These Boots Are Made For Walking (Dressed to Kill #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“ O ur anonymous source said that you discovered the identity of the killer by putting on a coat? How exactly does that work?”

When Maisey turned and glanced at EvanSinger, their attorney, his gaze told her to say next to nothing. “How could I possibly do that?”

“It’s something like being psychic?”

Maisey shook her head. “Even if that were true, who would believe me?”

“So how did you do it?” the woman from the local TV crew asked.

“Hunches. The right questions. Putting two and two together. It’s that simple. You’re talking to me as though I’m too stupid to see clues right in front of me. My husband is a trained detective, but all these years of being a social worker help me see through people’s lies to the truth. And that’s what we were looking for―the truth.”

“The coroner wouldn’t comment.” She wasn’t surprised at that. Aaron and Evan had already talked to Morgan, and he’d promised to say nothing. “But the suspect said that you knew exactly what he and the victim said on the night she died, and he seemed sort of afraid. And he said you were wearing her coat. What’s your comment on that?”

“I don’t know about the coat. It’s just a coat I picked up in a consignment store.”

“We heard it was the victim’s coat.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“How did you know to look for ColinSkidmore?”

“I didn’t. He found me. I didn’t even know him. My husband had to show me a picture of him so I’d know who he was.”

“So we’re supposed to believe that you knew nothing?”

“Believe what you want. I can’t change your mind, so I won’t even try.”

The woman seemed totally frustrated, and Maisey knew just how she felt. She’d been afraid none of the people she loved would believe her when she told them how she knew about VictoriaHunt’s death. Now she couldn’t make someone she didn’t know believe she had no idea what had happened. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t , she told herself.

“Do you think you’d ever take a job as a criminal investigator?”

“No. I just stumbled onto this. I’m not looking for more.” Well, that sure wasn’t a lie. She didn’t want any part of more of that stuff.

It took another thirty minutes of repeating herself before Maisey managed to get the reporter out the door. Evan had made a statement that she’d only be talking to one newspaper, one radio station, and one TV station. They purposely chose one of each from there in Corbin. The rest could go to hell for all she cared.

“Thanks, Evan. I really appreciate it. Of course, I know we’re paying you, so I don’t feel too bad,” Maisey said with a laugh as she walked him to the door.

“Look, I have to do a certain amount of pro bono work every year for the bar association. This is going to be mine for the year. You helped put away a murderer who stole the life of a beautiful young woman who’d never done anything to hurt anyone, and I appreciate that.”

“Oh, but you don’t have to―”

“No, but I’m going to. Tell Aaron I said hi and to buy you new clothes from now on!” He patted Maisey’s shoulder as he made his way out the front door and she watched him go, thankful that there was no one parked out there but him. Just as she closed the door, her phone rang, and it was the theme from Law & Order . “Hey!”

“You guys doing okay?”

Maisey was glad to hear Carly’s voice. “Yeah. I think we finally got rid of them. Evan just left, and that was my last interview, so maybe they’ll leave us alone.”

“I certainly hope so. I was just calling to invite you and Aaron to dinner tonight. And Murielle, of course,” she said with a chuckle. “I know it’s been hard the last few days.”

“It has. I appreciate that so much, and I’ll take you up on your offer. What time?”

“Six-ish?”

“Sure. What can I bring?”

“Nothing but a smile, your husband, and your daughter. But I’m serious about that smile.”

“Okay. I think I can manage one. We’ll see you then.”

“Great.”

“And Carly?”

“Mmm-hmmm?”

“Thanks again.”

“You’re very welcome. What are friends for? See you at six-ish.”

There was a bag of chips on the countertop, so she picked them up, pulled a soda from the refrigerator, and sat down on the sofa. A game show was on, and she needed to just sit and chill for a bit. Her phone rang again, and she smiled. “Hey, babe.”

“Hey. You doing okay?”

“Yeah. Evan’s gone and so are the last of the reporters. I think I’m done. Oh, and Carly called and invited us to dinner.”

“Yeah. She told me she was going to. I told her I really appreciate that. You need some rest.”

“I think I’m going to go take a nap. Got anything you need me to do?”

“Nope. Just take care of yourself. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

By the time she got to the bedroom, she had her sweatpants off, and she pulled her sweatshirt off, pulled on her cotton gown, and crawled under the covers. One of the gifts Aaron’s parents had sent them for Christmas was a white noise machine. They’d had it on a retailer’s wish list because Maisey had thought it would be good to have when Aaron was working a different shift and had to sleep at a strange time. She reached over and turned the thing on, and the sound of static filled the air. For some reason, it interrupted her thoughts and let her drift off.

She woke up two hours later when the timer on the white noise machine turned it off, looked around the room, stretched, and sat up. Instead of immediately getting dressed, she wandered into the living room in her gown, then opened the door and reached for the mail. When she did, her foot hit something, and she looked down.

A box lay there, one with no address on it. At first, she was a little bit afraid. What if it was some kind of hate mail? Or a bomb? Nah, Maisey. That’s ridiculous , she told herself as she gathered the mail from the mailbox and carried everything inside. Flipping through the mail from the mailbox, she pressed her foot to the opener on the kitchen trash can and started dropping the junk mail into it.

When she was finished with that, she grabbed a bottle of water, picked up the weird box, and sat down. It opened easily enough―it wasn’t sealed―and she peered in.

It was a sweater, and not a particularly new one. As she held it up and looked at it, something fell to the floor, and she reached for it. It was a small envelope, so she opened it to find a pretty notecard inside. The handwriting inside the card was feminine.

Dear Mrs. Friedman,

I hate to ask you to do this, but I’m a heartbroken mother. My daughter died last year, and the coroner said it was suicide, but I just can’t believe that. She was just twenty-two, full of light and life, and the idea that she’d kill herself is ridiculous, but no one seemed to want to take it any farther. If you could just put on her sweater and let me know if she really did commit suicide, it would be so much comfort to me. No one can imagine the pain I feel because she chose to take her own life. I can’t believe that’s right. I understand if you don’t want to do it, but I would really, really appreciate it. You don’t have to talk to me. Just call my number below and leave a message.

Thank you so much if you choose to do this. If not, God bless you and your kids anyway. No mother should suffer like this.

D.

There was a number written underneath the message, and it looked local. The sweater was beautiful, and the mother hadn’t said, but Maisey was fairly certain she’d knitted it herself for her daughter. Or maybe the young woman’s grandmother had done it. Regardless, it was a terribly sad thing, and even though Maisey didn’t want to do it, she felt compelled. Aaron would be so mad at her for wearing herself out, but she didn’t know if she could live with herself if she didn’t help the woman. And the phrase― God bless you and your kids anyway ―tore at Maisey’s heart. They’d talked about having a baby but hadn’t made a decision. It was almost like the woman knew her love of children.

The sweater was about Maisey’s size, so she leaned forward, slipped an arm into it, and then pulled the other side around. Once her other arm was in it, she hesitated for a second, then sighed and pulled it on.

The room went dark, and she could see a pinpoint of light. In a few seconds, that pinpoint widened, and Maisey found herself on the side of a bed in a small room. The curtains at the windows were pink and ruffled, and there were a few stuffed toys on the shelves in the corner. It was obvious to her that she was sitting on a bed. To her right was a small desk, and the person leaned forward, reached into a drawer, took out a piece of paper, then scooted back on the bed, leaning against the headboard. She picked up a book and put the paper on top of it to write. From that vantage point, Maisey could see yet another wall and another bookcase. It was full of all kinds of books, and here and there were small trophies, framed certificates, and knick-knacks. As the person began to write, Maisey watched the letters form on the paper from the pencil in the right hand.

I’m so sorry. I know I’m hurting a lot of people but I just can’t go on. It’s too hard. No matter what I do, I fail. I’m 22 and I’m still living in my bedroom at my parents’ house! How pathetic is that? I’m tired and confused all the time, and sometimes I wish I’d never been born. You won’t have to help with my car payments and insurance anymore, or school, or food or anything else. I’m too much of a burden, and I’m sorry.

I love you all,

Allison

The person, who was apparently named Allison, folded the note and slipped it into a book on the desktop. A hand opened the top drawer of the desk and she pulled out a gun. Maisey didn’t know what kind or caliber it was, and she didn’t care. She wished something, anything, would happen to stop what she knew was about to happen. To her horror, the young woman lifted the gun and put the barrel in her mouth, and Maisey could taste the metal and feel its coolness. It was about to happen, and there was no way she could stop…

“ My baby does the hanky-panky !” her phone blared, and the vision disappeared. It was Aaron’s ringtone, and Maisey dove for it. “Hello?”

“Babe! You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” No, I’m not, but I’m not telling you! her mind shouted. “Just sitting here, reading a magazine.” She grabbed one and flipped it open. There. I’m not lying , she told herself. “What are you doing?”

“Thinking about dinner. Do you think we should pick up something to take with us?”

“I asked Carly and she said no, but I’d like to take something. Maybe a pie?”

“Sure. You want to make one?”

Maisey sighed. “How ’bout you just pick up some cupcakes at the bakery?”

“Sure. I can do that. Oh, and could you pick up Murielle from school? I got tapped for a funeral detail, so I’ll be a little later than usual.”

“No problem. I’ll get her. Love you,” she said, wishing she could get him off the phone.

“Um, love you too. Okay. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

“Bye, babe.” She smacked END on the phone’s screen and sat there, very nearly panting. He couldn’t know what she’d done. He’d be furious, and he’d have every right to be.

Closing her eyes, she tried to quiet her mind. She knew what she had to do, even though she didn’t want to. With shaking hands, she picked up the notecard and dialed the number at the bottom. It rang four times, then went to voicemail. “At the tone, please leave a message.” BEEP!

“Hi. This is Mrs.Friedman. I found your package. Before I say anything else, I need to tell you that I’m so, so sorry for your loss. I have a little stepdaughter and I don’t know what I’d do if we lost her. We almost did, and it was horrible. Here’s the hard part. I put on your daughter’s sweater. I don’t even know what to call you, so I’ll just call you ma’am. Hope that’s okay. Anyway, I put on the sweater, and I’m sorry, ma’am, but she put the gun in her mouth. Before she did that, she wrote you a note. I don’t know if you’ve found it or not, but it’s in a book by the bed. I didn’t see the title, but it has a green cover. I know you know my husband is a deputy, so I’m going to put the sweater back in the box and leave it with the desk sergeant at the sheriff’s department. You can pick it up tomorrow or the next day because I can’t go down there today, but I want you to know that it’ll be safe and I took good care of it. Please don’t tell anyone I did this for you. Please? I’m exhausted, and I just can’t keep doing this. Okay. Um, bye, and again, my condolences.”

Maisey hit END and tossed the phone onto the sofa’s cushion like it was on fire.

It was just a little after lunch, so she took a quick shower, got dressed, and headed to the fast-food place by the post office. She finished eating with plenty of time to spare, and she was very close to the consignment store, so she decided to go by and look around. It was a good thing they had more than clothes, because she sure didn’t intend to ever buy any more secondhand clothing!

To her surprise, there was a big banner across the front window: “ GOING OUT OF BUSINESS SALE!!!! ALL PRICES REDUCED!!!! ” Maybe it would be a good time to pick up some stuff at really good prices. Maisey parked and wandered up the sidewalk, then opened the door and stepped in.

The bell on the door jingled and a voice called out, “Be right there!” The racks were full, so Maisey started going through them, picking up this and that, looking at it, and putting it back. She was getting ready to head toward the shoes when she heard that same voice. “Can I help… Oh. It’s you .”

Maisey wheeled to find the same woman who had sold her the coat. “What do you mean, ‘It’s you ’?”

“You. You’re the reason we’re going out of business, you and your ridiculous stories about dead people.”

The insinuation set Maisey’s blood boiling. “How is that hurting you?”

“People keep coming in here, buying stuff, and then bringing it back when it’s not ‘possessed.’ I’ve been working my tail off and making nothing. I can’t even make my rent this month. So I’ve got to close, and it’s your fault. The least you could’ve done is not tell anybody if you believed that malarky was real.”

“First off,” Maisey said, bristling, “I didn’t tell a soul. A friend’s daughter overheard me talking to her stepmother and another friend and called up the news outlets. I had nothing to do with that.”

“Oh, yeah? Why were you telling your friends?”

“Because one of them is SheriffMcEvers!” The woman looked a bit stunned. “Yeah. CarlyMcEvers knows all about this, and she believes me! She was with me when I put on the coat the last time and told them who the murderer was! And if you don’t believe me, go down to the jail and ask ColinSkidmore what I said to him when he tried to kill me. I told him everything― everything ―he and VictoriaHunt had said to each other as she was bleeding out. And yes, I felt the stab wound, felt the blood oozing out, felt myself dying every damn time I put that coat on , so don’t tell me I was making it all up! I’m exhausted from it all and I never wanted it to happen. I’m glad it’s over, and I’m sorry it’s caused you problems, but you have no idea what it’s done to me!” Maisey was shaking with rage. After everything she’d been through, including that morning and the sweater, to have someone accuse her of being an attention whore was too much to take.

The woman was silent, like she was rooted to the spot and didn’t know what to say. Finally, she mumbled, “Um, I’m really sorry. That really happened?”

Hot tears coursed down Maisey’s cheeks. “Of course it really happened! I wouldn’t make up stuff like that. It was too painful and too scary to lie about it. I didn’t want it to happen. And once I figured out who the killer was, the visions stopped. I can put the coat on now and nothing happens, but I’m not even sure I want to ever wear it again. The whole thing was way too much. I never want to go through that again.” It was taking everything she had to keep from sobbing. “And I’m sorry about your store. I never intended for that to happen, and the girl who called the news outlets is being punished. Her dad is really mad at her, and she really hurt us. It was a nightmare.”

“Oh, honey, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know… You know, now with all those stupid Tockity videos and stuff, people are always trying to be the next big thing, and it felt like that was… I’m sorry. I see that you’re not like that. I hope this never happens to you again.”

Maisey took the tissue the woman held out to her and wiped her nose. “Too late. This morning, some lady sent me a sweater and wanted me to tell her that her daughter didn’t really commit suicide. She didn’t want to believe the girl did that. But she did. I saw it. It was awful. At least now she knows. And I bet I get more too, and I want to help people, but nobody thinks about what this does to me. It’s draining. If you want to call the TV station and have you and me on TV talking about why people shouldn’t do this to your store, I’ll be glad to. I don’t want you to go out of business. You’re a nice person. But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Maybe that would help. Hey, I could bring one of my sweaters in and hang it on the rack. You could put it on and say, ‘See? Nothing happens. Isolated incident.’ And maybe things would go back to normal.”

“I’d gladly do that. Just set it up and I’ll come down. We’ll see if we can save your business. But I didn’t do this on purpose, ma’am. Really, I didn’t.”

“Eh. I know. I see that now. And it’s Paulette. Maisey, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, it’s nice to talk to you, Maisey. But I think you need some rest.”

“Gotta go pick up my stepdaughter from school, but after that, we’re going to SheriffMcEvers’ house for dinner. And tomorrow night I’m letting my husband take me out for a steak dinner in London―where nobody knows me,” Maisey threw in.

“I hear ya! And I sure don’t blame you for that. You have a pleasant evening and stay away from cameras. If I can get that arranged, I’ll let you know.”

“Here. My number.” Maisey handed Paulette a business card. “Call me.”

“Will do. And here.” Paulette reached out to the vase on the counter and pulled out a long-stemmed red rose. “This is for you, for being a good person. We need more of those these days.”

Maisey teared up again. “Thank you. I appreciate it. I hope I talk to you soon.”

“Bye,” Paulette called out as Maisey stepped out onto the sidewalk. There were two women standing across the street in front of the drugstore, and they leaned in and started to whisper as they looked her way. Great. Just great , she thought as she walked to the car. But there was one thing she knew for sure.

She’d told Paulette about the sweater, so she had to tell Aaron. Keeping something like that from him was a really bad idea. Her peace had already been shattered. She didn’t want her marriage to meet the same fate.

Jaw set, Aaron drove toward the steakhouse the next evening, and Maisey wished she’d waited until after dinner before she’d told him about the sweater. But she hadn’t. And he was furious. “I thought this was over,” he hissed from between clenched teeth. They never argued, and if they had a disagreement, they didn’t say anything in front of Murielle. That was one of the reasons Maisey had brought it up while they were all in the car. She wasn’t stupid.

“I did too, but what about that poor woman? Didn’t she deserve to know?”

“MaiseyMaureen,” he said, and he rarely called her by her full name, so she knew he was serious, “you know I care. But I care more about you and what it does to you. Look at you!”

“What? What’s wrong with the way I look?”

“You look exhausted, babe!” Good. We’re back to babe. That’s a good sign , Maisey thought. “I mean, dark circles under your eyes, your skin is―”

“What? What’s my skin? Blotchy? Ugly?”

“No! Stop putting words in my mouth. You’re not ugly. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“I bet you say that to all your psychics,” she muttered.

“Did you say all my psychos? Because that’s what―”

“Oh, so now I’m a psycho ? Thanks a lot! I solved a crime that you guys didn’t seem to be able to solve, and I’m a psycho ? Wow. That’s brilliant. So much for gratitude.” She was seething, and she felt justified in feeling that way.

“I’m not saying you’re a psycho.”

“Because it sure sounded like―”

“No!” Aaron whipped the car into a parking lot, stopped, and slammed it into park. Then he turned toward Maisey. “You damn near got yourself killed.”

“I what ?”

“Sorry. You damn near got killed. And you scared me half to death.”

“Yeah? Well, you shoulda been me,” she mumbled under her breath as she turned to stare out the window.

There was warmth near her left hand, and then his engulfed it. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m just worried about you. What if people start doing that to you all the time? Sending you things like that? At some point, you’ll have to put an end to it.”

“Easiest way to do that would be to charge money,” she mumbled against the glass.

“Well, you’re right about that. You start telling people you’re going to charge for it, they’ll stop sending you stuff. And honestly, if it’s going to eat at you this way, I think you should. Charge money, I mean.”

“I suppose I could ask the sheriff’s department to pay me as a consultant,” she said, grinning even though she refused to look at him.

Aaron let out a snort. “Good luck with that.”

“Are we going to eat? I’m hungry,” Murielle whined from the back seat.

“Yes, baby. We’re going there now. Just had to talk about the menu,” Maisey said and cut her eyes toward Aaron. “We’re. Going. Now.” She watched him huff a little, then slip the car into gear and pull back out onto the road.

Dinner was good. The best part was not being in Corbin where everyone knew them. At least they were fairly inconspicuous in London, although a couple of people stared and whispered. She was pretty sure they recognized her, but they didn’t come over to the table. That was about all she could hope for.

By the time they got home, it was dark. Maisey saw it as soon as they drove up―a package on the porch. And she knew what that meant. When they walked up the porch steps, Aaron was carrying a sleeping Murielle, so Maisey unlocked the door and let them in, careful to keep him from seeing the box.

But when he’d put Murielle to bed and come back to the living room, Maisey was sitting there with the box. “What’s that?” Instead of answering him, Maisey pursed her lips. “Oh, no. Not another one.”

“I’m guessing it is. I’ll just do this one and―”

“No, babe. Please don’t.”

“I have to. If I can help somebody, I need to. Let me open it and see…” She pulled the box open and stared down into it. There was a note on top of whatever it was, so she pulled the envelope out and opened it. Inside was a small card, plain, and she looked inside it.

Dear Mrs. Friedman,

I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t do this. But the coroner told me that my son killed himself, and I just don’t believe that. Faegan was a sweet boy, smart, funny, who loved science magazines and silly TV shows. He had no reason to kill himself, especially not the way they said. I know it’s asking a lot, but if you could just help me, I’d so appreciate it.

Thank you,

Mrs. F.

The woman’s phone number was under her signature line. Maisey dug down into the box and brought out a denim jacket. “Must’ve been the boy’s.” Aaron was reading the note and didn’t comment. “What do you think?”

“I think you need to stop this.”

Instead, Maisey drew the jacket up her arms and waited. In an instant, she could see herself in a small bedroom, and in her hands was a magazine. The name of the magazine suggested that it had extreme sexual content, and as she watched, the hands that seemed to be hers were opening it to a particular page and reading it. A voice quietly said, “Oh, this should be easy enough.” Trying to focus, she looked at the page.

It was a photo exposé on autoerotic asphyxiation.

The body her consciousness was in stood and walked across the room. After clearing everything out of the way in the closet, the hands threw a cord over the closet rod, then dragged it around the neck. As she watched from inside the spirit’s mind, she saw them tighten the cord, then watched as the hand crept downward, and she was pretty sure they were unzipping their…

“Shit!” Maisey’s eyes flew open to find a startled Aaron staring at her. “Shit! Shit! Oh, shit!” she screamed as she peeled the jacket off and dropped it on the floor.

“Maise, what? What happened?”

“Oh, this kid. Yeah. He definitely killed himself, although he didn’t mean to. That’s… Oh, that’s horrible.”

“What?”

She stared at him for a minute. “Autoerotic asphyxiation.”

Aaron rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah. The Frasier boy.”

“You knew him?”

“No, but I remember the case. The mother insisted we didn’t do our jobs and that he couldn’t have done that.”

“Well, he did. I saw him doing it, unfortunately.”

“Did you see him…”

“What? No! No, that’s when I screamed and the vision went away, thank you Jesus. I don’t want to see that. Now I have to write a note to her and leave it and the jacket at the sheriff’s department.”

“And now will you quit doing this?”

“I hope nobody else asks me to, because I’m not sure I can.”

“Now it’s my turn to say thank you Jesus.” Aaron pulled her back onto the sofa to sit beside him. “But really, babe, no more. Please.”

Maisey felt horrible. These people needed answers, but why did she have to be the one to supply those answers? So far, the two she’d had didn’t want answers―they wanted to feel better about what had happened, and she hadn’t been able to give them that. Did she really want to keep doing that ? “Okay, babe. No more.”

“That’s my girl. Let’s go to bed. I hate how tired you are when you’re finished with that.”

Maisey folded the jacket and put it back inside the box with the note on top of it before she closed the box lid. Then she realized that he’d been wearing the jacket when he’d…

Ick.