Page 11 of Sour Layer

“Why were they looking for her?” Clark asked.

I shrugged. “I think they were worried about her. They haven’t told us much besides they thought we would know her.”

“She can help you, Clark,” Dorothy added. “Just like we may be able to help her if what she claims is true.”

I should be offended that Dorothy didn’t believe me, but I wasn’t. This was the exact reason I didn’t go around telling people what I could do. I’d be damn skeptical too.

“Okay.” Clark stood and slid out of his jacket. He was in plain clothes with the badge hooked to his waist.

The flannel shirt highlighted the broad muscles beneath his shirt. He caught me staring. His lips twisted at the corner as he dropped his gaze from my eyes to my lips in a challenging way. The room turned ten degrees warmer. He was a sexy guy, even if I wanted to deny it.

He hung his jacket and big cowboy hat on a coat rack in the corner. “Exactly how is she supposed to prove things?”

“Show her the Lynnfield file.”

“You want me to show her an active investigation?”

“Clark, just do it already. I need to start dinner.”

Clark sat down at his desk and pulled out a manila file. He tossed it across the desk, sat back, and rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, steepling his fingers together.

I grabbed the file. Ignoring their inquisitive stares, I slowly opened the flap to a missing person report topping a stack of the other contents. An entire family had gone missing a week ago; a man, his wife, and his two daughters. Behind that was a picture of the inside of a house where nothing seemed out of place. There was no blood, no evidence of a struggle, no torn-up furniture. It seemed as if the family had just walked out the door and not returned.

I didn’t ask any questions. I didn’t even read the report. I just kept flipping through the file until I got to a family picture. A man and woman in their forties, who looked like they belonged on the PTA, stared toward the camera. They had genuine smiles on their faces, the laugh lines around their eyes evident of a happy life.

Next to them were two young girls. One was brown-haired and taller than the one she was standing next to. A blonde little girl with curls. holding a doll.

“Pretty family.”

“Can you tell us if they’re alive or dead?” Dorothy asked.

“Mom, I told you, their luggage was gone. They probably just left town.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know for sure?” I asked then didn’t wait for his answer. “The best way to describe what I can do is that I read the energy. That tells me things, shows me things.”

“Like how and when someone’s going to die?” Dorothy asked.

“Exactly.” I rested my hand over the young blonde girl first. It was a feeling I’d get. A knowing, in a sense, was how I’d once described it. Nothing tangible I could prove, just a tingle of energy beneath my skin. “The blonde is alive.”

“And the rest?” Dorothy asked.

I touched the girl next to her. Same feeling. “The older girl is alive too.”

Clark sat forward. “And the others?”

I moved my fingers across the page to the mom and then the dad. I was met with a bone-chilling darkness. I rested my palm over just those two. Nothing. Blackness as thick as ink. They were both dead. “The parents are dead. I’m sorry, I can’t give you more unless you have the bodies or the bones.”

I closed the file and set it on the desk. I hated being the bearer of bad news. No one ever wanted to hear the bad stuff I could tell them. There was a fine line between knowing andknowing.

We sat in uncomfortable silence for what seemed like minutes but was probably more like seconds. “Well?”

“You believe the girls are alive?” he asked.

“I know they are,” I answered.

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