A birds eye view of murd.., p.25
A Bird's Eye View of Murder, page 25
“What do you mean a way in?”
He cleared his throat a couple of times. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”
He reached for my hand and seemed to think better of it. “I saw it.” He dropped his head in his hands. “I can’t believe I’m admitting this, and if you repeat it, I’ll deny it, but I saw the…it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Right before you flipped back in your chair at the séance, there was this horrible image of your cat.”
I sucked in my breath. “You saw what I saw?”
“It was as if it was your cat, but it wasn’t your cat. I’ve never seen Emily look so ferocious.”
“How?” I whispered.
“I wish I knew, because it’s something I never, ever want to experience again.”
He shifted his position to lean against the car door, which was as far away from me as he could get and still remain in the front seat. I could tell he blamed me, as if I were some harpy running around and intentionally handing out bad dreams to the kiddies.
“I don’t know how it happened.”
“The bird said—it’s just too stupid to repeat, but I’m sure it said—meow.”
I nodded. “Three times.”
“The Kit Cat Club?” he asked, a dazed expression on his face.
“Yep. And you got that right away, so you can see it would have been better if we had worked together on this.”
“You’re not suggesting that I ask the neighborhood cat for the name of the culprit the next time I’m investigating a murder.” His eyes popped open. “You’re not, are you?”
“It’s not that simple. What do you think? That animals talk to me in complex sentences? That they draw me pictures and explained things in clear terms?”
The tears were getting ready to flow, but I scrunched up my eyes to force them back. I was not going to have a pity sob in front of Bowers. A deep breath helped steady my voice.
“When animals decide to invade my personal space, they throw me images, energy signatures, feelings. They don’t talk. Except Petey did know a few words. Mostly meow. On the night of the séance, you saw exactly what I usually get. That image of Emily was a typical message, and they usually come uninvited.” I threw my hands up. “Why do you think I stopped doing the pet psychic readings?”
He rubbed his face with his hands, as if he were trying to wipe the image away.
“Wow. I had no idea.”
“Now you do.”
He stared ahead of him, his fingers tapping the dashboard in a nervous rhythm.
“That’s awful. I mean really, really awful.”
“Tell me about it.” I sighed, relieved that someone finally understood that a psychic connection with animals wasn’t a fun thing to experience.
“And weird.”
“Oka-a-y. I’m not sure I like being described as weird.”
He turned to face me. “What does Auntie think?”
That made me laugh. “Let’s get something clear. Not one member of my family knows. They think I dabble in theatrics like my aunt, and it’s going to stay that way.” I shook my finger at him. “So, if you ever feel the need to call my mother, which was a pretty low thing to do without telling me first, don’t even think about mentioning it.”
“Mention it?” Bowers said. “I’m going to pretend this never happened.” He nodded his head several times. “I warned you about dabbling in this crap.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear me, but I don’t dabble. I don’t seem to have any control over it. It’s like they take possession of my mind at will. I’ve even been visited by a dead dog.”
He cleared his throat. “Maybe you should see a priest. They seem to know a lot about spirits and possessions and, well, stuff.”
“I already did,” I snapped. “But not because there’s anything wrong with me. I just kind of ran into him.”
Bowers took my hand. “And?”
“I’m not possessed, if that’s what you’re wondering. My head doesn’t spin around, and I don’t levitate, and I haven’t vomited green since I overdosed on Halloween candy when I was eight.”
“That’s good.” He waited. “Did he have any insights?”
“I learned it’s a no-no to sacrifice my children to strange gods.”
“You have children?”
“No, but it’s a good point to remember if I ever do.”
“I meant did he have any advice.”
“He seemed more concerned about Auntie’s tarot card business.”
“We’re going to have to work on that,” he said, nodding again.
“We?”
Bowers leaned forward and clutched my hand in both of his. “Frankie, I really care about you, and I’d like to see more of you.”
I felt a flutter in my chest. “You do?” I thought back to his kiss and decided I’d like it, too.
“I’m just—well, I don’t want to worry that you’re in my head.”
I looked at his hands, holding mine, and an idea occurred to me. “Bowers, do you remember the first time—IT—happened last month? When I was trying to communicate with Sandy and get him to release the lock on the door and I sort of wound up reading your thoughts?”
“How could I forget?”
“We were holding hands. Just like we were holding hands the night of the séance.”
He didn’t just let go of my hand. He threw it away from him as if it were a bomb set to go off any moment.
I grabbed my purse from the car floor. “Well. I guess that’s that.”
“I—” He stared out his window. “You can’t expect me to date a woman I can’t even touch. I’m not a lecher, but that’s asking too much.”
I softened my voice. “Bowers, I don’t understand what’s happening, but I’m sure we could work it out. Just don’t ever touch my hands.” I added a weak grin, but my chest tightened because I guessed his answer.
He cleared his throat, but his voice still cracked when he said, “I don’t think I can do it.”
I gave a short nod, said goodnight, and saw myself to my front door. By the time Auntie came home, I’d already made up the couch, and I pretended to be asleep. She whispered my name a few times, gave up, and crept into my room. I didn’t want her to see I’d been crying.
“You’re sure you’ve got everything? You don’t want something else to read or a snack for the plane?”
Terminal Four of the Sky Harbor Airport bustled with travelers setting off on adventures, returning from business trips, or in Auntie’s case, heading home. I had a strange reluctance to let Auntie pass through security and out of my life. Well, not out of my life. Just out of the vicinity. It wasn’t as if I’d enjoyed having a roommate, but what can I say? She smelled of home.
“If I have another coffee, I’ll have to tinkle before I get to Wisconsin, and I read about some woman whose insides were sucked out by the airplane toilet. No thank you.”
“Good to know.”
She reached for her carry on. I hung it over her shoulder and kissed her cheek.
“No regrets about your visit?”
“I had a wonderful time, Sissy. I could have done without the murder, but we don’t get to choose what life throws at us.”
“Um, when you get home…”
“Not a word to your mother. I figured that one out myself.”
“And you’re not sorry to leave Bull?”
“Heavens, no! I’d forgotten how bossy he was. Besides. Once he has time to get over Elvira, I wouldn’t be surprised if he gave Sharlene a call. Widowers don’t live long unless they find another wife. That’s what statistics show. And it would be nice if those two got together.”
That was a relief. I might be missing Auntie now, but if she took up permanent residence in Arizona… I shuddered.
“The air conditioning is a little cold in here. You should get back out in the sun. I’ve got my book, so don’t worry about me.”
Before she left, I wanted the answer to a question that had nagged at my brain over the last week. “What’s the deal with Sharlene? You kept hinting there was something wrong with her?”
“Nothing but loneliness. Promise me you’ll drop in on her once in a while.”
I agreed, and then I hugged her tight and didn’t let go until she pulled away. We both had tears in our eyes. I stood, watching, as she placed her bags on the conveyor belt and took off her sandals. She gave me a final wave after she passed through security, and I stared down that hallway long after she’d disappeared.
“You look a little lost.”
An elderly man, one of the Navigator volunteers, gave me a kind smile and offered to assist me.
“I’m feeling a little lost right now.”
“Where are you headed?” he asked.
Where was I headed? Good question. The pet communication lines were back open, but I wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. With Penny set to walk down the aisle, I saw the end of my social life. Seamus had abandoned any thoughts of romance with me for a new love, but that didn’t bother me as much as I thought it would. Bowers was another matter, but I couldn’t do anything about the fact that he had dumped me before we started dating.
On the flip side, I could take a few pet psychic appointments, see how it worked out, and maybe increase my bank balance. It wasn’t as if Penny were dead. Or Seamus. Or even Bowers. And I still had Chauncey and Emily.
“Time will tell.” I reassured him with a smile.
“You’re in the airport but you don’t know where you’re going?” He looked over his shoulder at the Navigator counter, probably hoping for backup in case I started to drool or demand that he bow to the queen of Mars.
“‘It’s alright. I’m alright.” I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.
“I’ll be fine.”
And I almost meant it.
Want to keep reading? Tap here for the next Frankie Chandler adventure, An Almost Purrfect Murder. Keep reading for a preview of the first chapter, book club questions, and more.
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It’s Independence Day, and fireworks aren’t the only thing rocking Frankie’s world. When a notorious criminal kidnaps her, intent on getting his pet tiger to reveal the identity of a traitor, Frankie fears her reward for finishing the job may be stamped Final Payment.
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review. Reviews help readers discover new books, and the author, who socializes mostly with dogs, appreciates the human feedback.
A NOTE FROM JACKIE
I ’ve never thought of birds as cute and fuzzy, but since many people love their pet birds, I tried to see them as something other than modern day dinosaurs. Little dinosaurs, but just as scary.
I went to Pet Supply, the local, family-owned pet store, and visited with their resident cockatoo, thinking this touch of familiarity would take away my fears. The owner was kind enough to share many tidbits about these intelligent creatures. Great, I thought. Dinosaurs with brains.
Jackie
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Albert & Beverly Voirin brought home my first and only pet bird – a parakeet. It did not end well.
Many thanks to Chris and Zack at Pet Supply, Santa Clarita—the best pet store around—for their many insights, both for my dog, Buster, and this book.
Many thanks to my support group of brave souls willing to read proof copies and give me feedback and advice, especially Mary Grant, Andrea Voirin, and Gayle Bartos-Pool.
Thanks to my hubby for his unwavering belief in me.
Finally, thanks to my Readers Group, a community of readers who love mysteries and laughter as much as I do.
PREVIEW OF AN ALMOST PURRFECT MURDER
CHAPTER ONE
I clutched the ship’s guardrail in sweating hands and wondered how I, Frankie Chandler, had allowed myself to be talked into leaving sunny, ocean-free Arizona for a floating deathtrap. The pointless comment I’d just made was an attempt to keep my brain from noticing how far we were from land. Safe, dry land.
Penny Newcombe, my best friend since first grade and the optimistic half of our friendship, snorted a laugh through her nose. “Why would you think that?”
In my view from the back of the ship—the stern if you’re a sailor and want to get picky about it—Seattle, Washington, had shrunk into a tiny, gray blob with miles of freezing cold water in between. Kill-you-in-seconds-if-you-fall-in cold. Okay. Maybe minutes, but the farther north we traveled, the deadlier the water temperature would get.
“I looked it up,” I said, referring to my point about the weather. “They get so much rain in Washington it’s the suicide capital of the world.”
Penny snorted again. “A state can’t be a capital.”
“And they breed serial killers there. I think I read that all serial killers are born in Washington. The depressing weather drives them mad. What if some of them got on the ship? We’ll be trapped for the next seven days with the Manson brothers.”
Penny let loose a laugh, squeezed my shoulders, and told me I was a card. Nothing short of murder could dampen her mood. We were on one of Finlander’s finest cruise ships, the Iso Kala, on our way to Alaska, and in three days, my friend would step into a white dress and walk down the aisle to become Mrs. Kemper Mohr.
The decision to hold a destination wedding had come after stressful months spent trying to decide whose family to appease; Penny’s kin lived in Wisconsin, Kemper’s in New York. They went through pre-Cana at their own parish, St. Mel’s in Wolf Creek, Arizona, and then, with Monsignor Robert’s permission, they contacted the Apostleship of the Sea to find the name of the priest who would be on board the September sailing of the Iso Kala. When asked if he would be willing to perform the ceremony, Father Basil Zimmerman responded with an enthusiastic thumbs up.
Because of the expense involved, the wedding would be an intimate affair, but afterward, the happy Mister and Missus would fly back to their home states in turn and have a reception for each set of family members and friends.
Lost in thought, I’d been staring at the white trail of turbulence that stretched out behind the ship without really seeing it, but then Penny gave a cry of joy and pointed to a school of dolphins keeping pace with us. Once again it came home to me I was chugging through water that would be over my head should I fall in. I could swim, but so could large, carnivorous fish and creepy things you wouldn’t find in a sweet little pond, or even a lake.
“Have any of the Finlander cruise ships ever sunk?”
“No-ahh!” Penny’s response turned into a shriek as a tall man with the same shade of blond hair as my friend wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and leaning back, lifted her off her feet. She kicked and giggled, and when he put her down, she spun to face him.
“Robby!”
While he enveloped her in a bear hug, Robby Newcombe studied me through aqua-blue eyes. I felt my face flush. He had changed a lot in sixteen years. The lanky college kid who had remained in Illinois after graduation to work in banking had developed into a solid specimen with a square jaw and deep dimples.
“This can’t be little annoying Frances.” All of Penny’s family, including Penny, called me by my full name instead of my nickname, Frankie.
I grinned. “In person.”
He pushed Penny aside and opened his arms wide. “Move over, little sister, and make room for a huggable female who isn’t related to me.”
When he lifted me off my feet, my face met with a solid chest, and as the cold air blowing off the ocean had covered my skin with tiny water droplets, I snuggled in to soak up the warmth.
“Marry me, Frances,” he growled. “Everything has been paid for, so we can have a double wedding, cheap.”
“You goof,” Penny said, punching his arm. “Release my maid of honor.”
He complied. “At least you can dance with me to celebrate my little sister’s matrimonial bliss. Has anybody warned Kemper what he’s in for?”
“We can do that now,” Penny said as she hooked her arm through Robby’s. “Mom and Dad said everyone should meet on the Lido Deck.”
We took the elevator to the 9th floor, and the minute I stepped out onto the carpeting, I knew I’d found my home away from home.
BOOK CLUB QUESTIONS
A Bird’s Eye View of Murder
Frankie is back, and this time she’s billing herself as an animal behaviorist. Is she hiding from her psychic “gift”? Should she embrace it warts and all?
Aunt Gertrude is messing up Frankie’s home and her routine. When Frankie gets irritated with her, she usually keeps it in check. Should Frankie stand up to her aunt? Or does it show more strength of character to respect her elderly relative?
Bowers suggests that Frankie may be messing with things she shouldn’t when she takes part in a séance. Is Frankie traveling on dangerous ground, or is the occult not a big deal?
Aunt Gertrude, known for reading tarot cards, tries her hand at a séance and palm reading in an attempt to generate business. Why do you think people are willing to pay for these services?
Catherine feels guilt over her inability to carry a child to term. Should she have been honest with her husband about the possible cause? Or is her abortion strictly her business?
Aunt Gertrude and Elvira had a falling out years ago when Elvira pinched Auntie’s Lemon Blueberry Buckle recipe to win the heart of the boy they both loved. Is Auntie jealous over a lost love, or is the stolen recipe the real source of her ire?
Several characters experience broken dreams. Are there dreams you’ve had that were not as sweet as you had hoped when you achieved them?
Did you think that Bull was a chauvinist?
The Blue Ribbon Queen is a coveted title offered by The Baking Channel. Why do you think women like Elvira and Aunt Gertrude are drawn to this type of competition?
Frankie and Bowers run into a relationship hurdle that they can’t get over. Should they have tried to work it out no matter what the cost?
