by Tawna Fenske
Violet sucked in her breath and stole another look at Detective Smeade. He looked oblivious. What the hell?
“Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…”
Next door, the sound system squawked again. The music cut off abruptly. Then the bass began to thump again. Violet’s head began to pound in time to the music. Drums thudded, an electric guitar screeched, and Aerosmith’s Steven Tyler let out a primal shriek.
Violet smacked her palms against the arms of her chair. “For the love of God, who strips to ‘Love in an Elevator’?”
“What?”
Violet opened her eyes and blinked. “What?”
“What did you just say?”
Violet swallowed, suddenly very aware that the music had gone silent. “Nothing, I was just… it was the trance.”
“Because it sounded like you said something about an elevator.”
“Oh, well, I was just—”
“And there’s an abandoned elevator shaft in the perp’s apartment building. The super said the doors have been padlocked for years. No one can get in there. But maybe—”
“Well, I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions.”
But Detective Smeade wasn’t listening. He was fumbling in his pocket and looking a little bit crazed. “My God, he must have a way in. That’s it, isn’t it? Jesus, wait ’til I tell Johnson.”
By now, Detective Smeade was standing up, rapidly hitting buttons on his cell phone with one hand.
Violet sat up straight in her chair, gripping the arms so hard her knuckles were pale. “Detective Smeade, let’s not get carried away—”
He held up his hand, silencing her. “Johnson? Call up that super again. We need to check the abandoned elevator. I don’t care if he doesn’t have the key to the padlock—we’ll get a warrant if we have to.”
Violet closed her eyes again and put her head in her hands, slouching in her chair as she tried to tune out the rest of the detective’s phone call. What had she done?
“Okay, I’ll see you over there.” Detective Smeade clicked off his phone.
Violet sat up in her chair, trying to look like someone who hadn’t just lied to a police officer. “Detective Smeade—”
“Thanks a bunch, Violet. I’ve gotta run. Just have your mom send me the bill like she always does.”
“But—”
“We appreciate it. You’ve been a great help.”
And with that, he dashed out the door.
Violet stared after him, willing him to come back and tell her he’d just been kidding. That he wouldn’t really order the city’s police force to follow the accidental directions of a fake psychic with a bad hangover.
Next door, the sound system screeched again. Def Leppard began to howl. Thud, thud, thud—
“Goddamit!” Violet yelped and leaped out of her chair. She stomped past the storage area and into the shared hallway, not even bothering to knock before grabbing the knob that led to Drew’s bar. She flung the door open with such force, she half expected the handle to snap off in her palm.
“Dammit, Drew, what’s with the noise?”
Drew looked up at her in surprise. He was crouched over a complicated-looking stereo system to the left of the bar. His hair was rumpled, his jeans were holey, and his expression was bemused.
He grinned at her. “Hello, Violet. Been practicing your juggling?”
“No, I haven’t been practicing my juggling. I’ve been trying to work next door, but you’re blasting glam rock loud enough to peel paint off my walls.”
“You mean butt rock?”
“What?”
“I prefer the term butt rock over glam rock, but I suppose we shouldn’t split hairs. Actually, hair metal is another common term—”
“Drew!”
“What?”
“I had a client this morning! Why are you playing music this loud at ten thirty on a Saturday morning?”
“Checking the speakers… and tonight’s set list. It never seems to bother Moonbeam.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” Violet muttered, channeling a string of mental curses at her mother. “She’s probably in the midst of an astral flight.”
“Maybe you should try that.”
Violet took a deep breath, trying hard to get her temper under control. It wasn’t his fault, really. He was just doing his job. Doing it loudly, of course, but if Moonbeam had never complained before…
“Look, I’m sorry I yelled,” she said. “I’m just not used to practicing in this sort of environment. The music is a little… well, distracting.”
Drew stood up, sending whatever was left of Violet’s temper right out the window. “Apology accepted,” he said. “And I’m sorry about the music. I’ll try to keep it down from now on. And look, I got a present for you.”
Startled, Violet reached out and accepted the small bag she recognized from the toy store down the street. She knew what it was before she’d even finished pulling it out of the bag.
“A Magic 8 Ball,” she said flatly.
Drew grinned. “I figured you might need it. For the psychic readings.”
“Psychic readings?” asked a booming voice from the other side of the stage.
Violet turned to see the tallest, blondest, most vacant-looking man she’d ever seen. And she was seeing a whole lot of him, since he was clad in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs and a tool belt. Beautifully chiseled, beautifully clueless, the man moved toward her with such an earnest expression that Violet wanted to warn him about playground bullies.
He smiled at her, looking a lot like a cocker spaniel on steroids. “Did you guys say psychic readings?” he asked. “I haven’t seen the lady next door for awhile. Is she okay? You’re pretty.”
Violet smiled, charmed in spite of herself. She glanced at Drew, who kicked a stray cord out of Jamie’s path.
“Careful, Jamie,” Drew said. “Don’t trip again.”
“Thanks, boss.”
“Violet,” Drew said, “meet Jamie. The best thing I got to keep from my divorce.”
“What?”
“Jamie used to be my brother-in-law, but he’s now one of our top male entertainers on Friday and Saturday nights. He’s actually the one who came up with the idea to expand the bar’s offerings to include special performances.”
“It was always a dream of mine,” Jamie said, reaching out to pump Violet’s hand. “Stripping, I mean. It’s my art.”
Drew cleared his throat. “And Violet is the daughter of Miss Moonbeam from next door.”
Jamie beamed. “Wow, are you psychic, too?” he asked, his eyes wide. “I didn’t know that sort of thing ran in families. That’s really cool.”
“Yes,” Violet said, throwing Drew a pointed look. “It is cool,” Violet said. “My mother is the best-known psychic in Portland, and I’m filling in for her while she recovers from an accident.”
Violet shot another look at Drew, daring him to say something snarky about her lack of psychic skills. Drew just went back to fiddling with his sound system, his expression irritatingly smug. Violet gripped the handle of the bag containing her Magic 8 Ball.
“Wow,” Jamie said, still beaming obliviously at Violet. “Think maybe you could give me a reading sometime?”
“Oh. Well, sure. I could check the appointment book, or maybe it would just be better if you waited until my mother comes back in a few weeks…”
“No, I want you,” Jamie said. “Not in an inappropriate way, I mean. I hope you don’t think—”
“Of course not.”
“It’s just that I noticed you here last night, and you just seemed like you had a very kind, generous soul.”
“Generous soul?” Violet asked, doing a quick mental wade through the previous night’s drunken sludge.
Drew looked up from the wire he was threading into the back of a speaker. “I think he’s talking about the hundred you stuffed in the front of Barry’s shorts,” Drew offered helpfully.
Jamie gave her a serious nod. “You said it was for his
mother’s surgery.”
“Nice of him to buy his mom new boobs for Mother’s Day,” Drew agreed.
Violet grimaced, but turned back to Jamie, feeling determined. “Yes, Jamie, I’d be happy to help you with… um, well, whatever it is you need. Why don’t you stop by the shop later this afternoon to make an appointment?”
Drew grinned at her. “I could spare him for a few minutes right now, if you like. We were just wrapping up here anyway. You could even use your new tool.”
Jamie gave her a hopeful look. “New tool?”
Violet shook her head. “It’s nothing. Drew’s just being funny. I actually can’t fit you in today though. I’m heading over to the hospital to see my mother.”
“Give her my regards,” Drew said.
“Oh… give her my tips from last night,” Jamie said, stuffing his hand into the front of his boxer briefs. “Medical bills are expensive.”
“Um, that’s okay,” Violet said, stepping back a little as Jamie continued to dig. “But I appreciate the thought, Jamie. That’s really very sweet.”
Jamie kept his hand in his shorts and beamed at her, probably because it was the first time anyone had ever appreciated him for his thoughts.
“You have a good visit with your mother,” he said. “I’ll come see you later.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Violet said, not looking forward to it at all.
***
To Drew’s surprise, Jamie actually had enough tact to refrain from commenting on Violet until she’d left the room.
“Wow. She’s really pretty, boss.”
“Hmmph,” Drew replied, feigning intense interest in his subwoofer.
“Is she your girlfriend?”
“What?” Drew dropped his wire cutters. “Of course not. Why would you ask that?”
“I’ve been taking classes in social anthropology, and I just noticed that when you were talking to each other—”
“No,” Drew said firmly. “Definitely not.”
“But she’s lots smarter than the women you always go out with. That’s a good thing.”
“That’s not a good thing.”
“And she’s psychic. That’s a good thing, too.”
“Again… not a good thing.”
“Okay. Well, I just wanted to make sure it wouldn’t upset you if I went to see her for a reading. You know, like a fox paw.”
“A fox paw?”
“When you break a rule of etiquette—”
“Oh, a faux pas.”
“Exactly. Spending time with the boss’s girlfriend—”
“She’s not my girlfriend, so be my guest.” Drew glanced up at Jamie and sighed. “You might want to consider putting some clothes on, though.”
“Yeah?”
“At least a pair of pants.”
“Good idea,” Jamie said. “Maybe I’ll get dressed now. You don’t need me anymore?”
“You go ahead,” Drew said, adjusting his midrange driver and firing up another ’80s tune. “I need you here at seven tonight instead of eight. Dan twisted his knee again.”
“Sure thing, boss,” Jamie said, and lumbered away.
When Jamie was gone, Drew flicked the sound system off and sighed.
He’d rather remove his own leg hair with hot pliers than date a whip-smart vixen with a type-A personality. He’d been married to one of those before, thank you very much, and it was the last thing in the world he needed now.
He’d been stupid to grope her at the juggling store. Really stupid. He hadn’t meant for things to get so heated. One minute, he was giving her an innocent lesson in the fine art of ball handling, and the next minute he’d been remembering every detail of what her breast had felt like pressed against his palm the night before.
No. Forget about it.
Violet was not what he needed. Violet with her sharp mind for data and numbers and statistics, and her high-powered career back in Maine.
Not his type.
Ditzy women were good. Ditzy women with uncomplicated careers who didn’t nag him about his career choice were even better.
Drew’s thoughts swayed back to the way Violet had felt in his arms at the juggling store. The precise moment she’d dropped that stuffy, accountant façade and melted back into his arms, her spine pressed against his chest, her ass tight and round and—
No. Don’t go there.
Okay, fine. So he’d deliberately cranked up the sound system this morning, hoping she’d come stomping over, beautiful in her fury. And yeah, he’d been thinking about her when he grabbed that Magic 8 Ball at the toy store, enjoying the thought of making her laugh, watching her lips curve in a smile, her eyes dance with laughter. Was there really anything wrong with that? With ogling an attractive, intelligent, slightly insane female?
“There’s a whole lot wrong with that,” Drew said aloud, and went to pour himself another cherry Coke.
Chapter 4
When Violet arrived in her mother’s hospital room, she was surprised to find Moonbeam alone. Her mom looked pale and rumpled and a little dazed as she leaned back against her pillow, reading a copy of Super Psychic magazine.
“What, no séances this afternoon?” Violet asked, slinging her purse into a chair as she strode into the room. She bent to give Moonbeam a kiss on the cheek, noticing how soft her mother’s skin was, even after fifty-eight years. Score one for organic skin care.
“No, the nurses kicked everyone out after the incense lit the curtains on fire again,” Moonbeam said, setting her magazine aside. “But I’m so happy you’re here. I just heard from Detective Smeade about your reading with him this morning.”
“Oh?” Violet said, feeling the panic rise like bile in her throat.
“Congratulations, honey. They found the money right where you said it would be.”
“What?”
“In the elevator shaft. Isn’t that the craziest thing? But of course, you knew it all along, so—”
Violet sat down hard in the chair, her head spinning again in spite of the fact that her hangover had long since passed. She gripped the arm of the chair as her mother kept chattering, the words washing over her without actually sinking in.
When Violet found her voice, it was hoarse and far away.
“They found the money in the elevator?” she asked, certain there’d been a mistake. “At the thief’s apartment building?”
“Detective Smeade said you led them right to it. I’m so proud of you honey. Didn’t I always say you had the gift?”
“Jesus,” Violet said, glancing up at her mother’s IV bag. Was there anything worth drinking in there?
“Anyway, honey, you have Sandra Cooley coming in at three p.m. for a reading, and she’s a tough one. Don’t forget what I told you yesterday about—”
“Did the doctor give you any sort of timeline for recovery?” Violet asked. “Any chance you’ll be returning to work soon?”
“Well, dear, Dr. Abbott should be here any minute to check on me and hopefully give me a better idea when I might be released. But of course, there’s the physical therapy and bed rest and I’m really not supposed to be up moving around for at least a few weeks.”
“A few weeks?” Violet choked. “But what about the shop?”
“Well, you’re doing such a great job, honey, and I do feel like I’m getting good care, and it’s so nice to know the shop is safe in your hands.”
“Well, I don’t know about—”
“Just make sure you chase away that Drew Watson if he shows up with a tape measure and starts talking about expanding his bar. He’s been eyeing my space for years. But really, I know I have nothing to worry about with you in charge. You’re such a smart girl and a good psychic and I know you’ll take care of everything.”
Violet grimaced, not sure how much longer dumb luck would hold out for her. She couldn’t keep faking her way through readings like this.
Then again, isn’t that what Moonbeam had been doing for almost thirty years?
&nbs
p; Feeling guilty for disparaging her mother—even silently—Violet stood up and bent down to fluff Moonbeam’s pillow. “So really, Mom, how are you feeling?”
“Oh, well, I wasn’t happy about the tainting of my karmic balance with the chemicals and medications, and the doctors refused to use a natural, herb-based form of anesthesia, but—”
“We did the best we could,” announced a voice from the doorway. Violet turned to see Dr. Abbott grinning at them. He made his way to the edge of hospital bed, pausing to offer Violet a pleasant smile before turning to Moonbeam.
“How are you feeling today, Ms. McGinn?”
Moonbeam grinned, grasping his hand as he rolled a wheeled stool to her bedside. “I’ve told you to call me Moonbeam,” she scolded without venom.
“I’ll try to remember,” he said seriously, glancing at Violet. “You can go ahead and keep chatting with your daughter if you like, Moonbeam. I’m just going to check your stats for a sec, and then we can talk about our plans for you.”
“I can leave the room, if you like,” Violet said, picking up her purse. “If you need privacy or—”
“No, please,” Dr. Abbott said. “The distraction is helpful.”
He didn’t say for whom, but Violet sat back down and grasped her mother’s free hand. “So, Mom. Everything’s going great at the shop. Just concentrate on getting better and don’t worry too much about your clients or the shop or anything.”
“Oh, I don’t worry at all, honey. I know you’re a wonderfully talented clairvoyant, so everyone’s in great hands.”
From the corner of her eye, Violet saw Dr. Abbott’s eyebrow lift. She winced, bracing herself for the barrage of skeptical questions—none of which she’d blame him for.
“You’re psychic?” he asked. He glanced up at her with interest as he jotted something on her mother’s chart.
“Oh, well, I’m just filling in for Mom while—”
“Violet is one of the most talented young clairvoyants practicing right now,” Moonbeam boasted. “Why just today, she solved a major crime for the Portland Police Department.”
Dr. Abbott looked impressed, his warm brown eyes crinkling pleasantly at the corners. “You have your own practice?”
“Oh, well, actually, I’m an accountant.”