cousin was positive Clyde murdered Amelia’s brother. They’d been seen together earlier in the evening. Other evidence also indicated the possibility.”
I pointed to the oak box holding the journals Claudia had passed onto me. “So I might find more murders in those journals?”
“I think I can guarantee it. I’ve got a bad feeling, and I always listen to my instincts. They kept me alive in the army and police force. Walk away from this case.”
“I can’t stop. I want to find that Rembrandt.”
“There must be other ways of making enough money to buy your farm.”
“Well I haven’t found it yet, so I’m going to keep hunting.”
Chapter 8
Tyreal sat back in the dining chair, arms behind his slightly turned head, his scrutiny and concern targeting me. “If this case scares you, Angel, tell your client you found nothing and return the journals. She’ll never know any different, then start one of your more benign cases.”
“But I already told Claudia the painting existed, and in Clyde’s mind was genuine.”
He dropped his hand onto the table. “Shit. Because it is, wherever the hell it’s gone. Three well known paintings were brought to Australia. Listed in shipping was a Rembrandt, a Rubens, and a Gainsborough.”
“Then I continue.”
“Why?”
“It’s what I do. Besides my entire business is based on word of mouth. If I quit all the scary cases, I wouldn’t have an income.”
“You could try ordinary investigative work, get a P.I. license.”
Yeah and I could also be that racing car driver. “It’s sweet you think so, but I’m not an investigator. I only know this business because I was born with my gift. I’m clumsy in the field.”
“Do you fall in mud and crap?”
“No. Maybe. Once I watched a house so I could break in and read a journal the owner wouldn’t share.” Was I really telling an ex-cop this? “I decided to go for a walk by. I hadn’t seen the signs warning of fresh cement. Boy weren’t those men a grumpy pack of bastards. It wasn’t as if they’d walked and fallen into six inch deep wet cement. Nor had they ruined their favorite white knee-high boots or original seventies Mary Quaint mini dress.”
He laughed. “Right, since I’m here, Princess, read the journals. Every time you look scared, horrified, or even a little uptight, I’ll pull your hand away from the book. No arguments.”
I’d normally tell him to stick his overbearing attitude past his sphincter, but Clyde scared all rebellion right out of me. “Only when I looked stressed.” I had to have some boundaries.
“Absolutely. Scouts honor.” He held his hand to his forehead.
“That’s not the Scouts salute.” Not that I know the Scouts salute.
“Damn. Thought I’d fake it.”
“Hah, I didn’t know that. I just out bullshitted you.”
I settled back in my chair. “Okay, you can stand guard.” It takes a lot of energy to enter dimensions. If Tyreal knocked my hand off the journal too often, I’d be exhausted. Upside, I’d burn calories and be able to eat more cake.
#
Tyreal put his hand over mine. “Angel, enough. That’s the third time you’ve nearly passed out, twice you’ve screamed. Call it quits.”
I agreed. In two hours, I’d seen some horrible things and was mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted. Constantly being on edge, waiting for Clyde to see or sense me, ready to time jump to safety had worn my nerves too, I need a bottle of cheap-red, thin.
“Three murders. At the moment, I don’t want to dwell on those. Plus the usual crap about money and family and petty hates, but not one thought of the Rembrandt.” It couldn’t be this case I found the item within twenty minutes of time jumping, like I had the three engagement rings earlier today.
Tyreal’s warm hand stopped mine from moving toward a red leather bound journal. “Leave it. Perhaps we will find out more by other research. I have feelers out with private art collections that might
I pointed to the oak box holding the journals Claudia had passed onto me. “So I might find more murders in those journals?”
“I think I can guarantee it. I’ve got a bad feeling, and I always listen to my instincts. They kept me alive in the army and police force. Walk away from this case.”
“I can’t stop. I want to find that Rembrandt.”
“There must be other ways of making enough money to buy your farm.”
“Well I haven’t found it yet, so I’m going to keep hunting.”
Chapter 8
Tyreal sat back in the dining chair, arms behind his slightly turned head, his scrutiny and concern targeting me. “If this case scares you, Angel, tell your client you found nothing and return the journals. She’ll never know any different, then start one of your more benign cases.”
“But I already told Claudia the painting existed, and in Clyde’s mind was genuine.”
He dropped his hand onto the table. “Shit. Because it is, wherever the hell it’s gone. Three well known paintings were brought to Australia. Listed in shipping was a Rembrandt, a Rubens, and a Gainsborough.”
“Then I continue.”
“Why?”
“It’s what I do. Besides my entire business is based on word of mouth. If I quit all the scary cases, I wouldn’t have an income.”
“You could try ordinary investigative work, get a P.I. license.”
Yeah and I could also be that racing car driver. “It’s sweet you think so, but I’m not an investigator. I only know this business because I was born with my gift. I’m clumsy in the field.”
“Do you fall in mud and crap?”
“No. Maybe. Once I watched a house so I could break in and read a journal the owner wouldn’t share.” Was I really telling an ex-cop this? “I decided to go for a walk by. I hadn’t seen the signs warning of fresh cement. Boy weren’t those men a grumpy pack of bastards. It wasn’t as if they’d walked and fallen into six inch deep wet cement. Nor had they ruined their favorite white knee-high boots or original seventies Mary Quaint mini dress.”
He laughed. “Right, since I’m here, Princess, read the journals. Every time you look scared, horrified, or even a little uptight, I’ll pull your hand away from the book. No arguments.”
I’d normally tell him to stick his overbearing attitude past his sphincter, but Clyde scared all rebellion right out of me. “Only when I looked stressed.” I had to have some boundaries.
“Absolutely. Scouts honor.” He held his hand to his forehead.
“That’s not the Scouts salute.” Not that I know the Scouts salute.
“Damn. Thought I’d fake it.”
“Hah, I didn’t know that. I just out bullshitted you.”
I settled back in my chair. “Okay, you can stand guard.” It takes a lot of energy to enter dimensions. If Tyreal knocked my hand off the journal too often, I’d be exhausted. Upside, I’d burn calories and be able to eat more cake.
#
Tyreal put his hand over mine. “Angel, enough. That’s the third time you’ve nearly passed out, twice you’ve screamed. Call it quits.”
I agreed. In two hours, I’d seen some horrible things and was mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted. Constantly being on edge, waiting for Clyde to see or sense me, ready to time jump to safety had worn my nerves too, I need a bottle of cheap-red, thin.
“Three murders. At the moment, I don’t want to dwell on those. Plus the usual crap about money and family and petty hates, but not one thought of the Rembrandt.” It couldn’t be this case I found the item within twenty minutes of time jumping, like I had the three engagement rings earlier today.
Tyreal’s warm hand stopped mine from moving toward a red leather bound journal. “Leave it. Perhaps we will find out more by other research. I have feelers out with private art collections that might
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