Page 59 of The Psychic

Sloan relaxed ever so slightly. “Townsend makes the calls on your brother.”

“Oh. Right.” She gave him her shoulder and turned to Ronnie. “I heard you were here. Why? What happened?”

“A long story.”

“You can tell it to me on the way home.”

“You’re really my ride?” It lifted Ronnie’s heart a bit.

“She hasn’t been released yet,” warned Sloan.

As if hearing his words, Ronnie’s ER doc swept in again. Seeing Brandy, the young man said in surprise, “What are you doing down here?”

“Heard about a friend.”

“Well, your friend is ready to go.” He turned to Ronnie, but the smile that lingered on his face was for Brandy. Ronnie looked at Brandy, who rolled her eyes, but she, too, seemed glad to see the doctor.

As soon as he was gone, Brandy shot a frown Sloan’s way, clearly waiting for him to leave.

He caught eyes with Ronnie for a moment, and she sensed he wanted to say something more. He hesitated, but with Brandy there, kept whatever he wanted to say to himself.

“Call me when you’re free,” he finally said to Ronnie.

“I’ve got this,” Brandy reminded him.

Sloan clearly didn’t want to leave her, which warmed Ronnie’s heart. Although, she told herself, maybe he was just irked at Brandy’s insistence. He said, “I’ll call you as soon as I’m done with the interview.”

As soon as they were alone, Brandy turned to her and whispered, “What Clint said? That wasn’t a confession. He did not hurt Mel. All he meant was that he didn’t mean to hurt Mel emotionally .”

Ronnie wasn’t about to take on the argument with her about Clint again. Especially with so fragile a truce between them. Instead, she agreed, “You might be right.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m your ride home.”

Was that a faint spark of humor in Brandy’s eyes?

“Maybe,” Ronnie allowed. Then, “Why are you my ride?”

Brandy sobered immediately, her lips trembling a bit before she cleared her throat and said, “Because I lost one friend and I don’t want to lose another.”

Ronnie’s throat tightened. “All for one and one for all?”

“Something like that.”

She didn’t trust her voice to answer. Instead, she found the necklace and held the broken shard out for Brandy to see. It took a moment, but Ronnie finally managed, “I found this earlier in an old jewelry box.”

Brandy stared at it a long time, her lips clamped together. Never one to bend to emotion, she said, “Not only found it, but put it on, I see,” she said. “God, I wonder where mine is. Don’t even know if I still have it. That was a damn long time ago.”

“A damn long time ago. Let’s go.”

They walked out to her car together and Brandy unlocked the doors.

Climbing inside, Brandy hesitated before engaging the engine.

She glanced in the rearview mirror, then over at Ronnie in the passenger seat.

“Okay, I’ll say it. It’s not your fault.

It’s not Sloan’s, either, although he and Townsend really piss me off. ”

“Sloan said Townsend is the one in charge—”

“I heard him. But let me finish. I hate apologizing. It’s no one’s fault but Clint’s, okay?

He’s an idiot. He chased Mel down to that shed, which was apparently her hideaway.

She’d go there to get away from the men in her life.

Hugh, Clint, whoever else … Benzene and Wetherly …

But Clint followed her to talk her out of ending it with him.

They’d had some kind of fight I guess. She’d tried to break up with him.

She said it was over and left, and he followed her. ”

“Clint told you this?”

“Well, yeah, but maybe he didn’t mean to.

Who knows? He’s been in and out of consciousness.

But when he’s awake he’s blabbing, blabbing, blabbing, and with that cop still outside ICU.

” She rolled her eyes. “For God’s sake, he’s not a criminal.

Just a moron. I told him to shut up, but he wasn’t clear enough for it to sink in.

” Then she said, as she started the engine, “So, where’s your car? What’s the address?”

Ronnie gave Brandy the address of the Langdorf mansion, and Brandy punched it into her GPS.

Once the address registered on the screen, Brandy said, “I’ve been thinking. I want to call that Paula, at your firm, for him.”

“Paula Prescott?”

“Yes.”

“She doesn’t do a lot of defense work,” Ronnie warned.

“She’ll do it if you ask her.”

Oh. “Is that what this—you insisting on giving me a ride—is all about?” Ronnie was plunged into disappointment as Brandy backed out of her parking slot and drove away from Glen Gen’s parking lot.

“I just told you I don’t want to lose you,” she snapped. “Don’t make this some nefarious plot.”

Ronnie lifted her hands in surrender, but she was really starting to feel used and abused by people she knew.

Brandy slowed for a stoplight, idling behind a small sports car, and as she switched on the wipers, changed the subject. “What’s with you and Sloan?”

“What do you mean?”

She slid Ronnie the “don’t kid a kidder” look.

Ronnie really didn’t want to go into her relationship with Sloan with Brandy right now.

“He seemed pretty possessive,” she said as the light changed and the car in front of her didn’t move.

“Come on.” Brandy hit the horn and the driver, startled, sped through the intersection, then made a quick turn into the lot of a strip mall.

“Idiot,” Brandy muttered under her breath, then to Ronnie, “Something’s happened between you and Sloan.

Don’t tell me that long-ago prediction might be coming true. ”

“I won’t tell you that.”

“No wedding bells?”

“No. We just … spent one night together, that’s all.”

“Oh, shit. Really?” Her brows nearly reached her hairline.

“Too new to talk about. Might be nothing.” Ronnie kept her gaze focused on the road ahead, her mind probing her own tender feelings. “He seems to have pulled back today.”

“When you say, ‘spent the night together,’ not to put too fine a point on it, but …”

“You know what I’m saying.” Ronnie half laughed as they passed by a park where a huge Christmas tree was lit and a few kids in thick jackets and rain gear were climbing on a dripping play structure. “We’re not talking about this anymore. Tell me about Clint. What can I do to help?”

“Get Sloan off his back, for one thing.”

“You heard him. Townsend’s in charge.”

“Yeah, they all work together,” she said dismissively. “I want to clear Clint’s name. I want to go through Mel’s things, but they’re at Hugh’s. Maybe go back out to the clearing.”

“You want to go to the clearing?”

“Someone else met Mel there besides Clint. At the shed. The person who really killed her. Right?”

Ronnie nodded slowly. There was still a chance Clint was responsible, or involved in some way. Or, maybe it was someone else.

“We need more information, but the sheriff is hiding it from us. Maybe you can talk Sloan into helping us.”

Ronnie snorted.

“But you saw what happened to Mel in one of your visions,” Brandy insisted.

“It was more like a dream,” Ronnie corrected.

“Whatever. Maybe you can see it again. See who did it this time.”

“That would be nice, but it doesn’t work that way.”

“Why doesn’t it? Just try, okay? Push your brain, or whatever. Lean into it!”

“Brandy,” she reproached as they passed a slower vehicle, an older Chevy where the driver was seemingly searching for an address.

“Please?”

Ronnie glanced over and met her pleading brown eyes. “All I know was the dog was there. And someone came to the shed door and Mel went to answer it, and she was surprised by someone.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t see.”

“You see other things. Why can’t you see this guy?”

“We could argue about this for hours, or do something constructive.”

“Okay, okay.” Brandy shook her head. “I’m working a day shift tomorrow. I’ll be off around three, three thirty. Let’s go to the clearing.”

“I’ll call Aunt Kat,” Ronnie said, somewhat reluctantly. She didn’t want to get in the way of Sheriff Townsend or Sloan, but she wanted answers, too.

The weight of Angel’s death returned as Brandy pulled into the Langdorf circular drive. The police vehicles were gone, the windows of the house still illuminated. Ronnie’s Escape was right where she’d parked it.

“Tomorrow,” Brandy said and Ronnie thanked her for the ride as she got out and felt the chill of December in the rain that was spitting from the dark sky.

Driving back to her apartment Ronnie felt every bruise, bump and scrape from her fight with Carlton.

As she pulled into her slot she noted the yellow tape announcing Angel’s apartment as a crime scene and as she climbed the stairs to her unit, she spied more of the plastic ribbon on the shed and a few of the neighbors clustered together talking and smoking, one man in a down overcoat casting a glance her way.

Thankfully he didn’t call to her, but a chill passed through her as she thought of Angel and she uttered a quick prayer before she hurried to her unit. As soon as she was inside she headed for a hot shower, standing under the spray until the water started to cool.

Then she climbed into flannel pajamas before sliding into bed, where she pulled the covers up tight to her chin.

She both wanted Sloan to come over and wished to be alone with her thoughts.

She needed to think. To relax. To do the opposite of what Brandy suggested.

Not lean in, but lean out. She’d been too tense and upset for far too long.

It was barely eight o’clock, but she was done for the day. Not hungry, even though she hadn’t eaten.

When her phone rang, she grabbed for it on her nightstand. Was disappointed that it wasn’t Sloan. Realized he’d asked her to call him and she just … hadn’t. She frowned at the caller ID. Evan Caldwell? She considered ignoring the call. She didn’t want to talk to anyone but Sloan.

But …

“Hi, Evan,” she managed to greet him.

“Hi, there,” he replied. “I expected to hear from you.”

“Me? Why?”

“Didn’t Sloan tell you I have something for you? I told him to tell you to call me.”

Did he? God, her whole day was such a mess. “What is it?”

“I did a little research on you,” he said and she thought she heard his smug smile in his voice.

“What kind of research?”

“You know, some family background stuff.”

Instantly she felt her muscles tense. “On my family?” she asked.

“So you’ve got your father and your Aunt Katarina? Right? And your mom supposedly died when you were about four?”

Her skin prickled. “Supposedly?”

“No record of her death, Ronnie, my dear. None that I could find. And you know I can find just about anyone or anything.”

Her insides churned. Where the hell was this going?

“Ever see her death certificate?” he asked.

“Well, no.”

“Somebody’s been lying to you,” he said and his words seemed to echo in her head. “Your Spidey sense never pick up on that?”

Ronnie’s nerveless fingers dropped the phone onto the bed. She could hear Evan’s tinny, “Hello? Hello? You there?” but it didn’t really register in her brain. Mom was alive ? No. They wouldn’t lie to her about that. Not her father. For sure not Aunt Kat.

She threw back the covers and leapt out of bed. Stood in shock in the bedroom for a full minute without moving, then swept up the cell and cut Evan off. She couldn’t hear this. Not from him. She pulled up Aunt Kat’s contact picture, her thumb hovering over the button to connect.

Lied to … she’d been lied to? Mom was alive?!

No. Don’t trust Evan. It’s too fantastical.

But was it? Her mind reeled. A hundred questions swirled in her head.

Don’t buy into it. Don’t! But—

She tossed the cell back onto the bed as if it were poison.

Don’t call. Wait till tomorrow.

The sudden knocking on her front door made her startle and cry out. Her cell rang at the same time. She saw the screen. Sloan. She swept up the phone again and answered.

“I’m at your door,” he said. “You okay? You never called.”

“Sorry … sorry … I just came home and got in the shower.”

“You okay?” he repeated, but his tone had shifted. She could tell he was on alert. Worried.

“I’m fine.” She half laughed.

“Can you open the door?”

She hurried through her living room, feeling raw and exposed. When she let him in she wanted to throw herself into his arms. She only hesitated because he seemed so rigid and cold.

“What is it?” she asked. She sensed there was something more going on than what she knew about. That was sure an understatement! Did she believe Evan Caldwell? No. No. It couldn’t be. She trusted her family more than that. Didn’t she?

“You still feel okay, then?” he asked, examining her face.

“Hard question to answer right now.” Her limbs were trembling and she reached for the back of one of the chairs to steady herself.

“You want to go back to the hospital?” he asked quickly.

“No, no. It’s not that.” She looked up at him, at the raindrops glistening in his hair and the rain-spattered shoulders of his coat—the very coat he’d placed over her shoulders earlier, but slipped on again at the hospital.

“Aren’t you going to take your coat off?

” she asked, then, “Why didn’t you tell me Evan had something for me?

” At the same moment he said, “Townsend got some DNA evidence at the crime scene.”

Ronnie held up a hand, took a step backward. She felt slightly hysterical. “You go first.”

He frowned. “I forgot about Evan,” he admitted.

She waved that away. “What DNA evidence?”

“It was on a coffee cup lid found at the scene. Townsend put a real rush on it.”

“Uh-oh,” she murmured, realizing by his strained attitude it must be someone he knew. “Clint’s?”

“No,” he said solemnly. “It was yours.”