A Criminal Can't Change His Aura

By Kelly Hashway

When psychic P.I. Piper Ashwell finds an antique pocket watch, it sparks a vision of a murder in progress. She’s helpless to stop it since she’s convinced she’s watching it happen at that very moment.

To make matters worse, when she and her partner/husband, Detective Mitchell Brennan, return to the Weltunkin police station to see if a murder was reported, the newest detective, Shannon O’Reilly, thinks they’re messing with her because the murder is identical to a case she previously worked on. The case that made Detective O’Reilly dislike psychics.

Now, Piper must not only solve the case but convince Detective O’Reilly to help her and trust in her abilities.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kelly Hashway
• Release date: Apr 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215558669

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

My life isn’t always predictable, even though most people would think it would be since I’m a psychic P.I. I think at one point it was pretty routine. Until I met Detective Mitchell Brennan. He’s the in your face type that you can’t ignore no matter how much you try. Believe me. I know. I went from trying to avoid him, to working with him, to calling him my husband. Don’t ask how it all happened. It’s still pretty much a blur to me, too. But the ring on my finger and his presence in my apartment tells me it’s all real. We’re married and raising the smartest golden retriever in the world, Jezebel.

One thing that has remained the same is being at work on a Monday morning. I run my own P.I. Agency, and my dad, former police detective Thomas Ashwell, works with me. Despite appearance—his massive desk takes up most of our office and dwarfs mine—it’s my business, and he works for me. We help the Weltunkin Police Department solve cases whenever Mitchell comes across one that’s particularly challenging. We’re a good team. Dad was one of the best detectives this town has ever seen. I started helping solve cases when I was twelve, and I accidentally had a vision after touching a necklace that belonged to a missing child actress. Psychometry is my specialty. Basically, I read the energy off objects and people to spark psychic visions and solve cases.

But today, my husband thought we should have a picnic at the park behind East Stroudsburg University. So I’m sitting at a table with a container of strawberries in front of me and a fork in my hand.

Are you thinking about stabbing me with that? Mitchell asks, gesturing to the way I’m holding the fork. Because I got cleared to take some time off so we could have this picnic. I think that gets me out of trouble with you for at least a day. But here you are, looking very on edge instead of relaxing.

The hairs on my arms stand up. I put my fork down and rub my arms. I can’t help feeling like I’m supposed to be working.

On what? Your dad is finishing up the paperwork from your last case as we speak. It doesn’t take two people to do that, and you love to give him desk work.

That’s true. Dad was abducted during the very first case he worked with me on after he joined my P.I. Agency. Ever since, I try to keep him safe behind his oversized desk. And because he happens to be a whiz with research, it all works out just fine.

Mitchell looks off to his right where a woman is walking her dog. Maybe we should have brought Jez.

Jezebel is the best therapy dog for me. She can sense my emotions and knows how to calm me after I have a vision.

The hairs on my arms stand up again, and this time, I stand as well.

What are you doing? Mitchell asks, narrowing his eyes at me. You haven’t even finished eating yet, and we both know what you get like when you’re hungry.

I can’t even think about eating right now.

He stands up and walks over to me. What’s really going on?

I wish I knew. I look around, trying to make sense of the way I’m feeling at the moment, but there appears to be nothing unusual going on at the park.

Mitchell is used to my behavior by now, so he takes it in stride, lacing the fingers of his right hand through my left. He tries to stay on my left side at all times because it’s my right hand that reads energy off things. I’ve never known why my abilities work that way. They just do. Come on. Let’s go for a walk to clear our minds and work up an appetite. He’s talking like it’s for both our benefits, but I know it’s really me who needs those things right now. That’s Mitchell, though. He does everything in his power to try to make me more comfortable. Being married to me can’t be easy for him. I’m not exactly normal by any standards since I spend most of my life trying not to read the people around me. It causes me to put up walls and keep people at a distance. My social circle is pretty much limited to Mitchell, my parents, and Marcia, the woman who owns Marcia’s Nook, the bookstore and coffee shop right next to my office. She’s the sweetest person I’ve ever met.

Mitchell leads me away from the other people, not that there are many. Just the woman walking her dog, another woman pushing a baby stroller, and an elderly man feeding bread to some birds. Still, I appreciate the peace that comes with not being around others.

We walk in silence at first, taking the opposite route on the walking path that most people do. I’m assuming Mitchell picked this direction so no one could potentially sneak up on us. I’ll see people coming and be able to prepare myself for it. I’m still looking in all directions, trying to figure out what my senses are picking up on. The energy I’m sensing is faint, not strong enough to read or even locate yet.

So, any idea what your mom is making for Tuesday night Ashwell family dinner? Mitchell asks, probably thinking that getting me to talk about something mundane will snap me out of whatever this is.

It’s not going to work, though. I raise my right hand, hoping that I’ll be drawn to whatever is trying to get my attention.

Piper, what are you doing?

Shush. Let me concentrate.

On what exactly? We’re in a park. Do you sense someone here is a criminal?

Maybe. That would be a plausible explanation for what I’m feeling. I’m not sure, though. I shrug.

Mitchell stops walking, tugging me to a halt.

What are you doing? I ask him, my right hand still raised and searching for the source of my unease.

I’ve been thinking that maybe you should—I mean, maybe we should go see someone.

I roll my eyes at him. I’m busy trying to decode my abilities right now and you want to talk about visiting someone? Seriously, Mitchell?

No, that’s not what I meant. He lowers his eyes, and I can tell I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.

I’m tempted to place my right hand on him and read him to see what’s really on his mind, but apparently, being married means I’m supposed to trust him to communicate openly with me. I swear there are too many rules to social interactions, and they all seem to make things more complicated than they need to be.

Okay, don’t get mad.

Too late. You know when you say something like that, I’m going to get upset immediately.

He sighs. Can you please hear me out before you react?

Considering I’ve already reacted, no, but go ahead anyway. I take my hand from his and cross my arms. I’m conditioned to guard myself from the world, and right now I feel the need to do exactly that.

Don’t be like that. This is me you’re talking to. The hurt in his tone makes me feel a little guilty.

Can you please spit it out already? This stalling is only making things worse for me.

He takes a deep breath. I think maybe we should talk to someone about your abilities and how you can maybe distance yourself from them at times.

He is not saying what I think he’s saying. You want me to see a psychologist?

It’s not unheard of. Plenty of people do it, and it really helps them.

I know there’s nothing wrong with it, but unless the psychologist was a psychic, it would never work. I’m pretty sure having a trained professional look at me like I’m crazy would do me in. It’s hard enough to deal with the stares from everyday people who don’t believe in what I do.

It was just a thought. They might have some breathing exercises or things that will help calm you.

I already use breathing exercises. Mitchell, what on earth is this about? You’ve never mentioned anything like this before.

I’m only trying to help, Piper. I’m your husband. I’m supposed to try to make your life better.

Just because we’re married now doesn’t mean it’s your job to fix me.

Hey, you don’t need fixing. Don’t say that. He tugs on my forearms, making me lower my arms to my sides. You know I love you exactly the way you are.

I do know that. Then you understand that I have to figure out what it is my abilities are trying to tell me right now.

He smirks. Well played. He takes my left hand in his, and we start walking again.

I take a few deep breaths before trying to reach out with my senses again. Mitchell directs me when someone walks our way, moving me to the side so they can pass without getting too close to me. I appreciate it because it means I can focus on locating the source of my unease.

There’s a fence at the back of the park behind a row of trees. I stop and stare at the fence. The hairs on my arms stand up again. Over there, I tell Mitchell.

We have to wait for a young man to run by us on the path before we can cross over to the fence.

I spot something shiny, glistening in the rays of sunlight hitting the fence through the tree branches. There’s something there. I let go of Mitchell’s hand and walk over to the object. The pull I feel is strong. This is what my senses were trying to guide me toward. It’s a chain, looped over the top of the fence.

Mitchell reaches for it, but I put my left hand on his to stop him. I can’t have his energy on it if I want to get a proper read from it. He lowers his hand and motions for me to go ahead.

I grasp the chain in my left hand and pull up on it to remove it from the fence. That’s when I see it’s not a necklace like I originally thought it was. It’s a pocket watch.

That looks like an antique, Mitchell says, stepping closer to inspect the pocket watch without actually touching it.

It does look old. The problem with that is it could be a family heirloom that’s been passed down through the generations. That would mean it has the energy of multiple people on it.

The fingers on my right hand are tingling, urging me to read the watch. I look at Mitchell before my gaze spans the park. Having visions in public is tricky because I never know how I’ll react to them.

Mitchell looks down at the grass, which is still damp from the rain we had last night. Not enough sunlight reaches the grass through the trees back here, so it hasn’t dried like everything else. I don’t want to sit in wet grass. Maybe we should move to a bench so you can sit down.

I have to agree with him, so we walk over to the nearest bench. A sense of urgency washes over me. I have to read this right away, I tell Mitchell before closing my eyes and leaning back on the bench. I try to clear my mind as quickly as possible before transferring the pocket watch to my right hand.

A young woman is tied up and crying on the floor. Her mouth is gagged with a handkerchief. She looks up in fear as someone approaches her.

A hand whips out and lowers the handkerchief from her mouth. There, there. Don’t cry. It will all be over soon.

Why? she asks him. Why me? Why are you doing this? Her lip is bloody, and there’s a large bruise on the side of her head.

I chose you. You should feel honored. It’s been a while since I’ve selected anyone.

Chose me for what? You’ve been torturing me.

He pulls a rope from behind his back. That’s all over now.

What are you going to do? she asks, her gaze on the rope in his hands.

I’m going to help you find peace. He steps toward her, holding the rope like a noose.

Piper! Mitchell pulls the pocket watch from my hand.

What? I look around. The woman with the stroller is coming toward us on the trail. I do my best to look casual and not like I was having a vision from the perspective of a murderer.

Once the woman passes us, Mitchell says, What did you see?

Someone getting murdered.

Someone was murdered? Mitchell asks.

No. I shake my head. This is happening right now.

The murder? You mean you were seeing it as it was happening in the present?

My visions can be of the past, present, or future, so I often have to specify which one my vision occurred in.

I nod and press my hand to my throat. We aren’t going to be able to stop it.

Chapter Two

Mitchell walks me at a brisk pace back to the picnic table where we left our things. As we hurriedly clean up, he asks more questions about the vision. Did you see the killer?

I swallow hard before saying, I was him.

Him? It’s a male?

Yes, that much I’m certain of.

Okay, what else did you see? Tell me everything? We carry the basket and the table cloth to Mitchell’s SUV. He didn’t take his patrol car since he’s off duty. We get into the SUV, and Mitchell heads directly for the police station. We might not be able to stop the murder, which I’m sure is over by now, but we have to find out who the victim was and the identity of the man who killed her.

She was tied up on the ground. Her wrists and ankles were bound by rope, and the killer had another rope in his hands.

Did you feel his intention was to strangle her or hang her?

It was hard to decipher his intentions. He was so calm. He told her not to cry and said she should feel honored he chose her.

Mitchell’s grip on the steering wheel tightens, turning his knuckles white. That means we’re most likely looking for a lunatic who thinks the human race is doomed and the only way to save people’s souls is to end their lives.

We encountered a killer like that on a previous case. The man was targeting sinners, though. I don’t think that’s what this is. He did tell her he was going to help her find peace, but I think that was only in reference to her not suffering at his hand anymore.

Was she injured? He gives me a quick sideways glance.

I nod. She had a bloody lip and a bruise on the side of her head.

Then he might have been referring to the peace of death being preferable to his torture. That doesn’t help us, though. He pulls into the station and cuts the engine. Did you notice anything about the surroundings?

The floor she was sitting on was cement.

So it might be an unfinished basement, Mitchell says, getting out of the SUV and jogging over to get my door for me.

I’m out of the vehicle