Page 35 of The Psychic

Ronnie awoke with a start. She listened, but didn’t hear anything. Was that a noise, though? Something?

She threw back the covers and padded barefoot in the dark into the kitchen. What time was it? She looked at the oven clock.

Four a.m.

Nothing seemed off, so after a few minutes she headed back to bed.

She lay quietly, willing herself to relax and drift off, but she was wide-awake.

Surprising after everything that had transpired over the last few days, but then, maybe not because her head was full of Mel, Brandy and Clint, and her father and work, and Marian Langdorf and Carlton, and … hell … everything.

Cooper Haynes’s call popped up in her Rolodex of events, worries and problems … I’d like to talk to you about Rebekkah … two k ’s … one h …

It appeared she’d gotten that one right after all.

Haynes had quietly gone on to say he believed Mary Jo was using Rebekkah as her own name.

He believed Mary Jo was concealing her identity while living in a religious community called Heart of Sunshine.

He sounded a bit gobsmacked. Maybe at learning she’d had some information that had panned out?

Don’t believe in me too much. My gift seems to boomerang more often than help.

She punched her pillow and rolled onto her side, seeing the digital face of her alarm clock: 4:45 a.m.

Sleep , she silently ordered herself, closing her eyes and setting her jaw.

But her traitorous mind traveled back to the clearing, reviewing Mel’s body, her turned-away face, the investigative lights blasting down on the temporary canopy, the glowering trees, the white-suited techs collecting samples from on and around her, Brandy’s stuttered breathing …

And Sloan interviewing her, basically interrogating her because he didn’t believe a word she was saying. Brandy defending Clint … Clint’s truck with its muddied tires and bed full of soggy maple whirlies.

And her father. Always disappointed in her disinterest in his firm.

I might not know what I want, but I know what I don’t want.

Which reminded her of Galen. She thought about her vision of him with the boss’s wife. That was not going to end well. You didn’t need to be a psychic to make that prediction.

Lastly, her mind tripped on Marian Langdorf and Carlton.

She’d put off calling Marian back because she just didn’t want to go another round of I can’t and But you must .

She felt a little guilty for not immediately shutting the whole thing down …

but then Aunt Kat had told her that maybe she should think about it.

“No,” she said into the darkness.

At five thirty she gave up on falling back asleep and got up.

It was still dark when she was dressed and headed into the kitchen.

What a way to start a Saturday. She might as well be going to work, since she was already up, but since it was the weekend and the office was closed, she could get ready for the week ahead from home.

She didn’t want to give her father the false hope that she’d suddenly developed a gung-ho attitude toward the business.

After making herself a dish of raspberries and plain yogurt, she spent several hours on the computer, reexamining the paperwork on several cases, proofreading files for the Ben ton estate, the heirs of which she and Martin Calgheny were going to meet with on Tuesday.

Finally she shut down her laptop. The darkness had disappeared, replaced by a dim, gray cloud cover, perfect for jogging. She’d specifically put on running gear when she’d dressed, so now she tied on her Nikes and opened her front door.

A dead bat lay on its back on the outside mat, its wings spread wide, its tiny feet curled up.

Ronnie froze in the doorway.

“What?” This wasn’t some random thing. Couldn’t be, could it? It felt … malevolent. A message … that was left for her in the middle of the night … Maybe what had woken her?

Heart thudding, she swept her gaze quickly around the long porch and parking lot below, as if she could spot the perpetrator. Of course she saw no one.

Her next-door neighbor’s door suddenly swung inward and Angel stepped out. Her brain sizzled with unspoken accusations, but his dark eyes widened in surprise.

“Someone left that for you?” he demanded.

He was so quick to come up with that. Almost too quickly. Because he’d left it?

No. It didn’t feel right and unless he was a better actor than she believed, the flash of alarm that had crossed his face spoke of his innocence. “Looks that way.”

“Don’t touch it. I’ll get a shovel and get rid of it.”

“You don’t have to, I can—”

He gave her a look and she lifted her hands in acceptance. “Thank you.”

“Go on your run,” he said, noticing how she was dressed. He hitched his chin toward the street, silently urging her.

“Okay.” She stepped over the bat and hurried down the stairs.

Once she landed in the parking area, she took off and jogged at a faster pace than usual, trying to outrun the thoughts that plagued her, thoughts of Mel lying on the wet grass, cold and dead.

Sloan eyeing her with suspicion. Brandy protecting Clint, who in turn tried to protect Hugh.

A tangled mess … and then Rebekkah and …

Stop it!

She gave herself a silent command and concentrated on the cold wintry morning. Storm clouds were gathering again, threatening rain. She dashed by homes and shops, ran in place at crosswalks, avoided puddles and skimmed the edge of the park, only to reverse her route at the fountain.

Ronnie was breathless by the time she reached her apartment building again. Thankfully, there was no trace of the bat on her doormat, but Angel was still outside, leaning against the rail again. He straightened when she came to a stop at the top of the stairs, taking a moment to catch her breath.

“Got any idea who left you that little present?”

She shook her head. But in her mind’s eye she saw Mel’s mud- and blood-spattered body again and a shiver ran down Ronnie’s spine. A killer was out there. Did the bat have anything to do with it?

Her mind jumped to Clint’s mud-caked tires … the helicopter maple tree whirlies in the truck bed …

Both could be innocent remnants from his work. You’re leaping to conclusions. Brandy’s protectiveness of her brother got to you … made you look at Clint too closely.

And what about Sloan Hart and all of his intense questions. Did he believe her? Or was he still skeptical? She’d put money on skeptical. Big-time.

“You think it’s a prank?” asked Angel. Even as he asked the question she could already tell he didn’t believe that any more than she did.

“Maybe I’ve made someone mad.”

“You know who?”

She shook her head. The truth was, her mind was spinning too much with thoughts of Sloan to think clearly about who might be threatening her.

She didn’t want to think about him, but she did.

So, he didn’t believe her, so what? Didn’t make him the enemy.

He was one of the good guys. Right? So maybe the killer was Hugh after all.

Maybe Clint was wrong to exonerate him. Hugh didn’t have to be on some bro adventure.

He could have been at the clearing, waiting for Mel.

But would he leave the bat as a message? How could he know about me? Clint? Always back to Clint.

She drew a long breath, noticing the clouds beginning to darken and roil overhead.

“What?” demanded Angel.

“Nothing,” she lied. “I’ll think about it later. Thank you for taking care of the bat.”

He waved that away. All in a day’s work. “Did you talk to your boss any more about Daria?”

She reached into her zippered joggers pocket for her keys. “Martin’s not my boss, but I did talk to him. He said Daria wasn’t interested in going any further about the inheritance.”

There was a rumble of thunder off to the left and then a sudden deluge of rain. It pounded on the roof above their heads and bounced on the pavement below in silvery arrows.

“Daria wasn’t interested?” he repeated.

“That’s what Martin said.”

“I’ll talk to her again.” Clearly Angel didn’t believe her.

She turned toward her door, thinking about Mel. A flash of lightning and a few seconds later a louder grumble, almost a roar. The rain doubled its efforts, a violent cacophony.

Ronnie fished out her key, her fingers surrounding cold metal.

An image of Shana, her mouth open in a silent scream, her eyes wide and fixated, filled with disbelief and terror. She was lying on a carpeted floor, hands by her side, fingers splayed and digging into the fibers, her skin so white it looked blue.

Strangled?

Hey … hey … The voice was tinny. Somewhere in a distant dream.

She saw the bruising around Shana’s neck. Yes … strangled … like Mel.…

“Hey!”

This time she heard it through a jangled ringing in her ears.

She was deafened. Her knees giving way. Unable to do anything but let gravity take over as she stumbled forward … falling … falling …

Suddenly she was pulled upright, taut arms surrounding her. But her head swooped downward and she was staring at the floor of the porch. Her keys slipped from her fingers, lying on the concrete next to the mat at her front door, inches from where the bat had been earlier.

She tried to find her feet.

Couldn’t.

Still Angel’s arms were locked around her, making it impossible for her stand on her own.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” she told him, pushing away.

Reluctantly, he let his arms drop.

She glanced at him, her head woozy. In the depths of his dark eyes she registered his alarm. “Happens sometimes …” she murmured. Rarely. At least until recently.

She bent to pick up her keys, felt that same whoosh , and had to steady herself a moment by placing her right palm on the concrete. Taking deep breaths she slowly straightened as her cell, zippered into her back pocket, began to ring.

She carefully pulled back the zipper tab on her pocket and withdrew the phone.

Sloan.

Brandy had said he was going to call her. Bad timing.