“Piper!” Mitchell rushes into the room and shoos the bird off me. “What happened?”
I’m choking and grabbing at the invisible hands squeezing my neck.
Mitchell sits me up and removes my hands so he can examine my neck. “Nothing’s there. I’m assuming this is the effect of a vision.”
I still can’t talk, so I nod.
“I’m never going to get used to seeing you like this after a vision.” He sits next to me in the bed and wraps one arm around my shoulders. I try not to overthink it as I lay my head on his chest. “God, Piper, loving you is the hardest damn thing I’ve ever done.”
I jerk my head up, suddenly not aware of the phantom pain in my neck. I meet his gaze.
“I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” he says. “I take it back.”
We stare at each other, both at a loss for words. No one other than my parents has ever said they love me, and I don’t know what to do with this information.
Finally, he says, “Tell me about the vision.”
I swallow hard, thankful to focus on the case and not Mitchell’s feelings for me. “I saw the killer strangle Amelia.”
“Did you see who it was?”
I lower my gaze. “The vision was from Jeffery’s perspective, and he was definitely positioned behind the murderer. I don’t think this guy intended to kill her. He just reacted in a heated moment.”
“Do you think he was after her money then?” Mitchell asks.
“Yeah. I think he hired O’Neil to scare her so that he could then convince her to run away with him. And take the money with them, of course. But she refused to leave and said if he didn’t want her to go to the police, then she’d go to a private investigator instead.”
“He probably didn’t want her spending any of the money he planned to get his hands on,” Mitchell says.
“And I think he was trying to protect O’Neil by not letting Amelia go to the authorities. A P.I. would have told her to report him.”
“The question remains, how do we find this guy?”
“I wish I knew.”
Mitchell gets up from the bed. “I should go catch Jeffrey and get him back in the cage before we head to the funeral this morning.”
“How did he get out anyway?” I ask, getting out of the bed myself.
“I must not have latched his cage properly last night when I fed him.”
I can’t say I’m all that upset considering I now know how Amelia died. “He must have killed her late at night while they were in her apartment.”
“But if Jeffrey witnessed it, it couldn’t have been late at night,” Mitchell says. “His cage is covered at night.”
“I have a feeling the people who donated her things had to put Jeffrey back in his cage before sending him to Hilltop House.”
“You think he got out just like he did last night.”
“Seems to make sense, and in my vision, Jeffrey’s view of the killer was partially obstructed, like he was perched on a shelf with either a picture frame or some knickknack blocking his line of sight.” I grab my shower things. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”
Mitchell nods. “I’ll scramble some eggs.”
“Thanks.” I spend my entire shower thinking about how every lead in this case brings us to the same dead end. We have no idea who the killer is. We’ve uncovered Amelia’s secret relationship, Rebecca and Jax’s secret relationship, Amelia’s body, and Hugo Spencer’s involvement with the killer, but I still don’t know who the killer actually is.
As soon as I’m dressed, I head to the kitchen where Mitchell is plating up eggs. “I need to read the frying pan that killed Wilson McDonald. We don’t know how he was connected to all of this, but he must have seen his killer’s face.”
Mitchell shakes his head. “There were no prints on the frying pan other than McDonald’s.”
Damn it! So anything I read off it would show me the killer’s perspective again.
Mitchell hands me my plate, his free hand resting on my shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. You’re doing great.”
“Please don’t patronize me. You know I can’t stand that.”
He clears his throat. “Take your plate into the living room. I’ll bring the coffee.”
Jeffrey is back in his cage. “Why didn’t you show me his face, huh?” I ask him once I put my plate on the coffee table.
“Don’t even think about reading him again,” Mitchell says, walking into the room.
“Last time I checked, you weren’t my boss, Mitchell.”
“As if you could actually work for anyone.” He scoffs. “You’d be fired in a heartbeat.”
“Excuse you, but I work with the WPD all the time. Including on this case.”
“Notice you said ‘with,’ not ‘for.’ And look at how you reacted to Chief Johansen before you won him over.”
“Speaking of, how is Officer Andrews? Anyone heard from him since he was suspended?”
“No, the station has been peaceful according to Wallace.” Mitchell sits down and sips his coffee.
“All hell is going to break loose when he comes back. You know that, right?”
“I’m well aware, but I’m also not worried. Andrews will have to keep his rage on the down low so the chief doesn’t come down on him again.”
“Back to our case. I have a plan, but I’ll need your help.”
“Don’t you always?” he flashes me a smile before shoveling eggs into his mouth.
I roll my eyes. “As I was saying, I need you to distract the crowd so I can read Hugo Spencer’s body.”
Mitchell drops his fork, and it clatters against the plate. “You want to read a dead man in his casket at his funeral?”
“I don’t see that I have any other choice. Hugo was helping this guy, against his will, but still. He had to know him, which means he knew what he looks like.” He might be the only one who did.
“One of these days, I’m going to lose my badge because of you.”
“Yeah, yeah. You keep saying that, but until it happens, we’re doing things my way.”
“Don’t we always?” His true implication isn’t lost on me.
“Are you in or not?” I ask.
“I’ve got your back, partner. I just need you to promise me you aren’t going to create a scene while Mrs. Spencer, who hired you to solve Hugo’s murder by the way, is there to see it.”
“When do I ever cause a scene?” I say with a smirk before sipping my coffee.
Mrs. Spencer opted to have the entire service in the cemetery instead of starting at the funeral home. Mitchell and I meet up with Dad near my grandmother’s grave before the service. He was there with Mom, who isn’t attending the service, opting to sit on the bench by Grandma Maywood’s grave and visit instead.
It’s hard for me to be by the grave, not because my grandmother was a psychic and pushed everyone she loved away, but because I was almost murdered standing there. Another reason why I hate Sam Pierce. It’s tough to think about. I meet Mitchell’s gaze. He saved my life that day, and I think that’s when I realized that as much as he makes me angry, I’m totally falling for him.
He wraps his arm around my shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
I wave to Mom as the three of us start toward the crowd forming by the green tent. “Thank you,” I whisper to Mitchell. “Every time I’m there, I see that gun pointed at my head.”
“So do I,” he says, and his arm tugs me closer.
We pull apart when we approach the service. Mrs. Spencer walks over to us immediately.
“We’re making progress on the case,” I assure her, hoping she doesn’t still blame me for her husband’s death.
“I can’t bear to think the one responsible is out there somewhere. He’s walking free while my Hugo is—” Sobs cut her off, and I offer her my left hand. I’m really trying to get better at the whole physical contact thing.
There are rows of white folding chairs set up, and Mitchell and I take seats in the back during the service. I’ll have to wait to read the body until people go up to pay their respects individually. Dad is hanging back, observing the crowd. I think he’s convinced the killer is going to show up. But I know he won’t. He’s avoiding me like the plague. He wouldn’t have enlisted Hugo’s help in the first place if he wasn’t. I feel like he was there that day at the prison, and Hugo was supposed to notify him if I showed up so the killer could get out of there.
That also means the killer is either in contact with O’Neil, threatening him out of talking to me anymore, or he’s in contact with another inmate in case he needs O’Neil silenced. When this is all over, I’m going to need some answers from Levi O’Neil.
When it’s our turn to approach the casket, Mitchell is right at my side. “Fair warning, in order to block you from everyone else’s view, I plan to wrap my arm around you again. My suit jacket should hide your right arm and hand.”
“You don’t have to warn me about doing things like that, Mitchell. I can’t read you when you aren’t touching my right hand.”
“Yeah, but I’m still touching you, and I know you’re not a big fan of touching.”
Did he not notice how many times he’s touched me recently? Or how many times I’ve touched him? Maybe he doesn’t because it’s not as big a deal for him as it is for me. There are three people in line before us, so I turn to face him. “You know you had your arm around me on the way over here, right?”
“I’m aware.” He leans down and whispers, “Why? Did you think you were daydreaming?”
“Oh, good Lord.” I roll my eyes. “Just when I think you’re capable of acting like a normal human being…”
He laughs, and several people jerk their heads in our direction. He immediately stops and holds up a hand in apology.
“Nice going,” I whisper.
“What can I say? You tend to make me forget there’s an entire world going on around us.” He looks down at the ground as soon as the words come out of his mouth. I’m starting to think it’s becoming really embarrassing for him that he has no inner filter. Maybe I have nothing to worry about as far as accidentally reading him and seeing something he doesn’t want me to see, because he doesn’t seem to be able to keep anything from me anymore.
We’re next in line, and I step up to the casket, which is only open on the lower half. I’ve never seen a casket closed in reverse like this, but seeing as Hugo was shot in the head, it makes sense. Mitchell takes his place on my right side and wraps his arm around me. But this time, his arm isn’t around my shoulders. It’s around my waist. To everyone here, we look like a couple.
“Ready?” he asks me.
I swallow hard before placing my hand on Hugo’s.
“O’Neil told me all about you.”
“I doubt that,” the killer laughs through the phone. “He’d never tell you about me. Other than I need your assistance. And I’m sure he told you the consequences if you choose not to cooperate.”
“Leave my wife out of this. I’ll do what you say. Where should we meet?”
“We won’t be meeting. There’s no need for you to know who I am. I just need to know if and when that psychic P.I. and her detective friend show up at the prison. O’Neil’s been causing trouble. He enjoys these games, but he can’t outsmart me. I’ll win, just like I always do. That’s how he wound up there after all.”
“Piper,” Mitchell’s voice snaps me out of the vision. “People are starting to stare.”
I remove my hand from Hugo, and Mitchell and I walk off to the back of the crowd to join Dad. “Hugo never met the killer in person. He has no idea who he is. Apparently, O’Neil liked to play games to try to one-up the killer. That’s what this is. And the killer is playing right along to show O’Neil he’s better than he is. The consequence for losing the first time around was O’Neil confessing to a murder he didn’t commit.”
“O’Neil is probably laughing at the fact that we have people protecting him. He’s not really in danger at all,” Dad says. “He orchestrated this. Set it all in motion.”
“What is it with killers and games?” Mitchell asks. He’s about to say something else when his phone rings. He pulls it from inside his suit jacket. “Brennan.” His eyes widen. “We’ll be right there.” He hangs up and shoves the phone back in his pocket. “Rebecca Crane found Jax Dawson murdered in his home this morning.”