evening, and she wondered if she should mention what was happening? Would he understand? Hell, she didn’t understand! How could she expect a by-the-book, logical deputy to understand what was happening?
She remembered when they had first dated how he’d told her about reading a couple books about reincarnation. At the time she had been impressed that someone like him would be open to the concept of past lives, let alone have read a couple books on the subject.
She would tell him.
He would understand.
He had to understand if they were going to remain together.
~~
“Lucy, I’m home!”
Nightingale turned her attention away from the salad she was preparing as Bill walked in the door. She grinned at his humor.
“How’s my favorite redhead?” Bill unhitched his holster and placed it on the couch arm.
“ ‘Lucy’ is fine.” She continued chopping the yellow pepper on the cutting board. “There’s wine in the fridge, if you want.”
“Yeah, I want.” He walked to the fridge, pulling out the bottle of Merlot, placing a kiss on Nightingale’s cheek as he passed her at the counter. “Tough day. Had a nasty punk to deal with who thought the world owed him a favor.”
Bill reached two glasses down from the open shelf above the sink, pouring wine for each of them. “You look like you could use a drink.”
Nightingale’s eyes swung up from the cutting board. “Umm, you could say that.” She put her knife down and took the glass into her hand.
Knives.
“Nasty punk, huh?” Nightingale took a sip.
“Yeah. He thought Wal-Mart’s prices weren’t low enough, so he helped himself to some merchandize.” Bill walked toward the dining room chair and sat down. “Then he thought he would impress us by taking a swing at me. Bad mistake.”
“You don’t look hurt?”
“He missed.”
“I see.”
“How was your day?” Bill appeared to be relaxing as he sipped his wine.
“Disturbing.”
“How so?”
“Well, you know how I turn on and off my abilities?”
“Yes.”
“The switch is on. All the time.” Nightingale joined Bill at the dining room table. “It’s like I’m a walking Geiger counter, detecting everything in my path whether I want to or not.”
“I don’t get it. Explain.”
Nightingale sighed. “It’s hard to explain; I don’t have an explanation. I’m just turned on. Psychically speaking, that is.”
Bill’s eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled. “The turned on part sounds good to me.”
“Stop!” Nightingale smacked his arm good naturedly. “I ran into Helen and I got all these impressions. Sculls were surrounding Ralph. And then there were hidden wine bottles in her basement. That was after I saw Latisha at the post office. And what I saw with her was a bit scary.”
“What do you mean, scary?”
“I brushed by Latisha and that stimulated an impression. I saw a knife with a black handle and white stars. There was one drop of blood dangling on the point of the knife.”
Bill’s face took on an interested expression.
“Then I saw the knife hidden in a big black purse in a closet. I mentioned it to her and she got huffy. She walked away, mad at me.”
“Why was she mad?”
“Because I asked her if she owned such a knife. She thought I was making a racial statement. Like, all blacks own knives, or something. But I wasn’t.”
“Does she own such a knife?”
“She said no, but her face lost color and her expression changed. That was her knife I saw, and she knew it. I could feel her energy shift totally. That’s her knife. I wouldn’t care, but it had blood on the tip. And she didn’t admit to ownership.”
Bill sat silently now, sipping his wine, contemplating.
“What are you thinking?” Nightingale broke the silence.
“ Describe the knife to me.”
“Like I said, it had a black handle and white stars engraved on it.”
“Any other details you can remember?”
“Well, the point was kind of odd. It wasn’t pointed as with most knives;
She remembered when they had first dated how he’d told her about reading a couple books about reincarnation. At the time she had been impressed that someone like him would be open to the concept of past lives, let alone have read a couple books on the subject.
She would tell him.
He would understand.
He had to understand if they were going to remain together.
~~
“Lucy, I’m home!”
Nightingale turned her attention away from the salad she was preparing as Bill walked in the door. She grinned at his humor.
“How’s my favorite redhead?” Bill unhitched his holster and placed it on the couch arm.
“ ‘Lucy’ is fine.” She continued chopping the yellow pepper on the cutting board. “There’s wine in the fridge, if you want.”
“Yeah, I want.” He walked to the fridge, pulling out the bottle of Merlot, placing a kiss on Nightingale’s cheek as he passed her at the counter. “Tough day. Had a nasty punk to deal with who thought the world owed him a favor.”
Bill reached two glasses down from the open shelf above the sink, pouring wine for each of them. “You look like you could use a drink.”
Nightingale’s eyes swung up from the cutting board. “Umm, you could say that.” She put her knife down and took the glass into her hand.
Knives.
“Nasty punk, huh?” Nightingale took a sip.
“Yeah. He thought Wal-Mart’s prices weren’t low enough, so he helped himself to some merchandize.” Bill walked toward the dining room chair and sat down. “Then he thought he would impress us by taking a swing at me. Bad mistake.”
“You don’t look hurt?”
“He missed.”
“I see.”
“How was your day?” Bill appeared to be relaxing as he sipped his wine.
“Disturbing.”
“How so?”
“Well, you know how I turn on and off my abilities?”
“Yes.”
“The switch is on. All the time.” Nightingale joined Bill at the dining room table. “It’s like I’m a walking Geiger counter, detecting everything in my path whether I want to or not.”
“I don’t get it. Explain.”
Nightingale sighed. “It’s hard to explain; I don’t have an explanation. I’m just turned on. Psychically speaking, that is.”
Bill’s eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled. “The turned on part sounds good to me.”
“Stop!” Nightingale smacked his arm good naturedly. “I ran into Helen and I got all these impressions. Sculls were surrounding Ralph. And then there were hidden wine bottles in her basement. That was after I saw Latisha at the post office. And what I saw with her was a bit scary.”
“What do you mean, scary?”
“I brushed by Latisha and that stimulated an impression. I saw a knife with a black handle and white stars. There was one drop of blood dangling on the point of the knife.”
Bill’s face took on an interested expression.
“Then I saw the knife hidden in a big black purse in a closet. I mentioned it to her and she got huffy. She walked away, mad at me.”
“Why was she mad?”
“Because I asked her if she owned such a knife. She thought I was making a racial statement. Like, all blacks own knives, or something. But I wasn’t.”
“Does she own such a knife?”
“She said no, but her face lost color and her expression changed. That was her knife I saw, and she knew it. I could feel her energy shift totally. That’s her knife. I wouldn’t care, but it had blood on the tip. And she didn’t admit to ownership.”
Bill sat silently now, sipping his wine, contemplating.
“What are you thinking?” Nightingale broke the silence.
“ Describe the knife to me.”
“Like I said, it had a black handle and white stars engraved on it.”
“Any other details you can remember?”
“Well, the point was kind of odd. It wasn’t pointed as with most knives;
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