Better Read Than Dead (17 page)

I made a face at the phone and said, “Yes, and get a cup of coffee as soon as you can. You’re awfully cranky this morning.”

“Yes, that tends to happen when I get woken up in the middle of the night.”

I rolled my eyes and said, “Oh, get over it, Milo. I
so
owed you anyway.”

There was the smallest of chuckles as Milo relented and said, “I guess you did. Thanks for trying to help, and if I get any leads on this postal carrier thing I’ll call you, okay?”

“Deal,” I said, and said my good-byes. I hung up the phone and let out an exasperated sigh. Now that I’d gotten my way I was completely drained, and feeling the effects of only three hours’ sleep. I turned to the clock and groaned.

Mondays and Tuesdays are my usual days off, but with the whole bank account fiasco I’d moved up ten appointments over the next two days so that I could put a few dollars back into my kitty. My next day off wouldn’t be until the following week, promising that come Sunday I’d be in one mighty grouchy mood.

The clock read seven forty-five, which left me just enough time for a quick shower before I would have to bolt downtown for my first reading at nine.
Ugh.

While I was in the shower, the dream from earlier kept swirling in my head. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d missed something obvious, but what it was I couldn’t be sure. My head felt full of cobwebs anyway, from lack of sleep, and I decided to push it out of my mind and think about it later, when I wasn’t so exhausted.

I went to work, did my five readings, came home, and collapsed into bed, where I slept straight through to the next morning without pausing to ponder the dream further.

Tuesday, I woke up anxious but late for work, so I didn’t analyze why I felt anxious until later on that night. I felt restless and on edge, but couldn’t place the feeling.

To distract myself, I called Cat to see how the preparations for her psychic party were going, but she said that three of the members of her book club had come down with colds, so the group had decided to postpone until the following Sunday. I could hear a hint of relief in her voice as we talked, thinking she was probably glad to have a little more time to prepare.

I didn’t tell her anything about the rape case I was working on, or the Mafia wedding I’d attended, and especially not about my little jaunt downtown with the gorilla escort.

Cat worried about me enough as it was, and if she suspected I was in harm’s way she wouldn’t hesitate to call a few friends of hers, who also just happened to be merchant marines, and send them here to “persuade” me to move to Boston, where I could be better supervised. I loved my sister, but I also loved my independence, so I typically selected the topics of our conversations very carefully.

After I hung up with Cat I flipped on the television just in time to catch the six-o’clock news. One of the lead stories was about Jeff Zimmer, and how the police suspected he’d been responsible for three rapes in the Royal Oak area. The news anchorwoman said, “Police believe they have enough evidence to link Zimmer with at least one of those rapes, and he is currently being held without bond. We have more on this story from Action News reporter Cindy Minsford.” The TV screen flashed to a perky-looking blonde standing next to Milo just outside the Royal Oak police station.

“Yes, thank you, Janice. I’m here with Royal Oak Police Detective Milo Johnson, who is the lead investigator on this case. Detective Johnson, what led you to believe that Mr. Zimmer was responsible for the horrific attacks against these local women?”

Milo was dressed in a three-piece ebony suit, crisp-starched white shirt and silver-banded tie. His face was set in a serious expression, and he appeared very comfortable in front of the camera. “Our major break came from one of the victims, who was the neighbor of our suspect.”

“And isn’t it true, Detective, that you found evidence in the home of the suspect linking him to these crimes?”

“Well, Cindy, I’m not at liberty to go into specifics here, but let’s just say I’m confident this man is our prime suspect and is, at this moment, safely behind bars.”

My left side felt thick and heavy, causing a frown to shadow my features.

“I’m sure the women in the Royal Oak area will breathe a sigh of relief tonight knowing that a serial rapist is safely behind bars, right, Detective?”

“Perhaps, but it’s always a good idea to be extra cautious, Cindy, especially when walking to and from your car, in places like grocery stores and shopping malls.”

“Can you tell us a little bit more about how to avoid being a rapist’s next victim?” Cindy asked.

I scowled. This was how Milo intended to “warn” the public?

“Glad to, Cindy,” Milo said, smiling charmingly at her. “Now, the thing to remember is that rapists tend to look for easy targets, like women who are walking alone, seem lost in thought, like talking on a cell phone, or are not paying attention to their surroundings. Women who have long hair make it easy for a rapist to grab onto something, so if you have long hair or a ponytail you may want to consider tucking it into your clothing. If you are attacked, the best thing you can do is fight for your life. Scream, kick, bite, claw and make as much noise as possible. Try not to yell for help, but shout, ‘Fire!’ instead. This is sure to get some notice. Also, never, ever get into a van or vehicle with an attacker if you can possibly avoid it. Chances are your attacker will take you to a remote location where no one will hear you if you yell for help.

“Taking time to do your errands in broad daylight is also a good idea. The later in the year we get, the earlier it gets dark, so if you can, save your shopping for the weekends or your days off, and go when it’s light out, never at night.”

I was nodding my head to every one of Milo’s helpful hints. Even though it wasn’t the warning I was hoping for, at least the advice was good.

Cindy was also nodding, and when Milo had finished she said, “Excellent advice, Detective Johnson, thank you.” She then turned back to the camera and said, “Reporting live from Royal Oak, this is Cindy Minsford. Back to you, Janice.”

I sighed and clicked off the TV. I’d gotten basically what I’d asked from Milo, but I still felt uneasy. I got up and paced the floor, but couldn’t shake the feeling. I headed into the kitchen and made dinner to distract myself, but as I ate my tuna melt on rye I couldn’t stop thinking that there was something on the edge of my intuition that I wasn’t getting.

After eating, I decided to call Milo and ask him if he’d found out anything about the postal connection I’d come up with. He answered on the second ring.

“Johnson,” he announced.

“Hey, Milo, nice tie,” I said.

“You saw the broadcast,” he stated.

“Yeah. I guess that was the best you could do, huh?”

“Abby, we got the right guy. I can feel it. It’s him.”

Left side, heavy feeling.
I shook my head, but decided not to argue. Instead I asked lightly, “So did you have a chance to run the lead on the postal carrier?”

“I did.”

“And . . . ?”

“ ‘And,’ we didn’t find a connection. Three different sections of town, three different postal carriers.”

“What about the floater?”

There was an exasperated sigh, then, “No, I’m sorry. It’s a dead end.”

Damn it.
“Milo, there’s something there. Something obvious—”

“Abby, listen to me. You’re starting to obsess about this stuff, and I want you to relax and let us do our job down here, okay?”

“Now, wait just one minute. If memory serves me, and I believe it does,
you
were the one who asked for
my
help, and if I seem a little ‘obsessive,’ ” I said in a snide, high-pitched voice, “then it’s only because I am in fact,
trying to help you!
”

“You sure it’s not because you’re trying to distract yourself from something else?”

My eyes grew large. I had a foreboding about where he was going with this, and I couldn’t believe he would play that dirty. “What do you mean, ‘distract’ myself?”

“Well, maybe if you focus all your energy on this case, you won’t have to work things out with a certain FBI agent who recently made a jackass of himself?”

My voice dropped to a whisper as I asked, “He called you?”

“This morning.”

“What did he say . . . exactly?”

“He said that he tried to introduce you to his new partner and that backfired, and then he insulted your intelligence and your profession and topped it off by getting defensive when you called him on it the other night.”

“That his summation, or yours?”

“Mostly his.” Milo laughed.

I sighed heavily and said, “Milo, I like that idiot so much it’s pathetic, but he frustrates the hell out of me.”

“Now you know why he’s been playing it single for so long. The guy has no idea how to relate to women.”

“So what do I do?”

“Well, he told me he may be headed back into town soon, and that he’d try contacting you. My suggestion would be for both of you to listen to each other before passing judgment and see if you can work this out.”

“Do you think it will be worth it in the end?” I knew I was reaching for something to hold on to, and I was hoping that Milo could give it to me.

“All I can tell you is that I’ve known Dutch Rivers for ten years, and in all that time I have never seen him so crazy about a woman as he is about you. Hang in there a little longer, girl; he’s worth it.”

My eyes welled up, and I was nodding my head in a yes motion. I found I couldn’t talk without risking more tears, so I said quickly, “Thanks. Gotta go.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” Milo said; he obviously understood.

I hung up the phone and curled up in my favorite chair with Eggy, crying softly and wishing I weren’t such a girl.

 

Thursday morning I didn’t need the alarm to wake me. I’d been up for an hour already. I’d had the dream again. This time I’d been able to run away, so it hadn’t been quite as scary, but the other elements were exactly the same. I knew my guides were trying hard to get a message through to me, but what it was I couldn’t put my finger on.

Finally I got up and took my shower, throwing my hair into a ponytail, and not fussing too much with my reflection. I was too tired to care.

In my line of work it is really easy to overdo. I’ve learned that if you take on too many clients in one day, or work too many consecutive days in a row, it can feel like you’ve run a marathon. No amount of sleep will help. Only a day or two off work will do the trick.

In extreme cases, when I’d really overdone it, I’d experienced what can only be described as a psychic headache. It’s hard to explain what this feels like, but essentially the area above my head from my right ear to my right eye will hurt with a very sharp intensity. The weird part is that this isn’t a pain
in
my head as much as it is a pain
around
my head—and no amount of aspirin can cure it.

I had one of these this morning, and I still had four days to go before I could take a small breather. To add insult to injury, even through my exhaustion and worn-out antennae there was the oppressing fact that today was Thursday, the day the rapist—if he was still at large—was likely to attack, and I was convinced he would.

I dressed for work sluggishly, choosing a gray sweater coat and jeans. I dragged myself downstairs and fed Eggy, then fixed a bagel and ate only half.

My jeans felt looser than usual, and I concluded that I’d been so worn-out lately that I really hadn’t had a lot of time to take care of myself. Tonight I’d make sure to eat something hearty for dinner.

I drove to work in a stupor, and once there I dutifully played my voice mail and took down all the client information. The last call came as a surprise, and sent a ripple of goose pimples across my arms. “Abigail Cooper, this is Andros Kapordelis calling. I wonder if perhaps you have considered my offer. There is a project I would like you to work on for me; in fact, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner. You may call me at 313-555- 6978 at your earliest convenience.”

I didn’t bother to jot down the number; there was no way I was calling him back. I erased the message and got ready for my first client.

 

The day dragged on, and my headache grew worse. There was now a high-pitched whine humming just inside my energy field, annoying me no end. At five o’clock I dragged myself home and came through the door, greeted by a fervent Eggy. I fed him but was too tired to cook, so I called my favorite Thai food restaurant, Pi’s, and ordered a delivery of pad thai.

They promised to have it to me within forty-five minutes, so I sat in my big chair and waited, but I couldn’t shake a mounting sense that something was wrong. Finally I called Milo, if for nothing else than to hear that no one had been attacked yet.

“Johnson,” he said, as he answered on the second ring.

“Hey, Milo. It’s Abby.”

“Hey, there. I was just about to call you.”

“Really? Why? Has something happened?” I asked in rapid-fire succession.

Milo laughed and said, “Whoa, hold on, there, girl; nothing’s happened. I was just going to tell you that they broke ground today over at the Boys and Girls Club. They’re going to put up one big, beautiful facility.”

I sank back into my chair and gave a small smile. “That’s great! Really, I’m so happy the money’s going to good use.”

“Hell of a thing you did, girl. I wish you’d let me tell the press about it.”

I laughed at that. “No way! People will think I still have a lot of money, and they’ll be hitting me up right and left. You can continue to keep my name out of it, okay?”

“As promised.”

“So?” I asked, rounding to the point of my call, “it’s been quiet, huh?”

Milo chuckled. “Very. Listen, I know you’re worried, but I’ve got an army of plainclothed police out at every local grocery store in town. I’ve even called the neighboring cities and put them on notice. If something goes down we’ll be the first to hear about it.”