Dream Eyes

“Just wondered if you could see through the fog.”

“Sometimes I forget that you see things differently than I do. Don’t worry, I won’t blunder into a tree and brain myself.”

“That possibility never occurred to me.” She turned back around to study the scene. “I have to tell you that knowing that you’re almost positive you know what we’re doing here is not the most reassuring thing you could say under the circumstances. Remember, she’s got that old rifle.”

“I gave you the option of staying behind at the inn,” Judson reminded her.

She ignored that. “Maybe we should talk to Oxley first.”

“That won’t do any good.”

“Things could get awkward if you get caught.”

“I won’t get caught. But if I do, get on the phone to Dad.”

She almost smiled. “That sounds similar to the advice you gave Nick.”

“Because it’s the best advice under the circumstances.”

“Wow.” She snapped her fingers. “Must be nice to come from a family that can make every little problem go away.”

“The Coppersmiths can’t make every problem go away, but we’re pretty good when it comes to the annoying legal stuff.” He unfastened his seat belt and opened the door. “I won’t be long.”

“Forget it.” Gwen got out, too. “You’re not going in without backup, partner.”

He gave that a few seconds of consideration. Then he nodded once. Decision made.

“Okay,” he said.

“Glad we got that settled,” she said. She told herself that she was pleased that he seemed to be treating her as an equal partner in the investigation.

“All things considered, I’d rather have you where I can keep an eye on you,” Judson added.

So much for the partnership, she thought.

“You do need me, Judson Coppersmith,” she said. “I’m the one who knows this town and the people in it. Without me, you wouldn’t have a clue where to start investigating. What’s more, I’m in charge here. I’m the one paying the bills, remember?”

“Paying the bills doesn’t mean you’re in charge. It makes you the client.”

“Semantics.”

They wove a path through the trees to the narrow strip of paved parking area behind the shop. Gwen waited for Judson to crack the old lock. To her surprise, he knocked on the door instead. The sharp rap of his knuckles on wood gave her a start. But she was even more astonished when he wrapped his hand around the knob and opened the door.

“We know you’re in there, Nicole,” he said calmly.

Gwen glanced at him, startled. It was certainly news to her.

“Uh, Judson, I’m not so sure a confrontation would be wise.”

She stopped talking when she heard reluctant footsteps on the other side of the door.

Nicole appeared in the opening. She was dressed in faded jeans, a long-sleeved denim shirt and a light down vest. Her hair was scraped back in a ponytail.

“I should have known you’d figure out that I was the one who left the photo under Gwen’s door,” Nicole said. Her mouth twisted in a humorless smile. “You’re both psychic, after all. Me, I’m just a fool who was dumb enough to fall for one of your kind. Don’t worry, I learned my lesson.”

A chill whispered through Gwen. She remembered something Evelyn had said once, long ago. The risk in proving to others that the paranormal is real is that there will be those who will view people of talent not only as different but also as dangerous. And what people fear, they try to control, isolate or even destroy. Remember the Salem witch trials.

“Zander Taylor was not one of our kind,” Gwen said quietly. “He was a monster.”

“No shit,” Nicole said. “I finally figured that out for myself yesterday.”

“It’s time to talk,” Judson said.

“Yeah, sure.” Nicole turned on her heel and walked away into the shadows. “Guess it doesn’t matter much anymore.”

Judson moved through the doorway. Gwen knew from the shiver of energy in the atmosphere that he had kicked up his talent. She followed him into the back room of the shop. A dark, earthy perfume of freshly cut flowers, potted plants and decaying foliage assailed her senses.

Rows of decorative vases lined the shelves of the back room. Dried floral materials stood in large metal containers. A glass-fronted refrigerator hummed quietly in one corner. Several pairs of gardening shears and an assortment of other tools were neatly arranged on a nearby workbench.

Nicole went into the front of the shop. Large pots filled with chrysanthemums, orchids, daisies and lilies loomed in the shadows. Baskets of herbs and flowering plants hung from the ceiling.

Nicole moved behind the counter and opened the door of a small office. She flipped a light switch on the wall, illuminating the interior.

Gwen looked at the photos that covered the walls and shuddered. Trisha Montgomery’s description was right. The small space was a shrine to Zander Taylor.

There was a large floral calendar tacked over the desk. The month of August was illustrated with a scenic shot of Oregon wildflowers. There were neatly written notes in several of the squares around various dates. Carter wedding. Feed dogs. Order new vases for inn. But aside from that single, cheerful exception, every inch of wall space was covered with photographs of Zander Taylor.

The pictures were various sizes. In most of the images, Taylor posed for the camera alone, smiling his charming psychopath’s smile. Nicole was with him in a few of the shots, leaning into him, her arm wrapped around his waist, looking happy and thrilled to be in love.

But the Zander Taylor shrine had been vandalized. Each of the pictures had been savagely sliced, not once but over and over again. A pair of sharp gardening shears lay on the desk. The only untouched image in the room was the calendar illustration.

“People tell me I should move on,” Nicole said. “They say I need to get past losing Zander.” She studied one of the ripped photos. “But I can’t seem to do that. For two years, every time I walked into this room it was like I had just lost him yesterday. I was okay with that.”

“You didn’t want to be free of him,” Gwen said gently.

“No.” Nicole’s smile was bitter. “But now that I know the truth about him, I want to escape more than anything else in the world. That’s not going to be possible.”

“Why did you leave the photo under Gwen’s door this morning?” Judson asked.

“I wanted to warn her.” Nicole hugged herself and looked at Gwen. “Figured it was the least I could do after all the things I’ve said to you and about you, all the accusations I made. I felt bad about taking that shot at you, too.”

“You’re the one?” Gwen asked.

“I wasn’t trying to hit you. I just wanted to scare you, make you leave Wilby.”

“What were you trying to warn me about when you left that picture under my door this morning?” Gwen asked.

Nicole surveyed the pictures. “It’s Zander. He’s come back, you see. And now he’s going to kill all of us. But I’m pretty sure he’ll take you out first.”

Judson watched her intently. “Zander Taylor is dead. They found his body in the river two years ago.”

“You were one of the people who identified him,” Gwen said.

Nicole shook her head. “He was a very powerful psychic. He could fool anyone. I wouldn’t put it past him to fake his own death. I’m telling you, he has come back to take his revenge and then he’ll complete his mission.”

“What mission?” Judson asked.

“Two years ago, he told me he was some kind of undercover investigator. He said that because he was the real deal—a genuine psychic—the FBI had hired him to hunt down and expose the frauds and fakes and scam artists who pretended to be psychic. He said criminals like that took advantage of the elderly and folks who were in mourning. He said every year the con artists stole millions and got away with it because there was no one who