Deceptions (The Mystical Encounter Series Book 2) Read online

  “What does his dad do for a living?” I asked, my pitch high. I couldn’t even imagine living in a place like this, it looked straight out of a magazine.

  With a chuckle, Tanner answered, “They come from money, but his dad, Robert, is also a big shot, corporate lawyer for one of the banks in downtown St. Louis. He’s well–known in the court system there, which is another reason we’re considering this case our top priority. When your inner circle of friends consists of moneyed men and socialites, you have the ability to get a few strings pulled.” In a somber voice, he added, “But I know Nick, and I don’t think he would just take off and leave. He’s a good kid.”

  With another nod, I wondered if my neck would become unhinged soon. I was unsure of how to reply to all the information Tanner had told me. When we pulled up to main entrance of the house, I slid out of Tanner’s car and waited for him before walking up the brick path that led to the stairs.

  As we approached the steps, two men dressed in suits came out to escort us into the house. They were rather intimidating. The wind blew the bottom of one of their suit jackets back, revealing a gun nestled in a holster. I eyed them suspiciously because they didn’t seem like regular cops, but their confident stance gave them the appearance of law enforcement.

  Tanner greeted the men in a friendly fashion, addressing them by their first names. I relaxed, since apparently these were colleagues of his. Well…‌I relaxed as much as the current situation allowed. I followed behind the detective and the guys led us through the entrance of the Canter mansion.

  Upon entering, my eyes scanned across the vast foyer, taking in the room. The sun shone through the various sets of windows, causing a nice reflection that glimmered off the chandelier. It reminded me of the dancing sunbeams in my room earlier. If it wouldn’t have been totally inappropriate, I would have laughed aloud at the comparison between that glorious chandelier and my tiny crystal sun–catcher.

  When we walked down the hallway, a middle–aged guy with salt–and–pepper hair came marching over to us. I assumed he was Mr. Canter.

  “Steve, I’m so glad you came. I’m confident you’ll do everything in your power to see that my son is brought home safely,” Mr. Canter said, shaking Detective Tanner’s hand. He had prominent worry lines and his eyes looked hardened. This was the hard part, having to witness the victim’s parents’ dismay. I vowed that I would be conscious of my surrounding and make good decisions to keep Mom from experiencing this type of heartache.

  “Robert,” Tanner said, returning the handshake. “You have my word that we won’t stop searching until Nick is found and brought back home.”

  “Thanks,” Mr. Canter said warily. He shifted his gaze toward me and I inhaled deeply. His penetrating stare sized me up as skepticism burned in his eyes. But a deeper inspection revealed a tiny speck of hope. He may not believe in what I can do, but he sure wants to. “You must be Miss Reiner. It’s my sincere pleasure to meet you,” he said, extending his hand toward me.

  I gave him a half–smile. I knew it would be rude to ignore his hand, but I didn’t want to touch him. His fancy suit and formal manner made it obvious that Robert Canter was an influential man. I hoped I didn’t have a vision that revealed any of his secrets; I was sure someone as prestigious as he would have some skeletons in his closets. I pulled together all of my confidence before returning his handshake. “The pleasure’s mine. I assure you, Mr. Canter, that I’ll do my best to find Nicholas.” To appear confident, my grip was strong, but I released his hand rather quickly. Thankfully, I didn’t go into a full vision, but the moment we touched a rush of energy surged through me, alerting me that I needed to put an end to the contact.

  Mr. Canter must have experienced something too, because he withdrew his hand and squinted at me. A serious expression overtook his face. “I certainly hope so, Miss Reiner.”

  Detective Tanner stood beside us, studying our exchange. After a short pause, he took charge of the conversation by drawing his hands together and stating, “We should get started.”

  “Yes, time is certainly of the essence.” Mr. Canter turned, breaking eye contact, and walked imperiously down the hallway.

  I puffed out my breath, questioning the strange interaction that had just transpired. My gaze shifted toward Tanner. He arched his eyebrows but remained silent. The shuffle of Mr. Canter’s receding footsteps broke the silence. Like me, Tanner didn’t seem to know what to make of my interaction with Mr. Canter either. Without a spoken word, we followed him down the hallway.

  While we walked between more pillars (which I greatly admired), the enormity of the room floored me. It was overwhelmingly grand. My entire house could fit within this space and there would still be room to maneuver. The fireplace and décor were elaborate, with a marble hearthstone and a mantle made from the same marble. Oversized finials adorned the sides, adding just the right finishing touch. Wall–sized bookcases, filled with golden–cased books, lined both sides of the fireplace. I’d never seen so many hardcovers in one setting before. Well, except the library, but that was different…‌it was expected there. This was someone’s personal collection, which was rather elegant. The fancy bindings stood out in contrast to the white of the bookshelves, enhancing the scene’s richness.

  There were more uniformed men congregating in here, including Bart, the chief of police. My heartbeat quickened, recalling my vision of him with the mayor. My thoughts didn’t need to stray, but I couldn’t escape the shadiness I felt associated with him.

  “What do you need, specifically?” Mr. Canton asked me.

  “I need something personal of his. Something he would have handled recently, or something meaningful to him,” I said.

  His shoulders dropped slightly as he sighed. “Let’s go into his bedroom, he might have something in there.” Then he turned and walked toward a grand spiral staircase.

  I stared at him for a moment before following him up the stairs. The sound of shuffling feet behind me proved that I wasn’t alone, and I hoped the footsteps were Detective Tanner’s and not Bart’s.

  The sterility of Nicholas’s room surprised me; but then again, he’d been away at college and probably hadn’t had a chance to gather many belongings. With a quick scan of the room, I came up short on finding anything meaningful. There was nothing lying around that visually screamed “I have special meaning.”

  His bedroom matched the theme of the rest of the house‌—‌large. The bed, centered in the middle of the far wall, was made so properly it looked prepped for an army inspection. The covers were undisturbed, it appeared he hadn’t slept at home in days. His dresser drawers had a few expensive, decorative items displayed strategically on top, but nothing personal. I wondered if this was how it was being rich, this lack of personalization. If that was the case, count me out. I rather enjoyed my clutter.

  Movement behind me caused me to glance back. Tanner, Bart, and two other policemen had followed us into the room. I turned my head around. Why had they followed Mr. Canter and me, and why the heck was Bart even here? I clamped my jaw shut and tried to focus as I started scanning the room again for items that would help spark a vision.

  Noticing an alcove with a desk, I wandered over toward it. Besides normal items that would be on a desk, it contained nothing personal except a framed photograph of a girl. Finally, something of importance. I studied the picture for a moment. She appeared to be around my age. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t recognize her. The photograph didn’t give me a vision, so I moved on.

  The bookshelves above the desk held various textbooks, but nothing out of the ordinary except a small, ornate metal box. Out of curiosity, I leaned over the desk for a closer inspection. It was rather peculiar, more like a piece of artwork than a jewelry box. It was dark gray with a slight sheen, gleaming dully in the reflected light. Pewter would be my guess for the type of material. The intricate, filigree designs etched into the metal, placed the time period in the twenties. I wasn’t an expert on designs, but my re
port I wrote a couple of years ago covered early twentieth century artifacts. Some of the pieces I studied mimicked this craftsmanship.

  “This was his great–grandmother’s jewelry box,” Mr. Canter explained. “She had given it to Nicholas’s grandma, my mom, who gave it to Nick before she passed away,” Mr. Canter facial expressions softened when he picked up the unusual antique. He studied the piece, lost in some memory. “I’m surprised he still has it,” he murmured.

  “May I?” I asked, holding out my hand.

  “Yes, of course,” he agreed and handed over the box.

  I took a deep breath to clear my mind before grabbing a hold of it. As my fingers encased the box, I closed my eyes. Flashes overcame my sight, and I let my body succumb to the vision.

  The clinking sound of glass and the reverberations of laughter encircled my brain as a bar setting took shape. Nicholas trailed behind a burly, taller guy, keeping his head lowered. The six–foot tall guy strutted in front with a cocky swagger. Involuntarily flexing his arms, his biceps bulged, accentuated by his tight black muscle shirt. The stench of cigarettes lingered in the air as they continued along a darkened, narrow hallway. The dimmed sconces that hung against the blackened walls lent a soft light. They approached a door, and Nicholas threw back his shoulders and cocked his head as if refusing to succumb to the eerie setting.

  The man stopped and pulled out a ring of keys to unlock the door before stepping aside to allow Nicholas to enter. A whoosh from the slammed door turned Nicholas’s head, and he flinched at the clicking of the lock. He obviously wasn’t leaving that tiny office until the man allowed him to.

  Nicholas strolled over to a chair in front of a maple desk. Rather large in size, the desk consumed most of the room. He sat down and straightened himself, eyeing the broody man as he sat in the ergonomic black chair behind the desk. Leaning back, Nicholas crossed his legs. There was a familiarity about the place like he’d been there before.

  “You’ll like this week’s haul,” the guy said. He opened a drawer and pulled out a gallon–sized baggie of a darkened, leafy substance‌—‌marijuana. “This should bring a big score. I’ll expect payment in week. Don’t be late,” he said sternly, tossing the bag toward Nicholas.

  After a quick examination of the contents, Nicholas stashed the drugs in a tote he carried. “No problem, Paul. I’ll see you next week with the money.” With a nod, he waited for Paul to unlock the door. Nicholas lowered his baseball cap over his eyes and exited the bar, clearly in a rush to escape. Stepping onto the sidewalk, he glanced at the tall buildings lining the street. As soon as he turned the corner, everything went dark.

  I snapped out of the vision and my surroundings came into focus. With a scan of the room, my anxiety swelled when I saw the five pairs of expectant eyes staring at me. The room suddenly became warm, knowing they expected answers. Mr. Canter opened his mouth to speak, but Detective Tanner quickly interrupted.

  “Did you see anything of importance?” Tanner asked. He seemed to sense my discomfort.

  I shook my head. “Not really. I just saw Nicholas having a good time with a few friends. There wasn’t anything significant that could pinpoint where he might be.” I’m not sure why I lied, but I knew I couldn’t divulge Nicholas’s drug dealings to his father. Besides, there were too many people in the room, including the chief of police, whom I had yet to trust. I’d tell Tanner the truth once we were alone in his car.

  I glanced at Mr. Canter right as his face dropped, exposing his defeat. “I’m sorry Mr. Canter,” I said sincerely. “Is there anything else he would have a personal attachment too?”

  He thought for a second, then said, “I’ll be right back.”

  When Mr. Canter reentered the room, my eyes bulged and I swallowed hard. He was holding a hunting rifle‌—‌or was it a shotgun? Was there a difference? I had never had to deal with guns, so I didn’t know much about them. Truthfully, they intimidated the heck out of me. Does this gun have a safety? If so, I hoped that Mr. Canter had engaged it. “Here, maybe this will help,” Mr. Canter said, handing it over to me.

  My gaze connected with Tanner’s, and without hesitation, he shifted toward Mr. Canter. “Here, let me give it to her,” he said authoritatively. “Heather, this is a Winchester M94. Right here is the safety, which is on, but I want you to hold one hand on the stock…‌” He placed his left hand on the wooden end. “Then place your other hand on the fore–stock. Okay?”

  The quick explanation alleviated my fear of handling it. At least I wouldn’t fire accidently. As he stretched his arms out to hand the gun to me, I took care to keep my hands away from the trigger. When my fingers wrapped around the polished wood, images of trees came into view…‌

  Nicholas’s heart raced as he walked along a gravel road beside his father. He visualized the doe as he recounted to his father his failed attempt to shoot it. The doe stood about 250 yards away, slightly out of range of his aim, but he knew he had grazed the deer by her reaction. He felt like a master marksman for achieving that shot with such a difficult trajectory. He knew the shot shouldn’t have been taken, but the thrill of being able to shoot something became overpowering‌—‌it had been the only game he’d seen all day. Turning down a narrow driveway, a log cabin came into sight…‌

  I paused to catch my breath. The vision was short, or perhaps the memory was, and it didn’t add anything new. Mr. Canter stood tall and expressionless, staring at me. A lawyer by day, bluffing would indeed be a huge part of his tactics. His appearance portrayed him to be very serious. But studying him, I saw tiny beads of sweat formed on his forehead and noticed that his breathing was shallow. Mr. Canter might seem hardened, but he wasn’t made of stone.

  He was close to his son. The second vision had revealed that. Nicholas had talked excitedly with his dad, and their rapport was positive. Had something changed? Somehow, I doubted Nicholas would’ve run away due to his home life.

  “You and Nicholas enjoy hunting together. Do you own a piece of property with a log cabin?” I asked.

  “Yes, but they’ve already searched the cabin and he’s not there,” he said.

  “I’m so sorry I’m not much help. I don’t get the impression that he ran away on purpose, but I’m unable to see where he is or what he’s doing,” I practically whispered.

  His mouth flattened into a thin, straight smile and he nodded before turning to leave the room.

  Dead silence filled the air, replacing the hope that had previously occupied everyone’s mind. Bart and the rest of the policemen exited Nicholas’s bedroom, and their solemn faces brought a sense of despair to me. I’d let them down. I represented their last effort as they clung to hope, and I’d failed.

  As Tanner breezed past me, he smiled reassuringly. I paused before following him out the door. Turning again to eye the metal box sitting on the bookshelf, I shook my head. There was more to that vision‌—‌there had to be. It wasn’t clear yet, but I could guarantee one thing: I would figure it out.

  Once we were downstairs, a few of the officers left. A couple of them had set up a table with phone lines as if somebody had kidnapped Nicholas and they were waiting for a ransom call. A possibility, but my intuition wasn’t driving me in that direction. If the amount of time and equipment the local law enforcement had donated to the cause was any judge, Tanner apparently wasn’t lying when he said that Mr. Canter and his friends were influential.

  Tanner and I stepped outside. We approached the bottom steps, but halted when we saw Bart talking to Mr. Canter in hushed tones.

  Bart glanced our way and the corners of his mouth drew into a slanted grin. “Don’t worry, we’ll find your son,” Bart said condescendingly.

  Mr. Canter’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Bart. “You’d better hope, for your sake, that we do.”

  The smile on Bart’s face faltered for a second, but he didn’t say a word before sauntering toward his car. I stole a glance at Tanner. He stood there, cupping an elbow with one hand while tapping his lips wit
h the other as he witnessed their peculiar exchange. Like a sponge, he absorbed the scene unfolding in front of him, filing the information to examine later.

  Mr. Canter’s hands clenched into fists as he watched Bart walk away. He didn’t move until Bart reached his car and slid in. Wow. He must really hate that man.

  As Bart drove away, Mr. Canter turned toward Tanner and me. “Miss Reiner, I thank you for your time,” he said, extending his hand.

  As I stared at his hand, I had a peculiar compulsion not to shake it. When we had shaken hands earlier, I’d considered myself lucky since nothing happened. But I didn’t want to press my luck, or risk being rude, so I raised my hand. The warmth of his hand encased my own, and I couldn’t stop the transportation into a vision.

  “I’m sure a prominent businessman such as yourself couldn’t afford the embarrassment of your son’s arrest. I can make sure that doesn’t happen,” the voice of the police chief rang through my head. He leaned back in his chair and smugly crossed his legs, drumming his fingers together.

  Mr. Canter's hands balled into fists. His breath drew in as his gaze shifted momentarily to the glass curtain wall behind Bart. The St. Louis skyline seemed cold and distant. “And how exactly do you propose to do this?” he asked in a menacing tone. Shifting forward in his button–tufted leather chair, he placed his clenched hands on the mahogany desk.

  “That’s for me to worry about. But, of course, if you don’t want to pay…‌” Bart let the question hang in the air.