A Run for the Mystic: Shady Grove Psychic Mystery, #8

PROLOGUE

The night started completely normal, at least by Shady Grove’s standards. Saturday was my regular closing shift at the antique store, which stayed pleasantly busy most of the day. My boss, Olive, and I had been happily chatting about my plans to visit the racetrack with my boyfriend tomorrow while unloading boxes donated by a local resident. When Olive discovered I didn’t know what to wear, she’d volunteered to lend me an outfit.

After Olive left to find me a dress, I’d found a mysteriously glowing necklace. Although I’d learned about my psychic powers almost a year and a half ago, I’d never seen anything like this. Magical jewelry was the last thing I expected to find sorting donations from a regular family.

If it hadn’t been shining with a pearly white light, the necklace would have been downright uninteresting. A simple string of white seashells, woven together by strands of thick black thread. It didn’t look expensive. A regular person would have chucked it into the costume jewelry, never to be seen again.

But I couldn’t do that. Not when the necklace called to me so strongly. My mom had long stressed the importance of using my psychic powers to help people, and this necklace wanted to share its knowledge.

First, I needed to verify that it wasn’t dangerous. I called Olive, my voice quiet and shaky. I tried again, louder.

Aly? What’s wrong? She re-entered carrying a pink dress with matching jacket on a hanger and holding a feathered hat. What’s in that box, a snake?

When I spoke, my voice came out hushed, as if speaking too loudly would anger the mystical item. That’s why I called you. I have no idea.

She peeked inside the box. It’s just a necklace. Did it give you a vision?

I’m afraid to pick it up. I was hoping you’d know why it’s glowing and what it means.

It probably wants you to wear it.

Yeah, no. I don’t think so, I said.

You’ve never been injured during a vision, have you? Olive asked.

There’s a first time for everything.

True, but I think you’re safe.

I took a deep breath. Do you see what I’m seeing?

I see a puka shell necklace. I don’t know why it’s here. These things aren’t valuable. It’s sitting on top of some folded clothes.

Is that it?

She turned her head back and forth, her eyes glued to the interior of the box. Out the corner of my eye, it glows, but not when I look directly.

Can you tell me who owns it?

My boss’s antique store did well because she had a psychic ability to know who truly owned an item. People were always happy with their purchases. I expected her to reach for the necklace, but she didn’t.

Sure. Tripp wore this necklace every day in high school. They were extremely popular. Everyone had them.

Are you absolutely positive this was his?

You know, identifying a twenty-year-old necklace without magic is actually more impressive, Olive grumbled, reaching into the box. But yes, this belongs to Tripp.

Do you get anything else from it?

Nothing that should stop you from trying it on. It’s asking for you.

I held out my hands. Okay, then. Lay it on me.

Olive placed the necklace over my head. As it settled into place, she vanished.

I stood on the doorstep of a large Victorian house. Three college guys welcomed me from the doorway.

It’s okay, man, said someone next to me. Be cool.

Until he spoke, I hadn’t noticed this guy. He was shorter than me and muscular, with sun-streaked blonde hair and a dark tan. Everyone looked around my age.

Clenching my jaw, I nodded. Let’s get a drink.

Inside, a party raged. Music blared from a dimly lit room to the left of the front hallway. Dancing students filled the space. Across the hall, a pretty girl with long blonde curls and blue eyes glared at two girls nearby. One of them, a pale-faced brunette, looked oddly familiar. The other held a trophy or something, but I didn’t get a good look. When the first girl saw me watching, she said something to her friends. They fled through a doorway behind them.

My friend led me through away from the girls, using what looked like a fencing sword to create a path through the crowd. When we reached the kitchen, someone put a drink in my hand. It tasted sweet, something sugary masking the taste of cheap gin. I hated cheap gin, but anything to dull the pain. I downed half of it in one gulp.

Everything blurred. When my vision became clear again, I stood in a different room.

Now I held another drink, this one full. With interest, I noted my tanned hands, several shades darker than my usual complexion. The hands were bigger than mine. On my left wrist, I wore a bracelet matching the puka shell necklace and my right hand had a big class ring with a giant K on the top.

Tripp Kavanaugh.

People packed into this room, dancing to music so loud, conversation was impossible. In the low lights, I struggled to navigate without walking into people. My stomach churned. Sword Guy had vanished, but the blonde from before stood near the staircases, looking around like she was waiting for someone. A clock on the wall read just after midnight.

I approached her and smiled. My voice was low, deep. "Hey, Penny. How you doing?"

I’m fine. Enjoy the rest of the party, Tripp. I’m leaving. She turned away, but I stopped her.

Where are you going? My words came out slurred. I stumbled against the wall. Are you waiting for someone?

It’s none of your business. Penny sighed. You’re drunk.

I’m fine. I just need… The room spun. To lie down.

She looked around as if needing help before putting her arm around my waist. Let’s get you upstairs.

Everything blurred again.

I lay on something soft. A bed! My shorts and T-shirt were on the floor. Something soft draped over me. A blanket. Oh, soft blanket. My mouth felt like I’d swallowed a raccoon. Someone moved, reminding me I wasn’t alone.

Groaning, I opened my eyes to see Penny standing over me.

I gripped her hand. Stay with me? Just for a minute.

She sighed. Fine. My ride probably left by now, anyway. I’ll wait until you’re okay. But Tripp, this has to stop. We’re over.

Thank you. I grabbed the cup off the table and chugged the water, then leaned back. I’m really sorry about how things ended.

She smiled briefly. So am I.

Everything went dark.

Sometime later, I opened my eyes. The house was quiet. Bright light streamed into the room.

Throwing back the blankets, I sat up. My head pounded. I needed water, greasy food, and a bathroom. Not necessarily in that order.

Penny must have refilled the glass on the nightstand after I fell asleep. I guzzled the water, barely noticing how much liquid sloshed down my chest. After drinking the last drop, I felt okay to get up.

The wooden floor was cold beneath my bare feet. Someone screamed. I winced.

Tripp! What did you do, man? a male voice said.

Me? I fell asleep, I woke up…

What are you talking about? I turned toward the door.

—and found Penny in the bed.

Briefly, hope rose that we’d made up despite my drunken stupor. That didn’t explain the screaming. Then I noticed the angle of her head, how her limbs splayed. Her beautiful blue eyes, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. And blood everywhere. So much blood.

Penny was dead.

I yanked the necklace over my head and dropped it like it burned. Leaning back against the wall, I gasped. Water.

Olive ran out and returned with a cup seconds later. I sipped gratefully before she led me to a chair. The images replayed in my mind on a loop. I inhaled through my nose and exhaled through my mouth, counting each breath until I felt human.

That was intense.

Are you okay? Olive asked. What did you see?

A girl was murdered.

Her eyes widened. Did you see Tripp do it?

Not exactly. My eyes narrowed. Hold on. How do you know what I saw?

This is Tripp Kavanaugh’s necklace. He was convicted of murdering Penny, his ex-girlfriend, in 1997. Her voice cracked before she composed herself. It would be strange if anything previously belonging to the Kavanaughs gave you a vision of someone else’s death.

I nodded. Did you know her?

Everyone knew Penny Langley. Tripp, too. We were the same age.

You were in high school in 1997? My voice gave away my confusion. How old are you?

Olive put her hands on her hips. "How old do you think I am?"

My mind raced for a non-offensive answer. Uh, thirty-seven?

She twisted her lips. Nice try. You think Sam was born when I was in junior high? How old do you think I am?

I avoided her gaze. Well, um, when we first met, you were wearing that old-time costume. Then, I don't know… everyone older than me looks around fifty until they hit retirement age.

Fifty! She gasped. You’re lucky you’re my favorite employee.

I refrained from pointing out that she’d never had other employees, only occasional help from her son. Instead, I asked, What happened after Penny died?

Oh, you know how it is. The police immediately zeroed in on Tripp. He couldn’t give an alibi but swore he didn’t know how she died. A jury disagreed.

A frat party explained why the house looked both familiar and not. Those houses had been on campus forever. My former roommate dragged me to a couple of parties over the years; chances were I’d been there. Then the second part of Olive’s statement sank in. If Tripp owned this necklace, he might have been telling the truth. I didn’t see her death. Either he didn’t do it or he was too drunk to remember.

That was his defense, she said. It didn’t pan out.

In the time I’d known Olive, we’d discussed many murders. Never had she seemed affected by one. How well did you know them?

We were passing acquaintances, I guess. I wasn’t close to either of them. Penny and Tripp went to private schools, but I’d run into them during the holidays. I was actually at the party, although I didn’t stay long.

Wait. You were there? I asked incredulously. Way to bury the lede.

I wasn’t a witness. I went home long before Penny died. Everything I know came from someone else, she said. What did you see?

It’s choppy. Closing my eyes, I replayed the scenes from the vision. They were at a party. It was definitely ages ago, because they were dancing to grocery store music. Tripp wore a bracelet that matches this necklace.

Olive bit her lip before she replied. First, grocery stores play excellent music. Second, what do you mean by choppy?

Everything came in pieces. I think the events were in order, but I jumped around to different rooms. It was like three memories jammed into one. Is that possible?

I’ve never seen it happen, but I suppose with strong enough emotions, it could.

Tripp definitely had a mess of feelings. He wanted to talk to Penny. Another thought struck me. Could parts of a vision be erased?

Her nose wrinkled as she considered the question. A powerful witch can cleanse an item. You’ve seen that before. But to remove parts of a vision? Why?

To cover up a murder. I saw Penny, but I don’t know what happened to her. What if Tripp remembered the murder originally and someone removed it from the necklace?

Seems like a lot of trouble, she said. What good would wiping the necklace do? It wouldn’t erase Tripp’s memories. And erasing his memory shouldn’t affect the imprint on the necklace.

Yeah. I sighed. Excellent point.

Tripp drank heavily that night. The alcohol could’ve contributed to the problem.

True. He was slurring his speech and had trouble walking. When he woke up, he didn’t know where he was.

Maybe some memories never imprinted because of his blood alcohol content, Olive said.

Was it a total coincidence that this necklace wound up here with me?

Do you think Lucretia knew this held a vision? I asked.

It’s hard to say. If Lucretia doesn’t have magic, this would seem like an ordinary necklace. She picked up the necklace from where I’d dropped it, examining it with exaggerated care. Cute, huh?

Is that really what you think?

Of course not. Olive grinned at me. When Lucretia and I discussed the donation, she mentioned having mixed feelings about giving away Tripp’s things. All this time, she’d hoped to find evidence of her son’s innocence that the police overlooked.

You told her about me! I was more intrigued than outraged, and we both knew it. Olive, my powers are supposed to be secret.

She shrugged. It’s a small town; people talk. Everyone knows you’ve solved several murders the police couldn’t. There have been whispers. I only dropped a couple of hints. Lucretia hoped something in all this junk would inspire you to investigate.

After twenty years?

Tripp maintains his innocence still. Every day in prison must be excruciating, especially for an innocent person. If he didn’t do it, he deserves to be released.

Do you think his family is desperate enough to consult a psychic?

She might be. Olive’s eyes flashed with excitement. Aly, do you know what this means? After all these years, you might uncover the truth!

CHAPTER ONE

After getting hit with Tripp’s memories, I didn’t have the energy to keep unpacking boxes. Olive assured me we’d made enough progress for one day. We weren’t hurting for inventory.

My boyfriend, Cal, and I had to get up early for a racetrack tour in the morning, so after Olive packed the necklace away, I tried on the dress she’d brought me, which I’d forgotten about entirely. It fit, so I went home, not even noticing the details. The vision stayed with me.

In June, I’d moved into Rusty and Doug’s house. My college roommate graduated and moved to California, and I couldn’t stand the thought of living with a stranger. My part-time job didn’t pay enough to rent an apartment, so Rusty and Doug offered to let me use their guest room, at least for the summer. When I arrived, I greeted them in a daze and went to my room, my brain still processing.

Olive had known Penny and Tripp. The police investigated in 1997. The evidence pointed at Tripp, despite what Lucretia believed. However, Olive’s excitement at my vision suggested she also thought he was innocent. After all, if he’d done it, everyone already knew the truth.

Olive wouldn’t intentionally sway my opinion but hadn’t concealed her feelings well. If I could exonerate Tripp, didn’t I have an obligation to try?

On the other hand, Tripp Kavanaugh was convicted by a jury of his peers. For all I knew, the police already discovered what happened. Justice for Penny had been done, hadn’t it? Everyone’s mom thought they were innocent. No one wanted to believe their child could kill someone.

So what happened to Penny?

Tripp had indisputably been at the frat house the night of Penny’s murder. He was in the room when she’d died, unless someone planted her in the bed.

Unfortunately, my vision skipped the crucial part of the timeline. I had no idea who killed Penny. For all I knew, an alternate personality took control of Tripp during the parts of the vision I couldn’t view.

My brother, Kevin, had studied this case in law school. When Mrs. Kavanaugh’s donation first came into the store, I’d mentioned it in passing. Kevin said Tripp’s defense was I don’t remember killing Penny. Essentially, he was so drunk, he didn’t know whether he’d murdered her. That didn’t instill much confidence in me. Or the jury, it turned out. Not remembering didn’t mean he didn’t do it.

As I got ready for bed, I shoved those thoughts out of my head. Where would I start investigating a murder from so long ago? Not to mention, poking my nose where it didn’t belong almost got me killed last spring. Someone tried to burn Missing Pieces down. Maybe I should focus on myself and leave other people’s problems alone. Spend more time with