Believe It or Not (10 page)

Drew pressed a button on a remote control in his hand. Instantly, the pulse of Rod Stewart’s “Da’ Ya’ Think I’m Sexy” filled the room. Jerry began to undulate, performing some sort of pelvic thrust Violet figured might be sexy under a black light, with a crowd of intoxicated observers clustered around the bar.

Jerry reached up and tipped his police cap at Violet. It slid down over one eye. Violet pressed her lips together, trying very hard not to giggle.

The dance continued from there, with Jerry unbuttoning and unvelcroing to the beat of the music. Twice, Violet stole a look at Drew. He had an expression of trained seriousness, and was jotting notes at a feverish pace in a spiral notebook. Violet craned her neck, trying to see what he was writing. He had the messiest handwriting she’d ever seen.

Violet looked back at her own notepad, where she’d written three words:
Buy
breakfast
sausage.

By the time Rod was done singing, Jerry was shirtless and had started to fumble with the button on his pants. He turned his back to them, shaking his ass so hard Violet worried he might fall over. Slowly, Jerry began to lower his pants. Violet bit her lip and looked at Drew.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for this,” she whispered.

“Throw him a wolf whistle or something,” Drew whispered back. “It’s good for his self-esteem.”

Violet turned back to the stage and looked at Jerry. He shimmied his pants down over his thighs, gyrating furiously as Justin Timberlake began belting out the lyrics to “SexyBack.”

“Oh, my,” Violet said.

“He could use some new boxer briefs,” Drew remarked. “The fabric is frayed on the edge there.”

She looked at him. “I can’t believe you’re really this secure in your masculinity.”

Drew shrugged. “It’s just business.”

Jerry tossed his pants on the table in front of Violet. She looked at them for a moment, not sure what etiquette called for. Should she fold them?

She glanced over at Drew again.
Whistle
, he mouthed at her. Violet stuck her fingers between her lips and made her best attempt. Instead, she spit on the bar.

Drew rolled his eyes at her. “That’s the best you can do?”

“Can I whoop instead?”

“By all means.”

Jerry was thrusting and bobbing on stage, looking more like an ill chicken than a sex object. He was smiling though, having a good time. Violet let out a spirited whoop, causing Jerry to stumble as he whirled around the metal pole at the center of the stage.

Violet leaned back toward Drew. “Do you provide training for the guys you hire?” she whispered.

“Jamie does. You met him the other day.”

“Right, Jamie. He’d be good at that.”

“He is.”

“He’d look good naked,” she said, just trying to get a rise out of him.

“He’s my ex-brother-in-law. You can ogle him, but don’t get any ideas.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Drew kept his focus on the stage, but she thought she saw something twitch at the corner of his eye. “No cartwheels, Jerry,” he called. “Save that for another time.”

“Okay, boss.”

Violet looked down at her notepad.
Schedule
bikini
wax
, she scrawled.

“Jamie’s coming in to see me the day after tomorrow for a reading,” Violet whispered.

This time, she got an actual wince from Drew. He was quiet for a moment, but she could tell he was processing something. He didn’t look at her, but she knew she had his attention.

“Go easy on him, Violet,” Drew murmured. “Jamie’s a good guy. Don’t—”

“Hey, don’t tell me how to do my job.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Your job?”

“My mother’s job. Whatever. I’m not telling you how to run
your
business.”

“Fine. Just… just be careful. Jamie’s not like a lot of guys.”

“What does that mean?”

“He’s not a jerk. He’s pretty sensitive, actually. Gets his feelings hurt easily, falls prey to scams, that sort of thing.”

“You’re calling me a scam.”

Drew didn’t respond at first, and his eyes were still fixed on the stage. When he looked at her, his expression was serious. “Just be careful with him. That’s what I’m saying.”

Violet gritted her teeth, not sure how to respond to him. Did he really think she was that irresponsible? That unethical?

Hell, wasn’t she?

She was on the verge of concocting a smart-ass retort when Jerry’s boxer briefs hit her in the eye.

***

Later that afternoon, Violet closed out the spreadsheet on her laptop and stood up, bumping her head on a wild branch from Moonbeam’s lucky bamboo plant. Struggling to regain her dignity, she extended her hand to the serious-looking blonde across the desk.

“Ms. Zimmerman, it’s been a pleasure working with you,” she said. “I’ll have the rest of those figures for you by the end of business tomorrow.”

The woman returned the handshake, smoothing her Armani jacket with her other hand. “Yes, of course. You came highly recommended to us as an accountant. Of course, once we heard you were also psychic, that sealed the deal for us. Tell me, Violet, do you have much experience with the stock market?”

Violet cringed inwardly. “Actually, Ms. Zimmerman, I’m very conscientious about not mixing my accounting business with the psychic one. Too much potential for ethical dilemmas, you understand?”

“Of course, of course. Still, you would alert a client if you had any premonitions about… oh, say, an embezzlement conviction on the horizon? Hypothetically speaking.”

“Ms. Zimmerman—”

“Technically, investment fraud isn’t such a huge deal. If there were just a way to find out what the FBI knows already, we could—”

“You know, my psychic skills really don’t extend into the criminal realm.”

Her client frowned. “But I know your mother contracts with the police department, and the readout on your iPhone there says Detective Smeade has called twice in the last thirty minutes. Surely, you could—”

“You have a lovely evening, Ms. Zimmerman,” Violet interrupted. “Try not to embezzle money, okay?”

Violet’s cell phone was ringing before the door had swung shut behind her client. Violet snatched up the phone with one hand as she powered down her computer with the other. “Hey, Mom, how are you feeling?”

“Oh, sweetie. You sound tired. Late night last night?”

“Something like that,” Violet said, her mind veering toward the feel of Drew’s hands on her calves.

“So your date with Dr. Abbott went well?”

Dr. Abbott. Right.

“It wasn’t a date. And was there a particular reason you sent us to Portland City Grill?”

There was a long pause, and Violet wondered if she’d misjudged. Maybe it
was
just a coincidence.

“What are you talking about, honey?” Moonbeam asked sweetly.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Drew goes to Portland City Grill several times a week. With any variety of bimbos, from what I understand.”

“Oh, my. Are you getting friendly with Drew?”

Violet rolled her eyes, feeling like a teenager. “You knew Drew would be there, so you sent me with Dr. Abbott. Why?”

“Violet, honey, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“So it’s just a coincidence that I show up with a wealthy, single surgeon on my arm at the restaurant where a guy you dislike is having dinner with a floozy?”

“Violet. You already know, dear—there are no coincidences in the life of a psychic.”

Violet sighed, and changed the subject. “How are you feeling?”

“Much better since you brought me my Zen garden. So what’s new at the shop, honey?”

“Detective Smeade called again. He wanted to give me a heads-up that they’re running out of leads on a burglary case they’ve been working on.”

“Really? Is he going to need you?”

“He doesn’t know yet. He just wanted to give me some advance warning.”

“It’s nice when he does that. Gives you time to prepare.”

Violet waited, wondering if her mother would offer more explanation. Was she admitting she was a fake? Admitting Violet was a fake? Or just giving her genuine guidance? Violet had no idea.

“Anyway, I did a little online research, just to familiarize myself with the case,” Violet said. “Hopefully he won’t need me, but—”

“If he does, you’ll be ready.”

“I’ll be ready.”

Violet was quiet for a moment, not sure how to broach the next subject without sending Moonbeam’s pulse rate through the roof. “Moonbeam?”

“Yes, dear?”

“You know that reading I did with Mrs. Rivers a few days ago?”

“Of course, honey. Your first reading.”

“Right. Well, I might have told her that Frank was cheating.”

“Her squash partner, yes of course. I think they’re getting ready to head to Japan for the world championships. He’s cheating?”

Violet gritted her teeth, trying to figure out if her mother was being exceptionally dense or exceptionally clever. “I don’t know, but—”

“Of course you know, honey,” Moonbeam said. “You’re clairvoyant.”

“Right, but Frank owns the building and he said—”

“Violet, honey. You know you need to trust your instincts.”

Violet sighed. “He threatened to kick us out of the building.”

Moonbeam was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice had a sharp edge to it. “Did he, now?”

“He did. He wants to come talk to me the day after tomorrow, as soon as he gets back from a business trip to Chicago.”

“Well,” Moonbeam said, slowly. “Honey? Have we ever talked about the proper way to cast a curse?”

Violet glanced at her watch and then pressed the gas pedal to the floor. She was later than she’d expected leaving the hospital, which meant she was running late to meet Chris at his private practice.

“Dammit,” Violet muttered as she spotted a traffic jam up ahead. She saw a cluster of police cars and slowed down, keeping an eye on the standstill traffic.

She cursed under her breath again as she brought the car to a halt, watching her windshield wipers work double-time to fight the afternoon rainstorm. She gritted her teeth as she stared at the immobile cars. This was not what she needed. She was trying to make a good impression on Chris. To let him know she was professional and responsible and prompt.

You
make
it
sound
so
hot.

Violet didn’t notice the police officer until he knocked on her window.

“Sorry to startle you, ma’am,” he said when Violet rolled down her window. “There’s a train wreck up ahead—”

“The light rail?”

The officer nodded. “Some guy played chicken with the MAX and lost, so we’re rerouting traffic back the other way. Do you need help with an alternate route to wherever you’re going?”

Violet shook her head, already mapping it out in her head. “I think I’ve got it. I grew up here.”

“Okay then. If you hang a right over there on Mercy Street, it’ll take you right back out to the highway.”

“Thanks.”

“Have a good day, ma’am.”

Violet rolled up her window and watched as the little blue Honda ahead of her executed a U-turn. She steered her rental car in an arc, falling in line behind the Honda. She glanced at her watch.

“Dammit,” she muttered again. She had told Chris she’d stop by his office at five to pick up a few more files. It was already ten after, and the reroute would cost her at least five more. She would have called, but her cell-phone battery had gone dead earlier in the day. She resisted the urge to smack her fist on the steering wheel.

By the time she wheeled into the clinic parking lot, Violet was fifteen minutes late. She cast a look around the parking lot, relieved to see there were still five or six cars. Lurching into the closest spot, she flew out of the car and sprinted to the front door of the clinic.

A pleasant, sanitized, air-conditioned gust greeted her as she pulled open the door. So did an equally sanitized-looking blonde with a face that had clearly seen one too many Botox injections. Her name tag said “Beatrice.”

“Hello, dear,” greeted Beatrice and her immobile forehead. “Do you need an appointment?”

“No, actually, I’m here to see Dr. Abbott. Chris, I mean. Not for a checkup or anything. Sorry, I’m late to meet him to pick up some files and—”

“Oh, you must be Violet,” Beatrice said, beaming widely at her. “He’s expecting you. We’ve all heard so much about you.”

“You have?”

“Let me just let Dr. Abbott know you’ve arrived. He’s with a patient right now, but I know he’ll be so excited to see you.”

“I’ll just wait here and read.”

Violet picked up a women’s magazine off the table and smiled. Beatrice smiled back, probably wondering whether Violet planned to read “Seven Bad-girl Bedroom Moves” or “The STD You May Already Have.” Violet sat down and began to leaf through the magazine. She ran her fingers through her hair, hoping she didn’t look too disheveled. She wasn’t good at being late. It wasn’t in her nature.

She turned the page, trying to find something to take her mind off her tardiness. Before she knew it, she was thoroughly engrossed in an article about gynecological exams gone bad.

A door opened off the lobby, and Violet looked up to see Chris beaming at her.

“Violet, I’m so glad to see you! How was your day?”

Violet closed the magazine and stood up, trying to pretend
vagina
wasn’t the last word she’d read. “Hey, Chris. Sorry I’m late. There was a train wreck and… well, anyway, it’s good to see you.”

“No problem at all. I had a couple appointments run late anyway, so you’re right on time.”

“Must have been a busy day?”

“Pretty standard, actually. Moonbeam is doing well?”

“Very well, thank you. She’s receiving excellent care.”

There was a brief pause, and Violet worried for a moment that they’d run out of mundane topics to cover. She considered inviting him to take the
Cosmo
quiz with her when he spoke up again.

“So Violet, can I get you water or coffee or anything?”

“No, thank you. I’m good.”

“Well then, let me give you a tour of the office.”

He led her down a narrow hallway lined with tasteful watercolors and a series of golden oak doorways. He pointed out offices and exam rooms, leading Violet through a short maze of hallways. Everything was very tasteful, very sterile. Precisely how a doctor’s office should be. Violet made appropriate sounds of appreciation, nodding when he showed her his X-ray machine and noting the expensive furniture in his office.

“So you probably want to get those files,” he said when the tour was over.

“That would be great.”

“I don’t suppose you’re free for dinner, are you?”

“Dinner?”

“If you don’t already have plans, of course. I’ve been wanting to try that German restaurant up the road a bit, and I’d love the company.”

“Oh. Well, yes. That would be lovely.”

He smiled at her. “Let me grab those files for you, and I’ll be ready to go.”

“Okay,” Violet said. “I’ll wait here and read about…” She glanced back at her magazine. “I’ll just wait here.”

Chris was only gone a few minutes. When he emerged again, he had traded the lab coat for an expensive-looking wool jacket. He held an umbrella in one hand and a briefcase in the other. Violet admired the aesthetic. Very debonair.

“Do you want to go in one car, or follow me there?” he asked.

“Carpooling makes sense. Saves fossil fuels and all that.”

He grinned. “You are your mother’s daughter, aren’t you?”

Violet smiled benignly and followed him out to the parking lot, where he beeped open the locks on a shiny black Mercedes. He reached past her to open the passenger-side door for her.

“Thank you,” Violet said, and got in.

Chris moved around to the other side, depositing the briefcase and umbrella in the backseat before moving to the driver’s side and taking his seat.

“Pardon the mess,” he said, and picked up a single gum wrapper out of the console. It was the only thing Violet could see that was out of place.

They rode in companionable silence, listening to the patter of raindrops and the swish of puddles beneath the tires. Violet thought about how pleasant it was to be comfortable enough with someone that there was no need to make trivial conversation. That was nice. Better than nice, that was really great.

Violet looked out at the rain, trying to remember the last time she’d seen unclouded skies. That was one thing she didn’t miss about living in Portland, Oregon. Not that there were many things she
did
miss. She liked her life in Portland, Maine. It was perfect. Just what she’d always wanted.

She turned to Chris, tired of listening to her own thoughts. “You like living in Portland? I mean, you didn’t grow up here, so I just wondered.”

He gave her an odd look. “How funny you should ask that right then.”

“Why’s that?”

“I was just thinking about living on the East Coast and how much I enjoyed my childhood there.” He looked at her and smiled. “I guess I pretty much give up the expectation of private thoughts when I’m spending time with a psychic.”

“Right. Well, it doesn’t always work quite that way.”

“No? Do you have to really focus on it or something like that?”

“Something like that,” Violet agreed, desperate to get off the subject of psychic powers. “So you enjoy the East Coast?”

“Very much. Like I mentioned the other night, I grew up in New Hampshire, and my parents are still back there.”

“You see them often?”

“Not as often as I’d like. They’re getting older, and… well, you probably know how it is. I suppose it’s the same for you, isn’t it? Moonbeam’s over here, and you live on the East Coast. You must miss her.”

“Sometimes,” Violet agreed, surprised to realize she wasn’t lying.

Chris smiled. “It must have been interesting growing up with a mother who was so… so…”

“Wacky?”

“Well…”

“Infuriating?”

Chris laughed. “I was going to say spirited, but I suppose you’d know better than I would.”

Violet shrugged, a little taken aback by the hero worship Chris seemed to direct toward Moonbeam. “It was interesting,” she agreed.

“Were all your boyfriends petrified that she knew their innermost thoughts?”

Violet laughed. “I never thought of that. Maybe that’s why I didn’t have boyfriends in high school.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it. I guess you’d say I was a bit of an outcast, growing up.” She tried to say it with a nonchalant air, but she could see from Chris’s sympathetic expression that she hadn’t succeeded.

“So how about now?” he asked. “Do you date much?”

Violet smiled and looked down at her hands folded neatly in her lap. “Some. Nothing serious at the moment. How about you?”

“Nothing serious. I haven’t really found what I’m looking for, I suppose.”

“And what are you looking for?”

He smiled, his warm, brown eyes a little faraway as he looked out at the road. “Marriage, family, the whole nine yards.”

“The two-point-four children, the cocker spaniel, the house with the big front yard?” Violet added, grinning.

Chris smiled back a little sheepishly as he wheeled into the parking lot of the restaurant. “I suppose that sounds a little boring.”

“Hey, nothing wrong with boring. I love boring. Boring gets me hot.” She hadn’t meant to add that last part, but the way Chris’s eyes lit up told her she’d managed to intrigue, not offend. Well, that was good.

Chris switched off the car and unbuckled his seat belt. Then he turned and smiled right into her eyes. “In that case then, let’s head inside and have a perfectly boring dinner.”

***

By the time Chris walked her to the door at the end of their evening, Violet was more frustrated than she’d been in years.

Not sexually frustrated—that would have been a good sign, really. And not frustrated with Chris, either. He was perfect. Exactly the sort of man she’d been looking for. He’d been an absolute gentleman all evening, kind and well-mannered and intelligent and exactly—
exactly
—what she wanted.

Which is why she was so damn frustrated with herself. Chris was smart, charming, career focused, and attentive to her every need. Above all, he was
normal
. Just what she wanted.

Only… well, she wasn’t really
wanting
him. Not the way she expected to want a good-looking, smart, single—

“You must be tired,” Chris murmured as they stopped on the front porch.

“What?” Violet asked, hoping she hadn’t missed some important thread of conversation.

“That’s the third time you’ve yawned since we left the restaurant. I hope I didn’t keep you out too late.”

“Oh… no, of course not. I mean, it’s not your fault I’m yawning.”

It’s not
, Violet reminded herself. She was just tired. That was all.

“So Violet, I had a really nice time this evening.”

“Me too.”

“Is there any chance I could see you again? Maybe without the pretense of reviewing paperwork or looking at files?”

Violet smiled. A joke, he’d made a joke. Obviously he wasn’t a boring man. She really
was
tired.

“I’d like that,” she said with enough gusto to make Chris beam at her.

“I’m so glad. Shall I give you a call tomorrow night to set something up?”

“I might not answer my phone tomorrow night. I have a couple of outdoor readings scheduled after dark… full moon and all. Moonbeam books those appointments months in advance, so I’ll be tied up with that.”

“Sure, of course,” he said as though it was the most natural thing in the world for her to go traipsing into the dark of night with total strangers to give psychic readings. “How about if I just call you sometime in the next couple days when we’ve both got our calendars in front of us?”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Okay, then.” Chris leaned toward her. Violet knew what came next. She took a breath, steeling herself for the kiss. Her hands felt clammy, and her heart skittered a little in her chest. Violet closed her eyes.

She felt Chris’s lips brush her cheek, so soft she might have missed it. She felt him draw back. She opened her eyes.

Is
that
it?

Of course it was. Chris was a gentleman. What did she expect? It wasn’t as if he would throw her up against the side of the house and push his body against hers, his breath hot on her throat, his hand fumbling at the opening of her blouse the way Drew’s had as she’d pressed her breast into his palm and…

Violet felt her cheeks go hot. She took a small step back and offered Chris a weak smile.

He smiled back, looking kind and pleasant and absolutely perfect.

What
the
hell
is
wrong
with
you, Violet?

“Good night, Violet,” he said softly.

“Good night,” she said, and went inside to beat her head against a wall.

***

Violet opened her eyes the next morning and felt the dread pooling in her gut. It was the day she’d feared most when she’d agreed to this ridiculous psychic scheme. The day she’d known would probably blow her whole cover. The day she was almost certain to humiliate herself.

Not coincidentally, it was also Moonbeam’s favorite day each month.

“Fucking full moon,” Violet muttered, and got up to take a shower.

For at least a dozen years, Moonbeam had expounded on the special boost in psychic energy she felt with the gravitational pull of the full moon. Violet had always assumed it was menstrual cramps, but whatever. The appointments booked up months in advance, with many clients happy to take early-morning appointments with no moon in sight. Many of them requested special outdoor locales for their full-moon readings.