The scent of coffee filled the kitchen. Moonshine and Duke appeared and went to the patio doors and sat stoically waiting until I came to let them out. Duke bounded out first, followed by Moonshine. Crazy cat preferred the outside to her litter box.
I whipped some eggs together for a scramble and cut up a zucchini and onion to go with them. The shower stopped. A few minutes later, I heard the hair dryer. I smiled to myself, pleased to think of her in my home doing normal, everyday activities.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and drank it at the island while perusing the morning news on my tablet. Nothing unusual on the national front, but when I turned to our local online paper, my mouth dropped open.
The headline read: Local Psychic Takes on Cold Case
Moonstone Phillips, the owner of the Peregrine Inn and self-proclaimed psychic, has come to the press in an attempt to find the family of a murder victim. The psychic, who goes simply by Moonstone, claims to have had a dream about the case and believes she has clues to what happened.
“I don’t know what any of it means but suspect that anyone familiar with the case would,” Moonstone said. “My dream told me the victim’s name was Elizabeth and that she was murdered thirty years ago somewhere nearby. I have other information but don’t want to share that in the paper until I can contact the family. My heart breaks for them, and I will do whatever I can to help. Thirty years is much too long to wait for answers.”
If anyone has any information about this case, please contact Moonstone directly at [email protected].
The article went on to describe Moonstone’s involvement in several other cases, including the recent murder of a local Peregrine woman.
Shocked, I stared at the screen without moving a muscle. What would Carlie think? Would she want to reach out to this Moonstone? The photograph that accompanied the article was of a robust woman with a handsome face and honest if not a bit intense eyes. My gut told me she was legitimate. The article said she’d helped the Lanigan family solve several cases involving their family. The Lanigan siblings were the heirs to Lanigan Trucking and well known around these parts for their charitable work. In addition, Moonstone was the owner of a business, not some grifter off the street. And anyway, what could she possibly want to gain by coming forward? She hadn’t asked for reward money or anything. Was it possible this woman really did know something that could help find the truth?
I’d heard about this kind of thing before. There were many incidents when the police force in various places had insisted a psychic helped them to solve murder or missing persons cases.
I jumped when my phone buzzed on the counter. The number wasn’t one I recognized. Usually, I’d let those types of calls go to voice mail, but something compelled me to answer.
“This is Cole,” I said.
“Cole?”
“Yes, that’s me. Cole Paisley. Who’s this?”
“My name’s Moonstone.”
Good God, was this really happening?
“I don’t want to alarm you, but I believe I have information about Beth’s murder. Does that name mean anything to you?”
“It does.” I swallowed, suddenly nauseous. “How did you get my number?”
“The numbers came to me in a dream last night. But now I’m not sure if I have the right one. In my dream, the number was associated with a different name. Luke, not Cole, so maybe I don’t have it right? Sometimes my wires get crossed, so to speak. Especially when it comes to math. I’m more of a bookish type.” She had an airy quality to her voice that reminded me of an artist I’d dated back in my twenties. She’d called herself Star and lived at Venice Beach. Not the same woman, obviously, but the same type. A free spirit. One who believed in astrology and psychics. Star, however, had never claimed to be a psychic. She had claimed she had healing powers and had opened a business with rocks or crystals. I couldn’t remember the exact details.
Moonstone’s next question brought me back to the present. “Do you know a Luke? Is this his phone by any chance?”
“I know a Luke. He’s my older brother.”
She let out a long, satisfied sigh that came over the line loud and clear. “Ah, great. I’m relieved, I have to say. I hate when I’m wrong. Who was Beth? Was she your sister?”
What Moonstone lacked in grace, she made up for in details.
“No. Beth was Luke’s girlfriend back when we were all in high school here in Logan Bend. Beth was murdered thirty years ago.”
“You’re in Logan Bend? How strange. I looked in the archives of the local papers and couldn’t find anything about the murder of an Elizabeth. Nothing. Like it never happened. That’s why I had to go to the papers.”
“There wasn’t anything in the archives?” That couldn’t be right. I knew there was at least one. The one that had driven us out of town. “I remember an article from the local paper at the time.”
“It’s been erased, then. Which makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”
“Does it?” Wonder what exactly?
“If there were people involved in a cover-up.” She said this as if it were obvious and I needed to pay attention.
I pressed my fingers into my forehead, hoping to stop the spinning. “Listen, Moonstone, we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves here. Beth has a sister and a mother. They’re both very interested in solving this murder.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Carlie’s a good friend of mine. I was with her the night it happened. The paper falsely accused Luke of being the murderer. He wasn’t. They had no evidence against him and he had a solid alibi. But whoever did this wrecked two families.”
“I certainly didn’t get that Luke was the murderer,” Moonstone said. “In fact, part of
