“Nicolette, right?”

She stopped and gave me a once-over. “Oh, right, from yesterday afternoon.” She finally pulled her hair free and checked her phone, looking exhausted.

“I was wondering if we could get a cup of coffee or something.”

“Now?” She looked devastated that I would even ask. “I just pulled a double shift. Can we set something up for tomorrow?”

“I’d rather not. It’s just – You came to me yesterday morning. You said you were dead.”

Surprise rushed through. She hesitated before her curiosity got the better of her. “There’s a coffee shop about two blocks down. I was planning on getting breakfast there anyway, if you want to tag along.”

“I’m all for tagging. Can I drive you?”

Her expression screamed possible abduction.

“Or we could just meet there.”

I followed Nicolette’s red Volvo to the Frontier, which was only a couple of blocks from my apartment building.

We ordered, then sat at a table in the back.

“So, you said I came to you? How?”

“Well, first let me say that I can see things others can’t.”

She shifted in her seat. “Okay.”

“And you showed up at my apartment yesterday morning and told me that you were dead. That your body was under a bridge out in the middle of nowhere.”

“That’s strange.” She ducked her head as though hiding something.

“Nicolette, you can tell me anything. I’ll believe you, I promise.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “No, it’s just, that’s strange. I have these dreams, but I don’t tell people about them, so I don’t know how you could possibly know that.”

“Because you showed up in my apartment and told me you were dead. That’s how.”

“That’s impossible,” she said, biting her lower lip.

“I don’t think you believe that any more than I do. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Happens. What happens.”

“This has happened before?”

She finally straightened and took a deep breath. “I have these seizure kind of things. It’s weird. And when I come out of them, I remember incidents about other people. I remember how they died. Only I was that person. I was the one who died.”

“So, you are actually seeing someone else’s death through their eyes?” That was new.

“No, you don’t understand. The deaths have never actually occurred. I used to check the papers the next day, but there wouldn’t be anything about a death in the way that I saw it. I’ve never found a true connection between what I see and what really happens.”

“You’re certain?”

“One hundred percent. I used to check. I used to scour the Internet, do all kinds of searches, check all the news programs and papers. Nothing.”

This was seriously odd.

“That’s our number.”

“I’ll get it.” I jumped up and grabbed our order, then went back to our table with my mouth watering at the scent of Nicolette’s breakfast burrito. I knew I should have ordered one. I handed it over reluctantly. “How about you describe a few of these events,” I said, pouring two pink packages and some creamer into my coffee. “Give me a couple of examples.”

“Okay.” She spooned salsa onto her burrito. “Well, a couple of weeks ago, I was an elderly man in a hospital and everyone thought I died of natural causes, but my grandson actually killed me. Right there in my hospital bed. He couldn’t wait for his inheritance. Even though I didn’t have that much longer to live, he couldn’t wait.”

I tore my eyes off her burrito and took out my memo pad and pen. “Do you get names when this happens?”

She took a bite and shook her head. “Only sometimes. Wait, that time I did get one. Something like Richard or Richardson. But I don’t know if it was the name of the man or the grandson, first name or last. It could have been the name of his nurse, for all I know.”

“No, that’s great. I can work with that.” I could check this out with Uncle Bob or have Cookie work her magic. If what she described had really happened, I’d find out. “Okay, give me one more.”

She took a sip of orange juice. “All right, well, a few months ago I had a really bad incident with a woman. It was so weird. I was trying to get out of my apartment, and yet I kept reminding myself to leave the stew I was making boiling on the stove. That was really important. Then I forgot something. I’d left a blanket at the apartment, so I went back after it. And when I tried to leave, my husband came home and caught me.” Her voice softened and a quake of sadness reverberated out of her. “He beat me to death.”

Cold chills washed over me as I sat there and listened to that story, recognizing every minute of it. Every second. I wasn’t sure what to tell her. How she would take it. Finally, I decided she needed to know. And I needed to know how this was happening.

“Her name was Rosie,” I said, and watched as Nicolette cast a suspicious gaze at me. “And she was one of my clients. I was trying to help her get out of an abusive relationship and I failed.”

Worried I was somehow trying to scam her, she hardened. Shrank away from me. “I don’t think I believe you.”

“The blanket was blue. She was going to have a son, but her husband had beat her and she lost it.”