Chapter 3
After Mason and Ari disappeared down the alley, I crawled toward Edgar, my hands trembling slightly. He had a bloody wound on his right shoulder, and as I checked him over, I saw a jagged piece of gray metal protruding from the injury. It wasn’t a bullet. It was some kind of flying shrapnel.
“What is that?” His voice was strained as he grasped at the object sticking out of his shoulder. “Get it out.”
I moved his hand away from the wound. “Don’t move, Edgar,” I said firmly, despite the panic bubbling inside me. “Pulling it out could make it worse.”
He winced and nodded, his breath coming in short, pained gasps. “Hurts like hell,” he muttered, his face contorting in pain.
“I know, I know,” I murmured, more to calm myself than him. “Just stay still.” I fumbled for my phone, dialing 911 with trembling fingers. The streets were clearing as people sought shelter and safety, but there were no more shots.
“911, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher’s voice crackled through the phone.
“There’s been a possible shooting,” I said quickly and quietly, in case the gunman was nearby. “A man’s been injured. We’re at the corner of Main and Elm, near the old Dolly’s Doll Emporium. He’s got a shoulder injury that’s bleeding.”
“Is he losing a lot of blood?” she asked.
I assessed Edgar’s shoulder, and the blood was barely oozing now. Had the fragment sticking out staunched the wound? Another reason for never removing impaled objects. “It doesn’t look like it.”
“That’s great,” she said. “Keep him calm and still, if you can. Patrol cars and an ambulance have been dispatched to your location,” the dispatcher said calmly and reassuringly. “I want you to stay on the phone with me until they arrive, okay?”
I nodded even though she couldn’t see the gesture and said, “Yes, okay.” It was comforting to have someone else’s voice in my ear to drown out the fear spiral happening in my brain.
“My name is Susan,” she said. “What’s your name?”
“Nora Black,” I answered.
“Are you in a safe place, Mrs. Black?”
I didn’t correct her assumption that I was married. “I don’t know,” I replied honestly, glancing at Edgar’s pained expression. “But I can’t leave Edgar.”
“Is that the name of the injured man?”
“I’m not sure if he’s been...” I shook my head. She didn’t need my speculation about his injury. Only facts would be helpful right now. “His name is Edgar Jones.”
“The banker?” she asked incredulously, then immediately switched back to rescuer mode. “The police and an ambulance should arrive soon. Do you feel comfortable giving me more information about the events leading up to the incident?”
The street had gotten quiet, and I hadn’t heard any more shots. I hoped that meant the perpetrator had left the area. “I guess so.”
“Did you see the gunman?”
“No,” I told her. “I didn’t.” I met Edgar’s brown eyes. “Did you see anyone with a weapon?”
“No.” He winced. “I was buying kettle corn...” His voice trailed off.
“Edgar didn’t see the person either.”
I could hear sirens in the distance. The sound sent a rush of relief through me, and tears blurred my vision.
“Do you know how many shots were fired?” Dispatcher Susan queried.
“I heard two cracking pops, but I’m not sure it was gunfire.”
Edgar moaned. “I feel lightheaded,” he complained. “Please,” he begged. “I don’t want to die. Please, please, don’t let me die.”
There hadn’t been much blood loss since he’d collapsed. “Did you get hit anywhere else?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Everything okay, Mrs. Black?”
“Call me Nora,” I said. “Edgar says he feels lightheaded. He hasn’t lost that much blood, so I’m worried something else might be going on.”
“Did he hit his head?”
He had fallen to the hard asphalt. Maybe he’d hit his head on the way down. “It’s possible.” The sounds of sirens grew louder. I gave Edgar’s forearm a gentle pat. “You’re going to be okay,” I told him. “Help is almost here.”
He placed his hand over mine. “Thank you for staying with me.” There were tears in his eyes. “Thank you for not leaving me.”
I won’t lie. Running had crossed my mind, but only fleetingly. “You’re welcome.”
“Clear,” I heard a woman shout.
“Clear,” a man added. “Stay vigilant.”
“They’re here,” I told the 911 operator.
“Good,” she said. “I’ll stay on until they get to you.”
I nodded, crawling forward and risking a quick peek at the deserted street. Uniformed officers had established a perimeter on the next block, moving with precision to secure the area so the shooter couldn’t circle back. They took strategic positions on rooftops and behind vehicles, their eyes scanning for any sign of the threat.
A tactical team dressed in black, with helmets and bulletproof vests, made their way up the street. I recognized the leader instantly. It was Ezra. He was the detective in charge of special investigations, which meant he and his team handled anything that the uniformed officers couldn’t. I hadn’t realized active shooters were on that list. My breath caught in my throat as I resisted the urge to shout for him. If the gunman was still around, I couldn’t afford to give away my location. Besides, the dispatcher would have conveyed my whereabouts. I just needed to sit tight and wait.
Ezra communicated silently, using gestures and hand signals to direct his team’s movements. They fanned out, systematically clearing each booth and storefront. I knew they had to ensure it was safe for the EMTs, but the minutes it took them to work their way to us felt like hours.
When Ezra caught sight of me, his eyes widened with recognition and relief. He spoke into his radio, coordinating with the team to prioritize our location. Reese McKay, his right hand in special investigations, was right behind him. They both moved swiftly and purposefully.
“Clear left!” one officer shouted, and another echoed, “Clear right!”
Approaching cautiously with weapons drawn, they assessed the threat level. When Ezra finally reached my booth, he knelt beside me, his eyes filled with concern.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, his tone calm despite the situation.
“I’m not,” I assured him. “But Edgar needs help.” I gestured to the wounded man.
Reese was already on her radio, calling for the medics. “We’ve got a wounded civilian, need EMS at our location ASAP.” She pointed to the other officers in black. “Fan out,” she ordered. “Make sure no one else has been injured.”
Ezra helped me to my feet as Reese dropped down beside the injured banker.
“Nora,” Susan said. “Keep talking to me. Are you safe?”
I hadn’t realized I still had the phone to my ear. “I’m good,” I relayed. “I’m with the police.”
I heard her blow out a breath. “That’s great. I’ll let them take it from here.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure. You’re in good hands now.” On that note, she hung up.
Edgar moaned and tried to get up on an elbow. Having the police at hand had given him a boost of energy.
“Whoa, stay put, buddy. Help is on the way,” Reese instructed. “Don’t move until the paramedics look you over. Okay?”
Within minutes, the ambulance arrived, and two paramedics rushed over with a stretcher and a large medical bag. The younger of the two was named Carver, he looked to be in his late twenties. The other was Mark. He had salt and pepper hair and was in his forties or fifties. Mark had been on the job for a while. I’d run into him on a few of the cases I’d worked on, but Carver was new to me. As they tended to Edgar, Ezra stayed by my side. His hand grazed mine several times—a reassurance—while maintaining a professional demeanor.
“I tried to keep him still as possible,” I told the EMTs.
Mark gave me a reassuring smile. “You did great, Ms. Black. You were heroic.”
“I don’t know about that,” I muttered. I’m not sure I’d ever felt less like a hero. My phone vibrated in my palm. Numbly, I looked down. Gilly. Oh, gosh. The kids.
Ezra must’ve read something in my expression because he said, “They’re safe. Mason called me from the antique shop. I sent a patrol car to get him and Ari and take them home.”
I nodded with relief and answered the phone.
“Nora,” Gilly hissed. “What the heck happened?”
“I’m... I’m not sure.”
“Was there someone shooting a gun in the streets?” She made a choking sound. “Is Ari?—?”
“She’s safe,” I promised. “Ezra arranged for a patrol car to take her and Mason home.”
She sobbed with relief. “And you. You didn’t get...”
“No, no,” I assured her. “Nothing like that. I heard some?—”
Ezra put his hand on my wrist and gave a slight headshake.
“I’m sorry,” I told Gilly. “I can’t say more until I’ve given the police my statement.”
“Can we come out of the store?” she asked. “A handful of people ran into the shop, and we’re all hunkered down in the kitchen. Pippa locked us in. Oh, Nora. I’ve been so afraid. I tried to call you over and over, but you didn’t answer. Same with Ari.”
I glanced at one of the chairs behind the display table and noticed Ari’s bag was in the seat. In her panic, she’d left it behind. Good. Hesitation in a crisis could get you killed. “Ari left her backpack in the booth when she and Mason cut through the alley, and I was on the phone with 9-1-1.”
“Is it safe for us to leave?”
“I’ll ask.” I glanced at Ezra. “Is it safe for Gilly and Pippa to exit the shop?”
His brows knitted in consternation. “They’re still in there?” He posed the sentence as a question.
“Yes. They locked themselves, along with a few panicked stragglers, in the back room.”
“Damn it.” He shook his head. “Not about that. I’m going to have to talk with my team about what it means to clear a street and its businesses, is all. Tell them to sit tight, and I’ll send someone over to help evacuate them safely.”
“I heard him,” Gilly said. “Nora... thank you. Thanks for getting Ari out of there.”
“She was my first and only priority,” I said. “Well, her and Mason.”
“Why didn’t you go with them?”
The paramedics were strapping Edgar onto the gurney, readying him for a trip to the hospital.
“I can’t say until after I talk to Ezra, but I’ll tell you all about it tonight over a thirty-two-ounce glass of wine.”
She chuckled. “It’s a date.”
I disconnected the call and slid my phone into my pocket. My fingers ached as I flexed them. I’d been gripping the device as if it were a lifeline long enough for my hand to stiffen.
Ezra ushered me to the chair, and I moved Ari’s bag before I sat down. He gestured to a dark-haired officer, Anthony Broyles, a new addition to his special unit. “Take Nora’s statement, then see she gets home.”
The man, who looked to be in his late thirties, medium height and build, nodded and came over. Ezra squeezed my shoulder. “If I don’t see you before you leave, I’ll see you tonight.”
I gave him a tightlipped smile and inclined my head with a nod.
After Ezra left the area, Broyles asked, “Did you see a gunman?”
I shook my head. “It was so chaotic. There was a loud sound, like a firecracker, then another, and Edgar shouted that he’d been shot. That sent everyone on the streets running.”
“No shots after that?”
I shook my head. “Honestly, I’m not sure there were any shots fired at all.”
He scoffed. “What do you mean? We got a dozen 9-1-1 calls describing the situation as an active shooting.” His brows dipped. “You think they all got it wrong?”
“Yes.” I met his flat gaze. “I do.”
“What about the guy who got shot? I suppose that didn’t happen either.”
“It wasn’t a bullet sticking out of his arm,” I informed the arrogant man. “It was a piece of metal. Stainless steel, if I had to guess.”
“Found a casing,” I heard Reese say. “Looks to be a nine-millimeter.”
Broyles gave me a look that said, “Hah!”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I’d had enough shenanigans for one day, and I was seriously regretting my decision to leave the house this morning.
Reese came around the corner, holding it with a gloved hand between her thumb and index finger. “This is strange,” she said. “The casing looks shredded, and it doesn’t have scorch marks on it.” She scrunched her face in consternation.
“Where’d you find it?” I asked.
Broyles gave me a none-of-your-business stare. This time, there was no resistance on my part. I rolled my eyes. Hard.
“Don’t be a jerk, Broyles,” Reese said. “If Nora’s asking questions, there’s probably a damn good reason.”
“Right,” he said doubtfully. “Because she’s psychic.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe anyone is desperate enough to believe that crap.”
I glanced at Reese.
“It was on the ground in front of the popcorn stand.” She sniffed the shell. “It’s like burnt butter and gunpowder.” She raised her brow at me. “Do you want to smell?”
“This is ridiculous,” Broyles said.
“Shut your yap,” Reese snapped. She glanced askance at me.
I nodded. “Okay. I’ll see what I can see.” Not every aroma triggered a vision, but I hoped this one would. If for no other reason than to wipe the smug look off Broyles’ face. I got up and walked over to Reese and leaned close to the empty shell. Gunpowder, butter, and burnt popcorn.
A shadowy figure gets up from the chair, takes a piece of popcorn from the largest of the four bowls, sniffs it and flicks it off a gloved hand. He picks up two bullets from the table. There is a popcorn maker, a small version of the street fair kettle, against a gray cement wall. The sinister person drops the bullets inside and steps away.
He shakes his covered head and says, “I can’t wait to see how this turns out.” His voice is southern and high pitched now. Definitely not Christopher Walken. If I’m hearing correctly, and I think I am, it can only be Dolly Parton. What the heck? Is there more than one person in the popcorn room?
Another low chuckle sends a shiver down my spine. “Good luck, Nora Black. I’m just warming up.” On that note, there’s a loud bang, and the bottom of the kettle bursts open when the bullets overheat and explode. The shadowed figure stumbles backward, falling to the ground. The laughter that follows makes me nauseated.
Bile rose in my throat as the vision ended. “The kettle,” I rasped. “Check the popcorn kettle for the other bullet.”
The person in my vision had called me out by name. Was the article the reason this happened? Was some madman testing my ability? The idea of it sickened me.
Ezra came around the corner, his face registering surprise as he looked at me. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I think this is my fault,” I said wanly. “I’m the reason this happened.”