Dave had already gone by the time I got there, but I could see that he had been busy ripping up the cracked and rotted wood floor of my dining room. Stepping carefully around the plywood, I moved into the kitchen and made Eggy some dinner. While he was happily munching, I threw a quick salad together and took it out to the porch, then came back in and grabbed the old battery-operated cassette recorder I kept in the study. I popped in the tape of Allison's reading and began listening as I ate my dinner.
As my voice emanated from the speaker of the recorder, I was surprised by how flat I sounded. In my head, my voice always sounded clearer, with more range, than it did on a recording. But I pushed those thoughts aside so I could concentrate. I waded through the reading several times, turning up my intuition.
During my session with Allison I mentioned early on something about a loss, a woman who had been very close to her. I remembered that in the photo Dutch had shown me, another woman who had very similar facial features was pictured with Allison. I wondered if she'd been a sister. Either way, I knew she was also dead, her flat plastic-like pose in the photo confirming it for me. Dutch hadn't mentioned two women being murdered, so most likely this other woman had died previously.
I wondered if she also had died violently. My right side lifted in a light, airy feeling. Two women, possibly sisters, dying separate violent deaths: What were the odds? I went into the kitchen and got a piece of paper and a pen. Back on the porch I sat down and made a list of things that came to my intuitive mind. First I had to find out who this other woman was, then I had to know when and how she died. I kept feeling there was a connection, that the two deaths were linked in some way. There was also something about Ohio.
Geography is another one of my talents. Early on in my career as a psychic it became important for me to grasp geography. People today are transient, and many of my clients have all sorts of connections to other states. After a while I had taught myself to picture a map of the United States and in my mind's eye, one state would stand out for me when I was talking about a location. The state of Ohio kept jumping out of my intuitive map now, and I knew there was a strong link there.
I made a few more notes and wondered how I could get started. My intuition flashed a picture of my appointment book. "Hmmm," I said, wondering what my appointment book had to do with this. I kept my book at the office, so I decided to go in a little early the next morning and see if I could look up Allison's reading. Maybe the date had something to do with it.
I went to sleep that night with thoughts that were heavy and still filled with guilt. My conscience wouldn't let go of the idea that maybe I could have prevented this. Maybe if I'd just asked Allison what questions needed answering—maybe I could have told her that she was in danger, that she needed to be careful.
In my sleep I had one recurring dream that seemed to take up the entire night. I dreamed that Allison and I were sitting in my reading room together, but our roles were reversed. She was the psychic and I was the client. As she sat in what was usually my chair she said only two phrases, and these she repeated over and over. "Abigail, you're in danger. You need to be careful…Abigail, you're in danger. You need to be careful…"
Chapter Five
The next morning, before my first client arrived, I sat down at my desk and thumbed through my appointment book, looking for Allison Pierce's name, but it was nowhere to be found. This was weird. I couldn't remember the date she'd come in, but I did remember that when she'd called a week ago she said she'd had a reading a few weeks earlier. I went back one week, then two, then three, then four and so on, scanning all the names. When I got to week twelve I gave up and came forward again. No Allison Pierce. Frustrated, I sat for a moment and wondered why I couldn't find her name. Had I forgotten to write her in? Or maybe she'd given me a false name?
I once had a client who would tell me only that her name was Jane Doe. Some people are just weird about wanting the information in a reading to be truly authentic. I guess they think I have some sort of a detective agency that works for pennies on the dollar and can look up all sorts of good personal stuff on a person so I can memorize it and recite it without skipping a beat during a reading. For some people this is easier to believe than accepting that I'm psychic.
I sighed heavily and thrummed my fingers on the desk. I was missing something obvious, but I wasn't sure what. I started again at Sunday and went back page by page, looking closely at the names. On July 21 something caught my attention. I'd had a cancellation that day and there was something familiar about it. The woman's name was Connie Franklin, and I'd listed her phone number right there next to her name. I closed my eyes, concentrating. Hadn't Allison been a substitute for a cancellation? I seemed to have that as a fragment of a memory. Without waiting to think it through, I boldly picked up the phone and dialed Connie's number. She picked up on the second ring.
"Hello?"
"Hi, is this Connie?" I asked.
"Yes?" she said hesitantly.
"Hi Connie, this is Abigail Cooper calling…"
"Oh, Abigail, I'm so glad you called. I've been meaning to reschedule with you, but I couldn't find your number. As a matter of fact, I've been trying to call the woman I gave your card to, to see if she had it, but I haven't been able to get hold of her."
My mouth went suddenly dry. It was clear that Connie was the one who had given an appointment to Allison but clearly she hadn't yet heard the terrible news about her friend.
"Hello? Abigail? Are you there?" she asked when I failed to respond.
"Yes…yes, I'm here, Connie. Uh, listen, would it be possible for us to get together? I mean, I'd like to reschedule your appointment, but there's also something I need to talk to you about."
"What?" she asked, wary again. Getting a phone call from a psychic out of the blue was, I'm sure, a rather atypical event for her.
"Are you by any chance free today at noon?" I asked evasively. I'd be giving up my lunch hour, but I figured I owed Allison and Connie at least that.
"Uh, yes, I guess so. Did you want to meet at your office?"
I thought about the comfort of my reading room. With its soft, engulfing chairs, cool color and abundance of tissue boxes, it was probably a more than appropriate setting to hear that your friend has passed away. "Yes, that would be perfect." I gave her the address and said good-bye. I had no idea how I was going to break the news to her, but I'd doled out tough news before; unfortunately it was part of the job.
Connie arrived promptly at noon, looking anxious as she twisted the golden cross dangling from her neck. She was pretty, around thirty-one or thirty-two, with curly carrot-colored hair that framed her heart-shaped face and emphasized her light green eyes. I waited until she got settled, then I took a deep breath and asked her, "Connie, did you by any chance give your appointment with me last month to a woman named Allison Pierce?"
Connie blinked in surprise. Whatever she had anticipated I would ask her, it evidently wasn't that. "Why, yes. Yes, I did. Is that a problem? Because I never told Allison she could definitely have the appointment," she said defensively. "I just gave her your card and told her to call you, to see if you would be able to fit her in. I swear I never misrepresented things."
I held up a hand to let her know that I wasn't angry and nodded as I searched for the right words. "Connie, I'm not upset with you. That isn't why I've asked you here. I've got some tough news to share with you, and it's about Allison."
More blinking, more twisting of the cross.
"I'm so sorry to have to tell you this, Connie, but I'm afraid Allison passed away two nights ago."
Connie's delicate mouth opened in a round O of surprise, and her almond-shaped eyes grew large. She stared at me as if I'd said that Martians had just landed at the capitol, trying to absorb the news but finding my statement impossible to register. "What?" she said in a voice filled with confusion and denial.
"I'm sorry, but Allison's gone."
"But…but…how?" she stammered.
&nb
sp; I sighed and looked at my feet again. Damn, this was hard. "She was murdered in her home on Wednesday evening."
"No," Connie said, shaking her head. "That's not possible. I just talked to her last weekend. We were going to go shopping. There was a sale…" Connie's lip began to tremble, and a single tear slid down her cheek. I got up and walked over to my credenza to retrieve a box of tissues there and brought them back to her then bent down and held her hand. "Connie, I'm just so sorry …" Connie began to wail and then the dam burst. I hugged her tightly as she rocked and cried, trying to soothe her as best I could.
After a while her sobs lessened and she sat back in her chair, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "How is it that you know about this?" she asked me, her voice full of moisture.
"I record all my readings and give the tapes to my clients for them to take home. The police found the tape from Allison's reading at the scene and traced it back to me. They're looking for any details about her murderer, and they've asked me to assist them if I can."
"The dark-haired man," Connie said, a faraway look on her face.
"I'm sorry?" I asked, surprised.
"Allison played the tape for me, and I remember you warned her about a dark-haired man. We both thought it was really creepy, and that's one of the reasons I hadn't rescheduled my appointment with you yet. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what you were going to say to me."
I nodded my head in understanding. "Yeah, I get that a lot. But stuff like that is such a rarity. It's happened to me only one other time and I've read hundreds and hundreds of clients. But I'm glad Allison let you listen to the tape because you might be able clarify some things that came up in her reading."
"Like what?" she asked.
"Well, there is the mention of the loss of a woman, like a sister. Do you know what that's about?"
"Alyssa."
"Who?" I asked, blanking on the name.
"That was her sister. She committed suicide in May."
Left side, heavy feeling. "She committed suicide?" I asked, following my intuition. Something didn't fit.
"Yes. Two weeks before her wedding, her fiance came home and found her lying in bed, a bullet through her head and her wedding gown torn to shreds."
I went back to my seat and sat down, thinking about what she was telling me. Why would a woman kill herself two weeks before her own wedding? Something clicked in my head, and I asked, "Did her fiance have dark hair?"
Connie nodded. Yes. His name is Marco Ammarretti, and he does have dark hair."
"And he was the one who found her?"
"Yes. He came home from work early, found her in the bedroom and called the police. There was a note at the scene. Allison told me about it. She said that Alyssa had killed herself because she didn't think her marriage to Marco would work.
"Marco seemed crushed. I saw him at the funeral, and he looked devastated. Allison immediately blamed him. She read the note and assumed they'd had some fight or something. She told me she'd confronted Marco about it, but he denied all of it. He said they'd been happy and that they never fought." She paused. "It struck me as very odd that he'd say that. I mean, what couple doesn't fight? I don't know why he'd lie about it."
Connie and I fell silent then, as thoughts of lives taken too young filled the air with heaviness. Connie started crying again and my heart went out to her. "Abby, I think I need to go home. This is all such a shock, and I'm sure the police will eventually catch up with me."
"Do you know of any family they can contact?" I asked.
"No. The girls were orphaned a few years ago," she said. "Their parents were killed in a car crash and they inherited quite a bit of money. They moved up here from Ohio about six years ago, and I met Allison at an art class soon after they'd settled in. Allison only worked part-time, and I don't think Alyssa worked at all. They lived together in a house over on Meadowlawn. I just can't believe she's gone," she said as she stood up and took several tissues from the box.
I got up to walk Connie out of my office, my brain whirling with details. Suddenly, as we neared the door, something flashed in my head. "Uh, Connie, by the way, are you considering a surgical procedure for something?"
Connie stopped, a surprised expression on her face. "Yes," she said.
"I'm getting the feeling that you need to go through with it. It's to remove a blockage of some kind, correct?" I said, my hand going to my abdomen and making circular motions.
"Yes. I have gallstones and the doctor wants to remove my gallbladder."
"I'm feeling like you should stop putting this off and get it taken care of. They're saying you'll be fine. Also, they want you to go back to school. You've been considering that too, haven't you?"
Connie gave a small gasp. "Yes! I was thinking of going back for my master's in art. My goodness, Abigail, you're amazing."
"Sometimes I'm not amazing enough," I said glumly, still feeling the guilt over Allison.
Connie must have read my thoughts because she squeezed my arm and moved past me into the hallway. "I'll call the police this afternoon. Maybe I can be of some help. Would you like me to call you when I know what the funeral arrangements will be?"
"I'd like that very much. Thank you."
I watched her walk down the hall, then closed the door and leaned against it. I had really hoped that talking to Connie would give me some answers, but I'd found only more questions. Why would Alyssa kill herself two weeks before her own wedding? Was it true that she'd had a fight with her fiance and it depressed her so much that it led her to take her own life? My radar wasn't buying it. I'd read for a lot of frazzled brides-to-be and yes, they sometimes bordered on just this side of crazy, but for the most part the prize of that wedding day loomed large enough in their minds to prevent them from doing harm to themselves or others. Why wouldn't Alyssa's marriage have worked? What was it that drove her over the edge?
I sat down in my chair again and closed my eyes. Answering that question seemed to be the key. Something kept telling me there was a strong connection between the sisters' deaths. Was this Marco character the dark-haired man I'd mentioned to Allison? Was he the man she was supposed to stay away from?
At least my Ohio connection had been confirmed. The girls were from there—but something felt slightly off about that. Why did I believe it was an important link in solving Allison's murder? Sighing heavily, I opened my eyes and looked at the clock on my credenza. I had ten minutes before my next client and I was starving. Bolting out the door, I ran down the stairs and across the street to the little café that served prepackaged yogurt and fruit. I dashed back to my office and up the stairs and down the hallway, and as I quickly jogged to my door, the hair on the back of my neck stood up sharply on end. I stopped just in front of the door and looked around anxiously.
I'm very sensitive to energy, especially energy of a malicious intent. What I mean is, if you blindfolded me and told me to walk into a roomful of people I could tell you what specific emotions were emanating from each individual.
Happiness and rage are the easiest, while sadness and contentment give off a softer energy.
There is one emotion, however, that slices me like a sword when I'm close to it: malicious intent. Once when I was in college working as a waitress in a little dive of a restaurant, a man walked past me on a busy afternoon in the middle of the lunch rush. He was an average man, of average height and build and probably of average means, but as he passed me I felt something akin to a slap on the face and I blurted out in a shocked voice, "Oh my God, he's going to kill her … !"
People within earshot looked up at me in surprise, including the man my intuition had hit on. He regarded me with eyes that were flat but wary, then bolted out of the restaurant. I had no idea who he was, nor whom he intended to kill, but my memory of him haunts me to this day.
As I stood in front of my office door I felt surrounded by a lingering cloud of that same kind of energy, clinging thickly to the air. I looked up and down the hallway, but no one was there and
yet the small hairs along my arms and the back of my neck were raised in a state of alarm I couldn't shake. I quickly unlocked the door and scooted inside, fastening the bolt behind me. I moved away from the door and regarded it warily. Suddenly a shadow appeared in front of the door. I stepped back, my hand reflexively moving to cover my heart. My door has one of those thirties-style frames, with a frosted-glass pane in the top half of the doorway.
I watched in horror as a large shadow moved to stand in front of the door, my breath catching as the doorknob twisted. Not waiting to see what would happen next I turned to dash into my office and dial 911, but a knock sounded softly on the door's glass pane. A woman's voice called out, "Hello?"
I stopped short and turned back to the door as I warily called back, "Hello?"
"Hi, Abigail. It's Jenny Smart? I have a one o'clock with you?"
I shook my head to clear it and quickly unlocked the door to let Jenny in. She took one look at my rather pale complexion and asked, "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Jenny, just a little winded. I had to run out during lunch and didn't think I'd make it back in time. Please come in," I said, being sure to lock the door behind her.
Later that day, as I finished up with my last reading, I decided to forgo hanging around the office making phone calls. Instead, I walked out with my last client. We parted at the street, and I made my way to the parking garage and my car, looking around anxiously.
My intuition was on high and I felt like someone was watching me. However, I wasn't absolutely sure this wasn't a product of my earlier scare, much like walking through cobwebs can make you feel like an invisible spider is crawling all over you.
After practically running to my car, I got in, quickly started the engine, and pulled out of the garage. Just to be safe, I decided to take the side streets to my house.
I was a block away from my home when I noticed a car making its way through the side streets with me. Tired of feeling fearful, I pulled over and waited to see if the car would pass me. Instead it pulled up right alongside and Milo and Dutch looked out from the front seat.