Page 29 of The Psychic

I’m going to marry you … The words floated across the screen of her mind and she took a long sip of the hot coffee as the doors opened and two thirty-something mothers, toddlers in tow, bustled into the shop.

One little girl wearing a fuzzy hood with teddy-bear ears burst through the tables to rush to the glass case where Christmas cookies and muffins were on display.

“Cake pop! Mommy. I wants a cake pop!” She looked up eagerly at her mother, reddish curls peeking out from her hood. “Chocklit.”

“How do you get a message?” Sloan asked, and she turned her attention back to him.

“It’s just there. A thought.”

“From … Melissa … ?” He was clearly struggling to even humor her with questions as he drank from his cup.

Had Melissa sent that message to her? It felt more … expansive somehow. “I don’t know that there’s a particular source.”

“And this has been with you all your life?”

“As long as I can remember. Look, I know you’re trying to act like this is normal and it’s not. Believe me, I know. You’re thinking, maybe she’s been lucky with her guesses. She admits she’s not always right. Maybe it’s just a kind of intuition. Nothing psychic about it.”

His lips faintly quirked. “Something along those lines.”

“Okay, fine. Whatever. I just wanted to find the woman in the clearing and now you have.”

A gust of cold air rushed inside as the two mothers she’d seen earlier were corralling the toddlers and heading for the door. Ronnie watched the girl with the red curls and teddy-bear hat skip outside. In one chubby fist she clutched a chocolate cake pop.

Sloan said, “In this vision, though, you clearly saw your friend’s body and knew she’d been strangled.”

“It was a series of … images. I didn’t recognize her. I told you that. Oh. And the dog …”

“The dog you heard.”

“Yep.”

He took another drink. Giving himself time to think , she thought, her gaze moving to a nearby table where a bearded man in his twenties was stretched out in a chair, laptop open, earbuds visible as he scrolled with one hand and picked at a bagel with the other.

What was it about the dog in her vision? Why couldn’t she see it, just hear its incessant barking—

“What about her bloody wrists?” Sloan asked.

Ronnie blinked back to the here and now and the warm coffee shop. “I don’t know. Was she tied? Were they chafed?”

He gazed at her through narrowed eyes. She could tell he was calculating whether to tell her something or not. When he finally spoke, he shocked her. “It looks like they were chewed.”

“By … by the dog ? No. The dog is warning us. Telling us to find her. That she’s in trouble.”

“The dog that you can’t see.”

“But I can hear him!”

“A male dog?”

“I don’t know.” Was it? “Yes. A male dog. I think. But it wasn’t the dog.” On that, Ronnie was certain.

Sloan cocked his head, thinking. “What if the dog was trying to save her?” he suggested. “Pulling her by her wrists?”

Ronnie froze in her seat. He was right. She knew he was right. The dog had tried to help Mel. Maybe it had been tied when she’d been attacked. Had gotten free later. Had tried to pull her to safety.

Tears filled her eyes.

“What?” Sloan demanded. “Are you seeing this?”

His tone was so arrogant that she immediately snapped out of her reverie. “No, I’m not seeing it. I’m feeling it. I’m feeling sad about my friend and the dog that was trying to save her. It just breaks my heart.”

She realized she was on her feet. She was so mad at Sloan. Mad that he was such a prick. He’d shattered all her romantic illusions about him.

He waved her down. “I’m sorry about your friend. This won’t take much longer.”

“It’s not going to take longer at all because I’m leaving.”

“Wait … please … sit.”

She almost stormed out. That would feel good. In the moment.

But it won’t help find out who killed Mel.

She slowly retook her seat, perched on the edge, saw the guy with the laptop close his computer and shove back his chair before donning a wool cap, zipping his jacket and making his way to the door.

Sloan said, “I’d like some background on McNulty.”

“Melissa. Mel.”

“Mel.” He nodded.

Ronnie controlled her anger with an effort. “I don’t know a lot. It was seeing Brandy again that made me even realize it was Mel.”

He thought about that for a second, then held up a hand. “Let’s start over,” he suggested. “When was the last time you saw her?” He was trying harder to be … not cold. Difficult for him , she thought with an inward sneer.

She said, “Years ago. Brandy, Mel and I were grade school friends. Not so much later. I haven’t seen either of them in years until I ran into Brandy at the hospital.

She and I were in the hospital cafeteria when I realized that the woman I’d been envisioning in that clearing was Mel … and you know the rest.”

“You didn’t go to the hospital to see Brandy because of the ‘vision’?”

“No.” He waited and Ronnie started to sweat a little. She didn’t want to tell him about Shana, the whole story about the divorce papers and accident and driving Shana home. “I was there to see someone else. Unrelated to this story.”

“Who?”

“Does it matter?”

“Do you not want to tell me?” he countered, a dark eyebrow arching.

“I don’t. And anyway, are you in charge of this investigation? It happened in the county, not River Glen, so how did you get involved?”

In lieu of answering, he said, “It sounds like you’ve had more than one vision.”

“I’ve had several about Mel. They’ve grown a little clearer. Or, maybe I’m better at concentrating and see more. I know you can barely listen to me with a straight face, but I’m telling you the truth.”

“I don’t doubt you believe it.”

“Okay,” she stated flatly.

Detective Verbena, like Sloan, had pretended to believe her when she’d come to her about Edmond Olman’s wife. But Verbena had listened enough to send a patrol to watch the house.

“Is that all you want to say about it?” he asked.

“Yes.” She took another swallow of her now tepid coffee.

“All right, then.”

“If you want to talk to Brandy,” Ronnie said, “she went back to work. At Glen Gen.”

“I’ll stop by the hospital. I’m talking to Clint later.”

“You keep up with him?” she asked, surprised to hear Brandy’s brother’s name. “Unrelated to this?”

“Him and a few others.”

“Let me guess. Evan Caldwell, and Abel— Sheriff— Town -send?” she couldn’t help throwing in.

“Don’t know if you know Abel, but that’s a hard one to get used to. Him being the sheriff.”

“I know of him. So you—you’re all still friends? Like in high school?”

“It’s not the same, obviously. But Clint and I have kept in touch.”

Ronnie didn’t respond.

“What?” Sloan asked suddenly, breaking into her thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

“You looked like you were going to say something.”

She’d had Brandy’s comments about Clint’s innocence on her mind. “Maybe you should talk to Brandy.”

“What were you going to say?” All of a sudden he was dead serious again.

“No … I … Brandy knew Mel way better than I did.”

“But you were going to say something,” he persisted. He was like a dog with a bone. Not giving up.

“No,” she said with more force. “All I want to do is help. Judge me if you want, but I want to know what happened to Mel. So please talk to Brandy, and talk to Mel’s ex-husband. Like I said, I really didn’t know her anymore. We quit hanging out in grade school.”

“But somehow you got a message about her.”

“Somehow I did. I know you can’t use any of this in a court of law, even when and if you find the guy.”

“Or woman …”

Ronnie couldn’t stop her reaction. No. It wasn’t a woman who’d killed Mel.

“You don’t believe it’s a woman,” he pushed, finishing his coffee and crumpling the cup in his fist.

“No.”

“What do you think happened?”

“I don’t really know. I’ve … I’ve told you everything I saw.” Her mind wandered back to the images that had appeared to her. “But it seems like it’s a crime of passion. Whoever killed her did it because he was in love with her.”

His gray eyes didn’t miss anything. It felt like they scoured her face, through her skin, into her brain. “That a guess?”

“Call it a deduction. Like I told you, over and over, just talk to Brandy. I’ve got to go. I’ve got a lot to do. I … thanks again for the coffee.”

She half expected him to stop her again, but this time he simply sat back and let her fly out of the shop.

She didn’t know who’d killed Mel. She had no idea.

But she’d been influenced by Brandy and she didn’t want to blurt out Clint’s name just because Brandy had been so hell-bent on protecting him and throwing blame on Mel’s ex, Hugh.

In any case, she did not know who it was behind Mel’s death, and she’d be damned if she sent the investigation in the wrong direction.

That said, she wasn’t going to sit by and expect the police to solve the case. She’d been sent a message and she was going to act on it … somehow.

Sloan watched Veronica Quick scramble away from him as if he were about to arrest her. She was right about one thing: He had no real right to suspect her. But yesterday she’d brought the question of the missing woman to him, and so she was involved at some level.

What that level was, was anyone’s guess. Psychic revelation? Message from beyond? Kooky nonanswer that would never pass the smell test if, and when, they caught the bastard who’d killed Melissa Burgham McNulty and tried to take the case to court?