6th Sense Read online

  I took the chair opposite and sighed. "I couldn't exactly turn her down, Tina. Did Martha tell you what it's about?"

  Martha settled onto the sofa next to Tina and slid her arm around Tina's bare shoulder. "Just the dream part, Cass. No details, I promise."

  "Do you believe she really is having premonitions, Cass? It sounds so strange." Tina sipped her wine.

  "Maggie wouldn't exaggerate this. If she says she's had two dreams that have come true, then she has. But I don't understand it. I've connected with someone on the Internet who can hopefully enlighten me about how this stuff works."

  Martha took a swallow of beer and sat forward. "But hasn't Maggie always been a little psychic, Cass? You two used to scare me with your mind-reading. I remember one time you were halfway to the phone before it even rang because you knew she was calling. And she always seemed to know when you were thinking about Erica Trinidad. Remember how that ticked you off?"

  I remembered. I also remembered how Maggie knew when I was thinking about her. That slow smile would start at the corners of her mouth and she'd look right through me until I blushed. Thinking about it now, I blushed and hoped to God that Maggie, wherever she was, wasn't picking up on my thoughts.

  Martha picked up on it right away and chuckled, then graciously changed the subject. She said to Tina, "Is that the bread I smell?"

  "Oh, damn!" she said, leaping off the sofa and running for the kitchen.

  Martha chuckled. "Ran a check on those names you gave me. Only one came back with priors. Harold Bone had a couple of assault and battery charges about ten years ago right over the hill in Riverland. Although in both cases the charges were dropped. Seems both times, it was more the other guy's fault than his, according to witnesses. Even the bartender at the second scene said, and I quote, 'The dude he decked had it coming.' "

  "Hmm. I suppose one could say that in the two cases I'm investigating, the victims 'had it coming,' too. Why were the charges dropped?"

  "Doesn't say. Either both guys had a change of heart once they sobered up, or someone persuaded them to drop charges. It wouldn't be the first time someone was intimidated into doing that."

  "What else do you know about this Harold Bone?"

  "Not much. D.O.B. makes him right at forty. Occupation is construction worker. Six foot even and pushing two hundred pounds. Still lives in Riverland. Newly married last year. That's about it."

  I pictured the man she was describing — a big, strong local boy prone to occasional bursts of violence — and wondered what he was doing in Maggie's group for victims of abuse. It was hard to imagine.

  Tina called us into the kitchen where we began assembling shish kebobs. We skewered chunks of teriyaki chicken, mushrooms, pineapple, cherry tomatoes, red onions and bell peppers onto wooden stakes while Tina told us the latest courtroom gossip. She was a fledgling defense attorney and the only African-American lawyer in Kings Harbor. She and Martha had yet to oppose each other in court, although they both knew the day would come when Martha would have to testify for the prosecution in a case that Tina was defending. It was just too small a town. They said it would be the ultimate test of their relationship and Tina swore that if she could sit and listen to Martha testify without sticking her tongue out at her in court, she'd bite the bullet and move in with Martha officially. Until then, they were, as Tina put it, just living in sin.

  While Martha went out on the balcony to tend the grill, Tina pulled me aside. "You doin' okay?"

  "You mean with Maggie? I think so. I don't know, Tina. I'm still so angry I can hardly look at her. But part of me wants to understand."

  "That's 'cause part of you's still in love with her."

  I shot her a worried glance and she laughed.

  "Damn, girl. You think I'm blind? You got that look written all over your face."

  "I do not. What look?"

  She laughed again. "That one, right there. The one that says you'd take her back in a heartbeat if it weren't for your damned foolish pride."

  "You think I don't have a right to be mad?" I was getting mad at Tina, just thinking about it.

  "Oh, you got a right. She broke your heart and messed with your mind and all but trampled your pride. And she did it in a way that made her look like a saint because she was off doing a good deed for some dying woman and who's gonna blame her for that? 'Course you gotta right to be mad. You'd be a damned fool if you weren't."

  "Tina, give me a break. First you talk about my 'damned foolish pride' and then you say I'd be a 'damned fool' if I wasn't mad."

  "Kind of damned if you do, damned if you don't, huh?" She threw back her head and roared. Despite my irritation, I laughed too.

  "Why am I laughing?" I asked.

  "Because you know instinctively that somewhere in there I just told you a big ol' truth. Soon as you figure out what it is, you're gonna be just fine."

  I was still frowning at her when Martha brought in the shish kebobs. "Is my girlfriend flirting with you?"

  "No. She's telling me riddles and making me mad."

  "Yep. She's flirting all right. That's exactly how she won my heart. Same way she wins those cases in court. Must've been Confucius in a past life. Don't worry about it, kiddo. She's usually right. Trust me. Come on, let's eat."

  I followed them into the tiny dining room and looked out at the harbor where a tugboat chugged back to port. I felt oddly at peace. Something in what Tina had said made me feel better. I didn't know what it was yet, but I trusted that in time, I'd figure it out.

  Chapter Six

  On Sunday morning I had e-mail from both Claire and Psychic Junkie. I read Claire's first.

  "Just Curious, I'm sorry to hear you're not psychic yourself. Your friend has probably just experienced some traumatic event that jarred this new ability loose, so to speak. Plenty of people have the power to 'see' and never exercise it. Right now, it sounds like she fears this new power because she can't control it and doesn't understand it. She is probably most receptive in her dream state, which is why she is 'seeing' the events in that state. This does not mean she is really dreaming them, however. She may be 'seeing' them as they occur, before they occur or even after they occur. Do you know which? Let me know, or have her ask me herself! I love to chat with other 'see-ers.' Fondly, Claire."

  It was a good question. Was Maggie "seeing" these things before, during or after they happened?

  Psychic Junkie was miffed.

  "Hey, J.C. What happened? You dissed me, darlin'. I'm like, wow, totally jazzed to find a potential soul mate and then — zip. Nada. You find a better offer or what? But listen. Something tells me you're not as psychic as you claim but more psychic than you know. Okay, it sounds crazy, but those are the vibes I'm getting. Am I right? I think I can help you. Talk to me! EJ."

  A little thrill of fear rode up my neck. Psychic Junkie had nailed me. I'd claimed to be the one who was clairvoyant and somehow he/she knew I wasn't. But I'd also always felt I was more psychic than I really understood. Somehow, P.J. had picked up on this. But how? Over the Internet? I was intrigued.

  "Dear RJ," I wrote. "Sorry, no diss intended. You're right, it's my friend who's having these premonitions or clairvoyant dreams, or whatever they really are. I'm just trying to help her out. Why would she suddenly start 'seeing' things in her dreams? And what do you mean, I'm more psychic than I know? How psychic are you?— J.C."

  I sent the message and before I could shut down, my e-mail message box beeped.

  "How psychic am I? Primarily I'm a sender, though I can receive better than a lot of people who claim to be receivers. I don't mean to brag, but hey, if you've got it, flaunt it. Let's get on a private chat line and I'll show you what I mean."

  PJ. gave me instructions and in a few minutes we were connected.

  "See? Isn't this better? Now we can chat. By the way, you should never leave your e-mail address on a bulletin board. There are more weirdos on the Net than fleas on a dog's ass."

  "Yeah, I've already heard from
someone who calls himself Studly."

  "Who hasn't? That creep is a perv! He's on every chat line he can find. Most people put an Ignore Message on his name. So, getting back to the point at hand, this friend of yours. Is she gay?"

  "What? Why would you ask that?" My mind raced. Had I somehow revealed more than I'd intended?

  "I'm psychic. I'm trying to impress you."

  "I'm impressed." How could she know that? And why did I assume EJ. was a woman?

  "I'm very sensitive to these things. You know the old saying: It takes one to know one. Does that answer your question?"

  "What question?"

  "You were probably wondering how you knew I was a woman. But you did know, didn't you? You should learn to trust your inner voice."

  This woman was scaring me.

  "Don't be scared. Like I said, I'm a pretty good receiver. And besides, you're easy. I'd love to see your aura."

  "My what?" Jeez, was this woman coming on to me, or what?

  "Sorry. That must sound like a line, but I mean it. Some people have totally awesome, multi-colored auras, and I'd bet yours is like that. You send off radical vibes."

  "Listen, EJ. It's been nice chatting with you, but I've got to go. Thanks for your help."

  "Ask your friend how she feels after the dreams. Is she afraid, or is she strangely satisfied? Just ask her." I'm not sure which of us logged off first.

  After chatting with P.J. I decided what I really needed was some fresh air and a good hard work-out. I changed into shorts and tennies, and went out back to chop wood. Sometimes, the simple rhythmic motion of swinging an axe can be soothing and by the time I'd split enough maple branches into fireplace-sized chunks to last a month, I was drenched in sweat. My arms trembled with the effort and my back ached, but my mind was clear and I felt good.

  I went inside to shower, then called Maggie and brought her up to date on my meeting with Stella and Toby, trying to assure her that my disguise would prevent Stella from recognizing me in the event she ever came back to therapy.

  "This I've got to see," she said, chuckling. "Cassidy James with curly strawberry blond hair, glasses and lipstick. You really think the sister could've done it?"

  I admitted I didn't know and told her my plan to drive down to Gold Beach to get a look at where Maylene's grandfather had gone over the cliff. I was glad when she insisted on joining me. It would be good to get her reaction and see how close it was to what she had dreamed. I told her I'd pick her up around noon.

  Maggie's house was an old brick and stucco building overlooking the south end of the harbor. Her office was downstairs, her living quarters up. I let myself in through the office door and found myself looking at the rather attractive backside of someone bent over a broken vase. Yellow mums and water were scattered across the hardwood floor. When she heard me enter, she whirled around, an apologetic grin on her face.

  "Hi. Can I help you?"

  "Dr. Carradine's assistant, I presume?" I couldn't quite keep the sarcasm out of my voice. So this was Maggie's little assistant. Cute, perky and, unless I was losing my ability to tell, definitely gay. One look told me all I needed to know. She was dressed in baggy plaid shorts that reached her knees, high-top tennies and a tank top that showed off finely toned biceps. Her tawny skin glowed with health and she looked like someone more suited to working at a Girl Scout camp than in a psychologist's office.

  "Yep, and you must be Cassidy. I'm Buddy. Dr. Carradine said you'd be coming. She's upstairs but should be down any minute. She's going to kill me when she sees what I've done to her vase. It's her favorite one."

  I knew. I'd given it to her. "Here. Let me help." I bent down and gathered up the flowers while Buddy plucked the shards of glass off the floor.

  "She tells me you're computerizing her files," I said. "That must be an overwhelming task." I was trying to be polite to the little twerp, but what I really wondered was what the hell she was doing working on a Sunday. Shouldn't she be in Sunday school or something?

  "Yeah, but I like it," she said. "I'm good at nerdy stuff like that. I was a real dweeb in high school."

  She did not look like a dweeb. And she smiled at me like she knew it. Suddenly, I thought of something.

  "Uh, as a self-admitted computer-nerd, you wouldn't know how to put an Ignore Message on someone's name in a chat group, would you?"

  "Are you kidding? I spend half my life on the Net. I know, I know. I need to get a life. But it's addictive. Anyway, I can show you in a flash. You in a chat group?"

  "Sort of. I just joined."

  "Well, rule number one is don't give anyone your real name. Number two, don't give out your e-mail address unless you really trust someone. You never know who you're dealing with, and if the person knows what they're doing, it's not that hard to get your real address and phone number from your e-mail."

  I decided not to mention the fact that I'd already broken rule number two and that all the psychics in the Northwest now had my e-mail address, including the infamous Studly. I laid the vaseless mums on the polished-oak counter and followed her to her terminal. I watched with awe as Buddy's fingers flew over keys, punching in command codes.

  "Okay. See this? Just go like this and, bingo, the guy's messages are forever muted. You can still tell when he's trying to talk, you just don't have to listen to him. Pretty cool, huh?"

  "Very. Show that to me again, in slow motion."

  She did. "What chat groups have you joined, if you don't mind my asking?"

  Actually, I did. "Uh, I'm just browsing at this point."

  The way her dark eyes appraised me, I could tell she knew I was lying. She stood up and we were suddenly face to face, closer than I felt comfortable with. She was a little taller than I, with a slight, boyish build. She was athletic and graceful, with dark dancing eyes and short brown hair. Not only was she cute, I thought, she was Maggie's type. It dawned on me that she was a younger, darker version of me. She graced me with a full-blown, radiant smile and I changed the subject.

  "I understand you're a college student? What are you studying?"

  "Just undergrad stuff so far. I'm renting a studio right across from the community college, trying to save up enough for Oregon State next fall. This job really helps, and it's close enough, I can ride my bike when it's not raining. Saves on gas. Anyway, I'm thinking I might like to be a park ranger. I know that sounds weird coming from a tech-freak, but I love the outdoors. You ever go Whitewater kayaking?"

  "You mean like over rapids? I'm more the still-water type," I admitted. I'd done my share of kayaking on the lake and enjoyed the quiet solitude, the chance to move through the water almost silently, communing with Mother Nature in a way not possible in a powerboat, but I'd never really been tempted to try Whitewater kayaking. Unlike Maggie, who loved to climb mountains, scuba dive and bungee jump, I preferred the quieter sports.

  "Hmm." She brazenly looked me up and down and I suppressed the desire to squirm. "You don't seem like the still-water type to me. Course, still waters do run deep, or so they say." Before I could decide whether she was flirting or just being catty, she grinned and added, "I'm teaching Dr. Carradine to kayak. Shoot the rapids on the Rogue. You should join us."

  Well, wasn't that just grand. And cozy, too. Maggie's little assistant was really starting to get on my nerves.

  "Oh, I see you two have met," Maggie said, coming down the hallway. She looked from Buddy to me and back again, and I could have sworn she blushed.

  "Buddy tells me she's teaching you to kayak." I kept my gaze innocent, my voice neutral, but Maggie raised an eyebrow.

  "Yes. Buddy's quite the Whitewater expert. She was a guide last summer on the Colorado."

  Buddy beamed, revealing perfect white teeth and two perfect crescent-shaped dimples. She couldn't have been any cuter if she were Donnie Osmond.

  Maggie looked questioningly at the flowers lying limply on the counter and Buddy rushed to explain. "Sorry. It was totally my fault. Right after I finish this catalogui
ng, I'll go buy you a new vase."

  "Don't be ridiculous, Buddy. You don't need to buy me a new vase. I have dozens." She walked to a cupboard and pulled one out, adding water from the drinking fountain. "And anyway, there's no rush on that cataloguing. Let it wait until Monday, okay? Why don't we all just call it a day."

  Buddy, looking momentarily crestfallen, switched off her computer and started tidying up the desk. Finally, she turned off the light and followed us out the front door.

  "See you tomorrow, then!" she shouted, apparently recovered from her brief depression. She hopped on a red ten-speed and swung out onto Highway One, heedless of the Sunday traffic.

  "She should wear a helmet," Maggie said, climbing into the Jeep.

  "I see your maternal instincts are kicking in. How old is she, anyway?" I gunned the engine and turned south on the highway.

  "Believe it or not, she's twenty-two. Still going to college and working her way through the whole way. That's why she needed the job. She's a hard worker, probably worth twice what I'm paying her. And she's smart as a whip. A little too exuberant, perhaps. Sometimes I have to force her to go home."

  "So I noticed. It's obvious she has a crush."

  Maggie looked up sharply. "What makes you say that?"

  "Oh, come on, Maggie. She's practically panting over you. The child is lovesick."

  "She's hardly a child, Cass. And I haven't noticed any panting whatsoever. In fact, it seemed to me that she was looking rather intensely at you when I came in. Do you think we could slow down, please?"

  I looked at the speedometer and took my foot off the accelerator. I drew a breath and we drove in silence.

  Halfway to Gold Beach, I told Maggie about my two new psychic friends and relayed Psychic Junkie's last question.

  "Why on earth would she ask if I felt 'strangely satisfied'? That is just too bizarre."

  "I thought so too."

  "No, I mean, because that's exactly how I felt. Not later, of course, when I realized those things really-had happened, but right after the dreams, there was this sense of, I don't know, accomplishment. How could this person know that?"