To my surprise, Mitchell doesn’t spring into action. Instead, he scratches his chin. “The park is by ESU. What if she’s a student there?”
Yes.
I smile. “My senses just confirmed you’re right about that.” Sometimes, truths come to me for no particular reason. It’s a voice inside my mind that I know isn’t my own. Some psychics would refer to this as a spirit guide. I never saw it that way. I simply know it as my abilities talking to me.
“Great. I’ll call your dad and have him search ESU’s enrollment for anyone with the last name Wolfe.”
“I’ll get showered and dressed,” I say.
“Breakfast will be ready when you get out of the shower.” Mitchell has only recently started to cook. And eggs and bacon are pretty much all he knows how to make. Other than pasta, that is. Pretty much anyone can boil water. I can’t talk, though. I don’t exactly cook either. We pretty much keep all the food establishments in the area in business with our takeout orders.
I get ready as quickly as possible. The smell of burned bacon wafts under the bathroom door, and I cringe when I realize I’m going to have to eat the burned food so I don’t hurt Mitchell’s feelings. I do my best not to look disgusted as I open the door and walk into the kitchen.
“New plan. We’re going to Marcia’s Nook for breakfast.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” I release the breath I was holding to keep from inhaling the smell in the kitchen.
“Sorry,” Mitchell says.
“I appreciate the effort.” I get Jez hooked up on her leash, and we head out.
“Your dad is going to look into ESU’s student directory and get back to us as soon as he has anything.”
“Great.” I realize I forgot to look for the pocket watch. “Did you leave the watch at home?”
“I bagged it. It’s in my pocket.”
He brought it with us, but he’s also holding on to it so I can’t read it again without his consent.
We drop Jez off with my mom, who tells us Dad is already at the office, hard at work on the case. Mom’s always hated my choice in profession. She was against me helping Dad when I was growing up, and she worries that my abilities will turn me into a recluse like her own mother, my grandma Maywood. She was a gifted empath, whose abilities made it too difficult for her to be around anyone, including her family. The fact that Mitchell and I got married gave Mom hope that I might be different and actually find a way to live a somewhat normal life despite my psychic tendencies.
Since I haven’t seen Marcia in two days, I tell Mitchell to go to my office with Dad, and I walk the twenty-three steps to Marcia’s Nook. The bell above the door announces my arrival. It looks like Marcia’s morning crowd is dying down. Jax is working the register for her, so she walks around the counter to come talk to me.
“Piper, how are you doing?” she asks. Marcia is a hugger, but she knows I don’t particularly like being hugged. She’s awkwardly holding her arms at her sides, and then she raises them and squeezes her elbows like she’s trying to restrain herself.
“Not so well,” I say. “I had a vision of a young girl being murdered, and we have no idea who she is.”
“And you have to stop it before your vision happens?” she asks, cocking her head to the side. She knows premonitions aren’t my specialty by any means, but she’s also hoping it’s not too late for the young woman.
“I wish I could say that was the case, but what I saw was happening in the moment.”
“Oh.” She looks down at her feet and then gestures to a table in the café portion of the bookstore. “I don’t know how you and Mitchell do it. I think it would drive me insane to know I can’t help someone in time.”
“Believe me it does drive me crazy. I feel so helpless.”
Hope.
Yeah, great. Thanks, senses. As if telling me to have hope helps my situation in any way. I resist the urge to roll my eyes because Marcia would most likely think I was doing it to her.
She places her hand on my left hand. “I know you will do everything you can to help that poor woman find justice.”
“Does it matter if she’s already dead?” I ask.
“Of course, it does. Piper Rose Ashwell, you know that. Think of her family. They deserve answers and closure.”
I know she’s right. I’m just feeling sorry for myself right now. “Mitchell burned the bacon,” I say in the world’s most awkward transition ever.
“Oh. Um, well, I don’t have bacon, but I do have some marble crumb cake that I think you’ll love. It’s still warm.”
“Yes, please. Three pieces.”
“I thought I saw your dad’s BMW pull into the parking lot earlier,” she says, getting up and motioning for me to follow her to the display case. The crowd has dispersed, and even Jax is in the kitchen.
“All I know about the young woman is her last name is Wolfe,” I say.
“How old is she?” Marcia asks as she boxes up three large pieces of crumb cake.
“I think those portions are double the usual,” I say, gesturing to the box.
“You look hungry, and this way you and Mitchell won’t try to steal each other’s.” She gives me a knowing smile. Mitchell and I share a love of food.
“The girl looked to be in her early twenties,” I say, going back to her question.
“Then she might go to ESU,” Marcia says.
“That’s what my senses are saying. Any chance Jax went there?” I ask, trying to peer into the kitchen.
“Let’s ask him.” Marcia turns and calls, “Jax, could you please come out here?” Then she starts pouring the coffees, two extra-large toasted almonds for Mitchell and me and a dark roast for Dad.
“What can I do for you?” Jax asks with a smile.
“Did you happen to go to ESU?” I ask.
“For a while, yeah, but then I needed to pay my bills, so I had to drop out.” He raises his hands in the air. “And now I’m here.” He smiles to show he’s not disappointed by that turn of events. “I was taking cooking classes there, so this is the perfect job for me. I used to be part of this group on campus that made dog treats. All natural ones.”
“Jax, did you know anyone with the last name Wolfe?” I ask.
He narrows his eyes as he thinks. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”
I don’t want to tell him about the dead woman. “I was just curious.” I try to force a smile, but the look on Marcia’s face alerts me I’m not pulling it off, so I immediately stop and clear my throat instead. Then I grab one of the toasted almond coffees and take a sip.
“Okay, um, Marcia, I took the scones out of the oven. You asked me to tell you when they were done.”
“Yes, they’re going to be boxed up and delivered to the office building across the street. The room number is on the pad by the phone in the kitchen.”
“I’m on it.” He spins around and goes back into the kitchen.
“I don’t know what I’d do without him,” Marcia says. “He’s a good kid.” She places Dad’s coffee in the caddy next to Mitchell’s. “You’re all set.”
“Thanks.” Marcia has Mitchell’s credit card on file now, so she charges him when we come in, which is usually once or twice a day. “Throw in a nice tip for yourself as well,” I say. Mitchell always grossly over tips Marcia, and she yells at him all the time.
“I’ll do no such thing.”
“You need to take a tip. You split them with Jax, remember?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You’re almost as bad as that husband of yours. Tell him I know he’s avoiding me after he slipped a fifty-dollar bill in my tip jar last week.”
“How do you know it was him?” I ask, trying to fight the smile that’s forcing its way onto my face.
“Because I know that man. He’s impossible.”
“No argument from me there,” I say, placing my coffee back into the caddy. I grab the pastry box and caddy. “See you tomorrow.”
“Good luck,” she calls after me.
I bring the breakfast to my office. Mitchell sees me coming and opens the door for me.
“I’m starving,” he says, taking the box from me. He opens it and begins plating the crumb cake. We always keep plates and silverware in the office since we eat at our desks so often.
I hand Dad his coffee and take a toasted almond for myself as I sit down in my chair.
“Hey,” Mitchell says. “Why is my coffee only half full?”
Oops. “I might have started drinking it in Marcia’s Nook.”
He holds it out to me, but I take a big gulp of the one I’m holding. “Real nice, Piper. And after I tried to make you breakfast this morning.”
“Next time, don’t burn the bacon.”
Dad laughs. “There’s never a dull moment with you two.”
“Oh, I’m supposed to tell you Marcia knows you’re the one who put the fifty-dollar bill in her tip jar last week.”
Mitchell’s brow furrows. “But I didn’t. I gave her a twenty.”
Dad raises his hand in the air. “That was me.”
“You tipped Marcia a fifty-dollar bill?” I ask.
He nods. “I found it on the street, and I figure a woman running her own business like that might need the money more than I do.”
“That’s really sweet of you, Dad.”
“Except it got me in trouble,” Mitchell says. “You should tell Marcia it was you.”
Dad shakes his head. “That money didn’t belong to me anyway, so the way I see it, whoever it did belong to tipped her.”
“At least tell her what happened. Then she won’t blame me,” Mitchell says.
“I could,” Dad says. “But it’s more fun this way.” He smirks and drinks his coffee.
“Any luck finding someone with the last name Wolfe?” I ask Dad as I fork a bite of crumb cake into my mouth.
Hope.
“Yeah, yeah. I get it. I have to have hope.” I roll my eyes.
Mitchell and Dad both eye me suspiciously.
“Sorry, my senses keep telling me to have hope, which I think is ridiculous since this woman is already dead.”
Hope.
“Piper, there are three students at ESU with the last name Wolfe. Tristan Wolfe, Caroline Wolfe, and Hope Wolfe.
Hope.
“Oh.” For once my senses weren’t being cryptic. They were flat out telling me the woman’s name, and I dismissed it. “Sorry,” I say, even though I’m not sure who or what I’m apologizing to or if my senses even hear me that way.
“I’m guessing Hope Wolfe is the woman we’re looking for.”
“Well, it’s not Tristan since that sounds like a guy,” Mitchell says.
Dad and I just glare at him.
“Sorry. It was supposed to be a joke.”
“Maybe keep comedian off your resume,” Dad says.
I laugh. “See, now that was funny,” I tell Mitchell.
“Since I knew we were looking for a woman, I got addresses for both Caroline and Hope,” Dad says, grabbing a piece of paper. “Here’s Hope’s address.”
I scan the paper. “She lives about two hours away,” I say.
Mitchell bobs his head. “Which means her parents probably have no idea Hope isn’t in her dorm room or apartment or wherever she lives when she’s in school.”
“And until Hope’s body is found, I wouldn’t go asking her parents many questions,” Dad says. “You’d only upset them.”
“I think they’re going to be plenty upset when they find out their daughter was murdered,” I say, not seeing his logic.
“Yes, but you’d be approaching them with…” Dad pauses, and what he’s worried about clicks in my brain.
“They’d think I made up the story of her death to torture them,” I say. “They’ll think I’m a quack.”
“It’s possible, pumpkin. Then they’d go through the pain of finding out their daughter really is dead. It’s too much.”
“All right. Let’s start with her address here. Does she live on campus?” Mitchell asks Dad.
“That information is going to be harder to track down.”
“Then I’ll have to get it,” Mitchell says.
“How?” I ask, waving my fork at the badge around his neck. “By flashing that around?”
“I’m a police detective. I see no reason to hide that fact.”
“Not hiding and flaunting are two different things.”
“Oh, goodie. Another argument.” Dad stands up. “You know, I think I will go tell Marcia about that fifty-dollar bill now that I think about it.” He walks out of the office with his coffee in hand.
“Way to make my dad uncomfortable,” I say.
“Me?” Mitchell points a finger at his chest. “I think we both had equal parts in that.”
“What do we do?” I ask him.
“I think we need to talk about not accusing each other of things.”
“I mean about the case, Mitchell. We need to find out where Hope lives so we can talk to a roommate or someone who might know she’s missing and where she was headed Sunday night when she was abducted.”
“Oh. I can say I got an anonymous tip, and we’re following up with it. That should be enough to get me the information we need.”
I hope so because I need something of Hope’s if I want to spark a vision and see where she is right now. Clearly, using the pocket watch isn’t working.
I text Dad to tell him Mitchell and I are heading to ESU. He wishes us luck and asks us to keep him posted. Mitchell checks in with Officer Wallace on the drive.
“Nothing’s been reported yet,” Officer Wallace says through the Bluetooth. He lowers his voice. “Have you noticed Detective O’Reilly is acting weird?”
That’s because the chief keeps threatening to transfer her. She’s not stupid. She knows her days with the WPD are numbered. More so, she knows part of the reason that’s true is because of me. She openly dismisses my abilities in front of everyone at the station. All because she was burned by a psychic back in New York where she used to work. She failed to do her part and get the necessary evidence to back up what the psychic consultant told her. Now, she has a reputation she can’t seem to shake. I’ve tried to help her time and time again. I’ve even begged Chief Johansen to keep her here, but I’m not sure how much longer he’ll be willing to listen to me.
“Is she working a case?” Mitchell asks.
“No. We all assumed she was because she was never at her desk, but Chief Johansen said she’s not.”
“Where is she going then?” Mitchell asks.
“She’s looking for another job,” I say.
“What?” Officer Wallace asks through the phone, and Mitchell stares at me.
“Did that just come to you as a truth?”
I nod. “She’s planning to leave the WPD before Chief Johansen can send her packing.”
My arms tingle. I don’t know why, but my senses are telling me I can’t allow that to happen.