Foolish Beliefs; April May Snow Psychic Mystery Novel #2

  Foolish Beliefs

  An April May Snow Psychic Mystery Novel

  By

  M. Scott Swanson

  April May Snow Titles

  Foolish Aspirations

  Foolish Beliefs

  Prequel Series

  Throw the Bouquet

  Throw the Cap

  Throw the Dice

  Throw the Elbow

  Throw the Fastball

  Throw the Gauntlet

  Throw the Hissy

  Gonna cuss the morning when it comes

  ‘Cause I know that the rising sun

  Ain’t no good for me

  ‘Cause you’ll have to leave

  Luke Bryan- Don’t Want This Night To End

  Chapter 1

  During the short drive from my parents' lake house to downtown Guntersville, I'm more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. I don't know the reason for my angst. Other than the gut feeling, something terrible will happen today.

  Given I have psychic abilities, it would behoove me to pay attention to my feelings.

  As I rack my brain to identify the source of my concern, I tick off my to-do list. I'm not due in court today. I've completed all my paperwork and finished all the filing at my uncle's law firm, Snow and Associates. Well, not really, but I do have the documents in folders ready to go into the filing cabinets. It's Uncle Howard's fault anyway. Who keeps hardcopies nowadays?

  My phone rings and I look down. I see James, roll my eyes, and sigh. There's the dreadful thing due to happen today.

  James and I went out on one date. I've been trying to dodge him ever since.

  He feels there's a special bond between us because I saved his life when a corrupt evil spirit drowned him. I'm trying to avoid him for the same reason he believes we have a connection.

  The less I interact with people who have paranormal energies floating around them, the better.

  Plus, James doesn't get my motor running. It's more accurate to say he doesn't even turn the key in the ignition.

  I know, why did I go on a date with him? It's a fair question.

  If I'm honest, James was a rebound meant to stroke my ego after Shane White unintentionally made me feel undesirable. Shane is my current love interest. Unfortunately, I'm his "friend" interest.

  Being relegated to friend status by a guy I'm interested in is a whole new quandary for me. I'm not vain enough to believe I'd be mistaken for a supermodel. For one thing, I have way too many curves for that, and I like my curves. Still, until I met Shane White, I never had difficulty catching the eye of a man who tickled my fancy. If I wanted, I could always gain a man's attention long enough to determine them fascinating or a bore.

  More confusing, I technically did catch Shane's eye—at first. That's how he came to have my cell phone number. Then things never really progressed from there, and I wasn't about to throw myself at him. I'm not exactly desperate.

  Even if I did consider making my desires overly evident to Shane on more than one occasion.

  With Shane, it's like I changed my shampoo to the We Can Be Friends brand. To say our non-relationship has done considerable damage to my confidence is a distinct understatement.

  The adult thing would be to answer the phone and explain to James I'm not interested. I should be polite yet direct to the point while giving him the necessary time to comprehend we don't have a future together. I know that's the proper response, but my finger won't press the green button.

  Be an adult, April May. But I don't want to be. Being an adult is so overrated.

  His call goes to voicemail. Great. Now I feel like a complete heel.

  I pull my car in next to Howard's ten-year-old Volvo. As I open the door to the law office, I hear Howard talking on his phone. He's discussing golf. If I were to guess, he's talking with Lane Jameson, our local district attorney, who has an equal passion for the sport.

  "April, is that you?" Howard hollers from his office.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good morning. I've got a surprise in here for you."

  "Good surprise or bad?"

  "Like your uncle would bring you an unpleasant surprise."

  I let his comment hang in the air. We both know it's a dubious question at best. It's too early for a debate, so I choose to treat it as rhetorical.

  Given my low expectations for the day, I should sit down at my desk and get to work rather than humor him. But I have enough curiosity to kill a thousand cats. I can't endure, not knowing.

  I trudge to his door, and he continues his phone conversation. I'm treated to his description of what iron he used on the three-par hole number eight.

  With a huff, I cock my hip.

  Howard notices my motion and mutes his cell phone. "Jasper cooked tenderloin this morning. I saved you one." He lifts a grease-stained white paper bag off a stack of manilla folders.

  "On Monday?" I ask in awe as I accept the bag as if it's a rare artifact.

  Howard wiggles his eyebrows at me, returning his attention to his call.

  I'm totally wrong about today. Jasper Bell, the defensive coordinator for the Guntersville High School football team and the school's crackerjack algebra teacher, wastes his true gift while working at the school.

  The man grills pork tenderloin so perfect it melts on your tongue like cotton candy. Sadly, with his hectic schedule, he only works for Ms. Bell's Meat and Four during the summer months on Friday and Saturday.

  I can feel the warmth of the biscuit emanating from the cavernous sack. The scent of spiced tenderloin commingles pleasantly with the fresh biscuit scent of clover honey and cinnamon.

  The honey and cinnamon are supposed to be a secret. Ms. Bell would say, "you must be outside of your mind, girl," if I claimed to have guessed the secret ingredients in her biscuits.

  Her secret is safe with me. I cheated and used my paranormal abilities to find out the unique ingredients. It is one of my less proud moments when my curiosity got the best of me.

  Besides, everyone who knows me is aware my culinary skills come to a screeching halt after desserts that don't require the use of an oven. No one would believe I solved Ms. Bell's fifty-year-old secret.

  I steal back to my desk with the prize sack. I resist the urge to stroke the bag and whisper, "My precious." I know you think I'm joking. You'll never understand until you try one.

  The front door opens. A man standing at five foot eight with a forty-eight-inch waistband slams the door behind him. He looks like he's been through three wars and a goat roping.

  "I need to see Howard now!"

  Yep. Right about the time, I thought the day was changing for the better, an over important man comes marching into the office and screws up my simple pleasure. Is it too much to ask that a girl be allowed to enjoy a free breakfast in peace?

  "He's on the phone presently."

  "I need to speak to him post-haste."

  Who says that? "You can take a seat and wait if you wish."

  Tubby braces his arms on the front of my desk. His chin is positioned above my biscuit sack. The man's nose violently twists four consecutive times. "Is that a tenderloin biscuit from Ms. Bell's?"

  I pull my precious sack toward me and hold it protectively in the crook of my elbow. "Howard can't be interrupted when he's talking to the district attorney. If you take a seat, I can slip him a message that you're waiting, mister…"

  "Jared Raley." He pulls at the size eighteen collar that might have fit him fine fifty pounds earlier. His face, a light pink when he entered the office, is now beet red. "I don't see the point in having an attorney if I can't tal
k to him."

  What a baby. "I didn't say you can't talk to him. I said he's speaking to the district attorney." I say "District attorney" exaggeratingly slow and loud in case he didn't understand the first time I told him.

  Jared stands up straight. He wipes off the sweat marks his palms made on my desk with the side of his hand. "I'm sorry. I just have a bit of an emergency."

  Now that's interesting. "Sir, we do law here. Emergencies are for ambulances and police officers. Nothing happens fast when it comes to the court system. Now, if you'll just take a seat, Counselor Snow will be with you momentarily."

  I believe I may have gotten through to him. He relaxes, and the redness eases from his jowls.

  "I've already been to the police. They told me there is nothing they can do for me since no criminal act has been committed. Then I called the prosecutor's office to talk to them, and they corroborated what the police said. The prosecutor's office told me my only recourse is a civilian case."

  I'm at a loss for words as I try to determine how a civilian case versus a military trial is pertinent to the conversation. I snort a laugh as I realize the flustered man has it wrong. "You mean civil case."

  "Right."

  "Right, what was I thinking." I'm thinking my biscuit is getting cold. This man's stupidity is obviously contagious because I'm feeling stupider by the second.

  "I'm actually Howard's assistant attorney, so I might be able to help you." Did I just say that? I only need to wait for Howard to quit talking about his golf game to pass Jared and his "civilian" case off. But no, I had to open my mouth.

  Jared takes his time weighing his options.

  "I'm just saying that unless you're talking about huge damages in all likelihood, I'll be the attorney assigned to your case anyway." Shut up already. Hello, biscuit.

  "How much is a man's self-respect worth?"

  Who doesn't love questions like that? "How about we start from the beginning, Mr. Raley. Explain to me what happened and tell me what you told the police."

  "I've been violated. My wife and my marriage, the sanctity of my home violated, all of it violated."

  I nod my head in agreement. Not because I understand what Jared is talking about, but because the deeper red creeping back onto his face concerns me. I feel a little affirmation might help him not have a stroke in our office.

  "Okay, I understand your rights have been violated. Now tell me exactly what took place."

  "It's awful. I came home from the lot. It's the end of the month, and we always have a big push to hit our quota. But it has been one of those good months where we hit the quota early the last day.

  "I've been working sixteen-hour days all week, and I thought I'd take the opportunity to head on home and catch some sleep."

  That's where I've seen this dude. He owns the Kia dealership in Boaz. I've seen his late-night advertisements on the local cable station a thousand times.

  I've always thought his commercials odd because he has a real tall blonde model standing next to him during the advertisement. If I were a man of average height, I believe I'd prefer a shorter woman standing next to me in my ads, so I don't look like a runt.

  But what do I know about marketing?

  "When I get home, before I head off to bed, I look for Crystal."

  "Crystal is your…"

  He frowns like I asked the stupidest question in the world, "My wife."

  Okay. I was thinking dog. But whatever.

  "She wasn't in the bedroom or the kitchen, so I checked out back by the pool."

  My curiosity kicks in gear; this is getting juicy. Forget the fact that my favorite breakfast is turning into a greasy mound of mush. I am sitting on the edge of my chair, waiting for Jared to drop the bomb and tell me what he found. My bet is Ms. Raley in the pool house getting the rail by Mr. Pool Boy. This is so better than reality TV.

  "I step out the French doors, and Crystal is asleep on one of the lounge chairs. Only I hear this funny high-pitched noise. And there it is, a drone flying three feet above her."

  Not what I was expecting at all, "A drone?"

  "You know one of those helicopter things with the circular blades that people fly remotely with radio controllers."

  Right, I do know what a drone is, "So what is the problem?"

  "Isn't it obvious?"

  Yeah. No. I hate the guess what my problem is game. I hold my tongue and refuse to play Jared's silly game.

  Jared shakes his hands in the air, "It was in my yard hovering over my wife. To make matters worse, it had a camera strapped to it."

  I fail to conceal a grin, "Really?"

  "Yeah, so come to find out my neighbor is taking nude pictures of my wife, and I'm the bad guy."

  I shudder in confusion, "What do you mean, nude?"

  Jared clamps his lips tight together, and his color returns to a deep purple as he pulls something out of his coat pocket and tosses it on my desk, "Nude."

  Against my better judgment, I pick up the photos he's printed out. It all clicks when I see the long-legged blonde lady from the commercials.

  She must have found the fountain of youth or been surgically improved as her exposed breast look like those of a woman at least twenty years younger. "Does she always sunbathe topless?" I feel that's a fair question, given the pictures show a chain-link fence rather than a privacy fence in the background.

  "She says tan marks make her breasts look malformed."

  Out of courtesy, I flip through the last six photos even though I've seen quite enough. The sixth photo has an unwanted surprise for me. It's a closeup of a woman's bikini bottoms, but they're pulled to the side, and her naked "hamster" is in full view.

  "Oh my," I avert my eyes and put the other photos on top of the startling one. "I'm sure your wife had a tough time explaining that one."

  "She was simply adjusting. Haven't you ever had a pair of panties bind up?"

  Yeah, but I didn't solve the issue by exposing myself for a photo. Surely Jared can't be this dense. "I hope you don't mind me saying this, but I understand why nobody wanted to prosecute this case. It would be impossible to prove your neighbor did anything illegal."

  "He was flying his drone in my yard."

  "Flying it would be the operative word. If it had been a toy car with a camera mounted on it, we might have something we could work with. As a property owner, you own the mineral rights of everything below the ground and everything to the grass's tip. But you don't own the air. Think about it, if you owned the air, people would be trespassing when they fly on commercial airliners."

  "Commercial airliners don't hover over your wife taking pictures."

  "No, that's true. Laws aren't perfect, but they must draw the line somewhere. I'm afraid we can't help you because it's not a winnable case. Not even for a civil trial from what you have explained to me."

  "But I've had trauma!"

  "I believe you. But getting a jury to believe that is a whole different story."

  "So that's it? He gets to take nudies of my wife, and I'm the one who must pay two thousand dollars and do three months' probation?"

  "For what?"

  "The probation is for reckless endangerment with a firearm and discharging a firearm in the city limits. The two thousand dollars is to pay for the drone."

  I'm getting stupider by the second, just talking to Jared, "You shot it out of the air?"

  Jared's skin color lightens as a broad grin stretches his face. "Who says pistols are inaccurate? I hit it with my first-round and didn't even damage the camera."

  Even if there were enough evidence to move forward, I'd lost all desire to consider this man's case. I think guns have a purpose. Shooting toys out of the sky in a subdivision is not one. "Like I said, the probabilities of winning anything on this are so low we just wouldn't be interested."

  Jared pulls another piece of paper from his pocket. This one smaller than the pack of pictures. He unfolds a check and sets it on my desk with his right pointer finger holding it down.
>
  "I don't care how much it costs. My neighbor has cuckolded me, cost me money, and turned me into a criminal. This can't stand. I must fight back and make him pay.

  "This is a twenty-thousand-dollar retainer. I'm willing to go as high as forty thousand before we discuss future expenses."

  "Like I said, the probability of winning the case is extremely low, but lucky for you, you selected the right attorneys for the job." I pick up the retainer check.

  One of my duties at Snow and Associates, besides Assistant Attorney, receptionist, coffee maker, and the sandwich runner, is the bookkeeper. Howard makes bank on billings, but he's awful at collections and worse on organization skills. Cash flow is at a premium nowadays at Snow and Associates until I can do some more invoice payment collecting.

  "I want him to squeal like a stuck pig."

  "Yep, we specialize in making cheating pig's squeal."

  Jared likes my statement as he nods his head enthusiastically and adds, "That's why you have a lawyer. Because if you don't, people are gonna push you around, and you don't have any recourse."

  The crazed look in his eyes spooks me. I wonder if Howard has ever considered installing a metal detector.

  Chapter 2

  When I arrive at my parents' lake house, Daddy's truck is the only car in the driveway. My daddy has a perfect look to be a successful bank robber. He's average height, average build, brown eyes, and brown going to gray hair. It would be impossible to single him out in a crowd. He could be half the white male population in Alabama.

  His intellectual capabilities aren't average. Daddy has a Ph.D. in physics from Auburn. He works at Redstone Arsenal in a job so classified he and his co-workers don't know how the government plans to use their inventions. He's also an adjunct professor at the University of North Alabama.

  He's a seriously smart dude.

  I pull open the sliding glass door of the lake house. I have the munchies, and I know the small fridge in my apartment over the boathouse contains half a diet Dr. Pepper and two water bottles.

  It isn't necessary to go past the first row in my parents' fridge before I hit the mother lode. Somebody made Nacho cheese with Ro-tel and Velveeta and kindly left some for me. I warm up my cholesterol treasure in the microwave.