted to
make her feel better.”
His mouth curled contemptuously. “You’re just a regular Mother Teresa, aren’t you? A real do-gooder.”
She knew he was deliberately needling her, but she couldn’t help but snap back. “I’d rather be that than a cynic who wouldn’t recognize the truth if it bit him on the nose!”
Struggling with what sounded suspiciously like a laugh, Tanner coughed. “Why don’t you sit down and tell us about your visit with Mrs. Elliot at the hospital, Ms. Hart? Why did you feel the need to talk to her?”
She didn’t want to sit—or explain herself to either man. Bennigan might at least do her the courtesy of listening to her, but although he hid them well, his suspicions were there, just beneath the surface. And Kelly, well, it went without saying that he wasn’t a man to hide his emotions. The walls of the small room fairly vibrated with his distrust.
God, she hated this! She’d had to deal with negativism and distrust all her life, and it never got any easier. She’d thought when she moved to San Antonio she’d finally put that behind her. Wishful thinking. If she didn’t convince both men she was really what she said she was, she was going to be in serious trouble. Left with no choice, she sighed tiredly and sat—facing away from that awful mirror.
“I know you don’t believe me, but I really was concerned about her. I could tell she was worrying herself to death about her jewelry, and there was really no need to.”
“Because you knew where it was,” Tanner concluded as he took the chair across from her at the scarred table while Sam prowled like a caged lion. “Isn’t that right?”
“Well, I didn’t know the exact location of course. But I had a general idea—”
“Because your boyfriend told you he was hocking it on the south side,” Sam cut in ruthlessly, scowling at her. “Isn’t that what you’re really saying, Ms. Hart? He didn’t give you all the details so you could plead ignorance if you were questioned, but he told you enough. We only found two pieces. So where’s the rest of it? He must have told you.”
