by Susan Shay
Swallowing the last bite, she moaned, then had the feeling the entire time she’d been scarfing down the biscuits, she’d been deaf, dumb, and blind to everything else. She hadn’t heard the phone ring, noticed Miriam unlocking the doors, or Keegan coming to work. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was just time to unlock the doors—but that didn’t answer the other question. What had happened to her?
Quickly cleaning up, she poured a mug of coffee for Miriam, picked up her own, and headed for the front. When she got there, she found her friend on the phone. The same call or a new one? As she noticed Cassie stepping into the office, Miriam cupped her hand around the mouthpiece. “I’m sorry. I have to open the store now. I’ll speak with you later.” Quickly, she set the phone on its cradle.
“I thought you might need this.” Cassie set the cup on the desk near Miriam.
“Y-yes, thank you.” Miriam glanced at Cassie, then quickly turned to the old safe. After spinning the dial three times to the right, she went through the numbers as she did each morning, but when she grasped the handle, it wouldn’t budge. Starting again, she spun the disk, then stopped precisely on each number. It still didn’t open. Mumbling curses under her breath, she reached into her purse, pulled out a small address book and flipped to the inside back cover. After reading a moment, she smacked her forehead and, with another whispered oath, turned the dial backward one turn, then three times to the right. Running through the numbers, she was able to easily open the safe.
Cassie chuckled softly. “You must have something on your mind. Anything you want to talk about?”
As Miriam pulled out the cash, she sent a quick glance toward Cassie, then lowered her head. “Not yet, but thanks. I-I’ll let you know when I’m ready to...discuss it with anyone.”
Trying not to let the pain Miriam’s words caused her show in her face, she nodded. Nothing said Miriam had to talk to her, but she always had before. Had something changed? After an awkward moment, Cassie slid her hip onto the edge of the desk. She forced a smile to her face. “So, where’s Keegan this morning?”
Confusion briefly filled Miriam’s gaze. “Keegan? I-I don’t know. He said he’d be here...early, he thought.”
Ten o’clock wasn’t a bad time to get to work. Most people had to be at a desk much earlier, but Keegan had problems getting there almost every morning. Cassie wished she could ask if he’d mentioned where he was going before work, but from the way she and Miriam were communicating—or not communicating—maybe she should just leave well enough alone.
With an inclination to read Miriam as she worked over the cash drawer, Cassie thought better of it. After all, what was on Miriam’s mind was her business. And being able to read people wasn’t a license to sneak a peek at their psyche. With a sigh, she took a drink of her coffee, then set it on the desk. “Would you like for me to open up?”
Brow wrinkled, Miriam huffed out a breath, threw the handful of bills back onto the pile, and dug into her purse once more. “Damn it, I can’t find the keys and I just had them.”
Hoping to ease her friend’s frustration, Cassie knelt beside her and covered her hands. “Hey, not a problem. Even if you’d lost them, you know I have a set, so we’d still be able to open up, but your keys are in your pocket.”
As if she’d been burned, Miriam jerked away, an angry flush staining her cheeks. “What’d you do, read my mind like you did that kidnapper’s?”
Feeling as if she’d been slapped, Cassie drew back. “No. I saw you put them there when we came in.”
With a long sigh, Miriam dropped her gaze, then tipped her head to the side. “I’m sorry, Cassie. I...just haven’t been getting enough sleep. You know how it is. I’m sorry.”
No, I don’t know how it is. I’ve never had anyone to lose sleep over. I’ve never had a brother who cared, a marriage to crumble, or a love to lose. But, oh God, what wouldn’t I give to be in your shoes? What’s that saying? Better to have loved and lost, than to never... That was her. Never.
Never loved. Never cared for. Never even cared about.
Filling her lungs with a rush, she forced a smile. “Hey, no problem. We love each other, don’t we? And what was it we learned from that old movie we watched last summer? Love means never having to...smack the other one upside the head except when severely provoked?”
The ice between them melted as they laughed, then Miriam threw her arms around Cassie’s neck. “I really do love you, Cassie. So would you open the doors for me while I try to keep my mind together long enough to count down this drawer?”
“You bet.” Cassie stood, then as she turned touched Miriam’s shoulder again.
As she walked away, the room dimmed to the milky consistency of evening, and in her head a muffled version of Miriam’s voice echoed, God, I hate you! I don’t want to just kill you. If I could, I’d make it so you’d never been born.
Quickly, Cassie’s vision cleared, leaving her shaken. Confused. Was that Miriam? Maybe her voice, but not her words. The entire time she had known Miriam, Cassie’d never heard the woman speak with such venom. Such loathing. Such absolute abhorrence. It just couldn’t have been her.
After composing herself, she unlocked the door, then opened it. There, propped lazily against the building with a half-smile on his face, was Keegan. “A little late opening, aren’t we, sugar?”
She waited until her stomach settled back into place. “The third member of our team was late, so Miriam and I had to do his chores for him before we could open.”
His smile broadened. “Right. I’ll bet you two were just flogging it in there, trying to finish what I have to do before the door is unlocked.”
Copying his pose, Cassie tipped her shoulder against the door jamb and effectively blocked his way. “You could say that. So where have you been this early morning, brother Keegan?”
He lowered one brow as he allowed his gaze to drift oh-so-slowly down her body, pausing for a titillating moment at her breasts, then her waist, and finally her hips before beginning the excruciating trip back to her face.
She forced her lungs to breathe, her limbs to hold her, her mouth to remain closed. Shutting her eyes, she swallowed and prayed he couldn’t read her as easily as she was afraid he could. It certainly wouldn’t take a psychic. All he had to do was pay attention to subtle little hints, such as the way she’d stopped blinking. And the way she was drooling. And the way the door had melted beneath her touch.
“I’ve been to the police station to see an old friend of mine.” As his teasing glint died, she knew he’d received bad news.
Even though she dreaded his answer, she had to ask, “What is it? What’d you learn?”
Keegan kicked a swift glance over Cassie’s shoulder to be sure Miriam wasn’t in range. What he’d learned at the station about her friend—both women who’d been murdered—wouldn’t be good for her to hear. In fact, it could be disastrous. “I learned more about the homicides—yes, they were murders, not accidents. And Cassie, the worst of it—” When Miriam stepped out of the office, he stopped. At all costs, he had to keep her from hearing what he’d been about to say.
Cassie straightened, her eyes smoky with concern. “Wh-what is it?”
“Miriam is right behind you and I don’t want her to hear this. I’ll have to tell you later.” Without considering his action, he moved into her, then with an arm at her waist, walked her backward into the store. Forcing lightheartedness he didn’t feel, he executed a slow two-step.
The sound of Miriam’s light chuckle ended the dance. Damn, what was wrong with him? Yeah, Cassie was nice, but so were most of the women he met in his travels—at least the ones he was around more than once. And she was hot—same as about a thousand other women in Texas. But Cassie was...she was...Cassie was special.
Biting his tongue to keep from blurting the words that had just exploded into his brain, he peeled his hands from around her, then used all his strength to step away. Like a frickin’ magnet attracting a steel slug, she drew him. Made hi
m want to plant his arms around her and grow roots to keep her there. As if nature intended it. As if he couldn’t survive without it.
Now where the hell had that come from? Shaking himself, he laughed with his sister while he ignored the puzzlement on Cassie’s face. He had to get away from her before his brain changed completely to mush. With great effort, he turned his back to her and moved near Miriam. “Hey, Sis. Did you bring those leftover biscuits to work?”
“Sure did, and you can have one for lunch. Right now, I’d really appreciate it if you’d run the vacuum.” He remembered that smile—her wheedler. Well, maybe he should let it work this once.
But to keep her from being too sure of herself, he groaned. “Push that monster all over the store? I’m not sure I’m up for all that manual labor. Remember, basically I’m trained to be a pencil pusher. I’m not some muscle-bound hulk.”
“Poor baby,” Miriam murmured with a wink for Cassie, who was straightening calendars on a nearby shelf. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
He pretended to consider her question for a moment. “How about whipping me up a chocolotta? That’d go a long way toward keeping me energized.”
As Miriam shook her head, amusement and exasperation fought for dominance in her expression. “Cassie, could you take care of it for me, please? I’ve got to get back to what I was doing.”
Without a word, Cassie nodded and headed for the coffee shop, so he went to the store room where “the beast” was corralled. After rolling the monster onto the carpet, he uncoiled the extra-long cord and plugged it into an outlet. As he manhandled the machine across the floor, he could hear the sandy soil it sucked from the carpet as it whipped through. With the size of the machine, it could probably pick up whole rocks if it could get its nozzle around them. But once he got the rhythm going, it wasn’t so hard. And the work was easy, didn’t take much brain power or concentration, so he could let his mind drift.
When he’d arrived at the police station that morning, he’d been greeted like a well-loved son—or at least the way he assumed a well-loved son would have been greeted. The old fireman who’d been on the job when he was in college was still there, drinking coffee with Keegan’s friend, Bill. And Bill, who’d still smelled like the buffalo his large head made him resemble, had practically jumped for joy when he’d seen him. Well, maybe he didn’t jump, but he had stood up to shake his hand. That was a lot for a fat guy to do.
After accepting a cup of the grunge they called coffee, he’d nursed it while they asked him where he’d been and what he’d done since they’d last seen him. But before he could steer the conversation where he wanted it, a dignified man wearing a clerical collar had come in.
It had been almost funny to see old Bill straighten up—not only his body when he shook the man’s hand, but also his language. Bill introduced him as Reverend Timothy Rupert.
The minister hadn’t wasted time on small talk. “Have you learned anything about the death of my organist?”
“No sir, no sir, Reverend. We sure haven’t.” Bill bowed his big head before glancing up from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. “The state boys have been called in on it, though.”
After a long pause, the minister glared into Bill’s face. “And have you found out anything about the break-in at the church?”
“A church was broken into?” Keegan was appalled. Why would anyone break into a church? Tithe money? Sound equipment? The china in the church parlor? “Did they take anything, or was it just senseless vandalism?”
The minister glanced at him as he sadly shook his head. “Whoever it was took the life-size cross that we’d had in our entryway since Easter.”
Keegan was astounded. “A cross? Is that all?”
Reverend Rupert leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Yeah, a cross. Anybody could make one for a few bucks, or if they’d looked around, they could probably have gotten the materials for free. But instead they broke one of our stained glass windows to get in. And except for the three railroad spikes from a see-through case nearby, used to represent the nails that held Jesus to the cross, and the broken glass from the window, that was all they took.”
Intrigued, Keegan slid forward in his chair. “They cleaned up the broken glass?”
Bill nodded. “Not only cleaned it up, they took it with them.”
“Did they go back out the window where they’d come in?” Keegan asked.
“The cross was too large, so they smashed some of our woodwork getting out the one side door without a deadbolt. It’s weird they locked it behind them.” The sadness on the man’s face had been replaced by bitterness. “That woodwork was original to the church. Almost a hundred years old, and those damned kids ruined it like it was disposable. Or replaceable.”
Keegan switched his focus back to Bill. “You have reason to believe kids did it?”
“Who else?” Bill wallowed in his comfort zone, blaming kids. “There’s nothing anyone can do with a cross like that. They can’t sell it. They can’t hock it. They can’t do much with it but break it up and use it for firewood. Kids probably took it down to the sandbar and had a beer blast.”
If a beer blast was all the kids had done, that was nothing. In this day and age, most kids had moved way past beer. Even pot was mild compared with the dangerous designer drugs so prevalent now.
Unable to stop the progression, Keegan’s mind lingered on the conversation after the reverend left.
Soon the old fireman had shuffled off to check on something next door at the fire station. But before Keegan could ask Bill about Cassie’s psychic reading that had “saved” the little girl, the policeman had said, “Ya know, buddy, those two women didn’t just die. You have to swear to keep this to yourself because we don’t want to start a panic, but it looks like Stone Hill might have a serial killer.”
An unexpected touch square in the middle of his back startled him. Spinning, he accidentally knocked the plug out of the wall and killed the sweeper. Cassie’s light fragrance filled his head before he focused on her. His heart thumped hard a time or two, then settled back to its normal rhythm as she held out his creamy-topped drink.
“Be careful you don’t get burned,” she warned.
Talking about the coffee, or you? She could definitely burn him. With her hair falling around her shoulders and her blue eyes full of laughter, it was all he could do to reach for the cup instead of her.
But that would be a breach of ethics. She was shaping up to be the crux of his next investigation. The subject of his newest debunking. Falling in love with her would be wrong. Maybe not to anyone else, but certainly to him.
He took a drink from the cup, then closed his eyes. Yeah, she knew how to make a chocolotta. When he opened his eyes, she was watching him expectantly. “It’s good.”
“I’m glad. You were telling me about what you’d learned this morning.” A slight frown marred her smooth forehead.
“Oh, yeah.” The rock returned, weighing down his belly. “You have to swear not to let it get around, but the women were murdered. They didn’t die accidentally.”
Her frown deepened. “But you were going to say something else. What is it?”
Even though he knew Miriam was hard at work in her office, he glanced that way to be sure, then cleared his throat. “The worst part is, they were instrumentally raped.” Cassie’s eyes grew large and filled with horror as he continued. “And at the same time, they were—”
Her voice low with horror, she interrupted. “They were cauterized.”
Chapter Six
Surprise ricocheted through him, chasing the dread searing his belly when he thought of telling her. How had she known? Bill had been reluctant to tell him, and the man’s B.O. was so bad most of the time, he couldn’t imagine him being on speaking terms with someone as sweet smelling as Cassie. “You knew?”
Eyes haunted, she nodded as if she was listening to some inner voice instead of his. But after a moment, she focused on his face and shook her head. “
N-no, I didn’t know. Not really. I j-just sort of guessed.”
“Guessed?” Anger boiled as he realized what she was trying to do—use these tragedies to set herself up as a “real” psychic. How could anyone with a conscience use something as horrible as the deaths of these women for personal reasons? He wouldn’t—couldn’t—let her do it. “How in the hell could you guess something like that?”
Woodenly, she stared at him. “I don’t know. It makes sense, I suppose.”
Fighting to keep the threatening sneer from his face, he gritted his teeth for a moment. “Instrumental rape makes sense? What kind of sense does that kind of thing make? I’ve only heard of it in connection with the Boston Strangler. And cauterization? It would take a real sicko to...” Wishing he could put his fist through something, he stalked away, then knelt to plug in the vacuum.
As the sweeper roared to life, Cassie switched it off, but gripped the handle so hard her fingers ached, much like her heart, as he walked back to her side. She had to tell him the rest of it. Had to let him know that, while things were ugly, they weren’t nearly as horrifying as they seemed. Holding his gaze, she waited a moment, trying to read him.
Why was he angry at her? She’d done nothing intentionally—just blurted out what she was seeing in her mind. And “guessed” had been her best explanation for anyone who hadn’t experienced knowing the impossible. Didn’t he realize that, if she could get rid of her gift, she would? She hated knowing. Usually it hurt like hell. And if she had to be given this so-called gift, why hadn’t she also been given the gift of lying, so she could make smooth explanations? Or the gift of control, so she could turn it off and on? Or even detachment, so she could see the visions and not care?
