Dream Eyes (25 page)

“Maybe. I’m going to take a look.”

Judson turned, crossed his room, opened the door and went out into the hall. The wall sconces lit the scene in a warm, golden glow. He glanced at the muddy footprints on the floor and then he followed them to the stairwell door.

He opened the emergency door just in time to hear the first floor door open and close at the bottom of the stairwell.

He went back along the hall and let himself into his own room. Gwen was waiting.

“Well?” she asked.

“Our visitor came from outside. She left a little mud on the carpet and the stairs.”

Gwen was impressed. “Did your para-senses tell you that the person was a woman?”

“No, I cheated and used my normal senses. The footprints belong to a woman. She came up the emergency stairwell, went to your door and then turned around and went back down the same stairs. Let’s take a look in your room.”

He went through the connecting doorway and walked around the bed to take a closer look at the place where Max had been crouched earlier. From that angle, he could see what had not been visible from the other side of the room.

An envelope lay on the floor.

He picked it up.

“Looks like she left a message,” he said.

“Probably the bill for room charges here at the inn,” Gwen said. “I’ll take care of it at breakfast.”

“It’s not the bill for the room.” There was no name or address on the outside of the envelope, but he could sense the anxiety that stained the paper.

He slit the seal and took out the photograph.

Gwen came to stand beside him.

“It’s a copy of the same group shot that I found on the floor near Evelyn’s body,” she said. “The picture of the seven research study subjects.” She took a closer look. “Someone drew a circle around my face.”

Judson turned the picture over and read the scrawled message on the back aloud.
“You are next
.
”

Thirty-three

Y
ou’re sure about this?” Gwen asked.

“Almost positive,” Judson said.

Gwen opened her senses a little and watched his aura as he shut down the SUV’s engine. He was definitely running hot with a mix of adrenaline and psi—he had been ever since he had opened the envelope that contained the unpleasantly marked-up photo. But, as usual, he was fully in control.

He sat quietly for a moment studying the thick stand of mist-shrouded trees that stood between the vehicle and the rear door of Hudson Floral Design.

In the backseat, Max glowered through the recently repaired door of his carrier.

It had stopped raining, but an early morning fog had rolled in off the river, muffling sound and limiting visibility. At least, Gwen thought, the fog had that effect on those like her who possessed merely normal hearing and vision.

“What do you see?” she asked Judson.

“What?” He glanced at her. His eyes glowed with a low level of psi.

“Just wondered if you could see through the fog.”

“Sometimes I forget that you see things differently than I do. Don’t worry, I won’t blunder into a tree and brain myself.”

“That possibility never occurred to me.” She turned back around to study the scene. “I have to tell you that knowing that you’re
almost
positive you know what we’re doing here is not the most reassuring thing you could say under the circumstances. Remember, she’s got that old rifle.”

“I gave you the option of staying behind at the inn,” Judson reminded her.

She ignored that. “Maybe we should talk to Oxley first.”

“That won’t do any good.”

“Things could get awkward if you get caught.”

“I won’t get caught. But if I do, get on the phone to Dad.”

She almost smiled. “That sounds similar to the advice you gave Nick.”

“Because it’s the best advice under the circumstances.”

“Wow.” She snapped her fingers. “Must be nice to come from a family that can make every little problem go away.”

“The Coppersmiths can’t make every problem go away, but we’re pretty good when it comes to the annoying legal stuff.” He unfastened his seat belt and opened the door. “I won’t be long.”

“Forget it.” Gwen got out, too. “You’re not going in without backup, partner.”

He gave that a few seconds of consideration. Then he nodded once. Decision made.

“Okay,” he said.

“Glad we got that settled,” she said. She told herself that she was pleased that he seemed to be treating her as an equal partner in the investigation.

“All things considered, I’d rather have you where I can keep an eye on you,” Judson added.

So much for the partnership,
she thought.

“You do need me, Judson Coppersmith,” she said. “I’m the one who knows this town and the people in it. Without me, you wouldn’t have a clue where to start investigating. What’s more, I’m in charge here. I’m the one paying the bills, remember?”

“Paying the bills doesn’t mean you’re in charge. It makes you the client.”

“Semantics.”

They wove a path through the trees to the narrow strip of paved parking area behind the shop. Gwen waited for Judson to crack the old lock. To her surprise, he knocked on the door instead. The sharp rap of his knuckles on wood gave her a start. But she was even more astonished when he wrapped his hand around the knob and opened the door.

“We know you’re in there, Nicole,” he said calmly.

Gwen glanced at him, startled. It was certainly news to her.

“Uh, Judson, I’m not so sure a confrontation would be wise.”

She stopped talking when she heard reluctant footsteps on the other side of the door.

Nicole appeared in the opening. She was dressed in faded jeans, a long-sleeved denim shirt and a light down vest. Her hair was scraped back in a ponytail.

“I should have known you’d figure out that I was the one who left the photo under Gwen’s door,” Nicole said. Her mouth twisted in a humorless smile. “You’re both psychic, after all. Me, I’m just a fool who was dumb enough to fall for one of your kind. Don’t worry, I learned my lesson.”

A chill whispered through Gwen. She remembered something Evelyn had said once, long ago.
The risk in proving to others that the paranormal is real is that there will be those who will view people of talent not only as different but also as dangerous. And what people fear, they try to control, isolate or even destroy
.
Remember the Salem witch trials
.

“Zander Taylor was not one of our kind,” Gwen said quietly. “He was a monster.”

“No shit,” Nicole said. “I finally figured that out for myself yesterday.”

“It’s time to talk,” Judson said.

“Yeah, sure.” Nicole turned on her heel and walked away into the shadows. “Guess it doesn’t matter much anymore.”

Judson moved through the doorway. Gwen knew from the shiver of energy in the atmosphere that he had kicked up his talent. She followed him into the back room of the shop. A dark, earthy perfume of freshly cut flowers, potted plants and decaying foliage assailed her senses.

Rows of decorative vases lined the shelves of the back room. Dried floral materials stood in large metal containers. A glass-fronted refrigerator hummed quietly in one corner. Several pairs of gardening shears and an assortment of other tools were neatly arranged on a nearby workbench.

Nicole went into the front of the shop. Large pots filled with chrysanthemums, orchids, daisies and lilies loomed in the shadows. Baskets of herbs and flowering plants hung from the ceiling.

Nicole moved behind the counter and opened the door of a small office. She flipped a light switch on the wall, illuminating the interior.

Gwen looked at the photos that covered the walls and shuddered. Trisha Montgomery’s description was right. The small space was a shrine to Zander Taylor.

There was a large floral calendar tacked over the desk. The month of August was illustrated with a scenic shot of Oregon wildflowers. There were neatly written notes in several of the squares around various dates.
Carter wedding
.
Feed dogs
.
Order new vases for inn
. But aside from that single, cheerful exception, every inch of wall space was covered with photographs of Zander Taylor.

The pictures were various sizes. In most of the images, Taylor posed for the camera alone, smiling his charming psychopath’s smile. Nicole was with him in a few of the shots, leaning into him, her arm wrapped around his waist, looking happy and thrilled to be in love.

But the Zander Taylor shrine had been vandalized. Each of the pictures had been savagely sliced, not once but over and over again. A pair of sharp gardening shears lay on the desk. The only untouched image in the room was the calendar illustration.

“People tell me I should move on,” Nicole said. “They say I need to get past losing Zander.” She studied one of the ripped photos. “But I can’t seem to do that. For two years, every time I walked into this room it was like I had just lost him yesterday. I was okay with that.”

“You didn’t want to be free of him,” Gwen said gently.

“No.” Nicole’s smile was bitter. “But now that I know the truth about him, I want to escape more than anything else in the world. That’s not going to be possible.”

“Why did you leave the photo under Gwen’s door this morning?” Judson asked.

“I wanted to warn her.” Nicole hugged herself and looked at Gwen. “Figured it was the least I could do after all the things I’ve said to you and about you, all the accusations I made. I felt bad about taking that shot at you, too.”

“You’re the one?” Gwen asked.

“I wasn’t trying to hit you. I just wanted to scare you, make you leave Wilby.”

“What were you trying to warn me about when you left that picture under my door this morning?” Gwen asked.

Nicole surveyed the pictures. “It’s Zander. He’s come back, you see. And now he’s going to kill all of us. But I’m pretty sure he’ll take you out first.”

Judson watched her intently. “Zander Taylor is dead. They found his body in the river two years ago.”

“You were one of the people who identified him,” Gwen said.

Nicole shook her head. “He was a very powerful psychic. He could fool anyone. I wouldn’t put it past him to fake his own death. I’m telling you, he has come back to take his revenge and then he’ll complete his mission.”

“What mission?” Judson asked.

“Two years ago, he told me he was some kind of undercover investigator. He said that because he was the real deal—a genuine psychic—the FBI had hired him to hunt down and expose the frauds and fakes and scam artists who pretended to be psychic. He said criminals like that took advantage of the elderly and folks who were in mourning. He said every year the con artists stole millions and got away with it because there was no one who could stop them.”

“Except him,” Judson said.

Nicole sniffed and reached for a tissue. “He told me that he was like a modern-day Harry Houdini who traveled around the country, exposing the frauds. He claimed that he had joined Evelyn’s research study here in Wilby to gather evidence against her.”

“Did he say why he wanted to expose Evelyn?” Gwen asked. “She never worked as a storefront psychic. She never told fortunes or pretended to contact the dead. All she ever did was study the paranormal.”

“He claimed that Evelyn’s research study was just a cover,” Nicole said. “He told me that in reality she was operating a school to teach con artists how to pose as psychics. But he said that in the course of his investigation, he had discovered that there was a real psychic in the study group, a very dangerous killer who could commit murder without leaving any trace.”

“He was describing himself,” Judson said.

“Yes, I know that now.” Tears of pain and rage glittered in Nicole’s eyes. She blew into the tissue. “I was such a gullible fool.”

“No,” Gwen said. “Taylor fooled all of us.”

“But you and Evelyn Ballinger eventually realized what was going on,” Nicole whispered. “I didn’t. Not until yesterday.”

“What did Zander tell you after the first two people in the study died?” Gwen asked.

Nicole shivered and started to rock back and forth in the chair. “He said that he was in grave danger because he was closing in on the killer. He said he might have to disappear without warning, but if that happened, he would come back for me.”

“He realized that Evelyn and I were on his trail,” Gwen said. “He knew that even though we could never come up with hard proof that he was the killer, we would know the truth about him. He couldn’t have that. He decided that he had to get rid of both of us. He intended to start with me.”

“The day before he went over the falls, he said that you were the most dangerous person in the study group,” Nicole whispered. “He said he was positive that you were the murderer.”

“So when they pulled his body out of the river, you assumed that he had confronted me and that I had killed him,” Gwen said.

“It all seemed to fit.” Nicole unfolded her arms and scrubbed the tears from her eyes with the back of one hand. “Chief Oxley said that you were the last one to see him alive. Oxley doesn’t believe in the paranormal, but I could tell he had his suspicions, too. When Evelyn shut down the study and you and most of the others left town, I was convinced that you were the killer that Zander had been hunting. I thought no one would ever catch you and that Zander would never be avenged.”

“Then, two years later, Evelyn is found dead and I’m back in town,” Gwen concluded. “You and Oxley and a lot of other people are wondering if the killing has started again because I’m here.”

“Yes. But it’s been two years and I’ve had some time to think.” Nicole stared at one of the pictures on the wall. “I’ve asked myself a lot of questions since Zander died. I haven’t been able to find many answers. That was why I went to see Louise yesterday.”

Judson examined the photos. “What questions have you been asking yourself?”

“Mostly about his precious camera,” Nicole said. “Zander never let it out of his sight. He said it was a special handmade camera that had come out of a secret government lab and that only someone like him—a real psychic—could operate it. He told me that the focus was paranormal in nature and had to be adjusted frequently. He called it a tune-up and said that Louise was one of the few people in the world who knew how to do it.”