Intuition. Carol Ericson

the paper towel in the trash bin. She poked her head into the crowded dining room of the restaurant where the clink of dishes and silverware set her on edge.

      Matt had to be outside already. As she crossed the room, she dodged waiters and waitresses balancing plates in their hands and up their arms. She pushed out the front door and Matt shrugged off the side of the building.

      “Ready to tackle that police report?”

      “Yep.” Kylie took two steps, and the door of the restaurant swung open behind them.

      “Excuse me?” Their waitress, her foot propping open the door, was holding out a card or piece of paper. Did Matt stiff her on the tip?

      “You left this on the table.”

      Since Kylie was closer to the waitress, she took what she now saw was a photo, from her hand. “We didn’t leave…”

      Kylie’s mouth went dry as she stared at the picture pinched between her shaky fingers. Matt hovered behind her. “What is it?”

      She held up the photo, facing him. “It’s a picture—a picture of Bree. Where did it come from?”

      Kylie swiveled her head toward the door of the restaurant, but the waitress had already gone back to her other customers.

      Matt plucked it from her hand and turned it over. “Just great. This is more than a picture, Kylie.”

      He shoved the photo beneath her nose and Kylie gasped at the block letters on the back of the picture. Another day, another message.

      She’s dead.

       Chapter Five

      Excitement fizzed through Matt’s veins. Someone had made an effort to communicate with them. And that someone might still be in the restaurant.

      He yanked open the door. “Let’s see what the waitress has to say about this…unless you can put the picture to your forehead and get a reading on who left it at our table.”

      “It doesn’t…” She sighed and pushed past him, back into the crowded dining room, buzzing with conversation and activity.

      If he had known it was this much fun to tease Kylie about her special powers, he would’ve tried it years ago.

      “She’s over there.” Kylie pointed toward the kitchen, where their waitress was leaning against a counter, waiting for an order to come up.

      Threading his way through the tables, Matt scanned the room for anyone taking a particular interest in him or Kylie, but everyone seemed more interested in their food and their own companions.

      Matt tapped the waitress on the shoulder. “Excuse me. That wasn’t our picture. Did you see anyone near our table after we left?”

      “Wheat, not sourdough.” She shoved the plate back across the chrome counter and planted her hands on her hips. “What’s that, sweetheart?”

      Kylie shifted beside him, covering her mouth with her hand.

      Matt rolled his eyes at Kylie. “The picture. It’s not ours. Someone else left it there. Did you see anyone around our table?”

      “Just the busboy, Richard.” The waitress narrowed her eyes and surveyed the room. She pointed to a tall, gangly teen clearing a table by the window. “There he is. Slow as molasses, too.”

      Matt placed a hand on the small of Kylie’s back and steered her through the tables toward the window. Richard was sweeping imaginary crumbs from the booth, one earbud from his iPod dangling over his shoulder.

      Kylie whispered, “I can tell already, he’s not going to be any help.”

      “Is that your psychic powers kicking in?”

      Sliding the photo of Bree onto the table in front of Richard, Matt asked, “Did you see who left this picture at the table over in the corner?”

      “Huh?” The teen yanked the other earbud out of his ear and tinny music battled with the noise from the restaurant.

      Matt tapped the photo. “This picture, someone left it on our table.”

      Richard nodded. “With the check. It was under the salt shaker with the check.”

      “Did you see who put it there?”

      “I thought you did.”

      “You didn’t see anyone near our table after we left?”

      “I didn’t notice.” He jerked his thumb at the waitress, taking an order at the same table where they’d just eaten. “Arlene’s always getting on my case for being slow, but I thought you guys were coming back so I let the table sit. The picture was there when I cleared the table.”

      “Okay, thanks.” Matt reached into the deep pocket of his cargo shorts and pulled out one of his new cards, wrapped a five-dollar bill around it, and slipped it to Richard.