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    A Vision A Day Keeps the Killer Away (Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. #1)
    A Vision A Day Keeps the Killer Away (Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. #1)
    A Vision A Day Keeps the Killer Away (Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. #1)
    Ebook206 pages2 hours

    A Vision A Day Keeps the Killer Away (Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. #1)

    By Kelly Hashway

    4.5/5

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    About this ebook

    Piper Ashwell is no stranger to using her psychic abilities to locate missing persons.

    But when her father, Detective Thomas Ashwell, and his new partner enlist her help on the latest case searching for Veronica Castell, daughter of one of the wealthiest businessmen in the country, Piper struggles to piece together the clues.

    Piper’s only sure of one thing: Veronica is running out of time. Her kidnapper is intent on collecting his ransom and disposing of Veronica.

    This time, Piper’s visions might not be enough to bring Veronica home alive.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKelly Hashway
    Release dateDec 23, 2018
    ISBN9780463099322
    A Vision A Day Keeps the Killer Away (Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. #1)
    Author

    Kelly Hashway

    Kelly Hashway fully admits to being one of the most accident-prone people on the planet, but luckily she gets to write about female sleuths who are much more coordinated than she is. Maybe it was growing up watching Murder, She Wrote that instilled a love of mystery, but she spends her days writing cozy mysteries. Kelly's also a sucker for first love, which is why she writes romance under the pen name Ashelyn Drake. When she's not writing, Kelly works as an editor and also as Mom, which she believes is a job title that deserves to be capitalized.

    Read more from Kelly Hashway

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    Book preview

    A Vision A Day Keeps the Killer Away (Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. #1) - Kelly Hashway

    Chapter One

    Got another one for you, sweetheart. Detective Thomas Ashwell—or as I call him, Dad—slaps a manila folder down on my desk and takes the seat opposite me. He never announces himself or knocks before entering my small office in the strip mall on Fifth Street.

    I meet Dad’s blue-green eyes briefly before placing my half-empty coffee cup from Marcia’s Nook down next to my laptop and reaching for the folder. Flipping it open, I scan the pages inside, not taking in anything more than a name: Veronica Castell. I quickly shut the folder and shove it across the desk. Give me something I can use, Dad. There’s nothing here but a police report. Even the common public knows I need a personal effect if you want my help.

    My father drums his fingers together, his lips pursed as he studies me. He knows I’m going to take the case. Yet we do this song and dance every time he walks into my office. Remember the Belinda Maxwell case?

    I pick up my pen and click it incessantly. How could I forget? I wouldn’t be sitting here today if I hadn’t gotten involved in that case. Belinda Maxwell was a beloved child actress, so when she was abducted by the most vile and psychotic man, Heathrow Livingstone, the entire country searched high and low for her. Every news station flashed Belinda’s picture on the screen, a six-year-old image of loveliness. Belinda’s aunt happened to live two blocks from my parents at the time, and she walked door to door with Belinda’s picture and a locket Belinda usually wore.

    Dad rubs his gray goatee, his eyes peering into mine. You never told me what made you ask to hold Belinda’s locket when her aunt showed up at our house.

    Just a feeling I had. I’d had feelings my whole life, but I’d ignored them. My extrasensory abilities decided to tune in the moment I saw the locket, and I knew I had to touch it. By the looks of it, the locket had been torn off Belinda’s neck, most likely when she’d been taken. It was when I asked to hold the locket that I got my first vision. I didn’t see Belinda. Instead, I saw a fleeting glimpse of Heathrow Livingstone, Belinda’s abductor.

    You didn’t tell me about your vision until later that night.

    I didn’t want to tell anyone what I saw. I was completely freaked out. Not only because I was seeing things but because Livingstone was downright scary with his crazy brown and gray hair that looked like he’d stuck his fingers in an electrical outlet and his steely gray eyes. I thought I was losing my mind at twelve years old. Of course, I later learned that what I did—and still do—is called psychometry. I read the energy off objects.

    Dad’s brow furrows, and he sets his jaw in his look of disapproval. I never thought you were crazy, Piper.

    Mom had been terrified for me, but Dad had seen psychics do what I did, so he handled everything calmly. No, you didn’t. You asked Belinda’s aunt to come back with the locket. The visions only got stronger and more frequent as I held the locket tightly in my fist. I heard Livingstone’s low, sinister voice as he threatened to cut off all Belinda’s hair and send it to her parents in a plastic bag with a ransom note demanding twenty million dollars. I found her one week later. Heathrow threw himself off the Weltunkin Bridge that night. The police dragged his corpse out of the river hours later. It was weeks of news crews interviewing me after that.

    If my father hadn’t been a highly regarded police detective, I probably would have been seen as a kid who had tried to prank the nation and got lucky. Instead, I became the police force’s go-to for missing persons cases.

    Sixteen years later, I’m a twenty-eight-year-old private investigator, specializing in missing persons cases, though my visions aren’t limited to those alone. I’ve found a few missing dogs and located a murder weapon a convenient store robber tried to bury after fleeing the scene. I’ve come to accept this is my life because my abilities don’t really give me any other choice.

    Lost in thought? Dad leans forward, picking up the folder and opening it to the pages I didn’t bother to read. Veronica Castell is the daughter of a very wealthy business man, Victor Castell. He likes to stay under the radar, a silent partner almost. At least that’s what he had hoped. Turns out plenty of people know about his billions. He’s sure his daughter’s disappearance is the result of a kidnapping and that a ransom note will turn up soon enough.

    Let me guess. Mr. Castell wants me to step in, have some visions, and find Veronica before he has to dish over a few million in exchange for his daughter’s life. I polish off the rest of my toasted almond coffee. Why is it that no one seems to understand how psychometry works? I only see glimpses—whispers. I can’t rush what I do.

    Dad smiles. Whispers. You’re still calling them that?

    I toss the empty cup in the trash can next to my desk and sit up straight in my chair. What can I say? I was a genius at twelve.

    Chip off the old block. Dad stands and motions to the coffee cup in the garbage can. Can I buy you another? I have a few minutes before I have to be back at the station.

    No thanks. I want to go over the file and set up a meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Castell. Does this afternoon work for you?

    Dad huffs. You can’t always be the job, Piper. Learn to take breaks. When was the last time you had coffee with a friend?

    A friend. The concept is almost foreign to me. Though I do sort of consider Marcia Woodell my friend. I see her every morning when I go to Marcia’s Nook for my coffee and elephant ear. And of course I browse the books as well. Speaking of, I finished my book last night. I’m planning to see Marcia in a bit, maybe for lunch. It’s a partial truth. I probably will go on my lunch hour.

    Dad nods but doesn’t look convinced. Call me when you’ve made arrangements to see the Castells, and I’ll pick you up. He starts for the door but hesitates before opening it. Oh—he says with his back to me—Detective Brennan will be coming with us. He’s officially been promoted to my partner.

    Well, isn’t that just...? Words elude me, so I settle for shaking my head even though Dad can’t see it. Mitchell Brennan isn’t the easiest person to get along with. He thinks he’s God’s gift to women. And while he’s attractive with his green eyes, dark hair, and six foot toned frame, he has a lot of growing up to do for a thirty-year-old man.

    The soft click of the door as it shuts notifies me Dad’s left, so I scan the police report. These things don’t help me at all, and quite frankly, I hate reading them. I like to go into my investigations knowing as little as possible. That might sound backward, but my whispers are what help me find a person. Evidence can be misleading. My abilities, while cloudy puzzle pieces at best, are what I rely on. I locate the contact number and address for Victor Castell. I punch the number into my phone and bring it to my ear.

    On the third ring, a gruff voice answers. Victor Castell.

    Mr. Castell, this is Piper Ashwell.

    Who?

    I roll my eyes and rub the tension building across my forehead. Piper Ashwell. I’m working with Detective Thomas Ashwell on your daughter’s case.

    Oh, I didn’t realize. I’m sorry, Detective, but I’ve been dealing with reporters all morning.

    I’m a private investigator, actually. Dad owes me big time for not talking to Victor Castell about bringing me on to the case. Most people think I’m a fraud, Belinda Maxwell’s case long forgotten after all these years.

    I see. I hadn’t realized the police were bringing in a PI to help locate my daughter.

    I’m Detective Ashwell’s daughter. I speak slowly, knowing the man is distraught. I often help with missing persons cases. I have a special...talent for it.

    Well then, I suppose I should thank you.

    No need. I would like to come talk to you and your wife, though. I was hoping I could stop by this afternoon if that works for you. I swivel in my chair, staring out at the dreary fall day. I usually love fall and all its bright colors, but today looks more like winter. Gray.

    Of course. I’ve canceled all my meetings today. His voice cracks, and he tries to cover it up with a cough. My heart breaks for him. He must be worried sick about his daughter. Does three o’clock work for you?

    Absolutely. I’ll see you then. Before I end the call, I can’t help adding, We’ll find your daughter, Mr. Castell. You can count on it. I slip my phone into the back pocket of my black slacks, cursing myself for making an empty promise. So far, I’ve solved every missing persons case I’ve worked on, but I haven’t always solved them on time. I remember the names of the people I was too late to save—the people I brought home to be buried by loved ones.

    I reach for my coffee, my fingers finding nothing since I already finished it. I guess I’ll be going to see Marcia after all.

    Chapter Two

    Marcia’s Nook is exactly twenty-three steps from my office. We share the strip mall, though my section of it is much smaller, occupying one single office. Marcia’s Nook takes up the rest of the space. It’s really the perfect setup. I love caffeine, books, and baked goods. Plus, I hate to stop working to eat, so I usually wander here, grab some food, and take it back to my desk. Dad calls me a loner, but really I just like the quiet.

    The bell over the door dings as I enter. Marcia is usually busy making sure all the displays, both for books and food, are perfectly designed, but today she’s nowhere in sight as I look around. The café is to my right, the wall butting up against my office, and to the left, the books are arranged on shelves of different sizes. I head left, intent on finding a new book to read tonight. I pass the children’s books with the beanbag chairs set up in the corner for the weekly lap sit. Marcia is probably the sweetest woman I’ve ever met. Not only does she run this place, but she insists on free programs for kids and adults. She often has authors come in for readings or writing workshops, and the children’s programs range from lap sit to book signings to character days where she hires actors in costumes fashioned after whatever book character is popular at the time.

    Following the side wall to the back, I stop in the mystery section. I scan the shelves, but I’ve read just about everything. One perk to living by myself and rarely ever dating is I can breeze through a book every few nights, averaging two to three a week depending on length. I pick up a book with a familiar sounding title, but I can’t quite place the story. I flip it over to read the back when I hear footsteps on the laminate wood flooring.

    Piper, back so soon?

    I turn to see Marcia, still wearing her apron, which looks like it’s splattered with a reddish brown spice. My extra sensitive sense of smell immediately picks up on the cinnamon. Today requires extra caffeine and a good book. I raise the book in my hand so she can see the cover. I just can’t remember if I’ve read this one.

    Marcia squints her hazel eyes at me. With her espresso hair and red highlights, petite five-one frame, and pale skin with freckles dotting her nose and cheekbones, she’s nothing short of adorable. I see the way men look at her when they enter the store. Add her curves to the rest of the package and she gets offers for dates on a daily basis.

    Piper? Marcia says. Did you hear me?

    I shake my head. Sorry. I guess I zoned out again.

    That’s a used book. She gestures to my hand. Remember? It was yours. You brought it to me in exchange for store credit.

    I eye the cover again, allowing my mind to center on the book. An image of a slightly younger Marcia settling into the leased space fills my head. My twenty-five-year-old self jumps on her offer to exchange a bunch of books I’d already read for store credit. Thanks, I say. I just moved into a new place, and I don’t exactly have much spare cash at the moment.

    You were reading your own history off that book, weren’t you? Marcia lowers her voice even though we’re the only two people in the store. She knows I don’t like to draw attention to myself when my abilities take over in public. And I especially hate when they make me speak out loud like I just did.

    Like I said, it’s been that kind of day.

    I’m not sure how the book got on that shelf to begin with. I guess a customer put it back there by mistake. She reaches for it, and I place the book in her hand.

    I avoid the used books to keep things like this from happening. I motion toward the café. I could use another toasted almond coffee. Large, I add, rubbing my temples.

    I have aspirin in my purse if you need some, Marcia says, her voice soft and full of concern.

    I never take aspirin when I’m working a case. I find it messes with my abilities. No, it’s fine. The coffee should do the trick. That and the nap I plan to take after I drink it. If I don’t rest up before a case, I feel drained after my visions.

    Marcia walks around the bakery counter to get my coffee. Have you eaten anything since the elephant ear you had this morning?

    No, but it’s only been... I look up at the clock on the wall, which is made with books that have numbers in the titles. Marcia got the idea from a meme going around on Facebook a few years back and said she had to replicate it. Right now, the hour hand is pointing to Murder at Midnight and the minute hand is pointing to Three Times the Trouble.

    Marcia follows my gaze. A quarter after twelve.

    How did that happen? I rub my forehead.

    You know what they say about manic Mondays. This place was packed all morning. This is the first lull I’ve had. Marcia caps my to-go cup and puts it on the counter. Now, what can I get you to eat? I just made apple turnovers.

    She knows I don’t join most of the country’s fascination with all things pumpkin at this time of year. That sounds perfect.

    She shakes her head at me. I swear, if I ate the way you do, I wouldn’t fit through the door in the mornings. She laughs as she places an apple turnover in a bag for me.

    Trust me, you’d hate having my metabolism. I can’t gain weight if I tried. I wish I had your curves. Back in high school, when my junior year English teacher assigned gaunt as one of our vocabulary words, a girl in the back of the class, Laura Flemming, announced, Thin and bony, just like Piper. That word has haunted me ever since.

    Every woman wants what God didn’t give her, right? She rings me up,

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