a motorcycle.”
“A Harley,” he confirmed. “You’re using logic. Not psychic intuition.”
“Does it matter if I find the answers with logic or by a vision?” she asked earnestly. “Both are methods of observation. Different paths that lead to the same truth. You’d understand if you could be inside my head, walk a mile in my shoes.”
He glanced at her feet. “Purple sneakers with white stars? I don’t think so.”
“They match my jacket.” She ran her fingers down the zipper of the purple leather jacket she’d bought on her last trip to New York. The style was so not from the Southwest, but she loved it.
As her tone lightened to match his teasing, she realized that she was enjoying this conversation. Moments ago, she’d been tongue-tied. Now her wits were fully engaged. How lovely to talk to an adult who wasn’t a nagging ghost. “We have more in common than you think, Miguel. We’re both investigators.”
“But you see things that aren’t visible to the naked eye.”
“So do you. Every time you look into a microscope.”
“You make a good point.” His brow furrowed. “So much of forensics, like DNA testing and trace evidence analysis, isn’t readily visible.”
“Paranormal phenomenon is the same thing. It exists, but nobody has invented the tools to accurately reveal these signs and symbols.”
Until someone created a reading device, it was up to people like her—psychics and mediums—to interpret.
They parked outside the ten-foot-tall chain-link fence surrounding the police impound lot. The person in charge wasn’t a police officer in uniform, but a crusty gray-haired man who looked like he knew his way around a junkyard. As soon as Miguel showed his badge, the old man unlocked the gate and slid it aside.
After a brief discussion, Miguel agreed to hold the baby so she could concentrate, but he refused to wear the colorfully patterned designer baby sling she’d ordered online. Instead, he tucked the baby in the crook of his arm as he answered his cell phone.
Emma picked her way across the gravel lot where most of the snow had melted. Some of these tightly parked cars and trucks looked like they’d been here for years with their tires gone flat and the paint jobs dulled by constant exposure to the elements. Aspen’s beat-up sedan seemed new in comparison.
The last time Emma saw this vehicle, shortly after her cousin disappeared, she’d felt confusion and fear as she imagined the desperation Aspen must have experienced as she fled. Similar emotions roiled inside her, but this fear came from her own terrible foreboding that her cousin was never coming back. Please, Aspen, you have to be alive. She had so much to live for. Her son. Her new job as a teacher on the rez. After years of struggling and working lousy jobs at the Ute casino and in Las Vegas, Aspen had finally finished college at the University of Nevada. She’d been so close to reaching her dreams.
Miguel strolled up beside her. His calm, no-nonsense attitude reassured her. “That was Patrick on the phone. He has other police business and won’t be joining us. When we’re done here, can you give me a ride back to the lab?”
“Sure.” She circled the hood of the car, hoping to get a clue that would lead to her cousin.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Sometimes, when I touch things, I can tap into a spirit energy. In my vision, I saw the car. It must be important.”
“If your cousin isn’t dead…” He shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this.”
“Keep going,” she encouraged. “A mile in my shoes.”
“If your cousin isn’t dead, what spirit are you hoping to contact?”
“I saw a woman wearing an FBI jacket. I’m not sure, but I think her name is Julie.”
He reacted with a start. “And she’s dead?”
“Yes.”
His jaw tensed. “Don’t play games with me, Emma. You heard something about the FBI investigation. Correct?”
“I haven’t heard anything. Why would I?”
“The sheriff mentioned it. Or you heard local gossip.”
His accusations irritated her. “I’ve barely been out of my house for five weeks, ever since Jack came to live with me.”
“What about before that?”
“I live alone, and I work at home. When I get together with friends, we don’t discuss FBI investigations.” She confronted him directly. “Who is Julie?”
“Agent Julie Grainger. She was murdered in January.”
She heard the cry of a bird and whirled around. Crows symbolized death for her. When her aunt Rose passed away, a flock of the big black birds had blanketed her yard. Their cries had been deafening.
She looked up, searched the blue skies and saw nothing. No birds at all. But she’d heard something.
There was another chirp, and she realized the sound came from Jack. Miguel stroked the baby’s head. “It’s okay, mijo. You’re a good boy.”
“Did you know Julie?”
“A little.” His jaw unclenched. “Are you okay, Emma? You look pale.”
“As if I’ve seen a ghost?”
When he smiled, his demeanor changed from hostile to gentle. “I guess that happens a lot to you.”
“Too much.” She glanced at Jack when he made another chirp. “Maybe you should take the baby back to my car. I don’t want to frighten him.”
“Are you going to do something scary? Roll around on the ground? Squawk like a chicken? Do a voodoo dance?”
When she glared at him, he grinned.
“You like to tease,” she said.
“Life is too sad not to laugh. I mean no disrespect.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. His touch was steady and strong as an anchor in a storm. “Do whatever you need to do. I’m here for you. Nothing bad is going to happen.”
A dark mist rolled in at the edge of her vision. She’d just told him to go away, but now she wanted him to stay close, wanted to maintain physical contact. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“You got it.”
She laid her palm on the hood of the car. Her sight narrowed. Though still aware of the cars and snow in the impound lot, she seemed to be peering down a tunnel. At the end, she saw the tall woman in an FBI jacket. Julie Grainger. Beside her was a teenage girl in a lovely white gown. Words and images raced through Emma’s mind. Rapid-fire. Like film on fast-forward.
Then the vision was gone.
“What is it?” Miguel
