Read Online Murder on the Mind by L.L. Bartlett - Free Book Online

stole again.
    My mother had cherished that cheap piece of glass, but I couldn’t look at it without feeling shame over how I’d obtained it.
    Sitting in Sumner’s chair, I pondered my debt to him. Our fleeting encounter some twenty-six years before had made one hell of an impression on my psyche. What else could explain the visions of his murder?
    I left the whys for another time and forced my thoughts back to the present, studying Sumner’s desk.
    His Rolodex was fat and well-worn. Taking out my little spiral notebook, I jotted down any phone number that looked promising, including those of his children. The desk itself was already pretty much cleared, and the computer was switched off. Aside from the fact it was illegal, it was also unlikely I could tap into the bank’s databases to check Sumner’s files. I thumbed through a diskette box next to the terminal. Nothing looked to be personal.
    Several photos decorated the walls behind the couch: Sumner’s wife, children, him receiving an award.
    I sat back in the comfortable chair, grasping the arms, waiting for that funny feeling to come over me.
    Nothing.
    The file cabinets were locked, but the desk drawers weren’t. I sifted through them and found the requisite pens, pencils, and other office supplies, along with a battery-operated razor, a toothbrush, and a tube of minty-fresh toothpaste.
    The credenza’s cabinets housed an assortment of trophies, paperweights, and award placards. Buried in back was a framed drawing of rainbows and colored balloons, crudely done in marking pens, like something a child might do.
    I grasped the frame with my good hand, studied it. Nothing special about it or the drawing, which looked to be done on heavy card stock. On impulse, I fumbled to remove it from the frame and found that it wasn’t just a drawing, but a folded, handmade, one-of-a-kind invitation.
    Come to a first birthday party for Jackie, January tenth, seven o’clock, three years before.
    No address listed, so whoever sent it assumed Sumner knew where the party was to be held. But who was Jackie? It wouldn’t be too hard to check the birth records for that date. I hoped the child had been born in the Buffalo area. I jotted down the date.
    I slid the invitation back behind the glass, turned it over, and continued to study it. It must’ve meant a lot to Sumner, or why would he have framed it? Then again, why wasn’t it on display any more? Why was it hidden?
    Suddenly that queasy, unsettling feeling coursed through me. My fingers convulsed around the wooden frame as intuition flashed:
     
    Nightfall.
    Chest constricted. Throat closed on stifled sobs.
    No!No!No!No!No!No!
    A venom-filled voice—slow, draggy: “Get back in the car.”
    Rising panic.
    Closed in. Dark. An unspeakable horror—
     
    I dropped the frame as though burned, shattering the vision. Gasping for breath, I pulled at my suddenly too-tight collar. I sat back, wiped my damp palms on my pants, willing myself to relax.
    Fear. Got that in spades.
    Raw terror. The world destroyed in a way that nothing could ever make right.
    I frowned. These little nuggets of psychic insight were graphic, but not particularly helpful. At least not yet.
    Unwilling to touch the frame again, I used a ruler to push it back into the cabinet, slamming the door.
    “Can I help you?” An attractive redhead stood in the open doorway, her mouth pursed in annoyance. “This is Mr. Sumner’s office. Unless you have a damn good reason to be here, I’m calling security.”
    “Sorry. I—” My mind raced, and in an instant I decided to tell the truth. “I’m waiting for my brother. He’s meeting with Ron Myers. I didn’t feel well, and the door was open, so I ducked in.”
    She looked at me with suspicion. Okay, so it wasn’t the whole truth.
    “I’ll leave.” I quickly rose and the room suddenly lurched around me. I grabbed at the file cabinet for balance, and the woman hurried to my side, grasping my elbow to steady