Pall in the Family (3 page)

“Okay, that's enough. I really don't need to hear any more about my place in the universe according to the cards. I've always done the wrong thing in relation to the tarot.”

She held up her hand.

“Wait, it shows the King of Wands in the near future. Honest, optimistic, a stern and strong-minded leader. You're going to have to deal with him.”

“Why don't you finish up later, okay? Let's go check on Tuffy.” I couldn't get away from the cards fast enough. The rest of them did not tell a tale I wanted to hear—fighting your inner self, psychic talents, all leading to death. It was always the same gloom and doom. The only good card was the Three of Cups—three people dancing and holding goblets overhead. At least I would have friends.

“You know, we wouldn't have to resort to tarot if you'd allow your own natural abilities to come forward, Clyde.”

“Not again, Mom.” I sighed.

“I just don't understand why someone with a gift like yours would choose to ignore it.” She gestured at the cards.

“We've really done this enough, don't you think? It doesn't seem like much of a gift when all you see is death and destruction. I'm happier not knowing what will happen.”

“That was a long time ago. You can learn to control it.”

“Let's go check on Seth and Vi.” I pushed away from the table.

* * *

We found them
in Violet's apartment, a three-room annex off the main level of my parents' living area. The house had originally belonged to my grandmother and when she died, she left it to her daughters. Thanks to Grace, my parents had lost their house when the market crashed in 1987. Grace had one “talent” and that was the ability to predict the stock market. She claimed she saw letters and numbers in an almost constant stream and once she realized what they meant she began investing. In a snit over some fight with Mom, Grace chose not to warn my parents to dump their stock and they ended up losing everything, including their house. Aunt Vi was living with my grandmother at the time, and they had plenty of room. When Mom, Dad, Grace, and I moved in, we got the larger half and the upper floors. Everyone shared the kitchen.

In the end, I was glad we lost the house. Spending much of my adolescence living with my grandmother had been wonderful. She'd had a calm, serene presence that she hadn't passed on to her daughters. Unfortunately, she also had psychic talent that she passed on to me. She understood, better than anyone in my family, why I would want to block the messages coming to me.

Violet had not continued the Victorian theme in her area of the house. Claiming that her clients didn't need all that “claptrap,” she decorated in a more modern, but just as colorful, fashion. Tuffy was sitting on one of the many client beds Vi kept scattered around her living room. Seth was sitting next to him and petting him gently.

Vi was rocking in her chair, knitting, when we came in. Baxter lay like a large lumpy carpet at her feet.

“Any luck?” my mother asked.

“No, he's too upset. All I could get out of him was ‘bacon,'” Vi said.

“Maybe he's hungry,” I said. Tuffy was always hungry, in my experience.

I received a triple glare from Violet, Seth, and my mother. Baxter didn't move.

“He's traumatized, Clyde. Give the guy a break.” Seth leaned protectively over Tuffy.

“I just knew something was going to happen. The horses over at Miller's place have been agitated.” Vi rocked faster and her fingers flew with the needles. “I was over there a couple of days ago, but they wouldn't tell me what was bothering them. My cat clients have completely clammed up. They're usually such a gossipy bunch. I should have seen something like this coming.”

Seth's eyes grew wide; my mother just nodded. I looked at the ceiling.

“Seth, I need to finish with the rest of the dogs. Do you want to come with me or stay with Tuffy?”

“I think I'll stay with Tuffy.” He curled himself around the dog, and I saw that he probably was just as upset as his new canine friend.

“Okay, I'll see you later.” I turned to leave.

“What about lunch? I have sandwiches and brownies.” Mom gestured toward the kitchen.

“I'm not that hungry, Mom. And I have to get to the rest of the dogs.”

“Don't be ridiculous. You have to eat. The dogs can wait a few minutes. Seth, let's go.” She walked toward the dining room, assuming we would follow.

We sat at the table—all of us. Seth pulled up a chair for Tuffy to sit in, and he began feeding the dog small pieces of lunch meat from his sandwich. Baxter didn't need a chair. He rested his head on the table and with his eyes watched each bite I took like he was following a tennis match. A wet puddle formed under his chin. My mother didn't eat, claiming she was too upset. I had taken about three bites when I heard my cell phone ringing in the front hall.

I found my messenger bag in disarray and covered in Baxter slime. I'd forgotten about the treats I'd left in there. Apparently he'd found them. By the time I'd waded through my wet bag, my phone had stopped ringing. I was muttering Baxter's name just as I heard a chair topple and my mother shout, “Baxter!”

I ran into the dining room to see Baxter finishing off my sandwich. He caught sight of me and slunk over to hide behind Vi.

“He's sorry, Clyde. The sandwich just looked really good,” Vi said, putting a protective hand on his head.

I scowled at them and hit the voice mail button on my phone.

“It's Mac. Call me.”

I took a steadying breath and stood straighter. I hit callback, and I could tell my blood pressure was rising by the pounding in my head.
Here we go
.

“Clyde, I need you over here now,” Mac said, in greeting.

“Hi, Mac. It's been a long time. . . .” I tried for a light and carefree tone, but it didn't work.

“Save it, Clyde. You're lucky you're not under arrest for leaving the scene of a crime.”

“Right. See you in ten minutes.” I clicked the phone shut and took a deep breath. This was going to be worse than I thought, plus I'd have to skip the brownie.

The boats bobbed and clanged in the small marina
as I drove along River Street. Turning onto Main Street, I was greeted by downtown Crystal Haven. All the storefronts were freshly painted in bright colors for the summer tourist season. Many stores had hanging signs along the street to entice wandering shoppers. Even without the spiritualist draw, it would be a tourist town. It's situated on the west coast of Michigan, south of Grand Rapids. This makes it close enough to Chicago for weekend travelers and not so far “up north” that it discourages day-trippers. About a mile inland from Lake Michigan, Crystal Haven is fed by a river that forms a small lake, which serves as a protected marina for boats traveling on the Great Lake. We have the usual Lake Michigan attractions: beaches, boating, fishing, and hiking. We also have the largest community of psychics outside of Lily Dale, New York. The early founders of the town settled in the late 1800s, when a large deposit of quartz was discovered and a small group of spiritualists flocked to the area, feeling the crystals would be attractive to the spirits.

While Lily Dale has remained a spiritualist retreat, Crystal Haven has branched out over the years to offer all manner of new age and spa-treatment services. My grandmother had moved here in the 1930s with her parents, who'd seen the promise of money through her “gifts.” She had predicted the stock market crash, and her parents had managed to save most of their nest egg. By the time World War II broke out, she had become famous for her psychic readings and prophecies. WWII opened up a whole new set of clients who might have shied away from spiritualism in their pre-war lives. A steady stream of desperate parents and wives arrived in Crystal Haven to find out if their soldiers were alive and well. Eventually, the focus shifted, and Crystal Haven's residents realized they would need to branch out if they wanted to remain on the tourist map. The old guard was disappointed by this turn of events and routinely tried to block new businesses coming in that were not purely spiritualist in nature. However, there were enough young and savvy psychics on the town council to allow these “fringe” businesses to set up shop among the more serious spiritualist pursuits.

The split between old and new could only be detected by those living in Crystal Haven. Those listening to the vicious gossip. Aunt Vi's cat clients were particularly brutal, if she was to be believed. For the average visitor, Crystal Haven was a one-stop shop for crystals, talismans, readings, séances, massages, hypnosis, acupuncture, herbal medicine, and outdoor sports. We even have a golf course.

The small police station is sandwiched between a shop selling crystals and palm readings, and a bookstore specializing in spiritualist titles. Its sign is small and hardly noticeable among the larger and flashier store signs. Tourist towns don't like to call attention to the need for law enforcement.

I parked and went inside, mentally preparing to see Mac again.

Even the police station entrance is cheerful; it's painted sunny yellow and features paintings of boats and beaches. Occasionally, it's confused with a travel agency. I was surprised to see Lisa Harkness behind the reception desk. She'd been a year ahead of me in school, and I'd always thought she would get out of Crystal Haven the moment she got her diploma. She used to say that real life was happening elsewhere. Still wearing the big, frizzy hairstyle from high school and frosted eye shadow, she greeted me with a smile. She was sporting a wedding ring and had a picture of two kids on her desk. So that's why she'd stayed.

“Hi, Clyde. I heard you were back in town.” She made a few clicks with her mouse and spun her chair to look at me. “Is it a nice change from the city?”

“It's good to be home for a while,” I said. “Mac called and wanted me to come right over.”

“Oh, I know. He's been pacing around like a caged animal ever since they got back from Sara's place. What a horrible shame.” She shook her head.

I cleared my throat and she glanced at me again.

“I'll tell Mac you're here.”

When she hung up the phone, she told me to go back to the visitor's office. The small Crystal Haven Police Department didn't have the expertise or manpower to run a homicide investigation. Whenever something big came up, they sent a detective from the sherriff's office, which is about twenty-five minutes away. Fortunately, that hadn't been necessary for many years. Several doors sat closed on the left side of the hallway. The right side opened up into a large workroom where four officers had desks. I glanced in but it was empty. Lisa had said Mac was in the last office on the left.

The door was slightly ajar. I peeked around the corner to get a glimpse of Mac before he spotted me. I saw a gray metal desk with matching file cabinet, and a dead ficus tree, which must have belonged to the office's previous owner. It had been years since I'd seen Mac. He was four years older than me, so we were never in school together. He'd had Tom Andrews's current job for most of the time I was in high school. We both left town eight years ago, and I hadn't seen him since. He looked almost the same: short blond hair, with maybe a few more wrinkles around the eyes. He'd always been muscular, but now he'd become solid, mature, and more imposing. I wondered if he had forgiven me yet.

“Clyde, don't lurk. Come and sit.” He hadn't looked up, and I jumped at the sound of his voice.

“Hi, Mac.” I sat in the chair in front of his desk and rubbed my palms on my jeans. I felt like I was visiting the principal.

“Clyde. How have you been?” He tapped a stack of papers into alignment on his desk.

“Um, good. Thanks. You?” I wasn't sure what to do with my hands, so I held them tightly in my lap.

“Just great.” He sat back and smiled, but it wasn't his nice smile. His gray-blue eyes were just as intense as I remembered. “Until someone gets murdered and one of my witnesses, who happens to be a trained police officer, strolls off the premises with trace evidence, leaving nothing more than a slip of paper with some dog names on it.”

“I didn't touch that scene.” Five seconds in the same room and we were already fighting. “And I'm not a witness to anything. We got there
after
she was dead.”

“The dog, Clyde,” he said, rubbing between his eyes.

“You think the dog is a witness?” I thought maybe Vi had been working on him without telling me. His steely gaze told me I was wrong.

“The dog was all over the house,” he said slowly, as if instructing a new recruit. “Who knows what trace evidence it may have been carrying before you allowed it to become contaminated?”

“Oh.” I glanced down to see what my hands were doing. “I don't think he would have been very helpful. We found him shivering under the table. He's not very brave. I doubt he went near the body or the murderer.”

“Just have a feeling about that, do you? Or did it come to you in a dream?” Mac leaned forward.

He might as well have hit me. I sat back and took a deep breath. So. He hadn't forgiven, or forgotten.

“I don't have to take this, Mac. I came here to help.” I started to stand but then thought better of it. “You know as well as I do that anything you pull off a dog is going to be contaminated anyway.”

Mac pressed his lips into a thin line.

“I would have thought you'd have gotten over it by now,” I said, and held his gaze.

He stared hard at me and then seemed to pull himself together. He took a deep breath, and I could see the tension release from his face.

“You're right, Clyde. Let's start over.”

“Fine.” I crossed my arms and held his gaze until he looked away.

“I need an official statement from you about this morning.” He shuffled through the files on his desk. “Everything you did leading up to and including finding the body.”

“Officer Andrews already has a statement.”

“I need another one. I thought you wanted to help.” He glanced up from his papers. “I also need to interview the boy. Is he old enough to give me anything useful?”

“He's thirteen.”

“Grace's kid is thirteen?” He sat back, eyebrows up.

“She got pregnant right after she got married.” I became very interested in a hangnail.

“Still, I didn't expect him to be that old. . . .” Mac rubbed between his eyes again.

“Mac, I'm really sorry about everything. . . .” I reached out and touched the edge of his desk.

“Ancient history, Clyde.” He sliced across the air with his hand as if that settled it. “I need your help on this case. Let's not complicate things by dredging up the past. It's done.”

“Okay.” I pulled my hands back to the safety of my lap.

I told him everything Seth and I had done that morning, only leaving out the embarrassing part about wrestling Baxter into the car twice. I also decided not to mention Tuffy's testimony involving bacon. Mac liked the facts and wanted nothing to do with any intuition, or messages from other places. I left out the part about the tarot as well; he already seemed tense enough.

“So, you're working as a dog walker?” It was the first time he had really smiled since I walked in. In this context, it was irritating.

I just looked at him, trying for the flat eyes Seth used so effectively.

“I heard about what happened in Ann Arbor,” he said, rearranging the files on his desk. “You're a great officer. You can't let one . . .”

“Thanks for the concern, Mac.” I gave him a look that said he had gone far enough. “By the way, why are
you
back here?”

“Maybe we can have coffee sometime and I'll tell you all about it.” He grinned, but it looked more like a grimace, and as he stood up I noticed the cane leaning behind the desk. He caught me staring at it, and the set of his jaw dared me to question him.

“Let me know if you need anything else” was all I said.

“I'll need to interview the boy.”

“His name is Seth, and he's really been shaken by this. Try to be nice.”

A brief wounded look crossed his face, followed by his stoic stare.

“I'll have Andrews deal with him. He's always nice.” Mac showed me his teeth, and he reminded me of a shark.

I was about to respond when Tom himself came careening around the corner of the door from the front office.

“Sir! We found him!” He stopped abruptly when he saw me, and his face turned bright red. “Oh, hi. I didn't know you were here.”

“What is it, Andrews?” Mac growled.

“It's about the case, sir.” He cut his eyes to me and back to Mac, raising his eyebrows.

“You can tell me in front of Ms. Fortune. She's still technically a police officer, even if she chooses to walk dogs instead.”

“Okay.” He smiled at me. “Well, we tracked the ex-husband to Chicago; he flew out of Grand Rapids this morning. We just got confirmation that he was on the flight and it landed safely.”

“Do you know where he is now?” Mac asked.

“Well, no.” Tom slumped. “He's there on business, and his office said since he made his own arrangements they don't know where he's staying.” He hung his head as if he was expecting to be yelled at. “We have a list of the places he usually stays, and Lisa is calling them now to see if we can track him down,” he said to his shoes.

“Okay, good work. We'll need to question him as soon as we find him.”

Tom's head snapped up and he stood straighter, looking relieved.

“Have you located the daughters yet?” I asked.

“Charla went out to talk to them. She hasn't checked in yet,” Tom said.

Charla Roberts was the acting Chief of Police for the Crystal Haven police force. She'd refused to officially accept the position since she stepped in when her husband, Dean, had died. She'd helped me figure out my own career path in late high school after a few minor run-ins with her in her official capacity. I adored her, but she wasn't very warm and fuzzy. I hoped she would handle Sara's daughters gently. For all the communicating with the dead that occurred here, Crystal Haven had minimal experience with murder.