It’s a perfect match to the bird cage now located in Mitchell’s living room. From the pedestal to the curved cage, the details are identical. The only difference is the bird inside. Amelia’s bird is still alive. McDonald’s is lying dead on the bottom of the cage. O’Neil’s words ring through my head: “Dead women can still talk, but a dead bird can’t sing.”
“Dead birds can’t sing,” I say in a low tone.
“Someone want to fill me in?” Dad asks, his hands in his pockets as he observes our reactions to this bird cage.
“This cage is identical to the one we retrieved from Hilltop House. The one that formerly belonged to Amelia Crane. It’s currently in my living room in case Piper needs to read it again to solve the case.” Mitchell reaches for the latch on the cage, which is broken. “Someone killed this bird.”
“But why?” I ask. And before anyone else can respond, the answer presents itself to me. “The bird could talk. More than Amelia’s could, so the killer had to shut it up.”
“A dead bird can’t sing,” Mitchell says. “How did O’Neil know this?”
I’m starting to think O’Neil wasn’t so innocent in Amelia’s murder after all. “He wants us to find his accomplice, but it’s not because he’s innocent. It’s because O’Neil is tired of serving time for this crime alone. He really was stalking her. I think he developed a crush on her along the way, but he still intended to follow through with her murder.”
“Are you saying he played us?” Mitchell asks. “I actually was starting to think he was an innocent man.”
“You and me both. I misread the signs, though. O’Neil is guilty. He’s not going to willingly give up his accomplice, but he’s not afraid of him either. He wanted the credit for killing Amelia.” The sick bastard. “But I think he’s also hoping that by helping us find the second guilty party, he might get out of prison before he dies.”
Mitchell rakes a hand through his hair. “We have to go back to that prison, don’t we?”
“Tomorrow,” I say. “I definitely want to talk to O’Neil again, but right now I’m going to read this bird cage because O’Neil had that all wrong. The dead bird can talk to me, and I intend to listen to what it has to say.”
I’m no stranger to reading animals, but this would be the first dead animal I’ve ever read. I open the latch on the cage.
“Piper, wait.” Mitchell places his hand on mine and lowers my arm. “I have another idea.” He reaches inside the cage and pulls a single feather from the bottom. “Here,” he says. “This is easier to take with us, and this way you don’t have to touch the dead bird.”
“Good thinking,” I say, taking the feather from him in my left hand. I move to the couch and sit down. After taking several deep breaths, I transfer the feather to my right hand.
“I have the paperwork in my briefcase. I would have brought it to you, though.”
“I was in the area, so I figured I’d save you the trip.”
“That was thoughtful of you—”
A loud thud with a slight metallic ring to it fills the air, and the bird squawks, “Come in.”
“Stupid bird.” The voice is closer.
“Stupid bird,” the bird echoes.
“Dead bird,” the man says.
“Dead—”
I open my eyes. “Damn it.” Why my visions are sometimes just sounds, I’ll never know. It wasn’t like it was nighttime or even dark in the house when this happened. Or maybe it was. I’m not sure since I couldn’t see anything.
“What is it, pumpkin?” Dad asks. “What did you see?”
“Nothing. I heard McDonald and the killer talking.”
“What did they say?” Mitchell asks, sitting down beside me on the couch.
“McDonald had some paperwork for him. The killer said he was here to get it, but really, he came to kill McDonald. I heard him hit McDonald over the head with the frying pan.”
“So they were in business together, then.” Mitchell nods. “This is good. We’ll look into McDonald’s business contacts.
“Anything else?” Dad asks. He knows the bird has to come into play somehow since I read the feather.
And then it dawns on me. “The bird.” My eyes go to the sheet I removed from the bird cage. “I couldn’t see anything in the vision because the sheet was over the cage. The bird couldn’t see anything.”
“Your vision was from the bird’s perspective?” Mitchell asks.
“Apparently. The bird heard the slight ringing sound the frying pan made when it connected with McDonald’s head, and it must have thought it was the doorbell or something because it said, ‘Come in.’”
“And that drew the killer to the bird,” Dad says.
“Exactly. And when the killer talked to the bird, it repeated what he said.”
“Which made the killer realize the bird was a witness and could possibly talk,” Mitchell says.
“So he killed it.” Even though I didn’t witness that part of the vision, the phantom pain in my neck tells me the killer snapped the bird’s neck.
“All right,” Dad says, “let’s reconvene tomorrow in the office. We’ll get a list of people McDonald worked with and go from there.”
He’s right. The entire day has gotten away from me yet again. I’m starving and exhausted.
After dropping Dad off at his car and telling him to give Jez a kiss for me, we head to Mitchell’s condo.
“You know, you can bring Jez here if you’d like. I feel bad that you didn’t even get to see her today.”
It’s not a bad idea, but at my parents’ house, Jez can play with Max, and she has Mom to walk and feed her. “I think she’s better off where she is, but thanks for the offer.”
“I’m going to order pizza to be delivered.”
“Great, can we swing by my apartment so I can grab a change of clothes?”
“Sure.” He makes a quick turn to change directions.
An hour later, I’m showered and in yoga pants and a T-shirt when Mitchell’s doorbell rings.
“I got it,” he calls from the kitchen. He rushes to the door, money in hand.
When he returns with the pizza boxes and paper plates, he puts them on the coffee table.
“No wonder your coffee table has so many rings on it. Not only do you put drinks here without coasters, you put hot food directly on top of the wood,” I say, sitting forward and opening the top box.
“Hey, I grew up without a mother. What do you expect?” His tone is sad, and I instantly regret saying anything.
I take a slice of sausage pizza and close the box, knowing Mitchell will want a slice of pepperoni instead.
He’s staring at me awkwardly as he sits down on the floor on the other side of the coffee table. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I was about to ask you the same.” I put my plate on my lap before taking a big bite of pizza.
“You have this strange look on your face. I can’t place it.”
After swallowing, I say, “I just noticed that your T-shirt is clinging to you in several spots, which means you didn’t dry off well after your shower. And your hair needs to be trimmed.”
He laughs. “I haven’t exactly had time to get my hair cut, and I was in a hurry to get dressed before the pizza arrived. Anything else, Ms. Ashwell?”
I bite my lower lip and cock my head at him. “Yes, actually. You’re sitting on the floor. You poured yourself both water and iced tea.” I squint my eyes at him. “And there’s something on your mind, but you don’t know how to say it.”
“Perceptive. I wanted iced tea, but it’s a diuretic and I haven’t had any water all day.”
I nod. “Okay, makes sense. Go on.”
“I’m sitting on the floor because the bird hates me and flung birdseed at me all last night. He prefers when we keep our distance.”
I laugh. “Well, it’s possible Amelia didn’t have male visitors. Or maybe the bird just doesn’t like men.”
“Maybe.”
“You saved the best for last. What’s on your mind, Detective?” I take another bite of my pizza.
“I want you to teach me to open myself up to my intuition.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t expecting that. I probably should have, seeing as how Mitchell’s pondered why he didn’t get his mother’s ability. “Why now?”
“I don’t think you should have to go through all the hard stuff on your own.”
I lower my head, focusing on a single piece of sausage on my pizza. “I don’t. I have my dad and you to help me through it.”
“You know what I mean. We can comfort you after a bad vision, but you’re always the one who has to have them. It’s a lot of pressure on one person. It doesn’t seem fair.”
More like he doesn’t think it’s fair that I can see these things and he can’t. “Mitchell, you know what happened to my grandmother and your mom.” I swallow hard when Mitchell’s face falls. “If I’m being honest, most days I wish I didn’t have this ability.”
He raises his head to meet my gaze. “What do you think your life would be like if you didn’t?”
I’ve thought about that a lot, but it’s hard to imagine since the things I’d most likely have are things I’ve never experienced. Like love. A real relationship. “What do you think your life would be like if you did have your mother’s clairvoyance?” I counter.
“Don’t avoid the question, Piper.” Mitchell’s voice is stern, letting me know he’s not allowing me to get off the hook that easily. “Talk to me.”
“You know, we became friends because neither one of us did emotions well. Why are you changing the rules of our relationship?”
“What exactly is our relationship?” he asks.
“Friends. Partners. Colleagues.” I shrug and look at my pizza again, no longer hungry.
“If I had my mom’s gift, I think I’d be more like you, and maybe you wouldn’t push me away so much. Maybe you’d welcome the idea of being with me because I’d understand exactly what you go through with your visions.” He blurts it all out in one breath.
“Or we’d both be such basket cases we wouldn’t be able to be around each other at all.”
“When you met Sam, you were excited about the prospect of being friends with another psychic.”
“Friends, Mitchell. That’s the key word there. And Sam Pierce is probably the worst example ever considering he tried to kill me.”
Mitchell clears his throat. “You know what? I think we should probably get back to the case.”
“Good idea.” I take a deep breath.
“Let’s play the game,” he suggests, putting his plate on the floor, not having eaten any of his pizza.
I shrug and place my pizza on the table. The game is probably our best bet right now anyway.
“Okay, ready?”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath before nodding.
“What’s Amelia’s bird’s name?” Mitchell begins.
“Jeffrey.”
“How was Wilson McDonald murdered?”
“With a frying pan.”
“What object did you read in McDonald’s house?”
“A feather?”
“Do I have any shot at a relationship with you?”
“Yes.” My eyes snap open, and I jump to my feet. I can’t believe he’d do something like that to me. He knows I can only speak the truth when I’m in my meditative state. I was vulnerable to anything he asked, and he chose to take advantage of it. “That was way out of line.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He stands, holding his hands up in surrender.
“I don’t think you are. You set me up. That’s why you suggested playing the game in the first place, isn’t it?” I shake my head at him, and tears form in my eyes. “Damn it, Mitchell. You had no right.”
“You didn’t have a right to read me against my will when we met, either. If you hadn’t, you might not have the same opinion of me you do now.”
I’m so angry I’m shaking. “You’re dead wrong. When I met you, I thought you were a pig, dating random women all the time, and I was right. But I also know you aren’t that person anymore. I know how much you’ve grown. I never would have even thought you were the kind of person I could…” My voice shakes, and I stop.
“You could what, Piper?” He moves toward me and takes my hands in his.
“Don’t.” I jerk my hands away as I turn my back to him. “You can’t keep doing this, Mitchell. You say you’re fine with the way things are between us, but you keep pushing me.”
“I’ve pushed you from day one because if I don’t, you’ll revert back to shutting me out. You have to see that you do that, Piper.”
A tear slips down my cheek, and I brush it away before saying, “I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”
He doesn’t stop me as I push past him and head to the bedroom.