Free Lethal Outlook: A Psychic Eye Mystery by Victoria Laurie

cell.
    “Yo,” he said by way of answer.
    “It’s me,” I told him.
    “That’s funny, this doesn’t sound like me.”
    “Ha, ha!” I said with a roll of my eyes. “Listen, when can we get together to pick out all the deco stuff for the house?”
    “I’ve left you a thousand voice mails, asking you that exact question,” he replied (a bit testily, I thought).
    “Dude, I’m sorry, but I’ve been crazy busy.”
    “Right,” he said, taking a more sympathetic tone. “I always forget that you guys are also planning a wedding. How about tonight?”
    I eyed Candice. “Am I free tonight?” I whispered, remembering that I hadn’t even asked her what our agenda held on the Moreno case.
    “You should be,” she said, weaving sharply around a car that had the audacity to travel at the posted speed limit.
    “Tonight should work, Dave. I’ll meet you at the house at four, okay?”
    “See you then,” he replied, and clicked off.
    “Where’re we headed again?” I asked, tucking my cell into my purse.
    “We’re diving right in, remember?” Candice asked. “We’re on our way to see Tristan Moreno.”
    Then I remembered. “The husband.”
    “Yep.”
    “What’re you gonna say to him when he answers the bell? I mean, how are you gonna explain why we want in on the case?”
    “Don’t know yet,” she told me.
    “Well, whatever you say, just don’t mention the visit from the attorney,” I reminded her.
    Candice gave me a patronizing pat on the shoulder—alarming, because she was also taking a sip of coffee with her other hand while maneuvering the car with her knees. “Relax. I have no plans to mention the mysterious Ms. Smith or her possible connection to Gagliano. I figure I might say that we heard about his wife’s disappearance on the news, and that your intuition has been buzzing with clues about where Kendra might be.”
    My brow furrowed. “But I don’t know where Kendra is.”
    Candice looked at me sideways, still holding the cup of coffee and driving with her knees. The woman was seriously going to give me a heart attack. Or kill me in a fiery crash. “
He
doesn’t know that we don’t know where Kendra is,” she said.
    My brow dipped even lower. “Huh?”
    “I’ve got it covered, Abs,” she assured me, finally taking her hand off my shoulder and placing it lazily on the top of the steering wheel. If that was the way she was going to grip the wheel responsibly, I thought I’d prefer her knees.
    Still, we managed to arrive at the Moreno residence without incident or accident (a minor miracle). It was obvious which house the Morenos lived in—it was the one with all the news crews hanging out in front. The local press had apparently settled in for the ride.
    “Crap,” Candice spat, pulling over and eyeing the house moodily. “I was hoping they’d all be up at College Station.”
    “They probably split up their reporters to cover both stories just in case something breaks.” Austin was by far one of the safest cities I’d ever lived in, and with no daily murder and mayhem to report on, the news here was almost never exciting.
    “Looks like they’ve been here awhile,” I said, pointing to a few empty disposable coffee cups littering the sidewalk.
    Candice frowned. “They better pick those up,” she groused. Candice had no tolerance for litterbugs.
    “What do we do now that the vultures have taken over?” I asked, nodding at the smattering of reporters waiting around for any signs of life from inside the Moreno residence. I noted that every window had the blinds or curtains drawn.
    Candice didn’t have time to answer, because a silver Lexus came bolting down the Moreno’s driveway and hit the street fast, barely avoiding a reporter stuffing a doughnut into his piehole.
    Several other reporters jumped to grab their microphones and motion to their camera guys, but it was already too late, because the Lexus was roaring down the street, barely breaking for a stop sign before