by J A Whiting
“Are you from Boston?” Claire wondered why Tessa had never introduced Rowan to her before.
“I live in London right now,” Rowan explained with a smile. “I met Tessa years ago. We help each other out.”
“Are you here for a visit?” Claire asked.
“Just passing through,” Rowan said. “I understand your skills are new to you, but Tessa told me you’re doing quite well becoming accustomed to them.”
Claire let out something that was halfway between a gasp and a laugh. “I don’t know if I’d agree with Tessa’s assessment.”
“Tell me how you think things are going.” Rowan’s voice was warm and soothing.
Claire took in a long breath. “About a year ago, I started to pick up on people and situations, almost like I had a hyper-focused intuition. I’d know things before they happened, I could sometimes sense danger, I knew things that other people didn’t. I had no idea what was going on. My friend, Nicole, and I were standing on a corner of a Boston street one night when a terrible feeling of foreboding came over me. I grabbed Nicole and pulled her to the ground. A car sped by and gunshots rang out. We would have been hit if we hadn’t hit the sidewalk.”
Rowan held her teacup in one hand and nodded. “Something similar happened to me. I was very young when I experienced a burning sensation of peril. Paranormal things run in my family so it wasn’t as unexpected or frightening for me.”
“Nicole and I were sort of pulled into a murder case right after we almost got shot,” Claire said. “My intuition helped solved it.”
“Tessa tells me it is inconsistent for you. That it is maddening when you need the skill and it doesn’t come through,” Rowan said.
“That’s right. Often when I need it most, my skill vanishes.” Claire looked down at her hands. “There are times when I wish it would go away and leave me the normal way I used to be, but then when the skill goes dead on me, I’m afraid it won’t ever come back.” Claire gave a weak smile. “I guess I’m very wishy-washy.”
Rowan chuckled. “Not at all. What you’re going through is actually quite normal. At least for those new to the special experiences. Things will settle down. You’ll learn to control your abilities. There are times when you don’t want to know things about people, you don’t want your skills intruding. You will learn to turn them off when you don’t want to discover things about others and you will learn to turn them on when you need help with something.”
“How long does that take?” Claire asked. “When will I be able to do that?”
Rowan tilted her head thoughtfully. “It can take years.”
Claire’s shoulders sank. “Years?”
“Don’t be discouraged. Over the years, you begin to gain control a little at a time. You’ll notice it. Each year, you will see improvements in what you can do.”
“Do you have a similar ability to mine?” Claire asked.
“I’m able to sense danger and pick up on things about people and situations like you do,” Rowan said.
Tessa glanced at Rowan and then turned to Claire. “Rowan is well-respected in the paranormal world. She is well-known all over the world. We’re lucky to have her here with us this evening.”
Claire stared at Tessa and then turned her eyes to Rowan.
“Is there anything you’d like to ask me?” Rowan said.
Giving a shrug and raising her hands in a helpless gesture, Claire deadpanned, “Can you solve this case I’m on?”
Rowan laughed. “I only have limited time in Boston, so no, I’m sorry, I can’t.”
With a sigh, Claire nodded.
“But….”
One of Claire’s eyebrows raised hopefully.
“I might be able to help you get better in touch with your own skills.”
The Corgis jumped up from their places on the area rug and let out yips.
“How?” Claire asked eagerly.
“In just about everything, we are stronger together,” Rowan said. “We gain strength from being with one another. Together in understanding, our power grows.”
“Just being with you and Tessa will help me?”
“Yes, but there is something simple we can do that may help you better access your abilities.” In a graceful motion, Rowan stood up from her chair. “Would you like to try?”
Claire shrank back slightly against the sofa. “Will it hurt?”
Rowan’s laugh was like shining silver. “It won’t hurt at all.” The woman held out her hand to Claire. “Come on. We’ll stand in front of the fire. The warmth of the flames will help us.”
The dogs moved closer to watch as Claire stood hesitantly and then walked over to stand next to the mysterious woman.
“Tessa, would you please dim the lights and come join us?” Rowan asked.
Tessa did as she was asked and moved to Claire’s side.
“We will form a half-circle,” Rowan explained and took hold of Claire’s hand.
Tessa held Claire’s other hand and the three faced the fire.
Rowan began to mutter in a language Claire could not place and as it continued, Claire watched the woman out of the corner of her eye.
The flames in the fireplace suddenly roared and flared causing Claire to startle and when she almost stepped back, Rowan held tightly to her hand encouraging her to stand her ground.
The heat of the dancing flames commanded Claire’s attention and the young woman felt compelled to keep her eyes pinned on the fire. Feeling her muscles begin to relax, her worries and tensions began to melt away. A sensation of peace and calm filled her heart.
Claire imagined red doves emerging from the fire, slowly flying into the air, losing their crimson color, and turning brilliant white. The birds moved slowly around her in a graceful, mesmerizing circle.
The Corgis sat quietly, watching the white doves glide gently on the air.
Feeling as though she was about to leave the floor and rise up, Claire breathed deeply and felt her worries fall away and her spirits soar like the birds.
Rowan’s voice spoke softly in Claire’s mind.
Let what you can do go free and fly like the doves. Let what you can see and feel be part of you. Everything you need is available to you. Let it flow over your hands like water.
Claire’s eyelids closed and she fell back easily and unencumbered.
When her lids fluttered open, Claire found herself on the sofa covered with a blanket and the dogs asleep on the floor next to the couch. The fire had died out and a chill floated on the air.
Tessa and Rowan were gone.
Claire moved her hand over her forehead.
Had the women really visited her … or had she only dreamt it?
20
Under the overcast, late afternoon sky, Claire and Nicole waited in the parking lot of an automotive repair shop and when they saw the man come out and head to his car, they got out of their rented vehicle and walked across the gravel lot towards him.
The man gave them a quick look and glanced away, but recognition dawned and he turned and faced the young women with an unwelcome stare.
“What do you two want?” Brandon Willis asked with a trace of a growl. His dark chinos were grease-stained and his blue work shirt had a smudge of oil on the sleeve. “I already said all I had to say.”
Ignoring the man’s comment and with her blond curls moving around her shoulders from a chilly breeze, Claire asked, “Do you have a few minutes?”
Willis was about to say no, but Nicole headed him off. “We could buy you a coffee and a sandwich.” She smiled and gestured across the street to a diner. “I promise we won’t take much of your time.”
Looking over at his car and then flicking his eyes to the diner, Willis sighed. “Fine.”
Settling into a booth, the women ordered coffee and slices of pie and Willis ordered coffee and a burger.
“Why are you back to bother me?” Willis demanded. “I answered all your questions last time.”
“We’d just like to talk a li
ttle more,” Claire said. “We’re speaking again with everyone we interviewed previously.”
“Why?” Willis wrapped his hand around his mug.
Claire said, “Sometimes when people think about the past, new things come up. It might not seem important, but when added to the stack of information, it could be the one thing that tips the balance.”
“I got nothing more to add.” Willis swallowed some of his coffee.
“Could you tell us about Joe Bricklin?” Claire asked.
“What about him?” Willis narrowed his eyes.
“What he was like,” Nicole said. “You and he played on the same softball team?”
“Yeah, we did.”
“Did you get along with Joe?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“What was he like?” Nicole repeated the question.
Willis shrugged. “A regular guy. We all horsed around. We got together to practice.”
“Was he quiet? A jokester?”
“Neither. He went along with the group.”
“Did he drink a lot?”
“I don’t know. He had a few beers when the rest of us did.”
“Was he a good athlete? Was he good at softball?”
“Yeah, he was. What’s that got to do with the woman’s murder?”
“We’re just trying to get a better picture of the people around Janice,” Claire said.
“He wasn’t around Janice,” Willis told them.
“Joe Bricklin lived across the street from Janice,” Nicole said. “They were neighbors.”
“Neighbors?” Willis’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know that. You sure?”
“Yes,” Claire said. “We’re sure.”
Willis said, “Huh,” and scratched his head. “You think Bricklin had something to do with Janice’s death?”
“We don’t have any evidence that points to that,” Claire said. “Mr. Bricklin is just someone who was around her.”
“Have you talked to him?” Willis questioned.
“We met with him once,” Nicole said. “We plan to speak with him again soon.”
“What did he say? Did he seem suspicious?”
Claire sat straighter. “No one stands out as suspicious at this time.”
“I can’t see Bricklin as a killer.” Willis shook his head.
“Why do you say that?” Nicole asked.
“He wasn’t aggressive or nothing.”
“Did you ever see him angry? Did you ever see him lose his temper?”
“I don’t think so. He seemed sort of laid back. I don’t see him attacking a woman.”
“Did you know Bricklin pretty well?” Claire asked.
“Not very, I guess, but wouldn’t you notice something in the guy if he could kill a person?”
“Not always,” Nicole said. “Unfortunately.”
Brandon Willis’s discussion of his former teammate sounded to Claire like the considerations of an innocent man. The way he talked about Bricklin … the way he talked about expecting to see a trace of menace or strangeness in a potential killer didn’t sound like something a guilty person would bring up. If Willis was Janice’s attacker, why wouldn’t he try to plant a seed about Bricklin being the killer to remove attention from himself?
Willis had been accused of an attempted abduction of a child and had been released because there was no evidence to back up the Harrison children’s claim that he was the man near the basketball courts that night so long ago. Had he done it? Had Willis knocked Sally Harrison from her bicycle? Did he run away and end up at Janice Carter’s front door? Did he kill her?
Claire stifled a sigh of frustration. Why wasn’t her sixth sense kicking in? Why wasn’t her skill helping her to figure this out? She looked into Willis’s eyes to search for a darkness lurking within, but she couldn’t find it. Was it not there? Was he hiding it?
“You mentioned that all the ball players were given orange hoodies,” Claire said.
Willis gave her a questioning look. “Yeah. So?”
Claire asked another question. “Was there anyone on your team who seemed off?”
“Off? You mean like a killer?” Willis asked.
“Like someone with anger simmering inside him. Someone who seemed like a loner. Maybe not too friendly, kept to himself.”
The waiter brought the pie slices for the women and the burger for Willis.
“I don’t know. I didn’t notice anyone who seemed like an angry person.” The man picked up his hamburger and then paused.
“Was there anyone hanging around to watch the games who might have seemed off? Maybe a buddy of one of the players?”
“I remember one guy, a friend of Joe Bricklin, who came to a lot of games. He was real quiet. He didn’t seem off though. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong with him.”
“Who was he?” Nicole asked.
“Bricklin’s roommate.”
“Bricklin had a roommate?” Claire asked.
“Yeah, he did.”
“Do you remember his name?”
Willis leaned back in his chair in thought. “Let’s see. He had kind of a funny name. What was it?” Willis’s eyes brightened. “It was Doug. Doug Duggin. We called him DD. It’s a weird name, isn’t it?”
“It’s different,” Nicole agreed.
“Can you tell us about Doug?” Claire was eager to hear about Bricklin’s supposed roommate.
“He was blond. Tall, on the thin side. He didn’t play, but seemed to know a lot about baseball, softball. He gave Joe good advice about how to play. DD was a big reason we won so many games.”
“Was he friendly?”
“Yeah, just quiet. He seemed like a good guy.”
“What did he do for work?” Nicole asked.
“I think he was a plumber,” Willis said.
“We heard some people thought you and Bricklin looked like brothers,” Claire told the man.
Willis scoffed. “Yeah, they did. I didn’t see it. We had the same color hair. We were about the same age. I don’t know. Is that enough reason to think we looked alike?”
“Did you and Bricklin hang out together?”
“Only on softball nights.”
“Have you talked to Bricklin? Have you seen him at all?”
Willis’s eyebrows shot up. “Yeah, like thirty years ago.”
“That was the last time you saw him?” Claire asked. “Thirty years ago?”
“Yeah. I moved away. I heard he moved, too. Never saw him again.” Willis took another bite of his burger.
“Can you tell us again what you did after leaving the park the night of Janice’s murder?” Nicole asked.
Willis wiped his mouth with a napkin and stared at the dark-haired young woman. “I told you what I did.”
“Would you mind running through it again?” Nicole smiled at Willis.
“I would mind. Nothing is different. I told you what I did that night.”
“You went back into town?” Claire tried to encourage some talk.
“Yeah, I did.” Willis’s tone was sullen.
“You thought about seeing a movie?”
“I thought about it.”
“You changed your mind?”
“That’s correct.” A touch of sarcasm could be heard in the man’s voice.
“What did you do next?”
A faraway look crossed over Willis’s face.
“Can you tell us what you did next?” Claire pushed for an answer.
“I just remembered I saw Bricklin in town that night. From a distance. He was with that blond he was dating.”
Claire’s heart skipped a beat. “The woman who came to your team’s games?”
“Yeah. I saw them walking down the street.”
“Did you talk to them?”
“No. They were too far away.”
“Are you sure it was them?”
A corner of Willis’s mouth turned down and he said firmly, “Yeah. I am. I could tell it was them by the way they walked, and Joe ha
d on his orange team hoodie.”
“They were headed away from you?”
“Yeah. I saw them about an hour before I wandered over to the ball field.”
“You just remembered seeing them?”
“Just now. It popped into my head.”
“Are you sure it was the night Janice was killed?”
Willis’s eyes held Nicole’s with an annoyed stare. “I said it was that night. Do you hear okay?” he sassed her.
“Just checking to be sure.” Nicole delivered the words with the same tone of annoyance Willis had used on her.
“After you went back to town, you decided to go for a walk, correct?” Claire tried to turn Willis’s attention back to the events of the evening.
Willis’s mouth looked tight. “That’s what I told you before. Why are you asking me the same questions all over again?”
“In case you recall something new,” Claire said. “Like you just remembered seeing Bricklin and his girlfriend in town that night.”
“That’s nothing important,” Willis scoffed.
“You never know,” Claire said in an even tone of voice. “Anything can help.”
“Well, you know what?” Willis crumpled up his napkin. “I’m done helping. I know what you’re trying to do. You get me talking about Bricklin to lower my defenses. You make me think you don’t consider me a suspect. It’s a trick to catch me off guard. Then you try and get me to slip about something. I’m not having it.” Willis stood.
“Do you have something you aren’t trying to slip up about?” Nicole asked the man.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Willis grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.
When the café door banged shut, Nicole sighed and looked at Claire. “I guess Mr. Willis doesn’t want to talk to us anymore,” she said with straight-face.
“I believe you’re right,” Claire said. “Is it because he has something to hide?”
21
Joe Bricklin’s former roommate, Doug Duggin, lived in Jamaica Plain and made his living as a professional plumber. His first name wasn’t really Doug. It was Nicolas, but everyone called him by the first syllable of his last name, Dug. The man was in his mid-fifties, his hair was blond, but he was no longer thin. A few extra pounds had found their way onto his frame and he carried it well.
