Chapter 4
Shawn Rafferty, the chief of police and my ex-husband, paced the floor in front of the large window in his office that overlooked the lake. The view was serene, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside the room. Ezra stood by a shelf lined with Shawn’s awards and family photos, his arms crossed over his chest in a posture of contained frustration. I sat on a brown leather loveseat situated across from Shawn’s desk, sipping a thirty-two-ounce gulper from the Pump Go, feeling the tension rise with each passing second.
“Start from the beginning.” Shawn ran his hands over his thin, graying hair, a familiar gesture of anxiety that made me recall the nervous young man who’d taken me on my first date. He looked just as anxious now. “Talk to me like I’m stupid,” he added, his flat stare daring me to respond with a snarky comeback.
I didn’t take the bait. “I don’t know what else you want me to say.” I’d recounted the visions three times already and was growing weary of the repetition. “There’s nothing else to tell.”
Shawn’s brow furrowed deeply. “So let me get this straight. Christopher Walken and Dolly Parton are targeting you and your visions.”
I blew out an exasperated sigh. “That’s what I saw and heard,” I verified. “Dolly Parton, or someone who sounded like her, said my name.”
“Or your visions are broken,” Shawn mused. “I find it hard to believe two Hollywood icons are playing cat and mouse with you.”
“Agreed,” I told him. “It’s implausible, but I heard what I heard.”
“Is this the first time you’ve heard celebrities in your scent memories?”
I nodded curtly. “Definitely.”
“So either your visions are fritzing or there are two people who sound like celebrities.” Ezra’s irritation was audible. “Maybe impersonators.”
“In Garden Cove?” Shawn questioned incredulously. “We’re not Branson.”
Ezra’s frown deepened. “I think it’s obvious these psychopaths are targeting Nora and her abilities. That damn letter in the Garden Cove Gazette has opened the door for all kinds of weirdos to stalk her.”
“I understand you’re concerned, Detective Holden,” Shawn said, attempting to maintain calm while reminding Ezra of his authority. “I’m concerned about Nora’s well-being too.”
“I’m not concerned,” Ezra countered with barely restrained insubordination. “I’m scared for Nora. This perp planned a violent event to get her attention, and they’ve warned her that they won’t end this madness unless she finds a way to stop them.” He grimaced. “That means this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”
“Unless Nora’s visions are wrong. I mean, come on. Walken and Dolly? It’s pretty far-fetched.” Shawn scoffed. “Besides, a couple of bullets thrown into a popcorn kettle is more a juvenile prank than the actions of a criminal mastermind.”
“A man was hit by flying shrapnel after the bullets exploded in a kettle,” I reminded him. “Edgar was lucky.” One of Ezra’s officers had called to report that Edgar’s injury was minor, thank heavens. No arteries, nerves, or tendons had been involved. Even so... “If the metal had sliced an artery, he could’ve bled to death.”
“You can’t get blood from a turnip or a banker,” Shawn muttered.
I narrowed my gaze at him.
He shook his head and waved a hand in dismissal. “This story in the Gazette has kicked up a hornet’s nest. I’ve already fielded calls from two major news outlets and a handful of minor ones about the story. We need to find whoever did this and then quickly and quietly put this matter to bed. The Garden Cove PD doesn’t need this kind of scrutiny.”
“Definitely wouldn’t want that,” I said sincerely. The last thing I needed was more poking into the police department or my role in any of the investigations. Luckily, in all the cases where I’d assisted as a consultant, there had been enough evidence to try the assailants without involving my testimony as a psychic. As a witness and victim, that was another story.
Ezra stepped forward, his jaw tight with determination. “This had to be planned before the letter was released in the paper and online.”
“I agree.” I shuddered. “It’s too elaborate for a spur-of-the-moment plot. We need to subpoena the Gazette and make them give up the author.”
“I’ve already called the paper.” Shawn waved his hand dismissively. “The letter arrived anonymously. They did agree to send the original letter and envelope. It arrived this afternoon for fingerprinting, but it’s probably exchanged a lot of hands since landing at the Gazette. I’m not holding my breath.”
“Are you saying that the person who sent the letter sent it via snail mail?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. That seemed old-fashioned in this day and age of instant communication via modern technology.
Ezra shook his head. “Old fashioned like Christopher Walken and Dolly Parton.”
“Yep.” Shawn nodded, leaning against his desk. “And the letter was typed and printed. No handwriting to analyze.”
“So you already have the letter?” I asked with some surprise. “That was quick.”
“As soon as Lila got the paper this morning and read the darn thing, I called for it. I haven’t seen my wife that mad in a long time,” he said with a hint of a smile on his face. Lila had faced a grueling battle with cancer, enduring exhausting rounds of chemo and radiation. Two years had passed since her first “cancer-free” diagnosis, and she’d been in remission ever since. “I called Darla Potter, one of the owners of the paper. She’s a friend of Lila’s. Then Darla ordered the managing editor, Carol Billingsly, to send it over. We got it about half an hour ago, so it isn’t processed yet.”
I didn’t know Darla Potter, but Carol Billingsly, well, let’s just say that I understood why the damning letter had gotten published in the first place. Carol hadn’t been a fan of mine since high school. She’d been on the school newspaper and the yearbook committee, and I suspected at the time that she’d had a thing for Shawn. I hoped a boy wasn’t the only reason she hadn’t liked me, but high school and hormones was a dastardly duo. The few times I’d connected with her over the years, our interactions had ranged from tense and brief to nonexistent.
Ezra’s eyes narrowed as he processed the information. “Anonymous or not, there aren’t that many people who know the particulars of Nora’s ability or what kind of consulting she does for us.”
“You think it’s an inside job?” I asked, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach.
He shrugged, his face grim. “I don’t want to believe it, but there aren’t a lot of options.”
“I can’t believe one of my officers would betray us.” Shawn shook his head, but his expression looked less certain.
“I don’t like it any more than you do, Chief,” Ezra said. “But we can’t ignore any possible suspect.”
“Fine.” Shawn sighed. “You have my complete support to follow the leads wherever they take you.” He slumped in his chair. “Just keep it quiet and tread lightly. Don’t make unnecessary waves if you can help it.”
“Do you think the letter writer and the person who put the bullets in the popcorn kettle are the same?” I’d gotten the impression from the letter that it had been an older woman. There was something about the language that was oddly formal and old-fashioned, but the shadowy figure in my vision had seemed almost giddy, which had given me younger vibes. I frowned. “What if the letter showing up today wasn’t a coincidence? What if the letter is just another part of the plan?”
“What makes you think that?” Shawn inquired.
Ezra began to pace. He ran his fingers through his hair and frowned. “Nora’s right. We need to assume it’s possible the popcorn sabotage was planned long before the letter was made public.”
I pressed my thumb against my stomach, seeking relief from the pain and pressure churning my gut.
Ezra gave me a concerned look.
“Just a little stomach upset,” I murmured, dropping my hand to my side. “I’ll be fine.”
Shawn’s mouth thinned as he ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “Nora needs to lay low until we can sort out this PR nightmare.”
I gave him a bland stare. “PR nightmare, Shawn? Really? Since when do you worry about public relations?”
His cheeks reddened. “Sorry. The mayor’s been on my case since the letter this morning. When she finds out the street fair incident is tied to you as well, she’s going to lose it.”
Three years ago, our old mayor, Aaron Trident, had been arrested for murder and kidnapping. My smell-o-vision, as Gilly called it, had been crucial in bringing him down. Shawn, as the chief of police, had been put in the tough position of taking down his boss. I’d respected him for not shying away from the truth, especially since it involved the person who could fire him. Allison Green, the new mayor, had respected Shawn’s determination as well. However, she’d cautioned him to avoid anything that might look like a scandal after Trident’s lawyer leaked a story to the Stupor about the Garden Cove PD having a psychic on their payroll. The Stupor was a rag magazine with sensational headlines that rarely lined up with the story content, and the article hadn’t named names. Lucky for me, it meant the speculation around the story had been short-lived.
But maybe that’s where this had begun. What if this was the ex-mayor’s revenge? “Do you think this could be Trident’s doing?” I asked, mulling the possibility. “He leaked that the police used a psychic in his case to that trashy magazine shortly after his arrest.”
Trident had taken a plea deal for a thirty-year sentence with a chance of parole in twenty. I’d been upset about the leniency, but I’d suspected the Stupor article had prompted the prosecutor to offer it. There had been enough evidence to convict the ex-mayor without my psychic smeller, but I would’ve been called as a witness. The district attorney had wanted to avoid a “media circus,” as he’d put it, so he’d given Trident a choice: thirty with the possibility of parole or two consecutive life sentences with no hope of ever leaving prison in anything other than a casket.
“I don’t see how he could be involved,” Shawn responded dismissively. “I get a report every time he gets a visitor, a phone call, or a letter. Other than his attorney six months ago, Aaron Trident hasn’t had any contact with the outside world. He’s persona non grata, even to his own family.”
“Fine.” I chewed my lower lip for a moment. The incident with the bullets hadn’t been a spur-of-the-moment prank. The perpetrator had been careful and calculating. No, this plan had been set into motion long before the anonymous letter in the Gazette. “I think we’re going to have to look at everyone who knows what kind of consulting I do for the department and the criminals we’ve taken down because of my nose.” Before Shawn could protest, I added, “They didn’t just wake up this morning and decide to come up with this elaborate plan to get my attention. My vision of the memory was too careful and calculated to be spur-of-the-moment.”
In other words, whoever targeted me today wasn’t a new enemy.
Hickory, dickory, pop,the black hoodie figure that sounded like Christopher Walken had said. If you can’t catch me, I won’t stop.
They’d been biding their time, waiting for the perfect moment to put on a show for my benefit.
Good luck, Nora Black. I’m just warming up.
Remembering Dolly’s sinister, albeit upbeat, promise made me shiver. Now that the first act was finished, I braced myself for the curtain to rise on an even darker second act.