Blinded

by Teyla Branton

  “At least three heirs have filled out complaints claiming that items went missing after the death of their parents,” Paige said.

  Frampion shook her head. “Impossible. You have to understand that they’re grieving. They’re likely recalling an earlier time when they saw it and have mixed up the dates. We keep very strict records.” Waite smiled at her, and she beamed like a child given praise. Nye stared out the window looking bored.

  I wanted Shannon to ask about the rug. The imprint proved it had recently been in the main part of the house. Why had it been tagged with such a high cost but moved to the attic where it would seem like junk? I gave an involuntary shiver at the memory of the imprint.

  Shannon and Paige were talking about the company’s overall increase in clients now, and Cody stood up to pace the room.

  “We have increased our pre-need marketing ventures,” Waite explained. “Naturally, those clients leave instructions with their heirs to liquidate their assets through us since we already have a working relationship and a familiarity with their situation. Others, we loan money now when they need it, and they agree to let us conduct the estate sale and collect our payment after they pass on. That’s been a big attraction recently. Of course the heirs can opt out by paying back the loan, if they prefer.” By pre-need, he meant pre-death, and I wondered if making a deal with In Loving Memory was tantamount to signing your own death certificate.

  “So,” I said in the lull that followed Waite’s pronouncement, “what happens to the stuff that doesn’t sell?”

  “We have one of the highest sell-out rates.” Frampion’s eyes barely skimmed me. “One of us tries to be personally on-site much of the time to guarantee that everything runs smoothly. We discount only after the first day, or to smooth over any upset.” She colored as though remembering that such an upset had occurred yesterday, and I guess that was our cue to thank her for discounting my items.

  Not in my lifetime. “So what happens to the items you don’t sell?” I asked, because she really hadn’t answered my question.

  Frampion glanced at Waite and then at Nye. When neither spoke, she said, “We do what all estate sale companies do. If the heirs don’t wish to keep the items, we donate them to charity.”

  “We’ll need a list of those items for all the estate sales this past year,” Shannon said, with a nod in my direction.

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” Waite drew his gaze away from Cody, who was touching the frame of a print on the wall. “Once the heirs sign off on them, they’re donated in bulk to charity.”

  Paige blinked. “No itemization?”

  “That’s right. At that point, we no longer care what happens to the items. If we feel they may sell at another estate sale, we may buy a few items ourselves and feature them at another sale, and those things we do itemize, but for the most part that doesn’t happen. From what I understand, the charity we use distributes to many different outlets, and they also don’t keep itemized records, except in how many pounds of items. Mostly it’s clothes and shoes that are left.”

  “So there’s no way to track the items after they’re donated,” Shannon said.

  Now we were getting somewhere. If a murder weapon was purposely overpriced and later sent to charity, even if the police began to suspect foul play, they wouldn’t be able to track the item, unlike objects sold and itemized at the estate sale itself. Anything else would be lost in a trail of charitable outlets.

  Waite glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid we have to close this interview. We need to do the rounds at our estate sales in a few minutes. We hire excellent employees, but we must keep track of them. If you have any more questions, please let us know.”

  “Better yet, let our attorney know,” Nye said, speaking for the first time since the introductions. His jaw worked and his nostrils flared. “I’m not sure who has been feeding you information, but my father started this business, and I’ve worked very hard all my life to make it what it is today. I trust my partners and the business model we’ve created. The ideas we have may seem odd to some, but they are working—and working well. I suspect this investigation is nothing more than sour grapes from our competitors. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a client I need to see.” He unfolded his tall frame and stalked from the room.

  “Uh,” Waite said, standing. “You’ll have to excuse him. He’s rather sensitive about the business. It was failing up until a few years ago, and he’s given most of his time to turning it around. He’s afraid this investigation will be bad for business.”

  Shannon came to his feet. “I can’t pretend it won’t impact your business, but clearing your company of wrongdoing is a good thing. The increase in, uh, your business is dramatic enough that it is disconcerting.”

  Frampion smiled up at Shannon from her seated position. “I assure you, detective, it’s due to hard work and not to anything nefarious. We both joined the company two years ago exactly because we saw the business was on the upswing.” She stood, placing a hand on Shannon’s arm. “Let me get those files for you. I believe I left them in the lobby. We’ll give them to you on your way out.”

  That quickly we were out of the building and on the street.

  “Well?” I said, eyeing Cody. “Did you pick up anything on Nye? From his ring?”

  Shannon and Paige paused in mid-step, looking at him. Paige knew about Cody, of course. I’d confided in her after the last case when I’d learned he shared my ability.

  Cody shook his head. “I mean, there was an imprint, but all I picked up was his feelings about his son. He died recently, or at least it feels that way to him. I think he’s clean. Can’t say for the others.”

  I scowled, not wanting it to be true. The gaunt man looked like someone who would hurt others for his own gain. Or maybe to protect the legacy of a company handed down by his father.

  “What about the rest?” Shannon asked.

  “The furnishings, the pictures, the remote—everything came from estate sales as far as I could tell. But there was nothing involving murder, or robbery for that matter.”

  “Did you pick up anything, Autumn?” Paige looked at me expectantly.

  Shannon hadn’t told her about my inability to read imprints? I fought to hide my surprise, unsure what to make of that. I became aware of Paige and Shannon watching me, Paige expectantly, and Shannon with a hint of an apologetic smile. That he hadn’t confided in her was nothing to apologize about. It told me he’d kept my confidence, placing me above his own partner.

  “I felt nothing important,” I said truthfully. I didn’t mind Paige knowing, but it felt good not to have someone treating me like I was broken.

  Because I was broken. I felt it with every breath I took.

  “Then we’re back to square one.” Paige started across the street where we’d left the Mustang.

  “Not exactly,” I said, keeping pace with her and Shannon. “I know the rug was used in a murder. After what they told us, I think they purposefully overpriced it so it would end up in a charity shop somewhere. No way to trace. No evidence to get rid of.”

  Paige sighed. “I’m guessing the same thing. But our evidence was destroyed in that fire, and the men who took you are nowhere to be found, so we don’t know who hired them. Meanwhile, how do we find objects that might have been used in other murders? Even if we knew what to look for, we wouldn’t know where. The police didn’t find any suspicious objects at the scenes.”

  We’d reached the car, and I opened the rear door on the passenger side. “I’m not surprised they didn’t find anything. They were probably placed in an attic with a bunch of junk.”

  Paige opened her own door. “To be honest, I don’t think they really looked too far, since the deaths appeared accidental. At least we have the MO now, and we can thoroughly investigate any future deaths and also any overpriced items at their estate sales. That is, if they don’t change the way they’ve been operating.”

  “Of course they’ll shake things up.” Shannon starte
d around the car where Cody had already climbed in the rear seat. “They know we’re onto them. They also know we don’t have any real proof, so all they have to do is lie low for a while. But we’re all overlooking something here. We don’t have to wait until they kill again because we do know the whereabouts of at least one more overpriced object.”

  Paige snapped her fingers. “The George Washington bust! I’d forgotten about that. It was stuffed in a closet and probably wouldn’t have sold at all if the owner’s son hadn’t shown up to complain about missing items and verified that it was purchased for much cheaper.” She sat in her seat and took out her phone. “I’ll call the buyer now. We need to get to it before that threesome in there”—she tipped her head toward the building—“remember its existence and make it disappear.”

  I knew her unspoken fear was the same as mine: maybe they already had.

  Chapter 13

  “So if we find an imprint on the bust, you’ll test it for other evidence?” I asked from the back seat.

  “We’ll send it to forensics regardless,” Shannon said. “If the bust is what bashed in the head of its owner, instead of a slip on wet tile as he entered the hot tub, there may be enough evidence even if there’s no imprint. But an imprint would certainly help identify a suspect at this point.”

  Paige shot me an apologetic look from the front seat. “I’m sorry you have to experience another potentially nasty imprint. You could always let Cody do it instead. You don’t both have to try.”

  She was always asking me to read things, so her sudden attack of conscience felt odd to me. I stole a look at Cody next to me, who’d suddenly become more alert.

  “That’s okay,” I said, my throat tightening. I needed to tell Paige about losing my ability, and I would the first moment we found a little privacy. I didn’t want to become emotional in front of everyone.

  She mistook my subdued tone. “Are you sure you’re up to it after yesterday?”

  I was prevented from making a response when the person she’d called answered. We listened as she briefly explained the police interest in the bust.

  “No,” she said after a pause. “He doesn’t have to be home. We’ll pick it up and deliver it later.” A note of exasperation entered her voice. “May I remind you that this is a murder investigation? No, please do not touch the bust or move it anywhere.” Pause. “Yes, we’ll guarantee a reimbursement if anything happens to it. We’ll be there within a half hour.” She hung up, shaking her head. “As if I can really guarantee that. Do you really think they’re going to want it back if it was the murder weapon?”

  “Probably sell it on eBay for ten times more,” Cody muttered.

  I laughed, surprised he even knew what eBay was. My sister had done her best to update him with technology; he even had a computer now so she could email him baby pictures.

  “Where to?” Shannon asked.

  “Let me plug it into the GPS.” Paige started punching buttons on the dash.

  I intermittently held my breath and hyperventilated on our journey, half expecting someone to beat us to the evidence. But when we arrived at our destination fifteen minutes later, Paige and Shannon went to the door of the house and returned with the bust in Shannon’s gloved hands. He hesitated for a moment before shaking his head, indicating for Paige to open the trunk. “We need to get this fingerprinted first.”

  I nodded and Paige stared at me where I lounged against the car, my long skirt fluttering slightly every now and then with a stray breeze. “What, no protest?” she asked. “You could probably convince him.”

  Shannon snorted. “Get in the car.” As he placed the bust in the trunk, his eyes met mine with a question.

  I nodded. Yes, I needed to tell her soon.

  At the station Paige was inundated with information about Frank O’Donald and Hamilton’s two main competitors, Tarragon Inc. and Print Perfect. She excused herself with a gleam of excitement in her eyes. When Shannon finally brought the bust to me and Cody in the small interrogation room where we waited, she hadn’t yet joined us.

  “There was blood evidence on the bust up in this area”—he indicated the forehead—“so don’t touch there, and a lot of prints, which they’ve already taken. The man was found drowned in his hot tub, though, so they’ll need to do more tests for traces of chemicals, but they’ve cleared it for you to touch down here. Normally we’d record this part, but I know Cody would rather remain anonymous.”

  I jumped up to stand at Cody’s elbow as he reached out to the bust with one knuckle. I fought the urge to place my hand over his. The past two times hadn’t given any result, and I had no reason to believe this would be different. His face paled as he made contact. He shut his eyes grimacing. His entire arm shook.

  I waited ten seconds, the longest seconds I’d ever spent. Cody groaned. Unless he passed out, we had no way of knowing if he was stuck in a repeating loop or just experiencing a really nasty imprint. He groaned again, and with a glance at Shannon, I grabbed Cody’s hand.

  And saw.

  Waiting in gruesome anticipation. The choking smell of chlorine in an enclosed space. A man approaching, wearing a swimsuit, a towel over one shoulder. So old. This will be easy. The old man easing into the hot tub. Now. Down on the back of his head. Not too hard, but hard enough. White head slipping almost gracefully beneath the water.

  The vision vanished and I became aware of Shannon holding my hand. I knew instantly that I’d failed to remove Cody’s hand and that Shannon had saved both of us from a repeating loop.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “You saw it?” Cody asked, his voice gruff and his face pale.

  “An old man was hit with the bust as he went into the hot tub.” I felt so dizzy I could barely stand, but I reached out for the bust before Shannon could stop me.

  Nothing.

  Nothing but dizziness and an urge to vomit. I collapsed onto the nearest chair. “It was exactly the same feeling as on the rug. But I don’t think I saw the whole imprint. Did you see hands?”

  Cody shook his head, looking as beat as I felt. “Has to be one of the owners.”

  “I can’t really see Ms. Frampion hitting someone over the head,” Shannon said dryly.

  “But can you see her hiring someone?” Paige asked, walking into the room. I wondered how long she’d been at the door without me seeing her. Since she didn’t ask about the bust imprint, I gathered she’d heard enough.

  “Not really.” Shannon paced to the end of the table and back again. “Unless it was a real lowlife, it would have cost a lot. But that Waite is greasy. He could have done it in a heartbeat.”

  “The other man, Nye, or whatever, is just as scary in his own way,” I added. “Reminds me of that Frankenstein-looking guy on that old show . . . Herman Munster, I think he was called.”

  Cody shook his head. “Naw. It was none of them. If they’re responsible, they hired someone. You said those guys who took you were professionals. They must be the ones doing the killing.”

  “Even if they pulled together the funds,” Shannon said, “where did small-timers like In Loving Memory find guys like that to hire?”

  Cody rubbed his chin. “You got a point. Last I checked, killers ain’t listed in the phone book.”

  I thought Shannon’s definition of small-timers might need to be adjusted, what with two likely murders and who knew how many more, but I wouldn’t argue the fact right now. “What happened to me might not be related. Not with Russo and his ilk roaming around. Who knows how many people are out to get him?”

  Shannon scowled. “Well, we’d better figure something out before there’s another murder victim or abduction attempt.”

  Paige nodded. “Look, I found something that might be a possible lead.”

  We all gazed at her expectantly. My empty stomach growled into the lull, and I hoped no one heard.

  “One of our detectives called to set up a meeting with Tarragon Incorporated—that’s one of the companies JoAnna Hamilton listed as p
ossible suspects. At first the detective was referred to Tarragon’s attorneys at McGregor and Clancy, but eventually he got through to Mr. Tarragon himself.”

  “Ah-hah,” I said, feeling more energetic. “So Tarragon must be hiding something if they won’t talk to us directly.”

  Paige smiled. “Possibly. But that’s not exactly what I was getting at. Shannon told me about Claire Philpot’s visit to your shop yesterday, and she emailed me the information about the money taken from her husband’s account. The thing is, her husband worked for none other than McGregor and Clancy. With all the law firms around, it seemed an odd coincidence, tying in with our case this way, so I called her. Not only did her husband work for the firm, but one of his clients while he was alive was Tarragon Inc.”

  My jaw dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  “Great, just great,” I said. Another connection to our case, and none of us believed in coincidence.

  “I think we’d better rush tracing those bank withdrawals Claire said her husband made,” Shannon said. “We need to know where that money was going.”

  My hope at the possible lead dimmed. “You think he might have been paying someone off? Maybe something involving Tarragon?” There were many possibilities, including the sudden death of JoAnna Hamilton’s scientists. I thought of Claire and how she was still so much in love with her dead husband. Would knowing he’d been guilty set her free or destroy her?

  Paige paled. “I didn’t even think that far. The timing works. If Bridger was into something, maybe his heart attack was a good thing. Claire’s a strong woman, but I don’t know if she can survive knowing he did something like this.”

  I knew what she meant. Claire would fight to the death for what she believed, but what if there was no longer something to believe in?

  “While you trace down the banks,” Shannon said to Paige, “I’d better talk to Claire again. We need to know exactly what McGregor and Clancy claim her husband did. Whatever it is, it could be connected.”