Authors: Maggie Toussaint
Wayne inflated like a blowfish out of water. “Report all you like. I’m an elected official. Your state pals can’t touch me.”
I projected calm and peace, hoping to diffuse the situation. “The sheriff was doing his job. I asked to view the victim, to see if I knew her. He said y’all didn’t have any leads on identifying the woman, and it wouldn’t hurt. But it was harder than I thought.”
Wayne took the hint and nodded to the door. “Yeah. I should get you home.”
“Wait.” Gail stepped into our path. “Did you learn something?”
I sent Wayne a questioning glance. Unless he indicated otherwise, my latest dreamwalk would remain a private matter. Gail couldn’t get me fired because I wasn’t officially hired.
“Gail’s a hard-ass,” he said out loud. “But I trust her.”
I met her level glance and gazed away. Part of me wanted to bump her back with my psychic insight; the other part shrieked caution. Given my ongoing battle with Army disbursements, I knew a thing or two about hard-asses and bureaucrats. The trick was to reveal only the barest amount of information. “I didn’t get much. I tapped into the victim’s last five minutes of life.”
Gail edged closer, speculation in her gray-green eyes. “You can do that?”
Once again I glanced at Wayne for direction on how to proceed. His nod was barely perceptible. “Sometimes. I don’t choose what I see. It’s what the dead want to show me that I have access to.”
“Fascinating.” Her forehead furrowed. “Go on.”
I hesitated, running my thumb over the tips of my curled fingers. Authority figures like Gail had been my adversaries for so long, it felt reckless to speak freely. But this was what consultants did; they helped authorities. If I truly wanted a consulting job, I had to step it up, right now.
I cleared my throat gently. “The dead woman’s name is Lisa. She had a three-year affair with her killer’s lover, a man named Jay. I’ve been having visits from her for days as Angel. Anyway, Jay promised to leave his partner or wife but didn’t because the killer controlled the money in their relationship.”
“You got all that just now?” she asked.
“What about last names?” Wayne scribbled fast on a narrow notepad. “Where did the murder occur?”
As they edged closer, it took everything I had not to retreat. I didn’t want any inadvertent physical contact while my senses were still jacked up. “They didn’t reveal any last names. I don’t know where she was killed. A clearing in the woods somewhere. Something was said about weekends in Warm Springs.”
Wayne glanced up from his note-taking. “Physical descriptions?”
I flipped back to a scene in my mind to double-check my answer before I spoke. “It was nighttime, and the killer wore a hat. Both killer and victim were the same height and weight.” I shrugged. “That’s all I got.”
“What about age? Could you tell the killer’s age from posture or voice?”
I nodded too fast. Pain lanced through my head, sliding from one side to the other. I reached up to cradle my temples. It took me a few deep breaths to beat back a twinge of nausea and disorientation. My head pounded. I made a mental note to start carrying ibuprofen for the aftermath of dreamwalking.
“You okay?” Wayne asked.
“Fine,” I lied, though his concern was genuine. I was ready for this debriefing to be over. “Lisa’s killer had a natural, prowling stride. The voice sounded low-pitched and gritty. I thought it was a man at first. And truthfully, I can’t say it isn’t a he. But the rage felt feminine.”
The sheriff barred his arms. “To summarize, we can’t narrow down the crime scene to more than a wooded area. The killer is a wealthy person of unknown race and gender, about five six and a hundred forty pounds, with a partner named Jay.”
I was stunned he accepted my findings at face value. I’d expected him to challenge me every step of the way. “I know it isn’t much, but it is a start, and more than you had before. It is possible I can contact the victim again in the future and learn more.”
“Why wait?” Gail waved toward the stainless-steel wall of vaulted slots. “She’s right here.”
I tried to summon a smile, but I didn’t have one in reserve. The bright overhead lights intensified, causing me to tug the brim of my ball cap lower to shield my eyes. “If she wanted me to see more right now, she’d have shown it to me. I’ve told you everything I know.”
Almost everything. I hadn’t described the silver ring I’d seen the killer wearing. It reminded me of a decorative pen I’d seen someone wearing recently.
Until I remembered who wore the pen, my lips were sealed about the ring.
A storm was coming. The turbulent sensation throbbed in the marrow of my bones, down in the tiniest molecule in my red blood cells. Outside my house, not a clump of Spanish moss stirred in the centuries-old oak trees. The birds had gone quiet, too. My headache from yesterday was gone, replaced by a dull ache in my sinuses.
Mama had been our family’s weather barometer for years. Now it seemed I’d acquired the forecasting skill as well. I wandered around my yard, tidying up the tools I’d left in the greenhouse, stacking discarded plant containers in the back of my truck along with downed limbs. I moved my hanging baskets into the shelter of the greenhouse with Muffin dogging my heels.
The Shih-poo acted like this activity was a big game, but a sense of urgency hurried me along. I tucked the ferns in next to the tomato plants I’d already started and raked up the oak leaves for my compost pile. It felt good to have something to do. I cautiously opened my senses to enjoy the buzz of nature. A flock of blackbirds winged past noisily, trying to outrun the storm.
As I expanded my listening boundaries, I hit a snag. A cone of no noise that was suspiciously human. My breath hitched at that anomaly. I’d encountered this void before, back during the Ryals investigation. I’d dubbed this person my watcher. Why was he here? What did he want with me?
I fiddled with the tarp cover of my truck bed, tying the corner grommets to eyebolts on my truck frame. I didn’t feel threatened by his watching, and I wasn’t sure it was a he. But having a gender made the watcher seem less abstract, more like a normal person. Since detecting him, I’d pinged my surroundings periodically and gotten nothing.
Until today.
Now he was back.
I thought about hollering that I knew he was out there, but that was dumb when my gun was in the kitchen. I could send Muffin after him, but who’d be scared of a twenty-pound ball of fluff? I needed a Rottweiler or a pit bull to send after him.
I listened intently, using my extrasensory perception. Nothing, not even the initial void. The person had vanished from my internal radar screen. Whoever this person was, he was very, very good about being invisible.
I hoped it was my missing and presumed dead husband, but I couldn’t imagine Roland being so hands off or invisible. He’d want me to know it was him out there in the woods. Perhaps the watcher had to do with the current murder investigation, but I didn’t think so.
If it weren’t Roland out there, it was someone who wanted Roland, which was way worse. Whatever trouble my husband had found, it was still very much around.
A car pulled up in the driveway. I dampened my senses immediately. Louise Gilroy. With Precious, the high-energy, flat-coated Labrador that belonged to her missing daughter. The dog tugged the leash from her hand, bounded over to greet me, and sniffed Muffin.
I grabbed the leash and quieted Precious down. Once Louise saw I had the dog, she sagged back inside her car. I hurried over and tapped on her window. “Louise?”
She rolled down the window a few inches. Alcohol fumes wafted up to me. For a woman who prided herself on her conservative appearance, Louise Gilroy had taken a wrong turn this morning. She still wore her navy blue housecoat and hadn’t bothered with a lick of makeup. Her matted salt and pepper bob had an inch of gray roots, giving her hair a two-toned appearance. With my recent hair woes, my heart went out to her. I tried again. “Louise?”
“I need a break.” Her furtive gaze linked with mine briefly. I sensed a chasm of seething darkness. She turned her gaze to the steering wheel. “I’m going away for a few weeks. You said you’d watch Precious for me. Why don’t you see if you can find her a better home?”
Her negative emotion doused me like a rogue wave. I mentally staggered under the load and set about clearing it from my person. A ball of white light soon surrounded me, and my thoughts were my own again.
This was a mistake, pure and simple. Once Louise processed her grief, she’d want her pet back. “I’ll keep Precious while you’re away. Why don’t we hold off on a decision until afterwards?”
“I can’t keep her. It hurts too much to remember.” She flicked a button and her trunk popped open. “Her stuff’s back there. Take it.”
Louise needed help. Taking care of her dog temporarily wouldn’t be a problem. “I will, but I’m doing this because I’m your friend.”
It took me four trips to carry the food bowls, the fifty-pound sack of premium dog food, two fluffy dog beds, a heavy sack of doggie chew toys, and a thick accordion file of her veterinary records into my house. I closed the trunk and stepped back up to the driver’s window. “All done.”
Louise cracked the window again. “You’re a lifesaver.” Then she sped off.
Great. Now I had two dogs and no paying clients. Precious was high energy, too. How would I keep her safe? She liked to roam. With the busy highway out front, I’d need a fenced backyard if she stayed here for any length of time. I’d figure it out somehow.
Back in the kitchen, I put together a ground turkey meatloaf for dinner. It was the last package of meat in my freezer. After that was gone, I wasn’t sure what we’d eat. Hopes and promises most likely.
My phone shrilled. Charlotte. “Hey.”
“Get your butt over here right now.” My friend’s words were packed with emotion. “You are never going to believe this.”
Outside my window, tree branches danced in the wind. Bad weather was nearly here. “A storm’s coming.” How lame. I’d never been afraid of a storm before, but this one felt different.
“You’re right. It’s a media storm. A perfect storm. Gail Bergeron had Dr. Sugar arrested for stalking.”
My jaw dropped. I glanced around my home to make sure I hadn’t stepped in a rabbit hole. “You’re kidding.”
“Dead serious. The man’s in jail. His reputation is in tatters. The Ice Queen is our new coroner.”
“I had a run-in with the Ice Queen yesterday.” Gail’s icy fury and rabid curiosity surfaced in my thoughts. “I hoped she’d be headed back to Hot ’lanta soon.”
“Our humble town must cramp her big-time style. But that doesn’t stop her from throwing her weight around. She’s making an example out of poor Bo Seavey. But that’s not all. The television crews will be here any minute.”
“What?” I couldn’t process the news fast enough. Was this sleepy Sinclair County?
“Yep.” Charlotte’s ending “p” popped through the phone. “Carolina Byrd pressed charges against Running Wolf. He was arrested for trespassing on her property.”
My heart beat wildly. Bo Seavey was lucky he hadn’t been brought up on harassment charges years ago. It was hard to feel sorry for a sleazy womanizer like him, but Running Wolf was a gentle soul. He would wither to nothing behind bars. “Running Wolf is in jail?”
“Yep. The tribal council is coming here to lodge an official protest.”
I sagged against the kitchen counter, the dogs at my ankles. “This is all a big mistake. Those weren’t even Native American remains out at Mallow.”
“What can I say? At this point, the truth is irrelevant. Come help me sort this out. I need a human lie detector to tell who’s fibbing.”
“Where are you?”
“The jail.”
Great. My sucky day just got worse.
A tall, hawk-nosed man in buckskin garb read from a sheaf of papers into a bullhorn in the jail parking lot. From time to time he glanced up, his piercing brown eyes boring into every person in attendance.
“The sacred resting place of our ancestors has been disturbed. The spirits are angry. The land cries for justice. We must cleanse the land. The remains must be returned to their resting place. This abomination is a continuation of a centuries-long war against Native Americans—”
I tuned out the next three pages of rhetoric and half-listened to his call for ceremonial offerings with tobacco. I nudged Charlotte. “Who’s that?”
“Jack Soaring Eagle. He’s from the State Council on Native Americans. Supposedly someone from the Bureau of Indian Affairs is coming down here, too.” My friend shivered with excitement. “Isn’t this the coolest thing ever? We got a front-row seat to a full-fledged Indian protest.”
A gust of strong wind ruffled papers, flapped poster boards, and buffeted my ball cap. I held my hat until the gust subsided. “These people will be seriously pissed when they find out the remains aren’t Native American.”
Charlotte snapped another picture. “Who cares? This protest rally is headline news for Sinclair County. We’ll be on everyone’s map.”
“For the wrong reason. We don’t want this kind of trouble. When people feel passionately about injustice, things get out of hand. Think of poor Running Wolf sitting behind bars.”
My friend’s eyes sparkled. “Do you think they’d let me take his picture behind bars? That would sell a ton of papers.”
“Snap out of it. This is his life we’re talking about.”
“I didn’t tell him to protest or trespass. He put himself into this situation. I can help him by making sure his story gets out. Maybe I can overlay an image of bars over an archived photo of him.”
She was right. I had to stop projecting myself into Running Wolf’s situation. I’d hate being held in a steel cage. He must hate it, too, but it hadn’t deterred him from standing up for his beliefs.
Movement over by the lobby doors caught my eye. Gentle Dove stepped out of the law enforcement center and scanned the crowd. She was dressed in a soft leather beaded shift with moccasins, her gray hair braided into two long plaits. I’d never seen her in her Sunday-best Indian garb. She looked one-hundred percent Native American, and in that moment she was.