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    Good Visions Make Good Cases (Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. Novella Collection)
    Good Visions Make Good Cases (Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. Novella Collection)
    Good Visions Make Good Cases (Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. Novella Collection)
    Ebook233 pages3 hours

    Good Visions Make Good Cases (Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. Novella Collection)

    By Kelly Hashway

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    About this ebook

    ***This book contains three novellas in the Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. series

    A Sight for Psychic Eyes

    When nine-year-old Eric Danson goes missing in the middle of the night, Piper is reminded of her first case ever, when she was only twelve years old and her ability to read objects first surfaced. Now, she’s hoping to use that ability to bring the boy home unharmed.

    You Can’t Judge a Crime by Its Aura

    Psychic P.I. Piper Ashwell has never met a crime scene she couldn’t read, but when a murder takes place in the bookstore next to her office, she can’t get a good sense of the killer or motivation for the crime. With the help of well-known thriller author Madison Kramer, who looks so much like the victim it’s unnerving, Piper will have to assess the few clues there actually are to track down the killer and save the life of an innocent soul that walks on four legs.

    Its Beginning to Look a Lot Like Murder

    All psychic P.I. Piper Ashwell wants is a quiet weekend alone where she can avoid the holiday craziness as well as any cases. But when the ski resort's Santa Claus goes missing, Piper is enlisted to help find him. The problem is Piper can't help thinking this missing person's case is really a murder. And she's convinced the murderer is staying in the same ski resort.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKelly Hashway
    Release dateNov 12, 2019
    ISBN9780463663738
    Good Visions Make Good Cases (Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. Novella Collection)
    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

      Good Visions Make Good Cases (Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. Novella Collection) - Kelly Hashway

      Good Visions Make Good Cases

      Good Visions Make Good Cases

      Piper Ashwell Psychic P.I. Novella Collection

      Kelly Hashway

      Copyright © 2019 Kelly Hashway

      All rights reserved.

      This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual places or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, or recorded without written permission from the author.

      The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks mentioned in this book. Trademarks are not sponsored or endorsed by the trademark owners.

      Cover design ©Red Umbrella Graphic Designs

      To Ayla with love

      Contents

      A Sight for Psychic Eyes

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      You Can’t Judge a Crime by Its Aura

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Epilogue

      It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Murder

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Epilogue

      Also by USA Today Bestselling Author Kelly Hashway

      Acknowledgments

      About the Author

      A Sight for Psychic Eyes

      Chapter One

      My stomach churns as I stare at the case file on my desk. Missing kids are always the hardest for me. Maybe it’s because my first case ever, long before I even got into the P.I. business, involved a missing six-year-old girl. Or maybe it’s because I don’t think the psychos of the world should have any contact with innocent children. My eyes hone in on Eric Danson’s picture. His baseball uniform. His thin frame. He’s just a little boy, I say, not even realizing I’m speaking aloud.

      I knew you wouldn’t like this one. Dad adjusts his tie before sitting forward in the seat across from my desk. He was taken last night, right from his bed. His parents slept through the whole thing.

      Which implies it wasn’t a break-in but someone who had a key and could enter soundlessly. Maybe even convince Eric to go with them.

      Dad’s eyes narrow at me, not just in a police detective way but in a father of a psychic way. Is that a fact?

      Facts come to me as truths sometimes. I don’t know why I know certain things. I just do. But my real psychic talents lie in psychometry. Give me a personal effect of the victim, preferably something metal, and I can read the energy off it. I’ve been doing it since I was twelve. Though it didn’t make cases like this any easier to stomach.

      Piper? Dad asks.

      I shake my head. Sorry. Lost in my thoughts. But yes, it’s a fact. Eric knew this person, maybe not well, but well enough to get up in the middle of the night and leave the house with them.

      Dad takes his pen from the pocket of his shirt and scribbles a note on the front of the file folder. I’ll run the names of all family members in the area. We’ll start there.

      No. I shake my head. I mean, run the names, sure, but I want to see Eric’s bedroom. I need to see where he was taken from so I can get a read on this kidnapping.

      I’ll set up a meeting with the Danson’s. He doesn’t mention if he’ll tell them what I can do. I never know how people will react to my abilities. At one time, I was praised for what I can do. But people don’t look at a twenty-eight-year-old psychic the way they do a cute little twelve-year-old girl who saves a missing child actress.

      Are you sure you’re up for this? Dad asks, making me realize I’ve zoned out once again.

      Yeah, I just haven’t had my morning dose of caffeine. You make those calls. I’m going to head next door and grab some coffee for us. I stand up, grabbing my purse from the bottom drawer of my desk.

      Tell Marcia I said hello, Dad says, already holding the phone to his ear.

      I will. I head out of my office and walk the twenty-three steps to Marcia’s Nook. Landing office space for my P.I. business next to a bookstore with a café inside is probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Not only do I stay fully caffeinated, but I also get to read all the new releases the second Marcia gets them in.

      The bell over the door sounds, announcing my arrival. Marcia is at the bakery counter, helping a customer. She smiles and gives me a slight nod. Seeing she’s busy, I head to the mystery section in the back. I finished a book last night, and since I don’t watch TV, I’ll need a new book if I don’t want to pass out at eight o’clock out of sheer boredom.

      When I reach the aisle, I see Detective Mitchell Brennan, who happens to work at the Weltunkin PD with my father, is also on the hunt for a new book. Just my luck. He turns to face me, most likely because he heard my groan of disappointment when I spotted him.

      Sorry. Am I invading your territory? he asks me, a hint of a smile on his lips. He takes great pleasure in annoying me.

      I wasn’t aware you knew how to read. I tilt my head toward the shelf of books he was just browsing.

      He places a hand to his chest. Such harsh words, Piper.

      Shouldn’t you be working? I ask, pushing past him but being careful not to come into physical contact with any part of his body. Touching people is not a pleasant experience for me. I tend to keep my right hand away from any and all things if I don’t want to spark a vision. And while I’m passing Detective Brennan on my left side, I really have no desire to allow my left hand to graze him either. He’s pretty much a male whore, and I do not want to know what kind of germs his jacket might be carrying.

      I realize he’s been talking even though I’ve completely tuned him out. I’m not about to ask him what he said, so I continue to peruse the titles.

      You really take this ‘playing hard to get’ thing seriously. He leans against the shelf right next to me, causing me to step back.

      Maybe you’re just too dense to realize I have less than zero interest in you.

      Your father seems to like me.

      My father likes most people. You’d do well to remember Detective Thomas Ashwell is your superior. You should really address him as such. I grab a book off the shelf without reading the spine. I don’t really care which book I’ve selected. I just want to get away from Brennan. I turn to walk away but throw over my shoulder, I’ll be sure to tell my father you were late to work because you were busy goofing off in the bookstore. I smile as I approach the café.

      Marcia cocks her head at me. Why do you look so happy this morning before you’ve even had a sip of coffee? She glances around me, which means Brennan has come into her view. Must you torture him so much? She turns around to pour me a large toasted almond coffee.

      He deserved it. He should know better than to instigate a sparring match with me. I place the book on the counter and whip my phone from my purse, preparing to pay my bill. Oh, I need coffee for my dad, too. And… I scan the bakery display. Two apple turnovers, please.

      The bell over the door sounds.

      He’s gone, Marcia says after a quick glance up while capping my coffee.

      Why was he here if he didn’t even get a book? Or a coffee? Maybe he really did come here hoping to run into me so he can ruin my day.

      Marcia gets the rest of the items I asked for and rings up my total. Maybe you should read him one day.

      I nearly choke, even though I haven’t even had a sip of my coffee yet. I couldn’t imagine a more horrifying experience. God knows what I’d see.

      Marcia laughs. I don’t think he’s as bad as you think he is. If you’d only give him a chance, you might—

      Not happening. The only one at the Weltunkin PD who doesn’t think I’m a quack is my father. Despite the fact that I help them solve cases all the time. It’s more than a little frustrating.

      I doubt that’s true. Marcia eyes me, and it’s clear she has something on her mind.

      Go ahead. Lay it on me.

      It’s just that you aren’t the best judge of character, and I find that odd considering your abilities.

      It’s not so odd at all, actually. I have to read people to know what they’re thinking.

      And you don’t like to read people. She nods and rings up my order.

      This is why we get along. You get me. I use my phone to pay and grab my items. See you at lunchtime most likely.

      Looking forward to it. She gives me a wave as I exit the store.

      I scan the parking lot for Brennan’s Explorer, but thankfully it’s not here. Good riddance.

      Before I can open the door to my office, Dad comes walking out, car keys in hand. Let’s go. We’re meeting the Dansons right now.

      "Right now, right now? I ask, looking down at the food in my hands. I can’t remember the last time I sat at an actual table for a meal."

      It was last Tuesday at Ashwell family dinner night, Dad jokes, opening the driver’s side door of his BMW. What he doesn’t realize is that’s true.

      The Dansons live in a nice lake-side community with sidewalks and plenty of pine trees. It’s pretty much the iconic perfect family residence. Their yard has a white picket fence, and every window has a flower box. Looking at it, you’d never suspect a crime would be committed here. Let alone a kidnapping.

      Dad parks in front of the two-car garage, and we head up the paved walkway to the front door. Dad reaches for the doorbell but pauses. He meets my gaze as his hand lowers, and he nods for me to ring the bell. Everything I touch could bring on a vision that will help me find Eric.

      I take two deep breaths and clear my mind before pressing the button.

      You do it! a boy about twelve years old whispers, nudging the redheaded boy next to him. I did the last one.

      Yeah, but that was Mrs. Walker’s house. This is the Dansons’.

      The curtain in the front window moves.

      Run! the redhead yells, and both boys take off through the side yard.

      A moment later, a middle-aged man opens the front door, the scowl on his face anything but friendly. I saw you, Jimmy Schumacher! he yells. If you don’t leave my son alone, you’re going to have to answer to me!

      Is she okay?

      I blink and lower my hand. A woman with dark brown hair is standing at the door, staring at me like I’m a freak.

      Piper? Dad asks, clearly wondering what I’ve seen.

      Yes, I say. I’m Piper Ashwell, a private investigator helping the Weltunkin PD find your son. You must be Mrs. Danson.

      She nods, and her eyes instantly tear up at the mention of her son. Please, come in. She steps aside. The inside of the house is a stark contrast from the pristine outside. Pardon the mess. We’ve torn everything apart looking for some indication of where Eric might have gone.

      I cock my head at her, trying to get a read on how she views her son’s disappearance. Mrs. Danson, do you think your son left of his own accord?

      Not exactly. She fidgets with her hands in front of her. You see, some of the neighborhood boys have been giving him a hard time. We think…

      "By we do you mean your husband and you?" Dad asks.

      She nods. We think Eric might be hiding somewhere.

      To impress them or to get away from them? Dad asks.

      To get away from them, I say, my vision at the forefront of my mind. Eric was scared of Jimmy Schumacher.

      Mrs. Danson narrows her eyes at me. How did you know that?

      I’m never sure how this information will be received, but I put on my big girl pants and come right out with it. Because I’m psychic, and I just had a vision of your husband threatening Jimmy if he didn’t leave Eric alone.

      "Did you say psychic?" She says the word like it’s something vile.

      Dad’s phone rings in his pocket, interrupting the conversation. He retrieves it, checks the screen, and says, Would you excuse me for a second? He turns away and answers the call. Detective Ashwell. He pauses as the person on the other end of the line speaks, and then he turns to meet my gaze. When? I might have a lead. I’ll call you back. He pockets his phone, his gaze never leaving mine.

      Jimmy Schumacher’s parents contacted the station. His school called when Jimmy didn’t show up today. As far as his parents knew, Jimmy got on the bus this morning.

      Another missing boy? Mrs. Danson raises her hand to her mouth. What does this mean? She thinks there’s a kidnapper on the loose, but I can tell Dad has another thought in his head. One I put there.

      Dad clears his throat and asks, Mrs. Danson, where is your husband?

      Chapter Two

      Mrs. Danson couldn’t look more confused at Dad’s question. He’s at work. Why?

      What father goes to work when his son is missing? This doesn’t make Mr. Danson look any better. Especially since my vision revealed his motive for possibly harming Jimmy. But what about Eric?

      Mrs. Danson, when did your husband threaten Jimmy? I ask.

      He didn’t threaten anyone. You have no proof that he did. She looks frantic, twisting her wedding band.

      Dad holds up his hand to stop me. Mrs. Danson, I know you’re under a lot of stress right now. Perhaps we should move into the living room and sit down. He gestures to the room to the left of the entryway where we’re standing. Dad tends to have a calming effect on people. It’s one of the things that makes him so good at his job. He leads Mrs. Danson to the teal couch, and she sits down.

      I don’t know what’s going on. First, Eric isn’t in his bed this morning. Now, Jimmy is missing, too. There has to be a kidnapper on the loose, right?

      Yes. The answer comes to me immediately. That has to mean her husband isn’t responsible. He wouldn’t have kidnapped his own son. And that might be the way I can earn her trust since she obviously doesn’t believe in psychics.

      Mrs. Danson, the vision I had of your husband… I pause, considering my words carefully since she looks like she’s going to lose it at any moment. I don’t think he’s responsible for Jimmy’s disappearance. He was only defending his son against a bully.

      Dad smiles at me, knowing where I’m going with this.

      I am also getting the feeling that both boys were kidnapped by the same person.

      How do you know this? she asks me. What did you see? She shakes her head like she can’t believe those words just came out of her mouth.

      I know it’s not easy for people to have faith in what I can do. It’s not easy to comprehend when you don’t experience it for yourself. But please know that I will do everything I can to find your son and the other boy.

      Can you tell us what Eric and Jimmy have in common? Dad asks. It might help us determine why they were taken.

      They both live in this neighborhood, and they attend the same school. Jimmy is two grades ahead of Eric. They ride the bus together. Tears spill down her cheeks as she continues her list. They play on the same baseball team.

      Her phone rings on the coffee table.

      Go right ahead, Dad says, motioning to it.

      She wipes her cheek and picks up the phone. It’s Michael, my husband, she tells us before answering the call. Hello? I’m sitting here with the police. They’re here looking for Eric. And you’re not going to believe this, but Jimmy is missing, too. Her brow furrows. I thought you were at work.

      It didn’t make sense to me that Michael Danson would go to work like any other day while his son was missing. So where did he really go?

      Michael, don’t— She stops abruptly, her gaze on Dad. "Okay.

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