Page 27 of The Psychic

Ronnie’s heart was heavy. She and Brandy walked in silence, each caught in her own worrisome thoughts.

They trudged into the undergrowth, moving as fast as they could, which wasn’t saying much, blending into the foliage in their matching dark green ponchos.

This was the same path they’d used as young girls when they’d gone exploring and pretending that they were lone survivors, with Mel always certain her Prince Charming would find her, save her, steal her away to her happily ever after.

It was strange, and yet not, being with Brandy after all this time. If she hadn’t been so scared and worried, Ronnie would marvel about that.

They shouldered aside wet branches and stepped over exposed roots and mossy rocks for about fifteen minutes as the path threaded through the woods.

The clearing wasn’t all that close to Aunt Kat’s house. The shed must’ve been designed for some kind of storage at one time. Ronnie had never talked to Aunt Kat about it; had kept the shed to herself as the three friends used it as their secret hideout.

They could see illumination glimmering through the trees, could hear men’s murmuring voices, as they approached.

As they stepped into the clearing they were greeted with white glare from the lights that flooded the area, dissipating the gloom.

Their steps slowed in tandem as they emerged into the clearing and about seven or eight officers—men and women—turned to look at them.

Ronnie first saw the shed. In the twenty-some years since she’d last been here, it had deteriorated to the dilapidated, gray shambles it was today.

The boards were shrunken and gapped, the edges sharp under the illumination.

There was a pop-up canopy in front of, and to one side of, the shed, its blue nylon top offering cover from the rain for the group.

The sheriff’s department, Aunt Kat had said.

And lying on the sodden ground, just as she’d seen in her visions, was a woman. A dead woman.

Her heart sank, the tiniest bit of hope that had still lingered, extinguishing.

One deputy was bending close to the woman’s body, eyeing her.

Others were standing back, taking pictures.

Another was photographing the ground; tire treads …

the shed … the trees … There was someone inside the shed, the beam of their flashlight slicing through the darkness, sending out narrow rays of light through the gaps in the weathered siding.

Brandy made a whimpering sound beside her, her gaze fixed on the body.

Ronnie forced herself to look. Her stomach was a hard knot. Maybe she hadn’t recognized Melissa, but Brandy now did. The knowledge left her dazed and dazzled by all the illumination that turned the falling rain to diamond sparks.

“Excuse me. This is a potential crime scene,” a gruff male voice ordered. “Stay back!”

The order came from a man in the brown of a sheriff’s uniform. He stepped from beneath the canopy, slapping the hat he’d been holding in his hand onto his head to protect him from the continuous rain.

Ronnie and Brandy were hooded and likely looked unisex in the ponchos over their coats. When they didn’t immediately respond, he marched their way, his sheriff’s star flashing. Ronnie braced herself even while she glanced past him … and felt her heart twist.

What doesn’t belong in this picture …

One of the men turned to look at them. Sloan Hart. Her insides twisted.

Immediately his eyes narrowed on Ronnie, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing, either. What was he doing here? What the hell was he doing here? With the sheriff’s department? How had he found Mel?

And how had he gotten here first?

He stalked bare-headed in her direction.

Ronnie fought the urge to run and hide, then berated herself for being such a chicken. She had as much right as anyone to be here, maybe more. Her aunt had called her and this was Aunt Kat’s land … and the woman lying on the flattened rain-drenched grass was her friend, Melissa Burgham … McNulty.

Sloan stopped right in front of her, rain running down his hairline and temples.

Brandy sucked in a breath. Ronnie hoped to God she would say something. Take the pressure off her. But Sloan beat them both to the punch.

“You should have just told me where she was last night,” he stated coldly. “Saved us all a lot of trouble.”

“I didn’t know where she was. I told you that.” Ronnie forced herself to stand her ground.

“Do you know who she is?” he demanded.

Was he baring his teeth? No. That’s just what it sounded like.

Ronnie looked at Brandy, who had closed her eyes and was swaying a bit. She nodded but didn’t say anything.

“Ma’am?” The sheriff, Townsend by his badge, took a step toward them as Brandy caught herself by grabbing Ronnie’s arm. Townsend … Sloan’s high school friend … one of them at The Pond that day?

Sloan was still waiting for her to answer. “I believe she’s Melissa Burgham,” Ronnie said, her eyes now on Brandy for confirmation.

“McNulty,” Brandy managed to get out. She was pale as death.

“Melissa Burgham McNulty,” Ronnie stated for the record, putting an arm around Brandy for support. It felt like she was in rehearsal for a play. Going through the motions. Not really feeling anything yet. Just trying to remember the lines.

“Burgham?” Sloan repeated and then glanced back at the body, his jawline growing hard. He may have thought he’d seen the dead woman before but hadn’t been able to place her. “Jesus.”

The sheriff’s eyes narrowed, as if he were conjuring up a memory.

Brandy was raggedly breathing in and out, fighting to get her bravado back.

Fighting and failing. This was Mel, her closest friend from high school.

Ronnie felt shattered, too, but if that’s the way it was for her, she couldn’t imagine how hard it was for Brandy.

“Melissa McNulty,” Brandy repeated. Then on a half hysterical hiccup, “Unless she changed it back. She said she was going to, but I don’t think she had time. ”

“She was at The Pond that day,” Townsend said, surprised, then looked harder at each of them. “You too. You were all there.” To Brandy, he said loud enough to be heard over the noise of the storm, “You’re Clint Mercer’s kid sister. Randi.”

“Brandy,” Ronnie clarified and Townsend’s gaze swung to Ronnie’s face.

“You’re … you’re the one who …”

Who’s the nutcase.

“Veronica Quick,” Sloan cut in.

“Riiiiight.” Townsend was nodding. “I remember you.”

Of course. They all did. She ignored Townsend’s scrutinizing gaze and concentrated on Sloan, watching as rain tracked along his jawline. “Aren’t you with River Glen P.D.?” she asked.

“Yes,” was Sloan’s unilluminating answer.

“Ma’ams …” Townsend blocked their view as much as he could. “We need you to keep clear.”

“This is my aunt’s land,” Ronnie said. “I’m not leaving.”

Townsend looked like he was about to come unglued, but Sloan snapped at Brandy, “Stay right here on the periphery.” His eyes then bored into Ronnie’s.

“I want to talk to you. Now.” He hooked a thumb toward where a patrol car, its nose pushed into the side of the clearing, its headlights adding to the brightness of the area, sat waiting.

“Walk around the edge. We can take my car back,” said Sloan.

“Both of you,” ordered Townsend, sliding his finger between Brandy and Ronnie before heading back toward the canopy.

“I said I wasn’t leaving,” warned Ronnie.

“I suggest you change that,” Sloan said grimly. “You described this scenario last night. Said it was a missing person. Didn’t mention it was on your aunt’s land and that you knew who the person was.”

“I didn’t know then.”

“I knew it was Mel … Melissa,” Brandy said in a rush, as if it took her too long to answer she wouldn’t be able to.

“I’m not asking,” he said, his voice steel.

Ronnie felt herself bristle. She resented his tone.

But defying him wasn’t going to help Mel or anyone, and one way or another she was going to have to explain her “special ability” again.

She nodded curtly, and she and Brandy squished through the mud edging the clearing and past the patrol cars and sheriff’s SUVs to a black Bronco that Sloan remotely unlocked with a beep and flash of lights.

They both climbed into the back. Brandy said, “I’m going to get mud on your floor mats.”

“Fine.” From the driver’s seat, he slid them both a look in the rearview, then started the engine and slid the Bronco into gear. “Your aunt is Katherine Dubois?”

“Katarina Dubois,” corrected Ronnie.

The Bronco splashed along the rutted track and onto the two-lane county road that circled back to her aunt’s house. Sloan took the lane up the slight rise, to park behind the patrol car that had been left near the house, next to Ronnie’s Escape.

“We should go in from around back,” said Ronnie as they climbed out of the Bronco.

Sloan followed Ronnie and Brandy to the rear porch without comment.

Aunt Kat was already just inside, opening the door as if expecting them.

Ronnie and Brandy took off their ponchos and draped them over an outdoor table at Aunt Kat’s direction.

She gave them all rags to wipe off their shoes, but Sloan said to Ronnie before they stepped into the house, “I would like to talk to you at the River Glen station.”

Of course.

“The crime,” she pointed out, “if there was one, happened here, not in your jurisdiction.”

“You came to the department yesterday and asked us to find the woman who was discovered by Mr. DeBoer,” Sloan stated evenly and from the corner of her eye Ronnie noticed Aunt Kat stiffen.

Sloan went on. “The sheriff called me to the scene at the clearing today. It was exactly as you had described. And then you and Ms. Mercer showed up.”

“Abel Townsend’s your friend,” said Brandy.

“What’s going on here?” Aunt Kat asked, worry lines creasing her forehead.

“Just clearing up some jurisdiction issues,” Sloan said. “I was with the sheriff’s department before River Glen P.D.” He was dead serious. Cop mode all the way.

Ronnie’s heart sank. Knew she was going to be given the third degree about what she knew when and how.

She’d hoped she could save the woman in the clearing, but it had been too late.

Now that she knew it was Mel, she was burning for retribution.

“All right. I’ll take Brandy home and I’ll meet you at River Glen P.D. Will that work?”

He hesitated a moment before nodding slowly. “Make sure you show up.”

Sounded like a threat. “Oh, I’ll be there. You won’t have to come looking for me.”

“Ronnie?” Aunt Kat cut in worriedly.

But Ronnie wasn’t finished. Her voice was as steely as Sloan’s had been and she met his hard gaze with her own. “And for the record. It was a crime. Your tech team will find the victim was strangled. I want to know who did it as much, or more, than you do.”