Page 3 of A Touch of Murder
The older officer smiled. "I wouldn't mind."
Adam noticed the name printed on his shirt read Vance. Adam offered his gloved hand. "We didn't get a chance to introduce ourselves earlier. I'm Adam Wrecker."
"Lou Vance." The man shook his hand.
"Nice to meet you." Adam turned to the younger man. "Barret. Come on into the kitchen." He led the way, though it was visible from the entry. "Please make yourself comfortable."
"Thanks." Vance took a seat.
Barret continued to stand beside the table. "You really do always wear gloves?"
Adam pulled three bowls down from the cupboard and started to ladle soup from the crockpot he'd had simmering allday. "Almost always. I take them off to sleep and shower, but other than that, I keep them on."
"Hmm," Barret frowned.
"How did things go with Mrs. Anderson? If I'm allowed to ask that." Adam set two soup bowls on the table, then plated the biscuits and set them down with a tub of butter. He wasn't about to worry about being fancy for two drop-ins.
"We had a small standoff with Howard, but he eventually came out. Not before breaking several apartment windows and threatening to shoot all of us. He'll be finishing his stay in jail since his probation has been revoked and face a new onslaught of charges for today. We made sure Mrs. Anderson's daughter was aware of Howard's history before we left. Hopefully, she listens." Barret finally took a seat.
"This smells amazing. You always eat this good?" Vance asked.
"I like to try new things in the crockpot. I usually turn it on in the morning and let stuff cook throughout the day. Drinks? I have water, cola, or coffee." He grabbed water for himself.
"Water is great," Vance said.
"Me too." Barret reached for his spoon.
"This is why small-town policing is better. In a big city, we'd never be allowed to eat like this." Vance tore a biscuit in half and buttered it.
"We probably shouldn't be here either, but I haven't had anything since breakfast." Barret glanced at Adam. "Thank you."
"Glad to share." Adam meant it. It got lonely sitting at home by himself most nights. "Now, how can I help you two? I'm sure you didn't just drop in to watch me do a reading."
Vance frowned. "It better wait until we're done eating. You might end up kicking us out."
Barret glared at his partner. "We have some questions to ask about one of your readings."
Adam nodded. It was no surprise.
"This thing you claim to do. How do you get people to believe it? Are you just that good at reading people? I thought maybe you did some research on people before they came in. You know, make an appointment with you so you know to Google them before they show up, but Mrs. Anderson told us she just walked in. She hadn't made an appointment."
"Most of my clients are walk-ins. I seldom have appointments. They do happen, but they're uncommon unless someone is coming from out of town just to see me," Adam told them. He wasn't offended. He'd heard comments like this his whole life. It wasn't his job to make anyone a believer.
"So, if you don't research, how do you know? How did you know Howard had charges for domestic violence?" Barret asked.
"I didn't. I never said he did. I said I wouldn't be surprised if he did. I know you don't believe what I can do. That's okay. You don't need to believe. It is what it is. I held that glove, saw images in my mind, felt the hostility of whoever had worn that glove, and from that, I was able to make assumptions. This reading was pretty straightforward. Others aren't so clear." Barret put his spoon down. "Some readings, I don't get much of anything. At least not anything anyone wants to hear."
"Meaning?" Vance asked, looking honestly curious. "Not all objects give you visions?"
"No, almost everything gives me a vision, but sometimes someone will come to me and ask if I can help find their dog. They'll hand me a leash or a collar. Something the dog has touched or worn. While the person wants the location of the dog, the only vision I can get is one of a yellow tennis ball, a dog running through leaves, or something the dog has done in the past. I can't locate a dog. The best I can do is confirm if the dog is still alive."
Barett's head snapped up. His brown eyes seemed to flash with what appeared to be anger. "And just how would you know that?"
"It's a feeling I get. A vibration of energy, or sometimes, like today, I felt the rage and anger from the gloves. This rage was active, current. It wasn't something that had been. It was something that was going on currently. If the person or animal is dead, that vibration—that emotional connection—is gone. It feels different to me. I guess over the years, I've learned to tell."
"And how often are you wrong?" Barret asked.
"As far as I know, never." Adam stared at Barret. "I think you need to tell me why you came to talk with me today. I expected you not to believe what I can do, but your anger feels deeper than just being upset you think I'm a scam artist."
