Page 51 of Wicked Ways (Wicked)

After placing directional signs at the entrance to the development and on the corner of the street that led to the open house, she parked across the street and down two houses to keep spaces available in front of the home. Another sign indicating the house was open was placed near the driveway. Once inside, she added a stack of her business cards next to the flyers listing the home’s specifications and amenities, then opened the blinds and turned on lights. If she’d had time, she would have purchased small bottles of water to set out for the “lookie-loos” who might cruise through, but she’d been too distracted all week to remember. Luckily, being January, the weather wasn’t beastly hot and for the moment, the rain was still being held within the gray cloud cover overhead.

A good day for an open house.

Suddenly, Elizabeth felt tired to the bone and the thoughts she’d kept at bay came crashing back. One moment she was hustling around plumping decorative pillows, the next she was completely done in. She’d been trying to outrun her own thoughts with limited success. She sank into one of the leather chairs that faced the television in the room off the kitchen and tried to rev up some energy and dissuade herself from her uneasiness.

Officer Unfriendly and Mazie and Court . . .

She literally shook her head, trying to dislodge those thoughts, then her brain switched to Jade stopping by the office and that reminded her of Little Nate and how she’d seen him falling even though he hadn’t been in her line of sight. She’d tried to deny the truth at the time of the accident, but Jade had known, had told her that she couldn’t have seen him even while Elizabeth insisted she had—which had been a bald-faced lie. Though Elizabeth had pretended that Jade was the one who had been mistaken, she’d known the truth. And seeing Little Nate’s near-accident hadn’t been the first time she’d experienced precognition.

The bridge is falling!

In her mind, she heard the childish voice, her own voice, screaming to be heard. Then she saw her father’s face, the awe replaced by a veil of opportunistic greed. She hadn’t known then exactly what he was thinking, but she’d gotten the emotional hit and she’d shut down, willing herself to stop receiving such messages.

Over the years, she’d been fairly successful at doing just that. She’d even half-convinced herself none of it had really happened. She had no extra ability, no psychic gift. She’d just been weirdly lucky in her predictions.

But Little Nate, and then these recent deaths . . .

She closed her eyes, clenched her fists, and took a deep breath. Despite denying to herself that anything was wrong, she’d spent some time at the local library, looking up articles on all kinds of inexplicable behaviors. She’d also combed the Internet and purchased books online about incidences of precognition. Nothing she found positively identified her experience. Many people claimed to foretell disasters, but when she’d delved deeper into their stories, something was always off. She’d come to the conclusion that most of them were either charlatans, trying to use their so-called abilities to extort money from gullible believers, or people who suffered from some kind of mental illness that made them see reality incorrectly and believe they possessed special powers.

Nowhere did she find the kind of hard evidence she was looking for.

; Or maybe I’m just crazy.

The thought cut through her mind. Even if she were certifiable, she hadn’t been the person on the freeway, playing a dangerous game of tag or road rage or whatever it was with her husband and Whitney Bellhard. Nor had she been to Tres Brisas in Rosarito Beach. And she didn’t kill her husband . . . or Mazie . . . or Officer Unfriendly. None of that was her doing.

“Of course not,” she said aloud just as she heard a knock on the door. It swung inward before she could scramble to her feet.

A male voice called, “Hello?”

Elizabeth quickly jumped up to meet the man who was just stepping inside. “Hi,” she managed and swept a hand toward the basket of blue paper booties on the floor. “The owners just redid the hardwood floors and would like you to cover your shoes,” she said quickly. “Or you can walk around in your socks, if you prefer.”

He didn’t immediately do either. He simply stared at Elizabeth as if he were assessing her.

Warning bells clanged in Elizabeth’s mind.

He managed a smile that didn’t quite touch his eyes as he closed the door behind him. “You’re Court Ellis’s wife.”

“Well, yes,” she admitted a little reluctantly. That was the problem with open houses; oftentimes she was alone with a stranger. She glanced out the window, hoping to see someone else parking at the curb or heading up the walk to the front door. “Uh . . . I’m his widow.”

“Thought so.” The man slipped out of his shoes and walked in his socks toward her. As he approached, he held out his hand. “Sorry to drop in on you this way, but I thought we should meet. I’m Peter. Peter Bellhard. Whitney’s husband.”

Ravinia picked up her disposable phone for about the fiftieth time, intent on calling Rex, then tossed it down again. He’d said he would call her and she didn’t want to be a complete pest, so she’d forced herself to wait all morning. But the waiting was making her want to tear her hair out. Another day, she would be taking a bus back to his office and stomping up to his door, but it was Sunday and she knew he didn’t plan to be there.

Even if she knew his home address, which she planned to learn as soon as she could, she had no means to get there fast. She could hitchhike, maybe. Or, take a bus? But he probably wouldn’t be there, anyway. He’d said something about taking the day off from work and she’d gotten the impression there was someone in his life he planned to share it with.

Why are you relying on him? Do it yourself. You’ve managed on your own so far. Keep it up.

The trouble was, she didn’t have access to all the information Rex Kingston did. It would take her three times as long to get to the same place he could with a few well-placed inquiries. Unfortunately, she needed help from someone who made it their business to find people and she’d zeroed in on Rex. She’d looked into his heart and learned that he was a decent enough guy. Actually, she knew that within the first fifteen minutes of meeting him, but she’d examined him with her gift as well, searching the darkest reaches of his soul. It really isn’t much of a gift at all, she thought with a sniff. Common sense worked just as well.

It was after noon when she peered out the window. The sun shone bright as it peeked through the clouds and illuminated the cracked asphalt of the parking lot. A few cars were still positioned, nose in, to the long cement porch that skirted the building and at the far end, a maid pushing a cart of cleaning supplies was unlocking a door.

Ravinia knew it was past check-out time, but she didn’t plan on turning in the key to her room until someone insisted. Still, she needed something to eat so she stepped outside right into the teeth of a brisk wind that caused her to shiver. “Brrr,” she muttered, hiking up her backpack on her right shoulder as the door shut, locking behind her. Maybe she would still be able to get into the room when she returned, but maybe not. In any case, she liked keeping her backpack close.

When Rex had driven her to the Sea Breeze, Ravinia had noticed a convenience store about four blocks away, so she hiked the short distance in search of food. Inside, she saw some limp-looking pastries behind a plastic case. Against a wall stood a tired-looking Slurpee machine amid a wall of snacks and chips, none of which appealed, so she settled on plucking several pepperoni sticks from a tall jar sitting on the counter near the cash register, and paid for them with some change she found in her pockets.

“Nice day, huh,” the middle-aged guy behind the counter said, smiling, showing a gold-capped tooth.