Criminally Handsome. Cassie Miles
pie, Miguel sensed that his brother was interested. “The sheriff still doesn’t have any leads on the missing woman?”
“Not yet. I don’t have much hope. Somebody who’s missing for over a month is either dead or doesn’t want to be found.” He frowned. “But Emma Richardson is certain that Aspen is alive. They’re cousins, and Emma is the guardian for the baby.”
“The father hasn’t come forward?”
“Not yet.” Miguel took out the piece of paper Emma had used to make her notes from the vision. He spread it on the table in front of his brother. “She drew the design of the leather necklace we found at the scene. And also, she drew this.”
Dylan picked up paper. His eyes narrowed. “VDG. Vincent Del Gardo.”
“There was a symbol like this on that map you showed me—the map that Agent Grainger sent before she died.”
Miguel and everybody else in the crime lab had tried every way possible to decipher that map. From satellite GPS to old-fashioned cartography, no one could make sense of those weird twists and turns. It didn’t match any known roads. The map could have been the path of a spreading river. Or trails through the forest.
At the counter, Annie was joking and laughing too loudly with a guy who had been sitting there since Miguel came in. He overheard the word psychic and glanced toward them. They had to be talking about Emma, and that bothered him. He checked out the guy so he’d remember what he looked like. He wouldn’t be easy to forget. Though big and barrel-chested, he was a sharp dresser in a fringed leather jacket with a turquoise yoke. The band around his cowboy hat was snakeskin with the rattles still attached.
Dylan tapped nervously on the tabletop. His voice went low and quiet. “What does this part of the note mean? A tall woman in an FBI jacket.”
There was no easy way to say this. “Emma’s spirit guide for this vision was Julie.”
“She saw Julie?”
“In the same sense that she sees everything. In her head.”
“If this is true,” Dylan said, “it means that the missing woman is connected to Vincent Del Gardo. Connected to Julie’s murder.”
“Sí, I know.”
“This is big. It opens a whole new line of investigation.”
“Are you still searching for Del Gardo?”
Dylan nodded. “And for the money he’s got stashed away.”
Miguel had heard that Del Gardo’s illegal fortune was in excess of fifty million dollars. Not an amount that could be tucked away in a tidy little suitcase. “Your map with the VDG symbol might lead to both.”
“Let’s see if your psychic can point us in the right direction.”
BEFORE BABY JACK showed up on her doorstep, the bathroom in Emma’s house had been tidy with feminine decorative touches. Now, she had no time for long baths, scented candles and fresh flowers. Her mosaic-tiled countertop held a variety of baby products. She’d known that her life would be different if a man moved in, but she hadn’t expected pacifiers and butt wipes.
Confronting her reflection in the mirror, she dabbed a glob of spit-up off the shoulder of her beige turtleneck and ran a comb through her chin-length brown hair. Miguel had called and asked if he and his FBI brother could stop by and ask a few questions.
Miguel. She sighed. Miguel Acevedo. She wouldn’t mind having him as a houseguest. He was definitely handsome with those green eyes and strong features, but his greater appeal came from his quick mind. She had to be alert when she was around him. He was a challenge.
Also, she needed him to find Aspen. To follow the trail. But where was this trail? Discovering the necklace in the snow was a start, but Emma had no idea what came next.
In the mirror, standing beside her, was Grandma Quinn. The resemblance between her and this blue-eyed, elderly lady made her smile.
Grandma said, “Why don’t you change that shirt, dear?”
Emma didn’t need fashion tips from the other side. “You know I had a vision about Aspen.”
“About time.”
“I’m supposed to follow a trail or a path. Do you know anything about that?”
“Change the shirt.”
Grandma faded and vanished, leaving Emma frustrated. All too often, her spirit visits were cryptic hints and vague impressions instead of direct instructions. Why couldn’t Grandma Quinn give her a street address or a phone number?
Grabbing the baby monitor, she hurried to the front door and onto the porch to wait for Miguel and his brother. Jack had finally fallen asleep, and she didn’t want the baby wakened by two grown men tromping through the house.
When the car pulled into her driveway, a shiver of anticipation went through her, making her realize how glad she was to be seeing Miguel again. He gave her a lopsided grin that made her heart beat a little faster.
His twin brother resembled him, but she would never confuse these two men. There was something about Miguel that drew her closer. His was a healing presence, like the words inscribed on the back of his silver Chimayo medal.
As she shook hands with Dylan—whose handsome face was somehow enhanced by the scar on his chin—she had the impression that he was kind of scary. His eyes looked haunted. Not in the sense that he had ghosts hanging around him, but he had secrets, many secrets. And he had seen terrible things.
“I hope you two don’t mind,” she said, “but I’d rather stay outside. The baby’s asleep, and I don’t want to wake him.”
She directed them to a flagstone path that led to the covered patio behind her house. The afternoon sun warmed this western exposure, and there were only a few patches of snow left behind from the blizzard. Within the month, she hoped to start planting her vegetable garden. Most of her other landscaping was shrubs and annual flowers, indigenous to the high plains so they didn’t need much watering in drought years.
She sat at the round wrought-iron table with one twin on either side. Miguel held the piece of paper upon which she’d written her impressions from her first vision this morning. “We wanted to talk about the VDG symbol,” he said.
With the V standing for Virgin? She sucked in a breath to keep from blurting an embarrassing comment. “I really don’t know where that came from.”
“How does that work?” Miguel asked.
“It’s called automatic writing,” she said. “Another way the dead communicate through me. I’m holding the pen, but they are directing the strokes. Some people call it channeling.”
Watching her intently, he asked, “Does the name Vincent Del Gardo mean anything to you?”
She probed her memory and shrugged. “Nothing comes to mind.”
“He’s from Las Vegas.”
“I’ve only been there twice.” The memory made her smile. “I went to visit Aspen while she was going to college there. She thought, because I’m a medium, that I might be able to beat the odds at gambling. We tried roulette, craps and blackjack. I was lousy at all of them.”
Dylan leaned forward. “Your cousin might have mentioned Del Gardo. He had interests in several casinos. Maybe she worked for him.”
“I don’t recall.” In her mind, she repeated the name. Vincent Del Gardo. “Are you looking for him? Is he missing?”
“Maybe you can find him,” Miguel said. “When you do that missing persons thing with the sheriff, what’s the process?”
“Everything I see or hear in a vision comes from someone on the other side. When I’m asleep, they