Abby Cooper, Psychic Eye

  "May we come in?" he asked tartly, ignoring my candor.

  I looked from him to the other guy and back again, furiously trying to collect my thoughts. My mind replayed his profile on Heart2heart.com, and I remembered that he said he worked in security. Yeah, just like I worked in counseling. "No!" I said, panicking at the state of my home. It was bad enough that he had to see me looking so disheveled; if he got a peek inside I'd die from embarrassment. "You cannot come in. I just woke up, and that guy," I said, pointing to the man behind Dutch, "has been stalking me for a week. What the hell is this all about?" Mornings have never been good for my personality.

  "I'd like to explain that, Abigail, if you'll just let us come in for a minute."

  I looked at Dutch closely and saw him take an appraisal of me standing there, wearing only a small nightshirt, shorts, no makeup, wet bed head and glasses. I didn't just look bad. I looked scary. I needed to shower, change, apply makeup and eat breakfast. There was no way I was going to readily admit Mr. Gorgeous and his partner to my tousled home to talk to my tousled self. Thinking fast, I asked, "Do you have a warrant?" My mouth had gone dry at the prospect that he'd say yes.

  "No," he said calmly, then added, "Not yet," as he looked meaningfully at me.

  There was something so smug about his answer and the way he looked down at me that it pissed me off royally. My face flushed and my temper flared. "Fine. Then there's your answer, pal. Why don't you call me later and we'll do lunch?" I said snidely. "I'll hold my breath waiting for your call. Hope I don't turn blue like I did the last time you promised to call me. Now, why don't you two get off my lawn and go terrorize the elderly?" I tried to shut the door in his face, but he stuck out his foot and jammed it in the opening.

  "Abigail, listen. We would like to talk to you about Nathaniel Davies. It's important, and I swear to you that if I go away now I will come back with a warrant and a pair of handcuffs. You get to choose which way you'd rather talk to us. Here, now, in the comfort and privacy of your own home or downtown in an interrogation room."

  I blinked at him maybe twenty or thirty times with my mouth open, trying to process what he had just said to me. Nathaniel Davies? Who the hell was that? Warrant? Handcuffs? Interrogation room? "Is this some kind of a joke?" I asked, trying somehow to make everything Dutch had said fit into some sort of logical sequence.

  "Not in the slightest," he answered in a tone that meant business.

  I crossed my arms and looked at him. I was mad, disheveled and in the throes of a really good case of PMS. I clenched my jaw and sighed audibly. "Fine. You may come in, but I am not going to have a discussion with you until I have had a chance to freshen up. You will come in, you will not touch a thing, you will stay away from my dog and you will wait until I come downstairs. Then we talk. Capiche?"

  "Glad to see you're being cooperative," Dutch said as he edged closer to the open door.

  "Listen, buddy," I said, blocking his path again with my body."

  "Let's get one thing straight here. I waited by the phone for a solid week for you to call me, which of course you said you were going to do but never did. In my mind you rank one notch above the gray gooey stuff growing in the corner of my shower. Do not—and I repeat, do not—even think of making fun of me this morning." Dutch smiled his charming smile and saluted. I rolled my eyes and grudgingly let them in.

  Upstairs, I headed first to the bathroom. I took off my glasses and popped in my contacts, avoiding the mirror until the last possible moment. When I had worked up the courage to finally take a peek, I let out a new string of expletives at the sight of my reflection without makeup but with puffy red eyes and wet bed hair. My eyes misted in frustration at the thought of anyone seeing me like this, let alone a man I'd played tongue tag with. I folded my arms across the sink and rested my head on them while I took deep breaths. When the world stopped spinning, I pushed away and turned on the shower, quickly jumping in and dancing around until it got warm as I hurried to wet myself down. I dried off in a rush, ran a comb through my newly wet hair and padded in my flannel robe to the bedroom, where I donned jeans and a tank top, then went back to the bathroom for teeth brushing, mascara and blush.

  Ten minutes after ascending the stairs I was back down in my living room, where I caught Dutch's partner standing silently against the far wall and Dutch on one knee poking fingers through the baby gate at Eggy.

  Now, Eggy hates strangers, and he particularly hates male strangers. It took him a solid week to get used to Dave, but somehow Dutch had won him over in a matter of ten minutes. I glowered at my traitorous canine and crossed my arms at the two strangers in my house.

  "I love what you've done with the place," Dutch said, standing up and waving an arm at the disaster of my living room. I pulled my eyebrows down into a deeper scowl and literally growled at him.

  "Is there someplace we can sit?" Dutch's partner asked, looking around at the messy floor and registering the lack of furniture.

  "This is going to take that long?" I asked, trying my best to look like I had far more important things to do with my life.

  " 'Fraid so," Dutch said.

  "Fine. We can go to the back porch. You two head there through the kitchen and around to the left. I'll grab a chair from the study and be right with you."

  Neither man moved. Both stood stock-still watching me closely, the unspoken suggestion about my possible flight risk evident in their eyes. I rolled my eyes and stomped off to the study, where I retrieved a folding chair. I walked past them, climbing over the baby gate and leading the way out to the back porch. The two men followed, Dutch's partner a little more wary of Eggy, who was back on duty and doing his best rabid-dog impression.

  I opened the sliding glass door and set down my chair on the far side of the card table that was placed haphazardly in the middle of the screened-in porch. Then I sat down and crossed my legs and arms. Yeah, I'd cooperate. When hell froze over.

  The whole time I'd been upstairs I kept trying to remember who Nathaniel Davies was. I had come to the conclusion that I must have read for this guy and he must not have been happy with the reading, and instead of calling me for a refund, he must have concocted a phony story and gone to the police. I was desperately trying to recall details of Nathaniel's reading so that I wouldn't be caught off guard, but was having no luck with it at all.

  Dutch sat down on the other side of the card table, directly across from me. His partner sat next to him, and both men eyed me skeptically. "Well?" I said, wanting to get this over with.

  "Abigail, this is my partner, Milo Johnson. We're detectives with the Royal Oak Police Department working on a homicide investigation, and we're here today to see what you can tell us about Nathaniel Davies."

  This was going from weird to scary weird. Why would a pair of detectives working a homicide be assigned to a complaint against my business? "Fellas, you're going to have to clue me in on who Nathaniel Davies is because I'm having a hell of a time remembering him. I read a lot of people, you know."

  "So you read for Nathaniel Davies?" Milo asked.

  "Didn't I?" I asked.

  "Didn't you?" Dutch replied.

  "Wait, wait, wait," I said, making a stopping motion with my hand. "I don't know if I read for Nathaniel Davies or not. That's what I'm saying. Did he come to you and say that I read for him?"

  "Miss Cooper," Detective Johnson said, "Nathaniel Davies can't come to us and say anything. He was murdered two weeks ago, and his body was dumped in an abandoned house in Pontiac. He was only four years old."

  And then it hit me. The night of my big date with Dutch I had seen the news broadcast about the little boy from Pontiac whose mother was sobbing into the camera, telling everyone within earshot that her little boy had been abducted. "Holy crap," I said, "The little boy who was supposedly abducted? That's what this is all about?" I asked incredulously.

  "We have reason to believe, Miss Cooper, that you may have information about who killed Nathaniel," Johnson said. "We've bee
n able to locate the body of the little boy, and we've brought his mother in for questioning, and she seems to think she knows you." Liar, liar, pants on fire…

  I sat back for a moment and turned my head, listening to things only I could hear. My guides were indicating that the police had nothing linking me to the murder other than the information I'd supplied. They were reassuring me that I'd be fine. I could tell it like it was. I turned back to Dutch's partner. "Bullshit, Detective."

  Both men looked quickly at each other and then back at me, waiting.

  "Nathaniel Davies' mother doesn't even know I exist. There is no link between the two of us except the fact that last week I told you"—I said pointing an accusing finger at Dutch—"some information that came to me intuitively and must have led you to the body of Nathaniel. And the reason you're here is that you can't figure out any other logical explanation about how I knew specific details about the murder other than that I must somehow be involved."

  Neither man blinked. They were both poker-faced. "Well, let me tell you something: The truth is stranger than fiction, boys. I'm a clairvoyant intuitive. Knowing things that aren't common knowledge is how I make my living. I don't know Nathaniel's mother, and I never met Nathaniel. You can look into my past, present and future but you'll never find a link. And if you think you're game enough to haul me into court and try and implicate me, you're going to be up against my attorney, who can march in thousands of clients to swear I'm the real deal. You're looking for the connection between Nathaniel's mother and the guy who apparently walked off with him, huh? That's really what this is all about, isn't it?"

  Again, neither man moved, flinched or blinked. I took that as a "yes" and continued. "I'll tell you the same thing I told you last time, Dutch. You need to look at her family, like to a brother, or someone she thinks of like a brother. There is also a connection to Florida here, and a connection to a blond-haired cop—I think he's close to this guy who's related to Nathaniel's mother. Also there's some sort of a connection to a butcher, or a man who carves up meat, like at the grocery store. That's where you need to spend your energy, gentlemen. Look for the butcher shop and you'll find your guy. But that's all the time we have, folks, so if you'll please excuse me." I stood to indicate that playtime was over.

  "We have a few more questions, Abigail," Dutch said sternly.

  My head whipped in his direction, and I pinned him to his seat with a look that spoke business, my bad temper getting the best of me. The fact that he continued to refer to me as "Abigail" wasn't lost on me. He was trying to assert his authority by making me feel like a little girl who'd been caught doing something she should be grounded for. I clenched my fists, recalling every night in the past week that I'd sat and waited for the phone to ring, every fantasy that had drifted through my head about what our kids would look like and every insecure thought that had pummeled my ego about why he hadn't called, and I lost my composure. "With all due respect, Detective, get the hell out of my house! Go prey on someone else, because I'm no longer interested in Mr. Charm. If you come back here again you'd better have a warrant and be prepared to go toe to toe with my attorney because I swear to you I'll be as big a pain in your ass as you've been in mine!" I said this with my hands on my hips and daggers coming out of my eyes. The injustice of this entire interrogation was making my blood boil. Dutch sat in that restaurant the week before looking all gooey-eyed and allowing me to believe he was interested when all he'd really wanted was to pin a murder on me. I had one word for him, and it started with an "ass" and ended in "hole."

  For a moment he just looked at me and we had ourselves a little staring contest. Finally, Johnson broke the silence as he cleared his throat and stood up. A moment later Dutch followed. Both men were about to walk out the front door when Johnson turned back, pulled out a card from his back pocket and handed it to me. "Thank you for your time, Miss Cooper. If you think of anything else you'd like to tell us…"

  I looked at the card and then back at him, my intuition in hyperdrive. "You need to take care of that plumbing problem in your upstairs bathroom pronto. It's your septic tank; it needs to be repaired. Also you've been thinking about buying a new car, but hold off another month. If you wait thirty days you'll get the car you've been dreaming about. And you need to take your dog to the vet. She has a stomach thing going on that she needs medical attention for. The vet can help her out. Oh, and your money worries are going away by early fall. You just need to budget a little better until then. I'd also recommend that you sit your son down and have a heart-to-heart with him about school. He's flunking geography and math. He's really just looking for some attention from you, so the more time you can spare him, the better his grades will be."

  I didn't mean to blurt all that out. Sometimes stuff just comes to me and I have to say it.

  Milo stared at me with his mouth open and his eyes wide. "How did you…," he began.

  I took the card smiling wickedly at both men. "Have a lovely day," I sang and waved good-bye.

  Both men turned as one and walked slowly away from the house. I shut the front door and immediately went to the telephone, punching in my sister's number.

  "Hello?" I heard Cat say.

  "You are not going to believe who just waltzed in through my front door and accused me of murder!" I said as tears formed in my eyes and began dribbling down my cheeks. And then the adrenaline and bravado of the morning gave way to a full-scale meltdown.

  An hour later Cat had calmed me down enough that I could listen to reason. She was so damn levelheaded sometimes. Her point was that I had nothing to worry about. I had answered the detectives' questions, I had nothing at all to do with Nathaniel's murder and I had a pretty strong alibi since I had had a long list of clients walk in and out of my office during the time of Nathaniel's disappearance. Cat kept saying, "Abby, you are who you say you are. And I know you're afraid of that whole Monica Madden thing, but there's no reason to worry. You're a professional psychic, and you have about a million people who can testify on your behalf. The police should be working with you, not against you. They'll come to the same conclusion. Just give it time."

  Sometimes you just had to love my sister. After we'd finished talking, I looked around the house and decided to make it a productive day. I made a couple of eggs for myself and Eggy, then went downstairs and started a load of laundry.

  My washer and dryer had been a housewarming gift from my sister and brother-in-law. Cat had originally been intent on furnishing the whole house, but I'd put my foot down and made her promise not to buy one stick of furniture. She'd gotten even with the washer and dryer—after all, technically they fell in the category of "appliances." My sister was great at getting around technicalities.

  After doing some other chores around the house and finishing up the laundry, I decided to take care of some business, so I locked up the house and headed over to the office. On the way I stopped in at the Pic-A-Deli to get my usual tuna sandwich.

  "Abby!" Mike said jovially. "I didn't expect to see you here on a Monday. The usual today?"

  "Afternoon Mike. The usual would be fine but go easy on the hot peppers today."

  "You got clients today?" he asked, reaching for the bread as he began to prepare my sandwich.

  "Naw, I'm just trying to keep on top of the paperwork and I thought I'd get it done while I had some quiet time. Besides, I'm in a crunch and I need some lunch," I continued, trying hard to stifle a chuckle.

  "You heard our new radio ad?"

  "On the way over. Catchy," I said with a twinkle in my eye. The ad consisted of a slightly out-of-tune soprano singing, "If you want some lunch and you're in a crunch, come on down to Pic-A-Deli."

  Mike nodded proudly and said, "Well, I'm really glad to see you. I wanted to thank you for letting me know about my car the other day. The mechanic said I had a leak in my oil tank and if I'd tried to drive much farther, my engine would've been toast."

  "Cool, Mike. I'm glad I could help."

  "Say, Abb
y, what do you charge, if you don't mind my asking?"

  "An even hundred, buddy."

  "Do you think I could schedule an appointment with you?"

  "Sure. I'm going to the office right now. Why don't you give me a call in about ten minutes and I'll see what I've got available."

  "Thanks," he said as he handed me my sandwich. "I'll do that."

  I headed to the office and two minutes after I settled into my chair, Mike called. I scanned my appointment book, looking for a spot. "Gee, Mike, looks like I'm pretty well booked until early November, but let me see if I can't find a cancellation."

  Whenever I get a cancellation I usually don't fill it. In my mind I see it as the Universe's way of saying that I should have a little down time, but for Mike I'd make an exception. I came across an opening at the end of August, first thing in the morning, a time I'm sure would have been spent sleeping in a little.

  "I've got something for August thirtieth, at nine a.m. Does that work for you?"

  "I may have to cut it close, but I'll make it work, Abby. Thanks a lot."

  I made the notation and gave Mike directions, then returned phone calls and scheduled some new appointments.

  An hour later I was finished and headed to the bank, where I deposited the week's earnings and checked the balance. No matter how hard I tried, my bank balance always seemed to hover around the same amount. Attempting to squirrel away any savings always seemed at odds with my house, the money pit. I stopped by the grocery store on the way home. I was in the mood for chocolate to console my bruised ego, so I swung by the candy aisle and grabbed a bag of M&M's with peanuts. I was halfway down the aisle when it occurred to me that I hadn't had M&M's with almonds in a long time either. Backing up, I selected a package of those and then just so I'd have a good variety in my candy jar, I snatched a bag of the plain ones too. As I went through the bakery section, I noticed how many different varieties of chocolate brownies there were and thought I didn't want to go through life not having known what Caramel Double Fudge Delight was all about, so I threw a box of those into my cart for good measure.