First Touch Read online

  “It’s been three days,” Mr. Craigwell said, tears welling in his eyes. “You have no leads. If it were your daughter, wouldn’t you try everything?” His big shoulders convulsed.

  The detective looked at me and then back at Mr. Craigwell. I knew he hated what he believed I represented, but he wasn’t immune to the father’s suffering.

  “Okay, Miss Rain,” Detective Martin said, turning to me, his voice gruff and angry. “What do you need?”

  “How did she go missing?” I said. “I mean, were there any physical objects present? If she was taken from her home or school, I might be able to pick up imprints there.”

  The father was shaking his head before I’d finished speaking. “No, it was her birthday. We gave her a new bicycle and she was so excited that she left the party and went for a ride around the block. My wife told her to wait, that she had guests, but she wouldn’t listen.” He rubbed a tear from his cheek. “Can’t blame her. She’s been wanting this bike for a while. And she was only going around the block. But she didn’t come back.” His face crumpled and he started to sob.

  Detective Martin and I stood there helplessly staring at each other and Mr. Craigwell. Finally, the detective moved toward him, placing a hand on the larger man’s back.

  The touch seemed to ground Mr. Craigwell, and with a deep gasp, he reined in his emotion. “They found the bicycle, but not her.”

  “Did you say bicycle?” said another voice.

  We all turned to see Jake, coming from the double doors that joined my store with his Herb Shoppe. We covered for each other on slow days and shared two part-time employees, both of whom were over on his side now. Monday afternoons were always slow for me.

  I wondered how long he’d been listening. His dark face was framed by even darker dreadlocks, or locs, rather, barely thicker than pencils. He looked both strong and sympathetic. I met him around the counter near the other men, where his arm brushed mine, letting me know he had my back.

  “Mr. Craigwell’s daughter is missing,” I explained. “They found her bicycle.”

  Jake nodded. “I heard about it on the news. I’m so sorry, Mr. Craigwell.”

  “Thank you,” Mr. Craigwell said. To Detective Martin, he added, “Can we show her the bike?”

  The detective sent a searing stare in my direction. “All right.”

  The reply took too long for politeness, and what he really meant was “If we must.” I wondered why he didn’t outright refuse, if he thought I was such a fraud.

  “I’ll pay you whatever you ask,” Mr. Craigwell said. “More if you come right now.”

  “Autumn never charges to help people,” Jake told Mr. Craigwell, “though I encourage those who are satisfied to buy an antique.”

  “Of course you do.” Detective Martin’s smirk was all knowing.

  Jake took a step toward the detective, the muscles in his chest straining against his snug T-shirt. “Look, do you have a problem? From what I can see, you’re the one who walked into this store asking for help, not the other way around.”

  Detective Martin’s hand lifted to his side, where I suspected he kept a gun beneath his blazer. “Take it easy.”

  I put a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “The detective is just doing his job.” I went back behind the counter and grabbed my bag, and also my jacket because it was chilly, even for the middle of May. “Jake, if you’ll keep an eye on my store?” Regular customers knew they could come in through Jake’s shop when mine wasn’t open, and new customers could read the sign.

  “Maybe I should come with you.” Jake was still glaring at the detective.

  “I’ll be all right.” Reading imprints hadn’t hurt me yet, though when negative ones were strong, I felt exhausted afterwards.

  “We’ll have her back within the hour,” Detective Martin said.

  “You’re right, I’m sure.” I gave the detective my best smile, which seemed to deflate him a little. I couldn’t help adding, “I appreciate your confidence.”

  His face flushed and he looked ready to tell me exactly where I could stick his confidence, when Mr. Craigwell spoke. “Thank you, Miss Rain. You don’t know what this means to me.”

  I met the man’s gaze. “I just hope I’m able to help.”

  He nodded as we walked out the door together. Jake locked the door behind us, concern on his face. He’d been my best friend even before Winter died, and if he didn’t treat me like a little sister, I would have told him by now how I felt about him.

  “You come with me, Miss Rain,” Detective Martin said. “Mr. Craigwell will follow us in his car.”

  “Sure.” I guess he didn’t want me filling Mr. Craigwell’s head with nonsense or hitting him up to buy my antiques.

  Mr. Craigwell headed for the gray compact sedan next to the curb, while the detective led the way to an unmarked white Mustang. I wondered if he’d put me in the back like a suspect, but he reached for the front passenger door of his vehicle.

  And stopped, staring at the ground.

  I followed his gaze, only to find him staring at my bare feet that poked out from the bottom of my broomstick dress.

  “Did you forget something?” he asked.

  “No.”

  His gaze lifted to mine, and for the first time I saw the hint of a smile. “You sure about that?”

  “I’m sure.” I wasn’t about to justify my lifestyle choice to him. I hadn’t worn shoes for most of my thirty-two years, and wasn’t going to begin making exceptions now.

  “Okay.” He opened the door and let me inside.

  He waited until we were in traffic to say, “I don’t want you upsetting Mr. Craigwell. When we get there, do your thing, but please don’t lead him on.”

  I wanted to choke the man. “I’m not in the habit of leading anyone on.”

  “I mean it.” He took a hand from the steering wheel and pulled a wallet from his inner blazer pocket. Opening the wallet on his leg, he pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and extended it to me. “I’ll give you another hundred once you tell him you didn’t find anything.”

  “And if I do find something?”

  He snorted. “Right.”

  I took the bill.

  As he gave me another of his smirks, I pushed the button to crack my window and let the bill slip through the opening.

  He cursed and slammed on his brakes. “Are you crazy?”

  “You apparently think so.”

  He pulled over and glanced back, as if debating whether or not to go after the bill, which had been run over by several cars before being caught in the wind and vanishing. Too bad because I really did need the money.

  He leaned toward me menacingly. “I know your kind, those who prey upon people in need. I swear, I’ll put you in jail before I let you take advantage of the Craigwells. You should take the remaining hundred while you still can. Maybe you can get yourself some shoes.”

  “You’ll have to put me in jail to silence me,” I retorted. “If you have nothing to hide, you shouldn’t be telling me what to say. Nobody tells me what to say.”

  “Are you implying that I’m a crooked cop?” His flushed expression was almost comical.

  “Hey, you’re the one trying to bribe me. If there isn’t an imprint on the bicycle. I’ll tell him so. And if there’s one. I’ll tell him that too.”

  We sat there, gazes locked in a contest of wills that was strangely exhilarating. At least for me. For his part, he was probably thinking of ways to strangle me and toss my body into the Willamette River. Or at least into jail.

  I bit my bottom lip, and his eyes dipped, following the motion. No way that could mean what it usually meant when a man looked at me that way. The tension between us increased until I gestured toward the road.

  “Well, are we going or not? I’m sure Mr. Craigwell is wondering what happened.”

  Detective Martin glanced out the back window, noting Mr. Craigwell’s car. “Fine.” He pulled into traffic.

  At least I’d get a chance to help little Al
ice. I only hoped we weren’t too late.

  Chapter 2

  We rode in silence until I noticed we were approaching the Morrison Bridge. My hands grew moist and my breathing came more rapidly. I knew there were several precincts, and it was just my luck that he was heading to the central one in downtown Portland on the other side of the river.

  I still couldn’t cross overwater bridges without remembering how it felt being trapped in my car as it plunged into the cold, dark expanse of the Willamette. In fact, I went out of my way not to cross any bridge. It was unavoidable at times, but I could usually prepare myself for it, and even last week, I’d gone downtown with Tawnia after only a few relaxing cups of herbal tea.

  I clenched my fists tightly in my lap.

  “Are you okay?” Detective Martin’s voice had lost its venom.

  I nodded, not trusting my voice.

  “Oh yeah? Because you don’t look okay. Are you having one of your psychic episodes?”

  “Just keep your eyes on the road,” I snapped.

  We were on the bridge now. I kept my gaze locked in front of me, staring at his dashboard and a little slice of sky beyond that. My panic was getting better with every bridge I crossed, so I should thank this arrogant detective for nudging me onto the path of recovery.

  “You aren’t on something, are you?”

  Heat washed over my scalp in a hot flash. “Just shut up until we cross the bridge!” I practically screamed.

  He blinked and studied the bridge. He didn’t speak for at least a minute and then, “That’s right. You were on the Hawthorne when it collapsed. I’m sorry.”

  I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. And I didn’t care what he thought. As Jake said, it was mind over emotion. I simply needed to concentrate.

  I focused on breathing slowly and steadily. My hands relaxed, my heartbeat slowed, and my face cooled. I was in control again. Still, I was glad the detective didn’t talk until we reached the precinct.

  “Okay, Miss Rain, let’s just keep this simple,” he said.

  At least he didn’t offer me another hundred-dollar bill.

  Inside, we passed the front reception area, went down a hall, and entered a room full of desks, only half of which were currently occupied by uniformed policemen. We were met by a trim, balding, fifty-something man in a tan suit.

  “Hey, Shannon, where you been? You look like something the cat dragged in.”

  I took a closer look at Detective Martin. Maybe his eyes were a bit bloodshot, but if this was how he looked on a bad day, no wonder he was so confident.

  “Miss Rain, this is my partner, Detective Adam Roscoe. Adam, this is the psychic Mr. Craigwell wanted us to bring in.”

  Detective Roscoe’s brows shot up. “Oh, I see.” He jerked a nod at me. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” I said, meaning it every bit as much as he did, which was to say not at all. “But I am not a psychic. It’s really more of an ability.”

  Detective Martin pointed to a chair. “Why don’t you sit by that desk over there while I get this set up? Please don’t touch anything.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” I sat in the chair. The desk had to be his, though there weren’t any family pictures.

  The men withdrew a couple of feet and began talking in low, urgent voices. Several of the other officers at their desks watched them with interest, glancing over at me periodically, so I knew they had to be arguing over me. Patience was never my virtue, so I stood and approached them.

  “I get that you want to help the family,” Roscoe was saying. “But a psychic? You seriously had to go there? A month until I retire. I don’t want to go out on a crazy note. What were you thinking?”

  “I cleared it with the chief. She wants the Craigwells to feel we’ve pursued every avenue.”

  “Even if it’s crap? Jeeze, Shannon. Well, you’ll have to do this alone. I’m in the middle of something.”

  “Did you find a lead?” Detective Martin looked suddenly eager.

  “Naw, you were right. The witness didn’t pan out. He identified a neighbor’s child, not Alice Craigwell.”

  “Too bad.”

  I had the sense Detective Martin would have preferred being wrong if it meant bringing Alice home.

  “By middle of something, I meant I’m going down to the riverbank with the cadaver dogs.”

  Detective Martin raked a hand through his hair. “Okay, great, but can you do me a favor first? Mr. Craigwell is probably waiting at the front desk. Can you stay with him or find someone to stay with him until Miss Rain and I look at the bicycle? And don’t tell him about the dogs.”

  “Sure, okay.” Roscoe slapped him on the back. “But do you really want to do this? At least we could pass her off to Elvey or one of the rookies. Distance yourself a little.”

  “No, I’ll do it.”

  “He means he wants to make sure I don’t defraud Mr. Craigwell,” I said.

  The men’s heads whipped toward me, their expressions darkening. “I told you to wait at the desk,” Detective Martin said.

  “I couldn’t hear you talk about me over there.” I gave him a mocking smile. “Look, I have a business to run. Can we get to this?”

  Roscoe laughed and gave me a cheery salute as he backed away. “Yes, ma’am.” To Detective Martin he added, “See you later at the river. Or maybe you should think about getting some sleep.”

  “I slept last night.”

  “Two hours on the breakroom couch doesn’t count.”

  Ignoring his partner as he left the room with this parting shot, Detective Martin pulled out his phone and pressed a few buttons before bringing it to his ear. “This is Shannon. I need to get the bicycle from the Alice Craigwell case. Can you have it ready for me? I’ll be right there.”

  He hung up and strode past me to his desk, picking up a manila folder. I hurried after him. As he tucked the folder under his arm, a pen fell out, and instinctively, I bent to pick it up. My fingers touched the pen, and an imprint flashed into my thoughts.

  I tapped the pen against my desk as I went over a stack of notes. Pausing, I picked up the picture of little Alice, her white flyaway hair adding a sense of mischief to the bright smile. I had to find her. I couldn’t stand to look one more time into her mother’s face and tell her I still had no new leads. That I had nothing except the cold fact that her daughter was probably dead.

  Before I could experience more, Detective Martin slipped the pen from my grasp. “Thanks,” he said, holding it up between us.

  I rose to my feet as he did, but I felt disoriented with the partial imprint. I put my hand out to steady myself on the desk before stopping short. Who knew how many criminals had touched that piece of wood?

  “You okay?”

  I wish he’d stop asking. “Got up too fast, that’s all.”

  His eyes went past me, furrows lining his forehead. “Oh, great,” he muttered half under his breath.

  I turned to see Mr. Craigwell with a short, red-headed officer, who looked barely out of his teens. We waited until they reached us.

  “Roscoe asked me to bring Mr. Craigwell back to wait at my desk,” the officer said, his grin disturbing the many freckles on his face. “But he says he’s supposed to interview someone with you?”

  Detective Martin frowned. “Mr. Craigwell, I think it’s better that you wait here with Officer Elvey while Miss Rain looks over the evidence.”

  Mr. Craigwell shook his head. “I want to be there.”

  “We’ll let you know what happens.”

  Ignoring the detective, Mr. Craigwell gazed at me, his eyes pleading. “I have to be there, you see that, right? She’s my baby. I have to know. Please.”

  I didn’t care if he was in the room, because the imprint would either be there or not, regardless of his presence, but the set of the detective’s jaw told me it wasn’t open for discussion.

  “I know this is horrible for you,” I said to Mr. Craigwell. “But the detective is right. I should look at it alone so I
can concentrate. But maybe they have a room where you can observe from the outside?” I glanced at Detective Martin as I said this.

  He considered for a long moment before nodding. “Peirce,” he said to the red-haired officer, “can you stay with Mr. Craigwell for ten minutes and then bring him down? We won’t start until you let us know you’re there.”

  “Sure thing.” The young officer’s hand shot out to mine, his grin still wide. “I’m Peirce Elvey, by the way, since we haven’t been formally introduced.”

  “Autumn Rain,” I said.

  “It’s a pleasure, Ms. Rain.”

  His grin was catching. “Just call me Autumn. Ms. is what I call the octogenarian on the second floor of my apartment building.”

  He chuckled. “Will do. And you can call me Peirce, if you want.”

  I did want. He was a lot nicer than anyone I’d met so far at the precinct.

  “Why not let the father come with us now?” I asked Detective Martin as we left Peirce offering Mr. Craigwell something to drink.

  We exited the room and started down a wide hallway. “I still have to grab the evidence. Plus, I wanted to talk to you alone first.”

  This was getting ridiculous. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to lead him on. What do I have to say to make you believe me?”

  “It’s not that.” He stopped in the hallway and waited for another officer to pass us before he continued. “It was nice of you to back me up about not letting him in the room.”

  I put my hands on my hips and met his earnest gaze. “Look, detective, I don’t care if he’s in the room. It won’t change the imprints. The only reason I said that was to spare his feelings for you, because he has no choice about trusting you with his daughter’s life, and I didn’t want to make this more complicated. You came to me, even if you don’t believe in what I do. That tells me you care about his family, and that you’re willing to explore every avenue available to you. That’s the only reason I said what I did. Because I feel like you made me lie. And I hate lying.”

  “Do you now?” He studied me, those brilliant eyes seeming to touch every part of my face. If I didn’t know how much he hated me—because of what I did—I’d think he was checking me out.