Between A Vision and A Hard Case (Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. #15)

By Kelly Hashway

All psychic P.I. Piper Ashwell she wants is a little peace and quiet, but instead she’s brought into another investigation with her husband and partner, Detective Mitchell Brennan.

To make matters worse, she’s getting visions of another case. One that a certain other detective at the Weltunkin PD is working. The problem is Piper can solve that case, but Detective O’Reilly doesn’t believe in psychics and refuses to follow Piper’s leads.

Beyond frustrated that her senses are zeroing in on the wrong case, Piper struggles to figure out who killed the local mail carrier and what it has to do with a robbery in town.

Can Piper close both cases and finally get the break she so desperately needs?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kelly Hashway
• Release date: Apr 5, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005253127

Kelly Hashway

Kelly Hashway fully admits to being one of the most accident-prone people on the planet, but luckily she gets to write about female sleuths who are much more coordinated than she is. Maybe it was growing up watching Murder, She Wrote that instilled a love of mystery, but she spends her days writing cozy mysteries. Kelly’s also a sucker for first love, which is why she writes romance under the pen name Ashelyn Drake. When she’s not writing, Kelly works as an editor and also as Mom, which she believes is a job title that deserves to be capitalized.

Book preview

Chapter One

Sunday morning, I sneak out of bed and head to Marcia’s Nook, the bookstore next to my P.I. agency office. I leave Jezebel, my adorable golden retriever, sleeping in bed with her head on Mitchell’s chest. Okay, so being a newlywed, I probably shouldn’t sneak out of our apartment like this, but being married to Detective Mitchell Brennan of the Weltunkin Police Department means I don’t get a lot of downtime. Even before Mitchell and I got married, I consulted with the WPD on cases because I’m not just a private investigator. I’m a psychometrist, which means I have a gift for reading the energy off objects to spark psychic visions and solve crimes. What I do has proven extremely useful to the police. So useful, in fact, that Mitchell and I solved cases on both our wedding day and our honeymoon. In short, I need a break.

So, here I am, sitting on the floor of the mystery section in Marcia’s Nook, with a new book in my hand, enjoying the peace and quiet.

Marcia walks down the aisle, holding an extra-large to-go cup. I thought you could use this, she says, handing me what my nose is telling me is toasted almond coffee, my go-to flavor.

You’re the best. Marcia is my one and only real friend other than Mitchell. Being a psychometrist can make it very difficult for me to form close relationships with people. I’ve learned I hate reading people as much as they hate me being privy to their innermost thoughts. Not that I have zero control over my abilities. I usually have to come into physical contact with someone or something to read it. And always with my right hand. It’s just my thing. But some people, like Mitchell, project their emotions, making it impossible for me to ignore even when I’m trying to. It can be overwhelming and exhausting at times. My mom’s mom, Grandma Maywood, was a gifted empath. Her abilities got so intense she became a recluse and couldn’t even be around her own family members. I’m doing everything in my power to not suffer from the same fate. So far, I think I’m doing well. While my inner circle is small, I still manage to have people I trust and want to be around.

Does Mitchell know you’re here? Marcia asks, sitting down beside me.

He’s currently in dreamland.

I see, and how do you think he’ll react when he wakes up to find you’re gone?

I’m still not used to living with someone or having to report my whereabouts to anyone either. I guess I should text him, but I don’t want to chance waking him. Mitchell has to leave his ringer and notifications on at all times because of his job. I’m sure he’ll know I’m here, though. Where else would I go? I bob one shoulder and close the book I’m reading, making a mental note of the page I left off on.

Marcia places a hand on my forearm. Piper, you’re married now. I know it’s still new to you, but that man is crazy in love with you. He’s going to worry about you. In the future, you should think about leaving him a note.

I sigh because I know she’s right. I will next time. I promise.

She smiles and stands up. Are you fully recovered from your honeymoon yet?

Marcia doesn’t know the extent to which I suffered on that case. I was strangled. Not just through a vision, though that happened, too. But I was also literally strangled. It’s a wonder Mitchell isn’t in prison for murdering the person who tried to kill me. I’m okay, I tell her. My throat is better now, so it’s not a lie.

How about something to eat? I just made cinnamon buns. She jerks a thumb toward the café.

I nod and follow her there. Jax is working the register, and he waves when he sees me. The café isn’t too busy, so Marcia sits down at a table with me and motions for Jax to join us when he’s finished with the customer he’s serving.

Hey, Piper, he says, approaching our table. What can I get for you today?

Hi, Jax. I hear there are some cinnamon buns hot out of the oven.

You heard right.

I’ll take one, and can you box up one for Mitchell? He’ll take a toasted almond coffee as well.

Sure thing. He turns to Marcia. Will you be eating with Piper, Boss?

The bell above the door chimes, and a large group of people walks in.

No, it looks like we have work to do. She pats the table as she stands up. Sorry, Piper.

It’s okay. I hold up my new book. I have this.

Marcia nods and hurries back to the register while Jax gets my order.

The bell chimes again, and out of the corner of my eye, I spot an extremely handsome and very angry-looking police detective. Mitchell storms over to my table.

I should have left a note, right? I ask.

He sits down and takes a few deep breaths before answering. That would have been nice.

Sorry.

No, it’s okay. He’s calmer now. I’m sure it’s for my benefit since he knows I’m particularly good at reading his emotions. New book? He lifts it to see the cover.

Yeah. I needed some quiet time to myself, but… I look around at the busy café. I guess that’s not happening.

He reaches for my left hand. Our apartment is very quiet. Why did you leave? Are you avoiding me?

No. I swallow the lump in my throat. I can’t tell him I’m having a difficult time being around him twenty-four seven. I’m used to my alone time, and adjusting to married life is going to take some time.

Look, I understand wanting time to yourself. I do. Just tell me when you need it. I won’t be offended. He really does try his best to understand me.

Thank you. I squeeze his hand.

Jax brings my order to the table. Oh, good morning, Detective Brennan. Do you want me to get a plate for your cinnamon bun? I thought Piper was taking it home for you, so I boxed it up.

Mitchell smiles at me. You were bringing breakfast home for me?

I nod. Actually, Jax, I think we’re going to take both to go. I open the box Mitchell’s cinnamon bun is in and place mine with it. Can you ring us up?"

Oh, I added it to Detective Brennan’s tab.

I look at Mitchell.

I thought it was easier than having to pay every time we come in. I mean, some days we’re here two or three times. He turns to Jax. Can you add Piper’s book to our order?

Jax holds out his hand. May I see it?

I hand the book to him, and he uses his phone to take a photo of the barcode on the back. I’ll just scan the photo so I don’t have to hold you two up.

Smart thinking, Mitchell says, handing him a tip.

Jax smiles. Thank you, Detective.

Mitchell grabs the to-go box and his coffee. Ready to go home?

I nod. I love Mitchell. I don’t doubt that for a second. I just really want some alone time. At least, I have the drive home.

I finish my coffee on the way. I’m tempted to drive extra slowly or take the long way home, but Mitchell follows me, so I take the most direct route. Jezebel greets us at the door, tail wagging. I bend down, and she licks my face.

Hi, my sweet girl. Did you miss me?

She gives the quietest little yip in response. Pets aren’t permitted in our apartment complex, but my landlord, Theodore Hall, is good friends with my father, so he told the other residents that Jezebel is a police dog. She’s so good that no one ever complains about her.

I’ll brew more coffee, Mitchell says, placing our breakfast down on the kitchen counter. I’m sure you finished yours on the drive home.

He’s right. Thanks. I move to the living room and sit down. I never feel inclined to watch TV, but for some reason, I pick up the remote.

What are you doing? Mitchell asks as I turn on the news.

I’m not sure. I listen to the reporter talking about a burglary downtown. Did you know about this? I ask Mitchell, pointing the remote at the screen.

Yeah, it’s Detective O’Reilly’s case. He walks over to the couch with our cinnamon buns on plates. Why?

The video footage they’re showing on TV is of a masked person robbing the gas station convenient store. It’s a woman, I say, despite the fact that the reporter is now showing a mug shot of a man.

Why do you say that? Mitchell asks.

I can tell.

It looks like a man to me. He squints at the screen.

She’s trying to look like a man, but it’s a woman.

O’Reilly is looking for Dirk White. He’s been picked up for petty theft a few times before.

Then she’s looking for the wrong person. Not that she’ll believe me if I tell her that. Detective Shannon O’Reilly is a good cop. The problem is she doesn’t believe in psychics. If I tell her I’m sensing this robber is a woman, she’ll politely dismiss that and keep searching for this Dirk White person.

Do you want to consult on her case? Mitchell asks me.

No! I don’t even hesitate. No lives are at stake here. I’m sure she’ll figure it out on her own.

Okay. Mitchell pushes my plate toward me. Eat.

I’ll eat when I’m hungry, Mitchell, I say.

You’re always hungry.

That’s true, but no one’s ever told me what to do and when to do it, and I don’t want to start that now, so I lean back on the couch and ignore my growling stomach.

Mitchell cocks his head at me. Are you really going to be this way?

I don’t know what you’re talking about. I focus on the video footage on the television, and my senses zero in on something. She’s not carrying a gun.

What? Mitchell narrows his eyes at me.

In her pocket. That’s not a gun. It’s a candy bar. This girl is young. Twenty at most. I think maybe she’s a runaway or something.

I’m going to call the station. If O’Reilly is this far off about who the burglar is, then we need to consult with her on this case. He stands up and grabs his phone from his back pocket.

Maybe he’s right. I sit forward and take a massive bite of the cinnamon bun.

I knew you were hungry, he says.

I roll my eyes, which only makes him laugh.

Jez jumps up on the couch beside me. She’s never overbearing when begging for food. She usually lets me know she’d like some, and then she waits patiently.

I break off a piece of cinnamon bun and hand it to her. She’s the gentlest dog ever and carefully takes the food from me.

O’Reilly, it’s Brennan. Piper and I just watched the news. We don’t think you’re dealing with White here. He pauses. Well, it sort of looks like a young woman. And Piper thinks it’s actually a candy bar in her pocket, not a gun. Another pause. No, she didn’t see a wrapper sticking out of the woman’s pocket. She just… He huffs. We’re offering our help if you’d like it. He runs a hand through his hair. It’s your case. Good luck. He ends the call and slumps back on the couch.

Let me guess, I say. She’s not willing to follow my senses, and she fully intends to keep searching for Dirk White.

You got it.

It’s fine. I have no doubt she’ll find him and then figure out she’s wrong.

It’s just ridiculous that she’s the only one at the station who won’t listen to your leads.

I’ve come to terms with it. Shannon O’Reilly is a fact-based person. She needs to see something to believe it. And by see, I mean with evidence, not my visions.

Mitchell’s phone rings. Maybe she changed her mind and wants our help after all.

Doubtful.

Brennan, he answers. What? When? He meets my gaze. There’s been a murder, he whispers to me. Piper and I will meet you there. He ends the call. Looks like we have a case of our own. A guy was found dead in his home. Gilbert is there now.

Officer Gilbert is the youngest member of the WPD. He’s really overzealous and thinks my father is the greatest police detective to have ever lived. I like Gilbert, but his energy can be a little much at times. Still, he listens to me when I sense something, so I’d much rather work with him than Detective O’Reilly.

Mitchell drives us to the crime scene in his patrol car. On the way, I call Dad, who became my partner after retiring from the police force, to let him know I don’t plan to go into the office today. We actually don’t have a case we’re working on for the Ashwell Agency, so Dad can take the day off altogether.

If you’re sure you don’t need me, I’ll take your mother out for the day, Dad says. She’s been wanting to go to the museum.

Have a great time, I tell him.

Be careful, pumpkin, he says before ending the call.

He didn’t even say hi to me, Mitchell says, sounding a little hurt.

Sorry, I wouldn’t read too much into it, though. Mitchell has loved my family from the start, mostly because he isn’t close with his own. His mother was psychic, something only I know. Well, I might have told my mom, but Mitchell doesn’t know that. Mitchell’s father doesn’t talk to Mitchell or his younger brother, Nicholas. And while Mitchell practically raised Nick after their mother died, they don’t talk much either. Nick has his own family, so he and Mitchell really only talk on holidays.

We arrive at the crime scene, which is a modest ranch that looks like it’s seen better days. The coroner is bringing the body out when we walk inside, and I’m relieved I don’t have to look at the victim. I much prefer to read a crime scene after the dead body has been removed.

Bring us up to speed, Gilbert, Mitchell tells him.

Okay, so our victim is Jordan McCormack, twenty-seven years old. He’s a mail carrier. He was found dead this morning by his ex-girlfriend, Emma Canfield. She also works for the post office. Victim was stabbed in the neck. The carotid artery was severed.

So he bled out in a matter of seconds, Mitchell says. Any sign of the murder weapon?

None. We’re guessing the killer took it with him, Officer Gilbert says.

Wrong.

Sorry, but that’s not right, I say. Sometimes my senses will confirm or deny something on the spot, like they did just now.

What are you picking up on, Piper? Mitchell asks, turning to me.

I look around the living room. There’s an area near the door that’s marked off with little cards, indicating it’s where the body was found. The giant blood stain on the beige carpet is also a good indicator. Next to the front door is a table with mail on it. I move toward it.

Mitchell reaches out to stop me. Piper, don’t touch anything. Nothing has been dusted for prints yet.

My senses zero in on the metal letter opener. That’s the murder weapon.

Chapter Two

Officer Gilbert is already wearing latex gloves, so he gets an evidence bag and carefully places the letter opener inside it. There’s no visible blood on this, so the killer must have wiped it clean.

It’s refreshing how he doesn’t question me. In fact, he came up with a scenario to support my