by B. T. Alive
Wow.
Maybe I was just famished, but her food tasted phenomenal. Even the plain hard-boiled eggs seemed to burst with flavor and life. The yolks were so vibrant they were nearly orange.
But despite the amazing food, I couldn’t stop brooding.
And from Tina’s watchful look, I could see that pretending to be polite would be pointless. Maybe an empath friend wasn’t an entirely bad idea.
“It’s the killer,” I said. “We’ve got all these powers; we ought to be able to catch him.”
“Hmm,” Tina said, noncommittal.
“Like, that woman who was making that video call, remember? Nyle’s cousin? Her name is Kitty, I talked to her—”
“Already? Awesome! Did you use your power?”
“Um,” I said. “Somewhat.”
“Oh.”
“Listen, the point is: she was recording that call. It’s all there, a record of the entire thing! We just need to get it!”
“Didn’t you ask?”
“Of course I asked! But she thinks I killed her cousin!”
“So what are you suggesting?”
“I don’t know!” I said. “That’s what I’m saying, there must be some other power we can use—”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you can forget telekinesis,” Tina said, sharply.
“Teleki-what?” I said. “Is that the one where you can make objects fly around? Like the Force in Star Wars? Oh my gosh, one of you can do that?”
“Seriously,” Tina said. “Forget it.”
She looked so stern that a few hairs prickled at the back of my neck. “Understood,” I said, though I didn’t. “But don’t you see it’s a waste not to use our advantage? Can’t we do something?”
“Sure,” she said. “Let’s get you some new outfits.”
I sighed, and I finished my lunch. But as Tina started rifling through her wardrobe, pulling out shimmering skirts and loose embroidered tops, and chatting all the while about color and complexion and the precise shade of my eyes, I couldn’t quite share her enthusiasm. Somehow, everything seemed to work against me.
The more sensitive she was to my whims and inclinations, the more perversely I resented this woman. She was practically acting like the mother I’d never had.
She didn’t even bother to show me short-sleeved shirts, because she knew without having to ask that touch magic meant all long sleeves, all the time, even at the height of humid summer heat. Yet her peasant-style tops were airier and more soothing than any camisole. And I found myself resenting that.
A sudden fury struck me, standing there at her antique full-length mirror, seeing myself in her cute flowy top and skirt… because I looked good. Even Tina’s castoffs were an improvement on me.
My old fancy sales suit lay on the floor, wrinkled, abandoned, and dead.
For so many years, I’d exulted in the Touch as my glorious secret, the one thing about me that at least was unique. But Tina’s empathy was way more meaningful… and even the damn parrot could freaking read minds.
And on top of all this… I squinted at my face in the mirror…
“Oh my gosh,” I said. “I have a zit.”
It was a whopper, white and red and swollen, perfectly placed on the tip of my nose. Hello, Rudolph. I knew it wasn’t ripe enough to pop, but I touched it anyway, triggering exquisite pain. What was this, high school?
“It’s just the stress,” Tina said.
“You think?” I said.
I thought I sounded light and snarky, but Tina’s face flashed with real hurt. Her pain startled me out of my self-centered funk… she really could feel how angry I was, even if I tried to hide it.
Wait.
That was it.
“Tina!” I said. “I’ve got it! You’re perfect!”
She frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what people are feeling even when they try to hide it, right?”
“Kind of,” she said, wary. “It depends on the person. Some people are natural shielders—”
“But most of the time, you can tell?”
“Sure. At least, I pick up something.”
“Perfect. Let’s go.” Still wearing my new outfit, I scooped up the other clothes she was loaning me and strode to the ladder. “Hey, how do you carry stuff down?” I said.
“Backpack,” she said. She handed me a worn leather pack embroidered with vines. “Where are you going now?”
“Not me. Us.”
“What? Why me?”
“You’re an empath, Tina! I need you in the room with these suspects.”
“You mean, like… spy on their hearts?”
“Oh, come on!” I snapped. “You said yourself you do this all day long. I can’t even try to be nice around you. You pick right up on my true self… the whiny inner jerk.”
“That’s not true,” she said stoutly. “You’re strong, Summer. I sense all kinds of good things, and anyway, that’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not doing it on purpose. It just happens,” she said. “Mostly I try to ignore it, unless I think I can help.”
“Of course you can help!” I said. “You can help catch a killer!”
Tina cocked her head. “Really?”
“Think about it! If the sheriff’s fixated on me, that doesn’t just mean I’m in danger. It means the real killer is loose, and free to kill again. Maybe even here in the Inn.”
Tina frowned.
It was time to close.
“Please, Tina,” I said, with my best vulnerable plead. “I… I need your help. I can’t do this alone.”
She totally bought it. It occurred to me that fabricating emotion might not be the smartest move with an empath, but her eyes were moist, so I guessed it had worked. This meant we’d have to be careful; if I could come across as way more vulnerable than I actually felt, couldn’t a suspect trick Tina too?
Maybe. But most people weren’t a sales goddess. Unless this murderer was also a method actor, Tina might just be the secret weapon to bring him down.
“You’re right, Summer,” she said, with a little catch in her voice, and those big dark eyes glowing with innocent concern. “No way you should have to do this alone.”
I felt a twinge of guilt, which I promptly smothered. I really did need her help, and with an empath on board, this killer was history. No question.
The real question was: how long I could stand to be with someone so sincere?
Chapter 15
We decided to start with Nyle’s brother, the heavier guy who’d been bickering with his beady-eyed wife. Right away I realized another asset Tina brought to the team: she not only knew everyone’s names, she even knew how to find their rooms.
The brother’s name was Lionel. (“Nyle” and “Lionel”? Really? Maybe Nyle’s parents were more to blame for how he’d turned out than I’d thought.) He and his wife Deanna were staying in one of the more posh suites on the ground floor, but as we approached their filigreed door, the sharp sounds of an argument erupted into the empty hall.
Shoot, so they were both there. With the Touch, one is always best, because if you try to touch two people at once, one might recover first and see the other one all dazed. (Plus, a double jolt hurts like crazy.)
But I had Tina, so I wouldn’t even need the Touch. I hoped.
I knocked, and the voices died at once. After a long pause, the door opened. I wasn’t expecting a warm welcome, but I was still startled at the cold contempt of Deanna’s glare. She stood gripping the door handle, and behind her, on the nearer bed, Lionel sat slumping sideways, his shoulder against the headboard. He looked haggard and wretched, like he’d aged ten years since breakfast.
Were those the ravages of guilt? Or just that, you know, the dude’s brother had just died.
“Who are you?” Deanna snapped. She had the flat, petulant voice of a bureaucrat, like the DMV lady who can’t believe you forgot
to bring your fourth proof of identity.
I was about to say something about catching Nyle’s killer, but Tina cut in.
“We’re hotel staff,” she said, with a warmth that would have gotten a hug and a tip from Ebeneezer Scrooge. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
Deanna’s glare flickered with a hint of humanity, and she grudgingly beckoned us in.
Well played, Tina.
The room was wide and light, with a matching antique night table beside either bed. The table near Lionel was a teetering pile of papers, knickknacks, and outright trash, but the table by the other bed was a pristine arrangement of a purse, a hardcover romance, and a high-end water bottle that all seemed to be posing for a magazine cover.
“You can start with making the bed,” Deanna said.
“Of course,” Tina said, with a demure nod of deference.
“Our pleasure,” I said, and I moved toward the bed where Lionel sat. Unlike the extra bed, which was still made, this bed really was a disaster. How could grown adults make such a mess of the sheets? This guy looked like he might not have the energy to roll over.
“Sir?” I requested, in my best courteous tone. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you—”
“Not his bed,” Deanna sniffed. “Mine.”
“Really?” I blurted. That other bed looked perfect. If I messed with it, it’d be like giving the Sistine Chapel a touch-up.
But Deanna took my surprise in a more personal vein. “My husband and I have very different sleeping styles,” she snapped.
“Oh, right,” I said. “I didn’t mean—”
“Are you in the habit of probing your patrons with invasive personal questions?” she said.
This was getting off to a fantastic start.
Before I could make it worse, her husband rumbled for the first time. “Let her be,” he said. He turned and faced me with bleary eyes. “Sorry about that. We had a personal tragedy this morning.”
“I heard,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
Technically, I’d done way more than just hear, but neither Pritchett seemed to notice. Wow, were people really that unobservant? Changing my outfit had worked like, um, magic.
“Thank you,” Lionel said, with gruff force, and suddenly he clamped his meaty hand around my forearm. Like, from sheer force of emotion, supposedly? Nice try, late-forties married dude with your wife standing right there.
He was lucky that the thin sleeve pressed in his sweaty palm seemed to be doing its job, sparing him a jolt of short-term memory loss. Though I wouldn’t have minded him forgetting he’d pulled this move.
“I can’t imagine the shock,” I said, extracting my arm with an expert twist, and resisting the urge to “accidentally” knee him in the groin and then wipe his memory. That was an ethical line I didn’t want to cross. Especially with his wife right there watching. “And during a family reunion!” I added.
“Indeed,” he said, still fishing for soulful eye contact.
On the far side of his bed, Deanna scowled and crossed her arms. “I don’t know why the reunion makes a difference. Dead is dead!”
“True,” said Tina, who was close by her side, industriously remaking the perfect bed.
“Of course,” I said, trying to sound chastened. “I just mean, to have his own family all around, right there. It’s so cruel. Even his own fiancee—”
Tina gasped.
It was more than a gasp. As I flicked her a glance in alarm, her face was contorted. Rage, jealousy, hatred… she looked like a different person, an evil Tina twin.
Beside her, Deanna’s face was smooth and cold.
A shiver iced down my spine. This empath thing was real.
Seeing Tina sense my emotions was one thing; weird, yes, but it was mirroring feelings that I knew firsthand. Seeing her manifest this secret loathing that would otherwise have festered under Deanna’s cool frown… that was like prying open a grave.
Deanna eyed Tina. “Are you ill?”
Tina’s face cleared, and she managed a smile. “Thank you, I’m fine. I’m sorry. I just have a… condition.”
Deanna blanched. “I hope it’s not contagious?”
Tina’s smile went bright, and her eyes twinkled. “Not at all.”
“As long as you’re sure,” Deanna said. She frowned toward me. “I thought that thing on your nose might be an open sore.”
I seethed; I’d forgotten all about that stupid zit. “It’s not,” I said. “But I was saying, about Nyle’s fiancee…”
Tina winced again, but this time she quickly masked it. I felt bad for her, but I had to pry; this was our first big clue. Why was Deanna so jealous of the woman? Was Lionel always comparing them, rating his older wife against his future in-law’s implausible hotness, relative youth, and impeccable pink and punk style? Could Nyle’s catch have precipitated a marital crisis?
“What about her?” snapped Deanna. “What do you care about Mercedes?”
Mercedes, eh? Classy name. Somehow I wasn’t surprised.
“We’re concerned,” I said, playing for time. Trying to work this woman was like pulling teeth from a peevish crocodile. With toenail clippers. “We can check on her ourselves, but perhaps if one of you—”
“Did you pay this woman?” Deanna barked at Lionel.
“Don’t be asinine,” he growled. “I’ve never seen this woman in my life.”
“Oh really?” she said. “Your brother’s not even buried yet, and some ‘random stranger’ just happens to urge you to go console your grieving ex.”
“Ex?” I cried. “Mercedes was with you?”
I know, I know. You’d think that after years of sales calls, I’d be a bit more suave. Thing is, suave was never my strong suit. Besides, when you’re talking about features and monthly fees, most prospects avoid dropping revelation bombs.
Lionel glared at me, his face twisted with an offense so fierce that he nearly snarled. I flinched; he looked ready to slug me.
“What did you say your name was?” he said, slow and seething. He squinted, and he seemed to really see me for the first time. “Wait. Aren’t you—”
“Summer,” I said, and touched him.
His closer hand had been resting on his lap, but when I palmed it, gripping the hairy back, the jolt shook us both. He lurched back against the headboard, and I nearly tripped myself.
Damn, that hurt. What was up with this family?
“I’m so sorry!” I gasped, as he panted and looked around with glazed eyes. “These carpets, they really can carry a static charge.”
He still wasn’t talking, just gaping and struggling to blink.
Tina was gaping too, but with surprise. Her jaw had literally dropped, and her eyes were wide. I admit, it was pretty gratifying.
Then I saw Deanna. Her lips were clamped tight, and she was glaring down…
…at her husband’s hand, which I’d forgotten to release. Great.
On the plus side, maybe she was so fixated that she hadn’t noticed how long it was taking her husband to recover from a “static” shock.
I let go. “Mr. Pritchett?” I said. “Did you need anything else before we head out?”
Lionel furrowed his brows. “Need anything?” he said slowly. “No. Thank you. Were you saying something about our reunion?”
“Wow,” murmured Tina.
“Forget it,” I told him, with a smooth smile. “We’d better not trouble you and your wife any further.”
I glanced at Deanna to include her in the smile. Instead, I cringed.
We might have found ourselves a major clue, sure. But judging from her scowl, Mrs. Pritchett had found herself a whole new “rival” to envy.
Great.
Chapter 16
“That was amazing,” Tina gushed, as we hurried off down the hall. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”
“Thanks,” I said. “Coming from you, that’s… significant.”
“I mean it! You just zapped that guy.”
“Z
ap?” I said.
“Totally!”
Huh. I guessed I had. I’d always focused on the memory loss aspect, but maybe the jolt “side effect” had its own potential uses.
Zap. Interesting.
Except, the “zap” usually seemed to hurt me worse. And even if the “touchee” did feel anything, they promptly forgot.
I might have to refine my technique here.
If I ever had any idea what I was doing.
“Didn’t it hurt?” Tina said.
“Not too much,” I lied. Then I remembered who I was talking to. “I mean, it’s been worse,” I added, sheepish.
“Really?” she said. “You haven’t done that to me, have you?”
The question was so sudden that it was sheer luck I could blurt the truth. “No! No way.”
“Would you?” She wasn’t even pretending like this wasn’t a big deal.
“Of course not,” I said easily. “That’s the first rule of psychic detective work. Never zap your partner.”
She beamed, clearly relishing that magic last word.
I kept talking, avoiding her face and looking off down the hall, as if we were driving instead of walking. “What about you?” I said. “You read that woman like a book! I could see it on your face.”
“I know. I try not to show it like that.”
“No no, it was great,” I said.
“But she noticed.”
“It’s fine. She explained it away,” I said. “She had no idea you were reading her mind.”
“I wasn’t!” Tina said. “I didn’t know why she hated Mercedes. I wasn’t even sure it was about Mercedes. It was just this awful, awful wave. Like nothing else existed but the craving to destroy.”
“Wave?” I said.
“We call them waves. When you pick up emotions,” Tina said. “Partly because they’re like radio waves; it’s like tuning in. But they’re also like ocean waves, when you’re surfing. Most waves are gentle. You might not even notice. But even if it’s huge and scary and overwhelming… a wave will always pass.”
“Unless you drown,” I said.
She frowned.
I sensed a story here, but I decided not to probe. For now. I wasn’t sure I’d want to hear it.