Goes down easy(2)

And here he’d gone and done the same thing now. No, dude. You didn’t. You’re just stuck with the big stinkin’ pile of crap left by everyone who worked this case before you. Telling himself that was a whole lot easier than buying it as the truth.

Truth held position number one at the top of Jack’s culpability barometer. And not the ask-me-no-questions-and-I’ll-tell-you-no-lies sort of honesty he’d witnessed too often, but balls-to-the-wall-or-die.

If knowledge was power, then truth was omnipotence…and was why Jack nearly sputtered gumbo across the newspaper when he flipped to page fifteen, and the headline halfway down leaped out.

Psychic Della Brazille to consult on Eckhardt kidnapping





What the hell?

Oh no. This wasn’t happening. He wasn’t having his case all mucked up by a scammer out to fleece a family already on the edge. After the hurt he’d seen during his years in special ops, the anger, the pain—and having to learn to live with it all—there was no way he’d let anyone latch on like a leech to his case.

Especially not a con artist more interested in fifteen minutes of fame than anything resembling reality—or truth.





PERRY BRAZILLE GROANED at the headline, thankful the story had been buried on page fifteen rather than splashed across page one. Della so did not need to see this newest mention connecting her to the case. The stress she was under was already making her sick.

She’d been bombarded by the media, by former employees of Eckton Computing, by the Eckhardt family—all of them seeking answers she didn’t have to give. But the biggest stress came from the visions themselves. Visions which had started weeks ago and plagued her ever since.

That was how it had been with Della from the beginning, Perry mused, hiking up her calf-length skirt’s yards of navy twill and climbing onto the stool behind the counter in Sugar Blues. Her aunt never saw things in her dreams, or as gentle imaginings.

What she saw instead came as flashes. Harsh and jolting. Migraine-inducing. Blasts of intense color and heat and dizzying sound, each flash more draining, more agonizing than the last. It was an affliction which she’d suffered all of her life.

Della was, in fact, upstairs sleeping after hours of excruciating pain. And Perry intended to see that her aunt—her last living relative, the woman who, though only eighteen years older, had been Perry’s mother for most of her life—slept as long as she needed to.

That was why she was at the shop’s counter now. Della had three appointments for evening readings that needed to be rescheduled. Two were with old clients who would hate the delay but, being devoted to Della, would totally understand.

The third appointment was with Claire Braden who was new to Sugar Blues and the world of psychic readings. Claire was one of Perry’s neighbors at Court du Chaud. The “hot” court had been christened as such when occupied by Captain Gabriel Dampier, now the resident ghost.

Longtime occupants of Court du Chaud were well-versed in the legend of the pirate and his band. Perry had never seen him herself, but both Tally and Bree Addison, the twins living in numbers one and one-and-a-half, had shared stories of their sightings.

Perry’s experience was with a ghost of a different color—a blues singer named Sugar Babin who’d fallen (some said been pushed) to her death down the stairs of the very building that served as Della’s place of business, and had been her home for all of her life. It had been Perry’s, too, for many years.

At least Sugar only haunted the stairwell between the bottom step and the top, singing of love gone wrong in her smoky Nina Simone-like voice. And here Perry had always hoped there would be no PMS in the afterlife.

She dialed Claire’s office number, and when the other woman picked up, said, “Hey, it’s me. Della’s not feeling well, so I’m going to have to reschedule you, okay?”

“Of course it’s okay. Wait, no. Don’t reschedule. Just cancel. This reading was all your idea anyway, remember?”

Using the appointment book’s pen with the cobalt blue feather, Perry drew a line of tiny X’s through Claire’s name, thinking of another of their Court du Chaud neighbors, Tally Addison, who’d recently come to Sugar Blues seeking help. “It was a suggestion, not an ultimatum. Tally left after her visit with her mind more at ease. I thought Della might do the same for you.”

“Tally’s problems were with Court du Chaud’s ghost, not a man who wants to elope instead of spending money on a wedding.” Claire was obviously still arguing with her fiancé of one month about their upcoming spring nuptials.

“Randy still being a cheapskate?” A funny turn of events, considering the way he’d tossed money around before meeting Claire.

“I only plan to get married once in my life. I’d like the full designer gown, doves, balloons and ribbons package, ya know?” Claire sighed. “I think I liked Randy better when he believed money could buy happiness.”

“No, you didn’t. You just happened to be in the driver’s seat then. Now he’s keeping you on your toes.” Though Perry was quite sure that Claire’s toes were the last body part Randy had on his mind.

Claire’s sigh filled the void in the conversation. “I suppose he’s worth it.”

“Oh, stop it already,” Perry said, drawing little O’s above the X’s. “You know he is, and if you don’t, well, send him my way.”

“No can do, girlfriend. He bakes me cookies.” Claire laughed as if nothing more needed to be said.

And Perry supposed nothing did. She didn’t know a single female who wouldn’t dig on having a man with culinary skills that went beyond throwing burgers on a grill and popping the top on a beer can.

She certainly would, though she didn’t see it happening since her life had always revolved around women. A choice she’d made too many years ago to count. “I’ve still got room in my freezer if you have more you need to unload. Never can unload too many cookies, you know. At least from a calorie/wedding dress perspective.”

Claire laughed a second time. “See? Eloping would get me out of that worry. I could wear blue jeans, and all would be right with the world.”

“Wait. Back up,” Perry said as the bell over the shop’s front door chimed. She glanced up to see a man shove back the hood of his navy hoodie before disappearing into the shop’s aisles. “I thought you didn’t want to elope. That you wanted to know what Della could tell you about your wedding.”

“I did, but I’ve changed my mind.”

“Fickle, much?” Perry asked, straightening on the stool to peek over the bookcase that ran like a divider down the center of the shop. She saw brown hair flecked with bits of blond and a touch of gray at the man’s temples. She also saw long, long, long lashes that made her want to cry with envy.

“Probably less than it seems,” Claire was saying.

“How so?”

“Well, for example, if I were to have a baby, I wouldn’t want to know its sex in advance.”

“Hmm,” Perry said, more interested in her customer than in Claire’s attempt at logic. If only the stupid bookshelf were five instead of six feet tall. “Are you and Randy already talking about kids?”

“Please! It’s way too soon for that. We’re still learning what we can about each other.”

“Besides your shared cookie fetish?”

Claire groaned. “I swear. I’m going to be an elephant before we ever set a date.”

“Maybe, but Randy’s a good guy.” Perry smiled to herself, returning the plumed pen to its base. “He’ll be there through thin and through thick.”

“Ha! A comedian in every crowd.”

“I was raised by a woman who sees things she shouldn’t be able to see. I have to get my laughs somewhere.”

“God, Perry. I can’t even imagine a lifetime of dealing with that. I would think it would be so…I don’t know. Frightening?”

Perry shoved a hand through her hair, pushing the wild corkscrew curls away from her face. She had never talked to anyone about growing up with Della, about Della having to deal with the truth of her visions. Having to deal as well with both of their fears that the aftermath might one day debilitate her, leaving Perry alone again and too young to cope. Frightening was only a part of it.

“That. And interesting.” To say the least, which was all she could say for now. “I’ve gotta run. Are you sure you want to cancel?”

“Definitely,” Claire said, and Perry could almost hear the other woman nod. “But let’s do dinner one night this week.”

“Cookies for dessert?”

“What else?” Claire asked, laughing and adding, “I’ll call you,” before ringing off.

Once she had, Perry was left with no reason to stay at the counter. And even if she’d had tons of work to do there, curiosity would still have gotten the better of her. It wasn’t every day a man who looked like the one an aisle over walked into the shop.

She climbed down from the stool, closed the leather appointment book and stored it on end next to the cash register she locked out of habit. Then, smoothing down her skirt and the hem of her paisley-print poet’s blouse, she hooked the key ring on her index finger and went to check him out.