She pauses, and her voice becomes genuinely regretful. “I’m sorry, Ruby. But it’s the only way he can explain what happened.”
“Well, he can go fly a kite,” Ruby says heatedly. “None of that is true, Sheila. Not one single word. And you know it. Don’t you?”
There is a long silence. Then, instead of answering, Sheila says, “He’s talked to Allison’s ex-boyfriend and her sister, Nadine. Neither of them were helpful—except that the sister remarked she might be a little more concerned if Allison hadn’t disappeared for two weeks last year without letting anybody know.”
“Uh-oh,” Ruby mutters.
“Right. Connors has latched onto that. It gives him a reason to believe that what’s happened is just another instance of Allison deciding to disappear—and that you’re involved, as an accomplice. He’s serious about this, Ruby. He wants to charge you.”
“Charge me?” Ruby exclaims, feeling like she’s just been punched in the stomach. Sophia raises both eyebrows. “But that’s ridiculous, Sheila! He can’t—”
“I know it’s ridiculous.” Sheila sounds tired, and Ruby pictures her rubbing her forehead. “But I know that because I know you, Ruby. Connors doesn’t. As a detective, he’s trained to question everything he sees and hears. Disbelieving is his job. And what he’s seen and heard today makes no sense at all to him—unless you and Allison conspired to fake her disappearance. If I allowed it, he would charge you with filing a false police report, right now. Right this minute.”
“A false report? But I didn’t—”
“And that’s just for starters. He’s out there right now, looking for evidence of a conspiracy. And I can’t tell him to drop his investigation. That would look like I’m trying to protect a personal friend—and open me to a charge of obstruction. In fact,” she adds wearily, “my telling you this can be construed as obstruction. Which is why it has to be off the record. Nobody can know that we’ve talked.”
“But he’s wrong, Sheila!” Ruby protests. “I have never even met Allison Montgomery, as far as I know. There is no conspiracy. I swear!”
“I understand.” Sheila sighs. “But look at it from his point of view, Ruby. You knew where Montgomery’s car was parked. You showed him where the so-called abduction happened and where he would find the cellphone. You nailed it on the earbuds, and on the van. Connors doesn’t believe in psychic stuff, so what else is he going to think? Conspiracy is the only possible conclusion. The only logical conclusion.”
Ruby pulls in a deep breath. “I see that, Sheila, but—”
“But he’s not going to charge you, because I’ve said no. At least for now.”
Ruby lets her breath out. “Well, that’s a relief. I was thinking I might have to get China to come and bail me out of jail.”
“For now.”
Ruby swallows. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I’m out of my depth here, Ruby. I don’t know what to believe—or who. The facts appear to support conspiracy. Connors is locked and loaded. I may have to let him go ahead and charge you.” Sheila’s voice is thin and reedy. “At the same time, I’d be a damned fool not to admit that what you’ve already given us is helpful. If it’s real. If there really was an abduction, and not a conspiracy.” She pauses. “And I do mean if.”
Ruby makes a face at the phone. “So I’m supposed to say thank you for not charging me for being helpful?”
Sheila’s laugh sounds hollow, forced. “No. You’re supposed to say you’ll keep on helping. We need to find this victim before her kidnapper . . .” Her voice trails off.
There’s a silence.
“Before he kills her,” Ruby mutters, finally.
“If he hasn’t already. You know a lot. I’m hoping you can find out more. I want to know who this man is and where he took her.”
“Your detective says I’m a fraud,” Ruby reminds her. “He told me to stay the hell out of his investigation. ‘No more woo-woo.’ His exact words.”
“I outrank him.” There is another silence. “You got us into this, Ruby. You have to get us out. You need to find Allison.”
Ruby’s skin prickles. “You’re serious?” She looks across the table at Sophia, who is listening intently. “But I don’t know how to do that, except by . . .” She swallows. “By getting in touch with the kidnapper.” Her skin feels suddenly cold, and there are goosebumps across her shoulders. “In his mind.”
“If that’s what it takes, yes,” Sheila says slowly. “I’m not sure what I’m asking, Ruby. I have no idea how you would go about such a thing.”
Ruby shudders, remembering the dreams. How it felt to be inside the attacker, to know—in horribly graphic detail—what he wanted to do to his victim, to Allison. How ugly it was, how unspeakably awful.
If I go in, she thinks, I might never come out.
“Ruby?” Sheila asks. “Are you still there?”
In a very low voice, Ruby says: “You’re right, Sheila. You don’t know what you’re asking. I don’t want to do this.”
Sheila hears her reluctance. “I don’t blame you. But we don’t have a lot of time. Connors may be sold on the theory that this is a fake abduction. But I have to assume that we’re dealing with a real kidnapper here. And unless we can pick up a lead from the neighborhood canvass or learn something when we dig into Allison’s background, we don’t have anything to go on. Not one damned thing. To tell the truth, I’m as skeptical as Connors. But at this point, you’re all we’ve got. And your lead is better than no lead at all.”
Ruby shakes her head. “Sheila, I really don’t want—”
Sheila takes a breath and comes out with the rest of it. “Of course, if you can tell us where the kidnapper has taken Allison, you will be off the hook.”
“Me?”
“Yes. Identify him, tell us where he’s keeping her, and you’re in the clear. A real kidnapping, not a conspiracy.”
“But that’s blackmail!” Ruby wails.
“Whatever. Sorry, but that’s the way it is.”
Ruby is cornered and she knows it. After a moment, she says, “Maybe I can reach out to Allison. She might be able to tell us something.”
But maybe I can’t. Maybe she can’t tell us anything because she doesn’t know anything.
She doesn’t know where she is.
Or who he is.
Or she’s already dead.
“Whatever works,” Sheila says. In a mutter, she adds, “I can’t believe I’m asking this. And whatever you do, don’t tell Connors. He’d go ballistic. Don’t tell anybody.”
Sophia is watching Ruby closely. In the silence that follows Sheila’s words, Ruby can hear what she’s thinking.
If you’re serious about wanting to help Allison, this is your chance. But you’ll need something to work with, something you can touch and hold. Ask.
Ruby knows that Sophia is right. There is only one way to do this. She squares her shoulders.
“I’ll need something that belongs to Allison. A shirt or a blouse—something she’s worn but hasn’t washed. A shoe would do. The kind of thing you’d give Rambo to start him off on a scent trail.” Rambo is Sheila’s K-9 tracking dog. A Rottweiler.
“That can be arranged,” Sheila says quickly. “I’ll send somebody over to Allison’s condo to see what we can come up with. It shouldn’t take long.”
Ruby checks the time on her phone. It’s just after four. “Her housemate works, doesn’t she? It could be six-thirty or seven before she gets home.”
“I’ll get a search warrant. That way we won’t have to wait.” But Sheila doesn’t sound enthusiastic, and Ruby knows she is thinking about what the magistrate will say when she tells him that the warrant is for clothing to be used in a psychic’s research. And if she gets a warrant, Connors will find out—and want to know why.
Unbidden, an image slips into Ruby’s mind. “There’s another possibility. Has Allison’s car been moved?”
“From the parking area by the river? Yes. It was to
wed to the impound lot so the crime scene team can go over it. Why?”
“There’s a blue nylon gear bag in the back. Allison was planning to go to work at the breast cancer hot line when she finished her run. She probably intended to change. There might be a piece of clothing in the bag—maybe something she’s already worn but hasn’t washed.”
Sheila clears her throat. “If you don’t mind my asking, how do you know there’s a gear bag in the car? It came to you in that dream?”
“Nope. No woo-woo.” Ruby chuckles. “I saw it in her SUV this morning. I’m telling you what I remember.”
“Ah,” Sheila says, clearly relieved. “Okay, we’ll take a look.” She pauses. “If we find something, shall I have it brought to your house?”
“Yes, please. I’m not at home right now, but I can be there in half an hour.”
“Great. I’ll get somebody to bring it over.” There is a moment’s silence. “I know this is a long shot, Ruby, but we’re pretty much at a dead end right now. And if this is what you say it is, time may be running out. I’m not expecting anything. But if you turn up something, I’ll be grateful.”
“Yeah, well, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Ruby says dryly. “Makes a girl feel good.”
“Sorry,” Sheila says, then adds, “Remember. Not a word to Connors. And please, watch out for Jessica Nelson. She’s been hanging around the office all afternoon, trying to sniff out the story. If she gets the idea we’re using a psychic to investigate—”
“I am not a psychic,” Ruby says, out of habit. Sophia, exasperated, rolls her eyes.
“Good to know,” Sheila says brightly. “That takes care of that little problem. But call me as soon as your woo-woo kicks in and you come up with something, will you? I really don’t want Connors to put you in jail.”
Chapter Thirteen
The rain is still pounding down as Ruby begins the drive home, and it’s almost impossible for the wipers to keep the windshield clear. The tourists have disappeared from Wimberley’s streets, but five bicyclists in helmets and orange jerseys, drenched, are stubbornly pedaling on through the downpour.
Once you’re that wet, Ruby thinks, more isn’t going to matter. She smiles crookedly. Once you’re a little psychic, does more matter?
The highway, a twisting, two-lane challenge in good weather, is tricky to drive when the pavement is wet. Spook Hollow Road, the main downhill into Pecan Springs, is even trickier. As Ruby approaches the sharp dogleg just past the old Spook Hollow cemetery, a gruesomely vivid image of mangled automobile wreckage flashes into her mind, as clearly as if she is seeing it in front of her. She gasps, clenches the wheel, and brakes, hard. Her car skates around the bend and skids to a stop.
Ten yards ahead, her lane is completely blocked by the twisted wreckage of a car and a pickup truck, crushed together. A man, spread-eagled and bleeding, lies on the pavement, unmoving. The only cop on the scene is frantically hurrying to put down emergency flares and begin flagging traffic. If the warning image, as vivid as the scene itself, hadn’t flashed into her mind just before she came around that dogleg, Ruby would have plowed head-on into the wreckage.
Impatiently, the cop waves her around, and she knows there is nothing she can do to help. Clutching the wheel, she skirts the collision and drives on. Her heart is pounding against her ribs, her breath catches in her throat, and she knows beyond certainty that if she hadn’t braked, she would be as dead as that man on the pavement.
But I’m not dead. I was warned.
Sophia had said that what happened that morning was a “turning point” and that she should watch for evidence that her abilities were growing stronger. Was she right?
Ruby doesn’t know the answer, but she has to wonder. And she is hugely, breathlessly, tremblingly grateful to be alive.
But she is also working herself into something of a panic about her phone conversation with Sheila. The chief said that Connors was “locked and loaded” and ready to charge her. She could clear herself by showing him that Allison’s kidnapping is a genuine kidnapping and not a combination of conspiracy, hoax, and psychic babble.
But there is a problem, a big one. If Ruby does what Sheila has asked her to do and Connors finds out that she violated his order to stop practicing woo-woo, won’t that give him even more ammunition to use against her?
If she tells him she’s following the chief’s instructions, will that protect her?
But Sheila has told her that their conversation is off the record. Can Sheila really get into legal hot water just for talking to her?
Ruby can think of only one person who can answer these questions, and by the time she pulls into the driveway at home, she knows what she needs to do. She phones China at Thyme and Seasons, catching her a few moments before closing time.
“Remember that dream we were talking about this morning?”
“You bet,” China says. “What did Sheila say when you told her about it? Is she going to beef up the patrol? Oops, excuse me a sec.”
To a customer, China says, “Tea tree oil? It’s on the back shelf, about halfway down, on the right.” There’s a silence, then, “No, on the right. Between the cinnamon and oregano oil—the three best antifungal oils. Sorry, Ruby,” she says, coming back to the phone. “What did Sheila say about your dream?”
“It isn’t a dream,” Ruby says. “It’s a kidnapping.”
“Whaat?” There is a moment’s silence. At last, China says, “I sincerely hope you are kidding.”
“Would I kid about something like that?” Ruby gets out of the car and ducks through the rain to her back door. “It happened on the trail last night, at the place I saw in my dream. The victim’s name is Allison Montgomery. The attacker grabbed her, knocked her out, and got her into his van.”
Very softly, China says, “Oh. My. God.” Another silence. Then: “How do you know all this? There was an eyewitness?”
“Me.” Ruby unlocks the door and lets herself into her kitchen. “I am the eyewitness.”
“You can’t be an eyewitness,” China says flatly. “You weren’t there. An eyewitness is somebody who actually sees an event and can give a first-hand description.”
“I was there.” Ruby shivers as she remembers the attacker’s massive hand covering her nose and mouth, his fingers pressing her neck. “I can give a first-hand description. Big hands. Hard fingers. I have the bruises to prove it.”
Opening the door, she flicks on the kitchen light. There, in the middle of the table, is a lovely vase of yellow roses. Beside it is a note.
For my Psychic Sister, from her Psychic Sister. Yellow roses symbolize wisdom, joy, and power—exactly what we share. Looking forward to our profitable partnership!
At the bottom, in smaller letters: Just wait until you see my marketing plan!!!
Ruby shakes her head despairingly. On top of everything else, she’ll have to deal with Ramona. But China is saying something and she has missed it.
“Sorry,” she says, dropping her bag on a chair. “I didn’t catch that.”
“What I said was, unless you were there—physically, in the flesh, at the moment the abduction happened—you can’t be an eyewitness.”
“Whatever.” Ruby sighs. Pagan, purring, rubs against her ankle and she scoops him up. “Long story short, the detective assigned to the case—Connors, his name is—doesn’t believe that there was a kidnapping. He thinks that Allison and I have conspired to manufacture a fake crime because she wanted to run away from home and I was looking for some psychic creds. He wants to charge me with filing a false police report. Or maybe conspiracy. Whatever, it doesn’t sound good.”
“It isn’t,” China says. “Cops aren’t predisposed to buy wackadoodle stories that don’t fit their frame of reference.”
“It’s not wackadoodle.” Ruby rubs her cheek against Pagan’s black fur. “It really happened.”
“Connors apparently thinks it’s wackadoodle. His opinion rules. And if he thinks he can get the DA to prosecute, he’l
l arrest you. Unless Sheila puts her foot down. Which is a little bit dangerous for her.”
Ruby swallows a whimper. “I helped him locate Allison’s cellphone and her earbuds, but Sheila says he thinks I planted them. Or Allison planted them. Or something.” She puts Pagan on the floor, goes to the pantry, and takes a bag of dry kitty food off the shelf. “But there’s more. Worse.”
“Worse than getting arrested?”
“Maybe.” Ruby tells her what Sheila has asked her to do. “She’s sending over a piece of Allison’s clothing, so I can try to use it to connect with her. But I’m afraid that if I do, I might get even deeper into trouble with Connors. So deep that Sheila won’t be able to bail me out.”
She doesn’t add, And I might get into him. Into the kidnapper. Which would be worst of all.
“Damn.” China is suddenly very serious. “I’m sorry, Ruby. I should have foreseen this. My bad. My very bad.”
“Foreseen what? You’re not the one who’s psychic.” Ruby fills Pagan’s kitty bowl and sets it on the floor. His rumbling purr is ecstatic.
“I sent you to talk to the cops without considering that what you saw in your dream might turn out to be an actual crime. Worse yet, one that had already taken place.”
“Well, if it’s any comfort, that didn’t occur to me either, you know. And I’m supposed to be psychic.” She stifles a half-hysterical giggle.
China clears her throat. “I hate to say this, Ruby, but it sounds like you might need a lawyer.”
“I might.” Ruby puts the kitty food back on the pantry shelf. “As it turns out, I happen to know a good one.”
“Oh, really?” China chuckles wryly. “Has she kept many crooks out of jail? Has she had experience in plea-bargaining? Does she work cheap?”
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