Midnight Investigation. Sheryl Lynn

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СКАЧАТЬ she said. “Just so we’re straight. I’ve run across a lot of so-called psychics, mediums, fortune-tellers, channelers and even a few telepaths. I consider every single one flat-out evil. They exploit the grieving, greedy and just plain dumb. I admit that Rampart has collected some really good evidence about the paranormal. I’ve seen a lot of things that can’t be explained and I’m willing to accept that there may be something out there. What I have never seen is evidence of any type, under any circumstances, that anybody can communicate with the dead.”

      She was honest about her feelings. He liked that about her.

      “Fair enough. So tell me, if I promise to not talk about my adventures with dead relatives, will you go out to dinner with me?”

      He liked her open surprise, too.

      A call came over the radio. Dispatch wanted his location. He thumbed the radio transmitter clipped to his shoulder and responded. A business reported a break-in.

      “I have to go. I’ll call you.”

      “Okay.”

      As he pulled out of the parking lot he watched her. With her head cocked and wearing a bemused smile, she watched him. She definitely liked him, even if she didn’t realize it yet. Sometimes, he thought with a chuckle, knowing things came in handy.

       Chapter Four

      Wishing her town house had an attached garage, Desi lugged the heavy box of paper toward her house. At least, the weather had been dry and she didn’t have to fight ice and snow piles to get from her car to the front door.

      Her next-door neighbor came outside, spotted Desi and made a small sound of surprise.

      “Hi, Annaliese,” Desi said. “Could you help a girl out and unlock my door?”

      “You have been out?” the older German woman asked.

      Desi shifted her grip. The sun was blindingly bright, but the temperature was about twenty degrees and her hands were ice. “Yeah, and I’m about to drop this box.” She moved so Annaliese could take the keys clipped to her purse.

      “Well!” Annaliese hurried to unlock Desi’s door. The concrete porch was too small for more than one person at a time. Instead of letting Desi enter, Annaliese stood there and frowned.

      Desi adored her neighbor, but the box was growing heavier by the second. “Go on in,” Desi said, and put a foot on the concrete step. “Please.”

      Annaliese shook a finger. “I thought you were home. I was coming to tell you to turn down the television. It is so loud!”

      “I never leave the TV on.”

      “Oh, yes, you are such a good neighbor. Never any noise or parties.” She clamped her hands over her ears and swayed side to side. “Oh, oh, oh! My walls are shaking.”

      Now Desi realized the noisy television she assumed came from another town house in the row actually came from her house. “Let me in. Go. I’m about to drop this on my foot.”

      Annaliese went inside and held the door for Desi. Sure enough, her television blared at full volume. Desi put the box on the floor, dropped her purse and rushed to turn it off. The silence was instant and blessed. She stuck her freezing hands under her armpits and turned to her neighbor.

      Annaliese smiled, showing very white teeth. “This is so unlike you, Desi.”

      The television remote lay on the coffee table. Spike. Desi couldn’t remember if she’d been watching the news before she left to run her errands. If she had forgotten to turn off the TV, and the cat walked on or sat on the remote, he could have pressed the volume control.

      “It won’t happen again,” Desi said. “I promise.”

      Annaliese blew air between her teeth. “I believe you. All done now. You must promise to come over later. It is so cold I have to bake. I am making olive bread. Old, old family recipe from Germany.”

      Annaliese loved to bake, but she always claimed an excuse for it—it was a holiday, or somebody’s birthday, or it was raining. She even said once that it was so miserably hot she might as well make cookies to justify the heat.

      “I can’t wait,” Desi said. “I’m sorry about the noise. It will not happen again.”

      Desi followed the older woman out, returning to her car to collect the rest of her bags. It was definitely possible Spike had turned up the volume on the TV. The more Desi thought about it, however, the more positive she felt that she had not left the TV on in the first place.

      After carrying the rest of the bags inside, she called, “Spike? Here, kitty. Where are you, bad boy?”

      A meow answered. She looked around and heard paws pattering frantically against the basement door. She opened it and the cat sauntered out, his tail flipping in annoyance about being locked in the basement.

      

      D ESI SANG ALONG to the golden oldies radio station as she keyed numbers into a spreadsheet. Piles of receipts were spread across her desk. She’d spent an hour organizing scraps of paper for her client. She liked Joe. He always fed her a big plate of his special lasagna whenever she visited his Italian bistro downtown. She hated his habit of filling a paper sack with receipts without making the slightest effort to sort them by type or date. He was almost as bad as her sister. But at least she didn’t have to scour his restaurant to find mislaid papers the way she had to at the antique store.

      Spike jumped onto the desk. She picked him up, again, and set him on the floor. He stretched against her leg, unsheathing his claws. “Ow!” She shoved him away. He sat and glared at her, tail twitching. “What do you want? You’re driving me crazy this morning. I already fed you.” As soon as she began typing, he stretched against her leg again. His claws pricked through her jeans. “Ow! That’s it!” He tried to run, but she caught him, tossed him onto the basement stairs and closed the door. “Cat jail for you.”

      The phone rang then, so she settled back in front of the computer and answered.

      It was Gwen. “Guess what?”

      “I’m busy, Gwen.”

      “You’re always busy. But you’ll never guess who I ran into at Chico’s.”

      “Paul Newman.” Desi peered closely at an invoice. The printer ink had been low and the numbers were only partially printed.

      “Didn’t you hear? He passed away months ago. I saw your cute cop friend.”

      A ripple ran through Desi’s chest and belly. Buck had called but, uncertain if she wanted to go out with him, she’d let it go to voice mail. She hadn’t listened to his message yet. What if he ate with his fingers or flirted with servers or was a lousy tipper?

      “The girls and I stopped in for nachos and a beer. There he was. He’s even cuter out of uniform. He was with a friend. Will. Have you met him?”

      A most unpleasant image of beautiful Gwen chatting it up and laughing with Buck formed in Desi’s head. Buck drowning in Gwen’s eyes, and sneaking glimpses of her ample breasts СКАЧАТЬ