Street smart, p.1
Street Smart, page 1
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
Street Smart (Imprints Book 6)
Published by White Star Press
P.O. Box 353
American Fork, Utah 84003
Copyright © 2019 by Teyla Branton
Cover design copyright © 2019 by White Star Press
Cover and ebook design by ePubMasters
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded, reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Thank you for supporting the author’s rights.
ISBN 13: 978-1-948982-13-9
Printed in the United States of America
First year of printing 2019
Table of Contents
Copyright
Title Page
Book Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Hidden Intent
Bonus! Preview of The Change
About the Author
Books by Teyla Branton
Under the name Rachel Branton
What secrets lurk behind the innocent smiles?
When a lady biker vanishes two days before her planned wedding anniversary ride, Autumn Rain dons her leather jacket and goes undercover to investigate. Police are sure the husband is responsible, but Autumn’s ability to read emotions and experiences imprinted on certain objects gives her a different take.
Meanwhile Autumn’s fiancé, homicide Detective Shannon Martin, is investigating a series of murders, and he also needs Autumn’s unusual talent. Soon Autumn is heading down a path no one else can see, where secrets and jealousies drive insanity, and where minutes mean the difference between life and death.
Join Autumn in a case that’s her most dangerous yet.
Chapter 1
With gloved fingers, I put the final Little People wooden character in the merry-go-round next to the schoolhouse and stood back to admire my handiwork before closing the case. I bought the black tea gloves off eBay by the dozens these days, a buck a pair. Their function was twofold—they kept body oils off my antiques, and they protected me from reliving the often-incapacitating emotions imprinted on their surfaces.
After temporarily losing my psychometry ability in early May, a little over a month ago, I was careful to avoid as many casual imprints as I could. I still checked everything I put in my store to make sure any imprints they contained were positive, or at least neutral, but after that I limited contact, even with the good ones that usually made me feel revitalized. I was still healing from my mental blindness, and according to Dr. Easton Godfrey, a self-proclaimed expert in psychometry, reading any imprint was effort and could delay my progress.
Not that I’d been called on to read much of anything this past month since taking down the mobster Frank O’Donald. Truthfully, those events still had me looking over my shoulder, even though he was dead and all of his top people were in jail. I wasn’t too upset that most people coming into my antiques shop carrying objects for me to read only wanted to know if their husbands were cheating or if their bosses were thinking of giving them a promotion.
Friday afternoons at Autumn’s Antiques were always slow, and today only two customers, a blond-haired woman and a young boy, were browsing the shelves that held the music boxes. As I moved away from the Fisher-Price case, the woman left her son and approached me.
“May I help you?” I asked.
“Yes.” She leaned toward me confidentially, lowering her voice. “I’m here with my little boy. He insisted on coming. It’s my birthday soon, and I think he wants to buy me something special. I’ve tried to show him a few things, but . . .” She glanced at the child, who had moved from the music boxes and now had his nose pressed up against a case containing antique metal cars. “He doesn’t want me around while he chooses, but if you could please steer him to something that isn’t expensive? He’s been working so hard the past year doing odd jobs for my father-in-law. We’re living with my in-laws, you see, while my husband and I finish school.” A frown marred her perfect heart-shaped face, and the bleakness of her tone made me wonder if there was trouble at home. “Anyway, he’s a generous kid, but I’d like him to save for something he wants, not spend it all on me.”
“I’m glad to help,” I said. “Is there a certain limit you had in mind?”
Red stained the woman’s pale cheeks. “I don’t really know how much he has, but maybe around ten or twenty dollars?” She gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “Not much in here for that, I know. But there’s a little pewter jewelry box that I like. My wedding ring would fit in it nicely.”
I knew the piece immediately. It had belonged to an old woman before her death, given to her by a long-dead beau. The tender imprinted memories from both of them, though fading, had made me tear up the first time I’d held it.
“I’ll do my best,” I said. “Are you going to wait outside or in another part of the store?”
She smiled. “I think I’ll go next door to that herb shop. Since they have the adjoining door, I can peek in on him, and they have some black licorice Kylan really loves.” For the first time, her gaze went to my bare feet and then away again as quickly. If she thought it strange that a full-grown woman chose to go around barefoot, she was polite enough not to comment.
“I love that licorice too,” I said, giving her a smile. “Go ahead. I’ll help Kylan.”
“Thank you. I’m sure that right now he’s nowhere near what he intends to buy.” She glanced around at the boy, who was staring hard at her. “See? He’s waiting for me to leave.”
“Then you’d better go,” I said with a laugh.
After another glance at my feet, she disappeared through the double doors connecting my store with the Herb Shoppe that had once belonged to my father, Winter Rain, but now belonged to my best friend, Jake Ryan. Or my formerly-best-friend-turned-boyfriend-then-turned-friend-again Jake. We were finding our way back to friendship since my engagement to a local homicide detective and Jake’s subsequent meeting of his current girlfriend, but it was sometimes awkward. I missed the old days of being regular best friends.
Since my store was dead, our shared full-time employee, Thera Brinker, was selling herbs in Jake’s shop, and our part-time helper, Jazzy Storm, aka Jessica Sandstrom, who I’d recently put over my online sales, was off today. That left just Kylan and me.
The minute his mother vanished, the boy rushed over. He was a pretty child, with his mother’s blond hair and an appealing round face. His expression was somber, though, and he didn’t smile as he approached. He wore a T-shirt, faded jeans, and worn tennis shoes. A black backpack with frayed trim hung over one shoulder.
“I need your help,” he said, his gaze flicking past me to the Little People display with unveiled disinterest. Not even the nineteen seventy-four castle with the turquoise flag caught his attention, and it was everyone’s favorite.
“Would you like to see something?” I asked the boy, reaching in my dress pocket for the keys. “You were looking at the cars, right?” Recently, I’d taken to locking small items in cases, an action my adoptive parents, diehard flower children, would have decried.
“I don’t want to buy anything right now,” he said, which surprised me.
“Oh, okay. How can I help you then?”
He glanced toward the doors leading into the Herb Shoppe and then around my store. When he was sure no one was watching, the boy shrugged off his backpack, unzipped it, and pulled out a decidedly wrinkled white sheet of paper.
“It’s about this,” he said, shoving it at me. “I need your help.”
I knew the article the moment I saw it—the one that talked about me solving a murder at a local theatrical company. While I’d been careful to keep my connection to the recent mobster incident from the paper, this was out on the Internet for anyone to see. But Kylan couldn’t be more than nine or ten. What was he doing reading online newspapers? Kids were supposed to be addicted to games these days, not keeping up on current events.
“You need me to read something for you?” I guessed.
He nodded solemnly. “Is it free like it says?”
I removed my gloves, tucking them into my pocket. “Yes.” I usually encouraged people to buy something they loved from my store after using my special services, but he didn’t need to know that. “Come on over to the counter.”
He followed me to the back of my store, where I slipped behind the counter and sat on my tall stool. Sitting when reading imprints was always the best idea, just in case, though what he’d brought couldn’t be all that serious.
“How come your eyes are different colors?” he asked, studying me. He pointed to my left eye. That’s one’s blue, but the other is, uh . . .”
“Oh.” Setting his backpack on the floor, Kylan bent over, nearly disappearing from my sight. Seconds later, he brought out an old chest about eight inches long, holding it carefully with both hands. He hefted it onto the counter. “This is my treasure chest. I put all my money in here. I was saving for something special—for my mom’s birthday.” His gaze again strayed briefly toward the Herb Shoppe before coming back to me.
“That’s great,” I said. The cherry-stained wood chest wasn’t anything special, antique-wise, but I could see why the boy liked it. The rounded top and the black hasp reminded me of pirates and hidden treasure. There was a place for a padlock, though he didn’t seem to have one.
“No, it’s not great.” He frowned, and moisture glinted in his eyes. Brown eyes, I noted. Deep brown, though I was sure his mother’s eyes were blue. He opened the chest and turned it around so I could see into it. “Because it’s gone. All of it except some coins.”
Inside the chest were a few folded pieces of paper, a dirty string, a crystal-shaped object that had likely been a pull to a set of blinds, a small ball, and a handful of change. Not one bill of any denomination in sight.
“I had seventy-six dollars,” Kylan said, blinking back tears. “I’ve been mowing my grandpa’s lawn and cleaning out my neighbor’s birdcage for a year and a half to get that money. Whoever took it also took my silver dollars.” He paused and added hurriedly, “They weren’t real silver, but sometimes my neighbor pays me that way. I like the big coins. They’re cool. So can you tell me who took my money? I gotta get it back, and I can’t tell my mom because she already has too much stress.”
I wanted to assure him that I could find his culprit, but if whoever had taken his money hadn’t left an imprint on the chest, I wouldn’t be able to help him at all.
“I’ll certainly try,” I said.
Not even that brought a hint of a smile to the child’s cherubic face. Instead, he nodded solemnly. “Thank you.”
“A few questions first,” I said. Getting background would help me understand any imprints I’d read. “Where do you normally keep the chest?”
“Under my bed. But everyone knows I have it.”
“Everyone?”
He bent back over until I could only see the top of his head. The next minute, he showed me a tiny notebook and a pencil covered with little cars. He stretched his arms out over the counter and opened the notebook to a page, tapping it with his pencil. “I wrote it all down—all the suspects. But I don’t think any of them would take it.”
I bent over to read the column of words that had been printed in surprisingly good penmanship: “mom, dad, aunt, cousin, grandma, grandpa.”
“My cousin is too small to get it out,” Kylan said. “She’s only one, and she’s afraid of going under the bed.”
“What about friends?”
He shook his head. “They spend all their money on candy, and they’d want to spend mine, so I don’t tell them anything. I think it must be a robber.”
“Is anything else in the house missing?”
“I don’t think so. But it’s a lot of money, so maybe that’s all they wanted.”
His innocence was endearing. “Maybe. Why don’t I give it a try?” I removed the ring Shannon had given me a month ago to mark our engagement. It was set with small stones of two alternating colors, our birthstones, and so far the only imprints on it were positive ones from Shannon. I didn’t usually imprint on most items, but removing the ring would prevent any chance of that happening.
As I reached for the sides of the chest, I could feel the tingling that indicated a strong imprint. Not at all surprising. Imprints are almost always left on objects people treasure or commonly use. I let my hands touch the wood, exactly where I imagined someone might grab and pull it out from under the bed. As always, the boy’s most recent imprint came first. Emotion took over, filling me as if I had lived the moment with Kylan. As if I were Kylan.
I clenched my teeth with determination. I was going to find who took my money. The lady at the old-things store would help. She had to.
When reading imprints, I always envisioned an imaginary calendar that highlighted the day and time of the event. If the imprint was older than a couple months, exact times were harder to pinpoint, but an approximate date was usually enough. This imprint had been left on the chest earlier today.
A second imprint followed the first, coming from only two days ago, an imprint that made me feel as if my heart had been ripped from my body.
Tears wet my face. I couldn’t breathe except in tiny gasps. It was all gone! Who had taken it? Who was so mean? I wanted to scream and yell and kick the door. I could never earn that much again. Not in time.
“Now I can’t get Mom something nice,” I whispered between sobs. It was all gone.
The part of me that remembered I was Autumn Rain sympathized with the child. I remembered too well the days that seventy-six dollars might have stood between me and foreclosure on my shop.
Then came the imprint I’d been hoping for, left on the chest just under two weeks ago.
I peered into the chest. As expected, the bills were there, all neatly stacked inside a rubber band, except for the last few scattered on top. I’d borrow the money for a few weeks like the last time. I’d get paid the Saturday before his mother’s birthday—that was plenty of time in case he decided to buy her something. The kid probably wouldn’t notice. The bills on top had to mean that the last time he’d slipped money inside, he hadn’t even taken the chest from under the bed. No one would ever know I borrowed it or what I bought.
The imprint vanished as whoever was holding the chest set it down to take the small stack of bills that must have seemed like a fortune to this little boy standing in front of my counter. Kylan was right; someone had stolen his money. Someone who knew him.
Next came a more faded emotion. Satisfaction as one chubby hand opened the rounded chest top and placed a wrinkled bill on top of the others.
There were more similar faded imprints, but when the first imprint began to repeat, I knew I’d seen all there was.
“Good news,” I said, removing my hands. “I can’t tell you who took your money because I didn’t see them or even their hands, but I can tell you it was someone you know. They borrowed your money and planned to return it before your mother’s birthday.”
It was a mean thing to do, but adults didn’t always treat children with the same respect they afforded others.
Kylan’s eyes widened. “Really? That’s great!” A line appeared between his brow. “I mean, they shouldn’t take it without asking, but I’m glad they’re going to put it back.” He sounded hopeful now.
I hesitated before saying, “You might consider getting a lock for your chest.” If the person had taken his money before, it was likely he or she would do it again.
“That’s a good idea. But I should wait until they put it back.”
I grinned. “I think that’s best.”
Setting his notebook and pencil on the counter near my cash register, he shut the chest and stowed it in his backpack. Then he grabbed his notebook and turned in the direction of the connecting doors to the Herb Shoppe.
“It wasn’t your mother,” I called after him as I slid my ring back onto my finger.
He stopped and turned around. “I knew that,” he said with the first smile I’d seen. “My mom would never do that. She knows how hard it is to earn money because she works and goes to school. She’s so tired at night that sometimes she falls asleep before she can read her half of our story. That’s why I want to get her something special.”
“What are you going to get her?” After all that, I was curious.
He glanced toward my section of jewelry boxes. “It’s over there. Do you want to see? I’m not sure how I’ll get her to bring me back here, but maybe dad will, or my grandma.”
I joined the boy from behind the counter, and together we walked over to the music boxes. These were on shelves instead of in cases. Currently, I had twenty jewelry boxes, eleven of which played music. Three of those had little ballerinas.
To my surprise, he continued past the jewelry boxes to the handheld mirrors in the case beyond that. He pointed at an ornate, silver-plated Victorian mirror. The piece was lovely, but at eighty-five dollars, it was the most expensive of all my handheld mirrors.
