The Castells live in a huge white colonial at the top of Millington Way. I’m not usually impressed with large houses, not wanting to have to clean a space that big, but even I sit up straight in the back seat of Dad’s BMW. The house has three balconies on the top floor, which I’m assuming are attached to bedrooms. The ornate black shutters and etched windows look like they belong on a church or castle, not a home in northern Pennsylvania. Though I should be used to it since Weltunkin has become a vacation spot for celebrities looking to escape the hustle and bustle of big cities. If my parents hadn’t settled here before Hollywood took over, they never would have been able to afford a place in this town. Hell, I can barely afford my small apartment, but I got a good deal considering my landlord is a friend of Dad’s.
“Can you see okay back there?” Detective Brennan asks, lowering his visor so he can see me in the mirror.
I resist the urge to flip him off since Dad is watching me in the rearview mirror. “I can see just fine. In fact, I believe you have a new gray hair on the back of your head.” I raise my hand, circling a finger where most men develop a bald spot. “Or maybe that’s scalp I’m seeing. It is looking a little thin right around here.”
“You two.” Dad laughs and shakes his head. “I’m not sure if you hate each other or are secretly harboring feelings of—”
“It’s hate,” I stop him.
“Ouch, Piper.” Brennan flips his visor up and turns to face me as Dad parks. “Hate is a strong word, don’t you think?”
“Actually, it’s pretty mild, but I’m trying to keep it professional.” I unclick my seat belt and open the door. “And speaking of, I’d prefer if you referred to me as Ms. Ashwell. We are on a case.” I slam the car door and start for the walkway leading to the front porch. It’s lined with lights and some sort of non-flowering plants.
Dad catches up to me, placing his hand on my lower back. “Play nice, please. I have to work with him every day.”
“I feel for you,” I say, walking up the four steps to the front door.
Dad smirks as he raises his hand to ring the bell.
Footsteps sound, getting louder as they approach the door, which is then slowly opened. The man in front of us is in his late forties, about six-two, with dark hair peppered with gray at his temples. He turns his head to look from Dad to me to Brennan, and I notice his nose comes to a decided point at the end. “Can I help you?”
I flash my PI license, and Dad and Brennan produce their badges. “I’m Piper Ashwell. We spoke on the phone.”
“Yes, yes. I’m Victor Castell. I wasn’t aware that you were bringing detectives with you, Ms. Ashwell.” Castell continues to eye Brennan.
“You already know my father, Detective Thomas Ashwell, and this is his partner, Detective Mitchell Brennan.” I gesture briefly behind me but don’t allow Brennan to extend his hand. “May we come inside, or do you prefer to talk out here?”
Castell steps aside, his hands gripping the door so tightly his knuckles turn white. “Come in. Please.”
I nod as I walk past him into the foyer. A crystal chandelier hangs from the vaulted ceiling, and a large water fountain in the shape of a vase that continually spills water and refills is perched in front of me.
“You have a lovely home,” Detective Brennan says, earning him an eye roll from me. Pleasantries are useless at a time like this. The last thing Victor Castell cares about is what we think of his home.
“This way, please.” Castell motions to a sitting room to our right. The furnishings are very old-fashioned, making me wonder if the house itself is a family heirloom.
I take a seat on the burgundy couch, which couldn’t be harder if it were made out of rock. Dad joins me, while Detective Brennan chooses to stand. Victor Castell sits in an armchair opposite the couch.
“Would any of you care for something to drink? My wife—”
“No, Mr. Castell. We don’t want to take up too much of your time. We’ll just...” I place my hand on the couch, starting to stand, and my eyes slam shut as my head fills with voices.
“I’ll be home again for Thanksgiving. That’s really not that far off.” Veronica pulls her legs up under her on the couch.
“I know, sweetheart. I was just hoping you’d be able to visit a little longer. I took the whole weekend off, thinking we could celebrate my birthday.” Victor Castell swirls the brandy in his glass, letting it melt the ice.
“Daddy, there’s a huge party this weekend, and I’ve already promised my friends I’d go. You know how it is.” Veronica runs a hand through her wavy brown hair, holding the ends in her fingertips to study them. “Ugh, and I’m in desperate need of a trim. Split ends everywhere.”
“I could call Brianna. I’m sure she’d come right over.” Castell places his brandy on the coffee table and removes his phone from the back pocket of his gray slacks.
Veronica stands up and walks around the table to her father’s side. She reaches up on her toes and kisses his cheek. “Not this time, Daddy. I promise I’ll come home for an entire week for Thanksgiving and we can do all the father-daughter things you want.”
Victor smiles. “I’ll hold you to that promise.”
“Piper?” Dad’s voice fills my ears as the vision subsides.
I blink a few times, allowing the room to come into focus. “I’m sorry.”
Dad studies my face for a moment before turning to Mr. Castell. “Victor, I’m not sure you’re aware of my daughter’s capabilities.”
I hold up my hand to stop him. “Mr. Castell, I understand your daughter was home to celebrate your birthday.” I look at him and notice Detective Brennan is standing next to Victor Castell. His eyes staring intently at me. He’s never actually witnessed one of my visions. I’m just happy I didn’t start screaming or cowering against the couch cushions. As far as visions go, this one was completely mild.
Victor cocks his head at me. “How did you know that?”
Dad clears his throat, but I cut him off before he can explain. “I’m what you’d call a psychic PI. When I’m around objects that hold significance to a missing person, I tend to experience memories of that person.”
Victor walks over to the mahogany bar on the opposite side of the room. “I’m sorry, but did you say ‘psychic,’ as in you see things?”
I stifle a sigh. “Yes, sir. I know it’s not always easy to believe, but I just witnessed a conversation between you and your daughter. She was sitting on this couch in the very spot I’m occupying now.”
“That’s a little creepy,” Detective Brennan whispers under his breath before turning to see Victor’s reaction to my confession.
Dad stands up, directing everyone’s attention to him. “Mr. Castell, I can verify that my daughter’s abilities are completely real. She has helped the Weltunkin Police Department solve numerous missing persons cases. It’s in your best interest to hear her out and answer any questions she may have.”
Victor pours himself a brandy and removes the lid from the silver ice bucket.
“Three ice cubes,” I say, picturing his glass from my vision. “You drank brandy with exactly three ice cubes, which you swished into the drink to cool it.” This time I stand up and move toward him. “You wanted your daughter to stay for the weekend, but she insisted she had already made other plans and would see you for Thanksgiving.”
“Did that upset you?” Detective Brennan asks, not concealing the intent behind his question.
I glare at him for a moment before defending Victor. “Mr. Castell, my abilities aren’t limited to visions. I could feel how much you love your daughter. I know you had nothing to do with her disappearance.” I shoot Brennan another look, which makes him raise his hands in surrender.
“Thank you, Ms. Ashwell.” Victor drops three ice cubes into his glass. “Can you tell me what else you saw? Do you know where Veronica is?” His voice is so full of hope. He may not fully believe in my abilities just yet, but he’s grasping at any straws I’ll give him.
“I’d like to see Veronica’s room if you don’t mind. That would help.” I’m specifically looking for the outfit she was wearing in my vision—black leggings and a long gray sweater that hung off one shoulder. Odds are she wasn’t wearing it when she disappeared, though.
“Victor, are you—?” A woman with pin straight, shoulder-length auburn hair walks into the room and stops abruptly when she sees us. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company.”
“Darla.” Victor reaches out a hand and walks toward the woman. “These are the detectives searching for our daughter.”
I can’t help wondering if he didn’t bother to clarify who I was on purpose.
“Detectives, this is my wife, Darla Castell.” Victor takes a large sip of his brandy as Darla nods to each of us.
“Do you have any leads?” she asks, wrapping an arm around her husband’s waist.
Dad extends his hand to Mrs. Castell. “I’m Detective Ashwell. My coworkers and I are hoping to find some leads here today.”
Mrs. Castell’s arm drops to her side, and she steps away from her husband, eyeing him suspiciously. “I don’t understand. Why would you find any leads here?”
“No one is accusing anyone, Mrs. Castell,” Detective Brennan says, which is rather amusing considering he accused Victor Castell moments earlier.
I step forward, unable to keep up this ridiculous ruse. “Mrs. Castell, I’m afraid I’m the reason everyone is suddenly on edge. I can see from your husband’s reaction and choice of words that he doesn’t want you to know of my true involvement in this case. You see, I’m a psychic PI, and quite frankly, I’m your best hope for finding your daughter.”
Dad smiles at me, but Mrs. Castell’s reaction is much the opposite. “A psychic? Is this someone’s idea of a joke?” Mrs. Castell looks horrified. “Our daughter is missing. What part of that do you people not understand? To bring a...a...”
Oh lady, you better choose your words carefully.
“A carnival freak show here!” She bursts into tears and rushes from the room before I can go freak show on her ass for that comment.
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Ashwell,” Victor says before downing the rest of his brandy. “My wife is beside herself, as I’m sure you can understand.”
“Of course,” Dad says, knowing I’ll have a different reaction if given the opportunity to speak. “Perhaps we could see Veronica’s room while you check on your wife, Mr. Castell?”
Victor nods and points toward the hallway. We follow, me shaking my head, Dad squeezing my hand, and Brennan suppressing a smile.
As we walk down the hallway, I take notice of the pictures hanging on the walls. Most are of Veronica through the years. Her dark, wavy hair and pointy nose are very characteristic of her father. Each photograph gives me the vibe of a loving father-daughter relationship. Veronica is definitely a daddy’s girl. The question is does she truly love her father or just his money. She wasn’t as easy to read in the vision as Victor was. It could be because Veronica’s mind was in so many places at once. I saw glimpses of college life—parties, friends, classes. All faint whispers. Nothing concrete. She could have been stressed about an assignment and not sure if going to the party was a good idea, but torn with the idea of disappointing her friends when she was already disappointing her father. I can’t know for sure until I see more.
Victor Castell brings us up a staircase and down a long hallway. I can’t make out too much of the house since every door we pass is closed. The Castells certainly like their privacy, and since at least Victor knew I was coming today, I have to assume the closed doors are to keep me out.
He stops at the room at the very end of the hallway, and oddly enough it’s the only door that isn’t shut. “Most of Veronica’s things are at her apartment off-campus, but you are welcome to look around.” He motions for us to step inside. “I’ll join you after I check on my wife. This has all been very hard on her.”
Dad nods to Victor, but I’m already inside the room, taking in every aspect. The walls are a pale pink, more reminiscent of a child’s room than a college coed’s. The large bed in the middle has sheer white curtains surrounding it and more pillows than I’ve owned in my entire life. The dresser, desk, and bookshelves are all pristine white wood. It doesn’t appear as if anyone actually lives in the room. It’s almost like a shrine. A perfectly kept room that you’d expect parents not to disturb after a child dies at an early age.
“Anyone else find this a little too neat?” Detective Brennan asks, dragging a finger across the top of the bookshelf by the back window.
“And disturbing,” I add, astonished that I’m agreeing with him for once. “They must have a cleaning service. No college student is this neat.” I step toward the bed, pushing back the white curtain. I’m afraid of the things I’ll see if I touch the bed, but nothing else in this room screams personal effect. It’s all so...staged and impersonal.
I reach my hand out tentatively toward the closest pillow. “Okay, Veronica, let’s see what you’ve seen.”