I didn’t take the bait. “I don’t know what else you want me to say.” I’d recounted the visions three times already and was growing weary of the repetition. “There’s nothing else to tell.”
Shawn’s brow furrowed deeply. “So let me get this straight. Christopher Walken and Dolly Parton are targeting you and your visions.”
I blew out an exasperated sigh. “That’s what I saw and heard,” I verified. “Dolly Parton, or someone who sounded like her, said my name.”
“Or your visions are broken,” Shawn mused. “I find it hard to believe two Hollywood icons are playing cat and mouse with you.”
“Agreed,” I told him. “It’s implausible, but I heard what I heard.”
“Is this the first time you’ve heard celebrities in your scent memories?”
I nodded curtly. “Definitely.”
“So either your visions are fritzing or there are two people who sound like celebrities.” Ezra’s irritation was audible. “Maybe impersonators.”
“In Garden Cove?” Shawn questioned incredulously. “We’re not Branson.”
Ezra’s frown deepened. “I think it’s obvious these psychopaths are targeting Nora and her abilities. That damn letter in the Garden Cove Gazette has opened the door for all kinds of weirdos to stalk her.”
“I understand you’re concerned, Detective Holden,” Shawn said, attempting to maintain calm while reminding Ezra of his authority. “I’m concerned about Nora’s well-being too.”
“I’m notconcerned,” Ezra countered with barely restrained insubordination. “I’m scared for Nora. This perp planned a violent event to get her attention, and they’ve warned her that they won’t end this madness unless she finds a way to stop them.” He grimaced. “That means this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”
“Unless Nora’s visions are wrong. I mean, come on. Walken and Dolly? It’s pretty far-fetched.” Shawn scoffed. “Besides, a couple of bullets thrown into a popcorn kettle is more a juvenile prank than the actions of a criminal mastermind.”
“A man was hit by flying shrapnel after the bullets exploded in a kettle,” I reminded him. “Edgar was lucky.” One of Ezra’s officers had called to report that Edgar’s injury was minor, thank heavens. No arteries, nerves, or tendons had been involved. Even so... “If the metal had sliced an artery, he could’ve bled to death.”
“You can’t get blood from a turnip or a banker,” Shawn muttered.
I narrowed my gaze at him.
He shook his head and waved a hand in dismissal. “This story in the Gazette has kicked up a hornet’s nest. I’ve already fielded calls from two major news outlets and a handful of minor ones about the story. We need to find whoever did this and then quickly and quietly put this matter to bed. The Garden Cove PD doesn’t need this kind of scrutiny.”
“Definitely wouldn’t want that,” I said sincerely. The last thing I needed was more poking into the police department or my role in any of the investigations. Luckily, in all the cases where I’d assisted as a consultant, there had been enough evidence to try the assailants without involving my testimony as a psychic. As a witness and victim, that was another story.
Ezra stepped forward, his jaw tight with determination. “This had to be planned before the letter was released in the paper and online.”
“I agree.” I shuddered. “It’s too elaborate for a spur-of-the-moment plot. We need to subpoena the Gazette and make them give up the author.”
“I’ve already called the paper.” Shawn waved his hand dismissively. “The letter arrived anonymously. They did agree to send the original letter and envelope. It arrived this afternoon for fingerprinting, but it’s probably exchanged a lot of hands since landing at the Gazette. I’m not holding my breath.”
“Are you saying that the person who sent the letter sent it via snail mail?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. That seemed old-fashioned in this day and age of instant communication via modern technology.
Ezra shook his head. “Old fashioned like Christopher Walken and Dolly Parton.”
“Yep.” Shawn nodded, leaning against his desk. “And the letter was typed and printed. No handwriting to analyze.”
“So you already have the letter?” I asked with some surprise. “That was quick.”
“As soon as Lila got the paper this morning and read the darn thing, I called for it. I haven’t seen my wife that mad in a long time,” he said with a hint of a smile on his face. Lila had faced a grueling battle with cancer, enduring exhausting rounds of chemo and radiation. Two years had passed since her first “cancer-free” diagnosis, and she’d been in remission ever since. “I called Darla Potter, one of the owners of the paper. She’s a friend of Lila’s. Then Darla ordered the managing editor, Carol Billingsly, to send it over. We got it about half an hour ago, so it isn’t processed yet.”
I didn’t know Darla Potter, but Carol Billingsly, well, let’s just say that I understood why the damning letter had gotten published in the first place. Carol hadn’t been a fan of mine since high school. She’d been on the school newspaper and the yearbook committee, and I suspected at the time that she’d had a thing for Shawn. I hoped a boy wasn’t the only reason she hadn’t liked me, but high school and hormones was a dastardly duo. The few times I’d connected with her over the years, our interactions had ranged from tense and brief to nonexistent.
Ezra’s eyes narrowed as he processed the information. “Anonymous or not, there aren’t that many people who know the particulars of Nora’s ability or what kind of consulting she does for us.”
“You think it’s an inside job?” I asked, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach.
He shrugged, his face grim. “I don’t want to believe it, but there aren’t a lot of options.”
