He looks around the tiny office as if it’s the most magnificent place he’s ever stepped foot in. I know the reason has everything to do with my father and not my P.I. business, but I don’t mind at all. I just need his help.
“Have a seat,” I say, motioning to the chair opposite Dad’s desk.
“Thank you,” Officer Gilbert says, practically beaming at Dad. “This is incredible. I mean, you guys must do amazing things in here.”
Does he not realize a lot of what we do is exactly the same as what the Weltunkin PD does, except Dad and I don’t carry guns?
“We’re glad you could stop by,” I say. “You mentioned you know the charity Amelia Crane’s belongings were donated to when she was declared dead.”
“Yeah. Andrews found out the name of it.”
“Why isn’t it in the case file then?” Mitchell asks.
“I asked the same question.” Officer Gilbert pauses, and for a moment, I think we’re going to have to pry every word out of him. Is it Dad’s presence that’s making him so starstruck, or is there another reason why he’s dragging this out?
“Did you get an answer?” Dad asks him.
“Oh, sorry.” Officer Gilbert laughs and pats down the front of his uniform shirt. “I have to admit I’m a little distracted. I mean, I’ve heard all about you both, and I worked that case with Piper and Mitchell, but this is different. Seeing the place where you guys brainstorm and research and… It’s just… Well, there are no words.”
What is Officer Andrews doing with him if sitting in my office is so exciting for the man?
“How’s working with Officer Andrews going?” I ask, knowing I’m getting off topic but hoping to put Officer Gilbert at ease so he’ll be more relaxed and able to help us.
“He’s…” He shuts his mouth.
I nod. “We know.”
Officer Gilbert leans forward in his chair. “Can I be honest with you about something?”
“Of course,” I say.
“And it won’t get back to Andrews?”
I laugh. “Officer Gilbert, I can assure you I talk to Officer Andrews as little as is humanly possible. I have no desire to change that.”
He nods, but then he looks to Dad and Mitchell as if assessing whether or not they feel the same way I do. When he’s finally satisfied, he says, “Okay, well, I thought it was odd that the Crane file was missing so much information. I feel like this case sort of fell in Andrews’s lap, and when he got the confession from O’Neil, he just closed it, no questions asked. I mean, O’Neil had no real motive. I don’t think he even knew about Amelia’s money.”
Who would? She lived in a tiny apartment and worked like everyone else. She couldn’t flaunt her money if she wanted to because she couldn’t touch it until her twenty-fifth birthday.
I look at Officer Gilbert and hold out my right hand. “May I?”
He studies my hand. “May you what exactly?”
“This might be easier if you take my hand and allow me to see the conversation that transpired between you and Officer Andrews. It will also allow you to tell him in good faith that you didn’t say anything to me about this case, because you will, in fact, not be telling me anything in your own words.”
Officer Gilbert smiles. “Sneaky. So, you can read me? Just by touching my hand?”
“Yup. What do you say?”
Mitchell places his hand on the back of my chair. “You don’t have to do a thing. Piper will take care of everything. It’s easy, really.”
“She’s read you?” Officer Gilbert asks, his eyes volleying between Mitchell and me.
“On more than one occasion,” Mitchell says, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Dad’s head jerk in my direction. He knows Mitchell thought he had feelings for me. Maybe he still thinks he does. I don’t know for sure. And now Dad’s questioning if Mitchell let me read him to show just that. He did, and ever since, I’ve tried my hardest to prove we’re better off as friends.
“Piper?” Mitchell says, his hand cupping my shoulder. “You okay?”
I meet his gaze, and he points to Officer Gilbert’s hand in mine. Sometimes it’s harder for me not to read someone than it is to read them. That’s not the case at all right now. I’m holding Officer Gilbert’s hand, and I’m not getting anything. “That’s odd.”
“What do you see?” Officer Gilbert asks.
“Nothing.”
“Are your visions blocked?” Dad asks.
“I don’t know. Everyone be quiet.” I take several deep breaths and close my eyes.
“He wouldn’t tell you where the woman’s body is? Why confess if you had no real evidence to pin the murder on him?” Officer Gilbert asks.
“He wanted the credit.” Officer Andrews leans back in his chair. “I’ve seen it before.”
“Then why not reveal the location of the body?”
“Look, if you want to delve into the mind of a psychotic killer to figure out why he did something, be my guest. I got a confession. The woman’s family is virtually nonexistent and didn’t press to find her body, so why should I?”
“And her things? Where did they go?” Officer Gilbert asks.
“Charity. A shelter for troubled teens or something.”
I let go of Officer Gilbert’s hand. “I’m guessing the shelter for troubled teens was the Hilltop House.” It’s a huge mansion that was converted into a homeless shelter for teenagers. Jonathon Hill founded the shelter before he died in the late eighties.
“Yeah, that’s the one he said. He didn’t like me asking questions, though. I think he thought I was questioning his ability to do his job. I got a lecture on respecting senior members of the force.” He waves one hand in the air. “I told him I have the utmost respect for Detective Ashwell.” Officer Gilbert places both hands on Dad’s desk. “I’ve read about all your cases. I was really hoping to get on the force and learn from you, but…”
But Dad retired a little early and came to work with me. And now poor Officer Gilbert is stuck with Officer Andrews as his partner.
Officer Gilbert stands up. “Well, I should really get going. I’m supposed to be on a lunch run. Do you think Officer Andrews will believe they screwed up the order I called in and I had to wait for it to be remade?”
Lying to his partner? That’s not a good start to a relationship where you’re supposed to trust each other with your lives. Maybe it’s not the best idea for Mitchell and me to be talking to Officer Gilbert like this. He needs to be able to form a good relationship with Officer Andrews. As much as I hate to do it, I say, “Don’t be too quick to judge your partner. He knows what he’s doing, and I’m sure you’ll learn a lot from him.”
Dad nods in agreement, but Mitchell is staring at us both like we’ve lost our minds.
Officer Gilbert says goodbye and rushes out.
“What was that about?” Mitchell asks me.
“I can’t have him hating or even distrusting the man he’s going to work with every day. You know how dangerous that can turn out to be.”
Mitchell looks to Dad, his partner for a very brief time. Mitchell hasn’t taken on another partner since, mostly because he views me as his partner even if not in an official WPD capacity.
“All right,” Dad says. “Next stop is Hilltop House, right?”
“Right,” I say, getting up. “I really need to walk Jez, though.”
“What you need to do is drop Jez off with your mother in the mornings. Why did you stop doing that?” Dad stands up.
“I don’t know. I guess I should.”
“You two go to Hilltop House,” Dad says. “I’ll go walk Jezebel. I’ve been meaning to stop in to see Theodore anyway.”
I kiss his cheek. “Thanks, Dad.”
Mitchell holds the door open for me. “Do you think Hilltop really kept the bird around? If there ever was a bird, that is.”
I get in the passenger seat of the patrol car. “There’s a bird. O’Neil wouldn’t have mentioned one if there wasn’t.”
Mitchell starts the engine and pulls out of the lot. “Unless I was right and the bird meant jailbird.”
He could have been talking about himself, but ever since I saw the birdcage, I’ve known I need to read it. It holds answers to this case. I’m sure of it. “Hopefully, we’ll find out soon enough.”
Hilltop House is run by Theresa Hill, Jonathon Hill’s granddaughter. She’s a pretty woman in her mid-forties with auburn hair and blue eyes. She’s dressed in black pants and a pink blouse, and her perfume reminds me of lilacs. I really hate perfume since my sense of smell is heightened. It tends to make me sneeze.
Mitchell flashes his badge and his pearly whites at Theresa, which must flatter her because she starts batting her eyes at him and acting much younger than her age.
She welcomes us inside and immediately loops her arm through Mitchell’s. For some unknown reason, her flirting is irritating me. And when she comments on his firm biceps, I can’t take it anymore.
“Mrs. Hill—”
“Ms. Hill,” she corrects me, giving Mitchell a smile in the process.
“Sorry, I just assumed a woman of your age would be married by now.”
Mitchell’s eyes widen at me, and then he smirks. “I think Piper meant to say a woman of your beauty.”
I most certainly did not mean to say that. Still, Mitchell’s compliment seems to appease her. “We need to know if you have the ornate bird cage that belonged to Amelia Crane. It was supposed to have been donated here five years ago after she was murdered.”
“Oh, I remember that case. It was all over the news. That man who killed her showed no remorse.”
Probably because he didn’t actually kill her.
“He was attractive, though. I remember seeing his face on the television and thinking it must have been easy for him to lure that young woman somewhere private. His eyes were the most beautiful shade of blue. Much like yours, Detective.”
“Mitchell’s eyes are green. Green, not blue.” God, what is wrong with me?
Mitchell cocks his head at me. “Some days they look almost turquoise, which is a blue-green, so I can see the confusion.”
“Is the bird cage still here?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“Yes. It’s in the library upstairs.” She motions toward the stairs, and I follow the two of them up.
I’m finding it odd that I haven’t seen any teenage girls around even though this is supposed to be a shelter for them. “Where are the other residents?” I ask.
“We have a teacher come every day to homeschool the girls. They’re in the study.”
A study and a library. Not bad. I have to say Jonathon Hill had a great thing going with this place. I admire him for putting his money to such good use.
Theresa brings one finger to her lips as we pass by a door that’s partially closed over. I can hear a woman talking about the Civil War, so I assume that’s the study where the homeschooling is taking place.
Theresa opens the door at the end of the hallway. “In here,” she whispers, winking at Mitchell.
Seriously? She has about fifteen years on him. She can’t possibly think he’d be interested in her.
Oh, no. I stop in the doorway, staring at the two of them, and realize what the problem is. I’m jealous. This can not be happening. I’m just coming to terms with being Mitchell’s friend. There is no way I can possibly have feelings beyond friendship for the man. It would never work.
Yet earlier today I touched Officer Gilbert’s hand without reading him. Maybe with my abilities expanding, I’m gaining better control over them, too. Maybe I can…
“Piper?” Mitchell is about two feet in front of me. His hands grip my arms. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Did you have a vision?”
Sort of. But it was more like a glimpse of a semi-normal life for me.
“No,” I say. “Sorry.”
“Why are you always apologizing?” He squeezes my arms and then lowers his hands so they’re holding mine.
My entire body tenses, and I beg myself not to read him.
He lets go. “Sorry. After earlier in your office with Gilbert, I thought maybe you got control over that.”
“I think I might have. At least a little.”
He smiles. “You looked absolutely petrified.”
Because I was. I don’t know what this means for me. Or what it means that I’m jealous of a woman I know Mitchell is only tolerating because she’s helping us with this case. I don’t know how to handle anything I’m feeling right now, and it’s making me lightheaded, which is the worst possible thing considering I’m going to need to read that bird cage.
“Detective,” Theresa calls.
Mitchell’s eyes are locked on mine. “I’ve got to go play nice so you can have a vision in peace. Wish me luck. This one is feisty.”
I force a brief laugh and watch him walk over to Theresa, who is standing next to the bird cage. There is a bird inside. A smaller bird than I would have guessed, but I suppose that would explain why Amelia was blocking the bird in the photograph. It’s yellow with an orange oval on its cheek. Do birds have cheeks? And it has a plume on its head.
“What kind of bird is that?” I ask, since I know exactly nothing about birds.
“A cockatiel. We debated turning the bird over to an animal shelter, but the girls enjoy talking to it and feeding it.” Theresa moves closer to the cage. “This cage is quite expensive, too. It’s an antique.”
I’m tempted to ask if the bird will bite me if I touch the cage, since I’m definitely going to have to touch the cage to read it, but Theresa is already deep in conversation with Mitchell again.
He meets my gaze for a brief moment before placing his hand on Theresa’s elbow and gently directing her away from me. I know he’s giving me privacy, but I still don’t like it. God, what is wrong with me?
I shake the thoughts from my mind and focus on the cage. The bird chirps a few times and then starts eating from the dish inside the cage. I figure this is the perfect time to have a vision since even the bird is preoccupied.
I place my right hand on the cage.
Amelia rushes into the apartment, locking the door behind her. She looks through the peephole and then presses her back against the door. “Am I crazy, Jeffrey?”
The cockatiel whistles in response, and Amelia laughs, but it’s a nervous laugh.
“I saw him again. The same man. It’s like he’s everywhere I go. Him and his blue eyes.