Crime Seen

Table of Contents

 

 

‘‘An invigorating entry into the cozy mystery realm. . . . I cannot wait for the next book.’’

—Roundtable Reviews

‘‘Well written and unpredictable. Everything about this book is highly original . . . a fun protagonist with just enough bravado to keep her going.’’

—
Romantic Times

‘‘The characters are all realistically drawn and the situations go from interesting, to amusing, to laugh-out-loud funny. The best thing a person can do to while away the cold winter is to cuddle up in front of a fire with this wonderful book.’’

—The Best Reviews

‘‘A fresh, exciting addition to the amateur sleuth genre.’’ —J. A. Konrath, author of
Dirty Martini

‘‘A fun, light read, and a promising beginning to an original series.’’

—The Romance Readers Connection

‘‘Victoria Laurie has crafted a fantastic tale in this latest Psychic Eye Mystery. There are few things in life that upset Abby Cooper, but ghosts and her parents feature high on her list. . . . [A] few real frights and a lot of laughs.’’ —Fresh Fiction

‘‘A great new series . . . plenty of action!’’

—
Midwest Book Review

Other Psychic Eye Mysteries

OBSIDIAN
Published by New American Library, a division of
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:
80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

First Printing, September 2007

Copyright © Victoria Laurie, 2007

All rights reserved

OBSIDIAN and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

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Acknowledgments

It is great to love what you do. It is even better when you love who you work with and the people that make up your world. I’ve been really lucky on that front, with an amazing team devoted to helping me take Abby on all sorts of adventures, whether they’re in New York, slaving away behind the scenes, or cheering me on in other parts of the country and inspiring characters and plotlines. Here’s where I get to tell them how much I appreciate all they do for me, how incredibly thankful I am that they work so hard on my behalf, and how I don’t let a day go by without thanking the Big Guy that they’re in my life.

First up, I’d like to thank my amazing editor, Molly Boyle. Again, I have to say good-bye to someone with such talent and class; I’m a little crushed by the prospect of not having this woman marking up my manuscripts with her ever-vigilant red pencil. Instead, she’s off to make a whole new group of authors look good—lucky, lucky them.

I’ll miss you more than you could know, Molly. You’ve been simply wonderful to work with. Thank you so much for everything you’ve taught me. Your enthusiasm, your grace, and your calm demeanor will forever make me a fan. I wish you the very best of luck on your new adventure. You will be missed . . . every . . . single . . . day.

Kristen Weber—well, it looks like I lucked out again! I was handed over the last time into the very best of care, and so the handoff falls again in my favor. If you have to let go of someone you adore, it’s so nice to be given to someone with such an amazing reputation and gracious manner. I’m truly excited and thrilled to be working with you. Thank you so much for agreeing to take me on.

Jim McCarthy, my agent and dear, dear friend. I’ve said it all before, so here’s the shorthand version . . . mush, mush, gush, gush, and all that. You’re fabulous. You rule. You’re the best. Da bomb diggity. The shizzle.
I love you and thank you so much for . . . well . . .
all
of it!

Sandy Upham, sistah girl. How extraordinary you are. You dazzle me, you know that? Truly, truly. I can’t believe such a phenomenal woman shares my blood, my eyes, and my love of water parks. Thank you for always being there, for sharing, for your honesty, and yes . . . sigh . . . even for those ‘‘ors.’’ Now get your butt down here and come visit me. I miss you somethin’ fierce!

Yohan and Naoko Upham. My little bro and sister-in-law. What an amazing couple you two are. A
powerhouse
of love. What a team you make, and what great cheerleaders you’ve been. I’m so grateful for your love and support. Rock on, ‘‘dudes.’’ (Yohan— that was for you!)

The two women this book is lovingly dedicated to: Mary Jane Humphreys and Betty Laurie. For forty years you two have been my icons of beauty, class, and women dedicated to living an adventurous life. I am forever in awe of you. Thank you for being my connection to the past, for the revelations, and for the hilarious stories. Here’s to Italy this autumn!

Michael Torres. God, you are a beautiful man, do you know that? How amazing you’ve been to me, how gracious and kind. Thank you for coming into my life, and enriching it with your wonderful friendship.

Karen Ditmars, Leanne Tierney, Nora Brosseau, Tess Rodriguez, Jaa Nawtaisong, Kristy Robinett, Silas Hudson, Thomas Robinson, and
so
many others—I am forever blessed and enriched by your friendships. Everywhere I travel, I always meet the most extraordinary people—many of whom I’ve been lucky enough to befriend. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you all.

Chapter One

The way I see it, there are two kinds of people in this world: cat people and dog people. And as a general rule, you’d be better off mixing oil and water.

Or so I thought as I lay on the couch in my boyfriend’s house, recovering from a bullet wound to the chest I’d received three months earlier. My sweetheart, Dutch, owns a big, fat, annoying, allergy-producing tomcat named Virgil. I own a cute, cuddly, adorable, hypoallergenic dachshund named Eggy. I guess you can see which side of the dog-versus-cat smack down I fall on. Yes, I’m biased—so sue me.

On this particular Sunday, however, as Eggy and I were snuggling on the couch and easing into a really good nap, my nose wrinkled. Something smelled off . . .
really
off. ‘‘Ugh,’’ I said as I took a whiff. ‘‘What
is
that?’’

‘‘Abby?’’ I heard Dutch call from his study. ‘‘Did you say something?’’

I sat up on the couch and Eggy gave me an annoyed grunt. ‘‘There is really something foul around here,’’ I said, sniffing the air again.

‘‘What?’’ he asked, coming into the living room. ‘‘Did you need something?’’

‘‘What’s that smell?’’ I asked him, looking around as I caught Virgil trotting over from behind an end table to twirl figure eights around Dutch’s leg. It was then that I spotted something brown and smelly on my purse, lying close to where Virgil had been. ‘‘Oh, no! You
didn’t
!’’ I said angrily.

‘‘What’s the matter?’’ Dutch asked me.

I pointed with a growl and snapped, ‘‘Your cat just pooped on my purse!’’

Dutch turned to look where I was pointing, and I could swear I caught a smirk on his face before he turned back to me and said in a calm, soothing voice, ‘‘I’m sure he didn’t do it intentionally.’’

‘‘Of course he didn’t do it intentionally!’’ I spat as I got up off the couch and headed into the kitchen for some paper towels. ‘‘Just like he didn’t
intend
to pee on my side of the bed the other night, or hurl his hairballs on top of my clean laundry, or use my backpack for a scratching post. I’m sure it’s all just a big, fat, furry
coincidence
!’’

‘‘Edgar,’’ Dutch said, using his favorite nickname for me, after famed psychic Edgar Cayce. ‘‘Come on, he’s just a cat. He doesn’t have a malicious bone in his body.’’

‘‘Tell that to the dead chipmunk he showed up with yesterday,’’ I groused as I came back into the living room and scrunched up my face to wipe off my purse. ‘‘I’m sure those two had loads of laughs before Virgil
ate him
.’’

‘‘Try and look at it from Virgil’s perspective, Abs. He was king of the roost until you and Eggy moved in, so he’s had to make a pretty big adjustment.’’

I glared at my boyfriend and raised the wadded-up paper towel in my hand, letting him know just what I thought of Virgil and his ‘‘adjustment.’’ ‘‘Eggy’s had to make some concessions too, you know, and you don’t see him walking around here pooping on everything.’’