The Witch and the Gentleman (Page 4)

I sat as directed, and he did the same in a matching overstuffed recliner. He still held his stomach. A big fireplace was to my right. That would be fireplace number two. A thick, white, faux polar bear rug spread between us. It was probably heaven for toes. In fact, I itched to take my shoes off and let my toes revel in the fluffiness, but refrained. It wouldn’t be ladylike, and Peter Laurie was very much the gentleman.

A TV was opposite the fireplace. I noted an Xbox on a shelf next to the TV. The Xbox was covered in dust. That hit me hard for some reason.

Everywhere were pictures of a beautiful blond woman and a precocious little girl. Yes, something very lost haunted this home, and it wasn’t necessarily his deceased mother or their little girl. No, it was Peter himself. Still, I saw a small light in his eyes. The light of hope. Perhaps I was his last hope. No pressure there or anything.

“Would you like something to drink, Allison?” he asked. Although his voice didn’t have much inflection, he was still quite the gentleman. I detected the hint of a New England accent. I told him no thank you, and added, “Drinking clouds my connection. So does too much caffeine.”

“Then I won’t offer you that hot toddy today.”

“Say that three times,” I said. “But maybe next time.” I hoped it didn’t sound too flirtatious. I quickly added, “I’ve never taken on a client outside of work. It’s frowned upon.”

“Which is why I will make a sizable donation to the charity of your choice. If you’re not collecting the money for yourself, perhaps your employers would be forgiving.”

“Perhaps,” I said. Truth was, I could have used the money, too, but oh well. I knew I would eventually tell my boss about meeting Peter. In essence, ratting myself out. It was a pain in the ass being me sometimes. Although honorable to a fault, I could keep a secret. Just ask my vampire friends.

“Perhaps you should consider opening your own psychic business,” said Peter in a voice I was beginning to appreciate as very refined and cultured.

I laughed that off lightly. More truth: I was a big chicken. I liked the stability of working for the Psychic Hotline. I got a steady check. The money was nice. It afforded me to live the life I lived. Living in Beverly Hills was not cheap. Hell, living anywhere in southern California was not cheap. My problem was, of course, that I loved living in Beverly Hills. I loved the restaurants and shops and the people I met.

Beverly Hills had an inimitable creative energy. On any given day, I could run across Michael Bublé or my local TV anchorman. I’d seen everyone from Brad Pitt to Cher. And it wasn’t just the stars, either. There was vitality here. Possibilities. A sense of abundance and peace, and I responded well to that. Oh, and did I mention the shopping?

He gave me a small smile. “Just think about it. I think you would be quite good at it, and help a lot of people.”

“Now, who is the psychic one here?” I said.

“Certainly not me. I’m just a businessman, and you provide a service that could help a lot of people. Please, just think about it. You’d expand your opportunities and reach so many people who…need you.”

“You’ve barely met me, Mr. Laurie.”

“One doesn’t have to be in your presence long to know that you are…different—a good different.” And now, he really did laugh. A high sound that didn’t seem natural. I suspected it was because he hadn’t laughed much, if at all, over the past two years, almost three.

“Okay, now that we’ve established that I’m a big weirdo,” I said, winking, “perhaps we should get down to business. But first, let me ask, is there something wrong with your stomach?”

He’d still been holding it and rubbing it absently. The brief merriment was gone. His handsome features drew down, his smile absorbed by his pain. His short hair, I noted, was a good deal grayer now than it had been in many of these photos. He looked down, and said, “Sorry. I ate something bad recently. Stomach’s been bothering me ever since.”

“Maybe you should take something for it.”

“Maybe,” he said, and gave me a forced half smile. Yes, he was in some pain.

“Of course,” he said. “Where shall we begin?”

“Let’s start with your wife,” I said. “Why did she kill herself?”

Chapter Five

Peter stared at me.

He didn’t ask how I knew. He didn’t mention that I could have found out this information with just a little bit of background work. He just stared at me with rapidly watering eyes.

Finally, he nodded and said, “She was heartbroken.”

I felt more tingling and a sadness so great that I hunched over a little, tried to shake it off.

“You see, she was never the same after Penny’s murder. Especially considering…”

“Considering what?”

“Well, the two of them had a big fight that morning. Lots of arguing. Penny wanted to wear lip gloss and she was kind of young to start all of that, so Isabelle vetoed it. Then Penny told her mother that she hated her. Isabelle let our daughter’s words get to her, and had taken her to school without the two of them making up. She never had a chance to reconcile, you know, and it tore her up.”

“That must have been hard.”

Peter looked at me. “You have no idea. Yes, she put on a brave face. Even organized a charity in Penny’s name and to help other parents of murdered children. But at home, away from the support of the people who organized walkathons and spread the message across social media, Isabelle was lost.”

I felt that sense of “lost” and loss, so much so now that I suspected his wife was nearby. Never before had I sensed the departed. Not like this. Hell, my skin was tingling with static electricity. Then again, my powers had continued to grow, and hadn’t my vampire friend fed from me just the night before? She had. We had had drinks at The Ivy. We had seen Tom Cruise and his daughter having dinner. So had everyone else. God, I would hate to be a celebrity.

Afterward, back at my apartment, after chatting and drinking more wine, I had rolled up my sleeve, sat back on my own couch and closed my eyes as my new friend had drawn her sharpened nail over a vein in my wrist. Yes, the pain had been intense. At first. I always gasped, and last night was no different.

My friend didn’t sink her teeth into me. In fact, my friend and I had joked about the TV vampires with their elongated teeth. Vampires, as far as I knew—and my friend would be an expert—didn’t have elongated teeth. Why would they? It wasn’t very hard for such a powerful creature to puncture the skin and drink, especially with those freakish nails they had.