It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Murder (Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. Book 5.5), page 37
It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Murder
Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I., Book 5.5
Kelly Hashway
Copyright © 2019 Kelly Hashway
All rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual places or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, or recorded without written permission from the author.
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The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks mentioned in this book. Trademarks are not sponsored or endorsed by the trademark owners.
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Cover design ©Red Umbrella Graphic Designs
To Ayla with love
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Epilogue
Also by USA Today Bestselling Author Kelly Hashway
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter One
The holidays bring two things I don’t like: crowds and gift-giving. In an attempt to avoid both, I’m spending the Christmas weekend at a ski resort, locked inside my room. Ever since I opened my P.I. business, I’ve been a workaholic, but I’m taking two whole days off on an actual vacation outside of my apartment. Alone. Just me. Piper Ashwell. Admittedly, I already miss my adorable golden retriever, Jezebel, who is staying with my parents and their dog, Max. I adopted her after her former owner was killed on a case I was investigating, and she and I instantly formed a bond. She’s great therapy when I’m having psychic visions, which tends to be more often than I’d like. Being a psychometrist, I read the energy off objects. That makes touching people and things very uncomfortable for me. Hence, I’m at a ski resort when I don’t ski.
My plan is to stay in my room, order room service, and read for three nights and two glorious days. Peace and quiet, it’s my Christmas gift to myself, and the best gift I’ve ever received if I’m being honest.
As if he knows I’m enjoying myself, Mitchell Brennan, lead detective for the Weltunkin PD and my partner more often than not, calls my phone. Mitchell and I have always had a rocky relationship, but after he kissed me on a previous case in an attempt to shock me out of hysterics, he had the nerve to tell me he has feelings for me. As if either one of us is cut out to be in a relationship. I groan as a means of answering the call.
“You know, you’re really inflating my ego with how excited you always are when I call you, Piper,” Mitchell says.
“Please. Your ego couldn’t get any more inflated.” I flop down onto the hotel bed. “What do you want?”
“I’m just checking to make sure you got there all right. I’m still surprised you left the state.”
Mitchell is no stranger to my quirks. I don’t vacation. I don’t go places where there are tons of people. And I don’t like to drive long distances since I could easily have a vision behind the wheel and cause an accident. But I didn’t drive here. I took a car and paid the driver extra not to talk to me.
“As you can hear, I’m fine.” I grab a pillow and prop it up behind me on the bed.
“What’s the place like?” he asks. There’s noise in the background, making me think Mitchell just turned on the television.
“I don’t know. I came straight to my room upon arrival, and I plan to stay here until checkout on Monday morning.”
“You’re in upstate New York at a ski resort, and you’re staying in your room. Only you.” There’s not even a trace of question in his tone because he knows me so well, and I can practically see him shaking his head on the other end of the line.
“It’s my gift to myself.”
“Did you forget to pay your cable bill?” Mitchell asks.
I’ve never been sure why I pay for something I don’t use. The only one who watches my TV is Mitchell. Wait… I bolt upright in the bed. “Are you at my apartment?” I practically scream into the phone.
“I’m just checking on the place.”
“Mitchell, I’ve been gone for precisely two and a half hours.”
“Exactly. The place easily could have burned down in that time if you’d left the stove on.”
“I don’t cook, and you know it!” I rub my forehead with my index finger and thumb. The man is unbelievable.
“Not to worry. I fixed your TV. You just had a loose wire in the back.”
“I’m so relieved.” I roll my eyes and lean back on the pillow again. Mitchell can be infuriating. “Feel free to leave now.”
“Why? You’re not even here, and this way, no one will know you’re away for the weekend.”
I wish he had the same concern for his own condo, which sits empty all the time considering he’s always at work or at my place.
“Bet you’re glad I have a key now,” he adds.
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“Oh, before I forget, I had your Christmas gift delivered to the resort. You’ll need to sign for it at the front desk.”
I finally lower my hand from my forehead. “Why did you get me a gift?”
“Relax. It’s basically a care package. I doubt the hotel has your precious toasted almond coffee, and I know they don’t have Marcia’s pastries.”
Marcia’s Nook is my favorite bookstore and café, and not just because I love the food and selection of books. Marcia happens to be one of my only friends. Marcia’s Nook is also conveniently located exactly twenty-three steps from my P.I. office.
“Did you include that new mystery I’ve been meaning to get?” I ask.
“Why? Are you debating whether or not it’s worth the trip down to the lobby where there are”—he pauses, being his typical dramatic self—“people?”
“Yes or no?” I ask.
“Yes. I’d think you’d know me well enough by now to not have to ask.”
I’ve tried hard not to get to know Mitchell since we first started working together, but he weaseled his way into my life to the point where even I can’t deny he’s my friend. Why did he have to complicate things by telling me he has feelings for me? He says he’s okay with just being friends, but things are still a little awkward between us. “Thanks,” I say.
“Merry Christmas, Piper.”
“Bah humbug.”
“You can say that, but your dad already told me you gave him several wrapped presents to put under his tree for Jez, so I know you’re not totally against the holiday.”
“Jez is a good girl. I wish I could have brought her with me.”
“Just try to stay out of trouble. And don’t forget to pick up your package.”
“They haven’t even called the room to tell me it’s there yet,” I say.
As if on cue, the room phone rings.
“Go get it,” Mitchell says before hanging up.
I put down my phone and reach for the white hotel phone on the nightstand. “Hello?”
“Ms. Ashwell?” a male voice says.
“Yes?”
“A package just arrived for you. We’re holding it at the front desk.”
“Thank you. I’ll be right down.” I hang up, grab my room key from the dresser, and head downstairs. I’m hoping if I get this over with quickly, I can be back in my room and reading in under ten minutes.
The lobby is full of skiers. I’m actually surprised this many people go away for Christmas. What happened to visiting relatives? I walk up to the front desk, where a man, presumably the one I spoke with on the phone, greets me.
“Can I help you?” he asks.
“Yes, I’m Piper Ashwell. You said a package was delivered for me.”
He grabs a box from behind the desk. “I just need you to sign this form confirming you picked it up.” He slides a form across the desk to me along with a black pen.
I scribble my name quickly and grab the box, wanting to avoid the crowd that seems to be increasing by the second.
“Excuse me. Excuse me,” a woman in a Mrs. Claus costume says as she pushes through people to get to the desk. “My husband is missing.”
“Your husband?” the man behind the desk—Troy, according to the name embroidered on his shirt—asks.
“Yes, he’s supposed to be playing Santa.” The woman motions behind her to a Christmas display. “He didn’t show up. I called his phone, checked our room, and had someone search the bathrooms. He’s nowhere to be found.” She’s breathing rapidly and grabs the corner of the desk for support.
“Maybe he stepped outside for some fresh air,” Troy suggests.
“I’ve checked the entire parking lot,” Mrs. Claus says. “I don’t want to worry these kids, but I’m scared. Jordan wouldn’t just take off like this. He loves playing Santa, and he’d never disappoint a resort full of children. He just wouldn’t.”
“When did you last see him?” Troy asks.
“He said he was going for a few runs down the slopes and he’d meet me here an hour ago.” Mrs. Claus is ringing her hands together and frantically looking around the lobby as if her husband will magically appear in his Santa suit.
From my left, I hear a woman practically squeal. “That’s her! I know it is!”
T
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she says, holding up her hands in front of her. “I should have known better. It’s just that I’m a huge fan.”
“I think you have me mistaken for someone else,” I say, wanting to make a quick dash for the elevator.
“No.” She shakes her head, looking like a deranged bobblehead doll. “You’re that psychic. The one who helps the police.”
How? How is it possible that I travel to a different state and someone recognizes me? I earned a name for myself when I was twelve years old and my psychic abilities first surfaced during the kidnapping of Belinda Maxwell, beloved child actress. But that was sixteen years ago. People have long forgotten who I am, and they certainly wouldn’t recognize me now.
“I’m sorry. I should explain that my husband and I are from Weltunkin. We’ve heard all about the missing persons cases you’ve solved.”
Of course, they are. This is just my luck that someone from my hometown would also be staying at this resort. “I see.”
“Then it really is you,” her husband says.
Mrs. Claus moves toward me. “You’re a detective?”
“I’m a private investigator, but I—”
“You have to help me find my husband.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t. I’m on vacation. You should call the police and file a missing persons report.”
“No one wants to listen to me,” Mrs. Claus says, tears forming in her eyes. “No one believes he’s really missing. What if something happened to him? What if he’s…?” She chokes on a sob.
Troy, the concierge, looks at me. “Should I call the police?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Fine. Call them,” Mrs. Claus says. “But please…” She reaches for me, and I take a step back, holding the package from Mitchell between us. “I need your help.”
“She can find him,” the woman from Weltunkin assures her. “She’s amazingly talented.”
Suddenly, I’ve become the center of attention, and I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. Damn Mitchell for making me come down here for this package. I’m not sure the contents of this box are worth the trouble this is causing me.
I was so close to the perfect weekend getaway. So close. And now here I am with a missing persons case on my hands.
Chapter Two
The lobby is now full of people, including a huge crowd of kids waiting to see Santa Claus. I don’t have any choice. I know when this woman calls the police, they aren’t going to do anything considering it’s snowing like crazy outside and one hour isn’t really a long time to be missing.
“All right,” I say, turning to Troy. “Make an announcement that Santa is late due to the snowstorm or something so the kids don’t panic.”
He nods and immediately heads over to the group of people waiting in line for Santa.
I let out a deep breath before addressing Mrs. Claus. “I’m going to bring this to my room.” I raise the box slightly. “I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes, and you can fill me in on everything.”
“Thank you.” She places her hands on top of mine on the sides of the box, and I don’t have time to react before the vision hits me.
“Don’t be late, Jordan. You always do this to me, and I have to deal with the crying children,” Mrs. Claus says, adjusting her gray wig in front of the hotel room mirror.
“Don’t boss me around, Jenna. You wouldn’t even have these gigs without me.” He storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
I don’t know this woman at all, so I’m not sure revealing that I know she fought with her husband the last time she saw him is wise. I step back and head for my room. Just as I’m opening the door, my phone rings in my pocket.
I roll my eyes when I see Mitchell’s name on the screen. “Seriously? I’m going to have to turn my phone off if you’re planning to call every twenty minutes.”
“I’m just making sure you got the package,” he says.
I place the package on the bed. “Yeah, I got it, and thanks to you, I’m now working a potential missing persons case.”
“What? How is that possible?” He makes a strange hissing sound like he’s in pain. “Brain freeze!”
“Are you eating my mint chocolate chip ice cream?” I ask.
“I’ll buy you more.”
“Why are you still at my apartment? Go home, Mitchell.”
“My place is so boring, and your couch is much more comfortable than mine. Enough about that, though. What’s the case?”
I rub my forehead with my thumb and forefinger. “Mrs. Claus can’t find her Santa. He’s only been missing for an hour, but she approached the concierge to report him missing.”
“What are your immediate thoughts?” Mitchell asks.
“Well, at first I thought this guy must be off skiing or something and lost track of time, but then Mrs. Claus touched my hand.”
“You read her.” Mitchell shuffles on the other end of the line, and I know he’s getting comfortable on my couch. “Okay, what did you see?”
“She argued with her husband right before he left to go skiing. He stormed out of their room.”
“Do you think she did something to him?” Mitchell asks.
“Maybe, but why would she ask me to find him if she’s guilty of something? That part doesn’t make sense.”
“Sometimes criminals like to try to throw off the police by reporting the crime themselves. They think it makes them look innocent because who in their right mind would go to the authorities with a crime they committed, right?” His spoon clinks against the bowl, indicating he’s finished eating my ice cream.
I pull the beige curtain aside and look out the window at the snowstorm. “I guess I’ll find out soon enough. She’s not a large woman, though, and her husband was considerably bigger than she is.”
“Size means nothing when you poison someone’s hot chocolate,” Mitchell says and laughs.
“You think she poisoned his hot chocolate?” I let the curtain fall back into place.
“Maybe.” He laughs again, and I know what he’s going to do.
“No. Mitchell, don’t even think about—”
“It’s beginning to look a lot like murder,” he sings as if that’s how the popular Christmas carol really goes.
“Good grief. How about your Christmas present to me is that you stop with the awful twists on sayings?”
“Technically, that was a song, not a saying,” he says.
“It’s no better.” I glance at the time on the phone screen. “I have to go. I’m supposed to meet Mrs. Claus in the lobby.”
“You want me to drive there and help with the case?” he asks.
“You have no jurisdiction here, Detective. And besides, we’re in the middle of a snowstorm.” I leave the room and head back downstairs.
“All right. Call me if you want to hash out any details of the case. You know where I’ll be.”
Yeah, on my couch. “Unfortunately, I do.” I end the call as the elevator arrives at the lobby.
Mrs. Claus is back in her regular clothes, which consist of tight black skinny jeans and a red sweater. She rushes over to me the second she sees me. “There you are. I was getting worried you’d changed your mind. I called the police, but they said with this storm and the fact that my husband hasn’t been gone for long, coming out here right now isn’t a priority.”
That’s exactly what I knew they’d say. “Can we go to your room?” I ask. “That’s the last place you saw him, correct?” When she gives me a strange look, I add, “I’m assuming.” I don’t want to confess I read her. Not yet. If Mitchell is right, and this woman did do something to her husband, I can’t let on that I suspect anything. Otherwise, she’ll never let me poke around in their room.
“Yes, I was getting ready for the pictures with Santa and Mrs. Claus when he left to ski for a bit.”
