Believe It or Not (6 page)

“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.

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?

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.”

“A psychic accountant? I could use one of those.”

Moonbeam looked up at Dr. Abbott and smiled. “She’s an accountant in Portland, Maine, but I’ve always said that her true calling is in the psychic arts. Now that she’s out here filling in for me, she’s getting a chance to really showcase her skills.”

Dr. Abbott nodded as he reached up and turned Moonbeam’s IV bag. “Actually, I wasn’t kidding. I really could use a good accountant. Temporarily, if you’re interested. The accountant I normally use at my private practice just had a baby last week, and—”

“Oh,” Moonbeam gasped, clutching his arm so tightly he dropped his pen. “A baby. How wonderful. She had a boy?”

Dr. Abbott’s eyebrows went up. “Yes, as a matter of fact, she did have a boy.”

Violet resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Fifty-fifty odds even on a wild guess, or if she knew Moonbeam, she probably studied the local birth announcements for just such an occasion.

“Anyway,” Violet said. “I’m just filling in for Mom at the psychic studio for a few weeks until she’s back on her feet and ready to take on her practice again. My employer back in Maine is letting me work remotely on a few projects, and I’ve been picking up some local jobs as well.”

“She’d be happy to help you out,” Moonbeam added.

Violet glanced at her mother. Since when was Moonbeam interested in her accounting career? Moonbeam didn’t meet her eyes but kept up some lively chatter with Dr. Abbott about babies and careers and onion sprouts.

Moonbeam
is
up
to
something.

Violet did a mental shrug. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be too dangerous.

“I’d be delighted to help with the accounting work,” Violet said. “Just a few hours a week?”

Dr. Abbott smiled. “That’s all Stacy spent on it, so I can’t imagine it would take you any longer.”

“Great,” Violet said, licking her lips. “When would you like to meet?”

“Your schedule is open this evening, dear,” Moonbeam volunteered.

“Mom—”

“Actually,” Dr. Abbott said, “That would work just fine for me. We could get together, maybe go over the files?”

“Oh… well, yes. The sooner the better.”

“Your last reading ends at four, right dear?” Moonbeam asked. “You could go out for drinks, maybe even dinner.”

“Dinner?” Violet asked.

Dr. Abbott laughed. “I’m game if you are.”

Violet returned the smile, feeling a pleasant tingle under her sternum.

“Portland City Grill has a nice happy hour,” Moonbeam suggested. “Not that I’d actually eat there, since their vegan options are rather paltry, but both of you eat animal flesh, right?”

Violet grimaced at her mother’s meddling, but Dr. Abbott didn’t seem to notice.

“That sounds great,” he said. “Would you like to meet there, or shall I pick you up?”

***

Drew was focusing very hard on trying to remember his date’s name. Did it rhyme with a fruit? No, that was the girl he’d gone out with last week.

It started with a
G
, he was pretty sure about that. Gilligan?

It didn’t matter at the moment, since she hadn’t paused for breath in over an hour.

“…and so then we broke up, but we had like five more months on our lease, and he couldn’t find another place to live and I was like, ‘Dude, I’m not leaving, this place is like four blocks from where I work,’ so I told him he could crash on the couch as long as he stopped borrowing my underwear, and so…”

Drew frowned. Maybe her name didn’t start with a
G
. It definitely sounded Middle Eastern. Or maybe it rhymed with a spice. Or was it something that sounded like a cleaning product?

“…so, you know, I like totally threw him out when he climbed into my bed when he was drunk, but he was all, ‘Babe, it’s totally not my fault,’ and I was like…”

Drew swirled the cherry Coke in his glass and tried hard to remember her name. He could almost picture it on the slip of paper at the bar with her name and number scrawled in bubbly writing. How many of those scraps had he collected since his divorce? Too many to count. Too many to remember names.

God, you’re a jerk
, his brain told him.

Rhonda? No, that wasn’t it. Persimmon? Bambi?
Dammit.
It was much too late to ask, since they’d been on this abysmal date for more than an hour now, and he’d been the one to invite her out anyway.

What
a
dumb
idea.

But it had been his habit in the years since his divorce. Call up one of the dozens of girls who’d slipped him their number at the bar—a disturbingly frequent occurrence, in Drew’s opinion. They’d meet for drinks at the Portland City Grill, and if the conversation sucked, at least the food was fabulous and there was always the beautiful view of the city.

He looked out the window and wondered if Violet had ever been here. Would she enjoy the view of the river or seize the opportunity to recite statistics about water pollution and Portland’s freakishly high number of bridges? He wasn’t sure he’d mind either way.

Stop
thinking
about
Violet.

Bad idea on so many levels. He sure as hell didn’t need another high-strung woman in his life. Not even if she had amazing eyes and beautiful hair and breasts that—

“Are you listening to me?”

Drew snapped back to attention. “What? Yes. Definitely.”

“Because it seems like you’re just looking out the window.”

“I was listening,” Drew insisted. “I was just enjoying the view.”

The girl gave him a skeptical look. Mindy? Sarah? Was there any way he could bluff his way through the rest of this date without knowing her name? He felt like peeling the sole off the bottom of his shoe and beating himself on the forehead until he passed out.

“Hey!” his date squealed. Drew looked up to see she was waving at someone over his shoulder.

“That guy over there,” she said. “He did my knee surgery last year, after I injured it in pole-dancing class.”

Drew picked up his drink and scanned the crowd, noticing how packed the place was for a Monday.

He froze with his glass halfway to his lips.
Violet?

She saw him at the same moment, and the shock registered plainly on her face. Drew watched in horror as Violet’s companion followed the direction of her gaze right to their table.

“Hey!” called Drew’s date again, waving madly as she sloshed her drink across the table. “Hello, Dr. Abbott! You want to come and sit with us?”

Drew frowned. “I’m sure he doesn’t want to sit with us. He’s on a date.”

Something in his heart twisted at the word
date
, and he looked at Violet again. She was smiling at the doctor, her beautiful eyes fixed on his face. Drew’s heart twisted again, so he looked back at his own date.

She slugged him in the shoulder. “I think I hurt my wrist bowling the other night. I want Dr. Abbott to take a look at it.”

Drew shook his head, not sure whether to be annoyed with her or with himself for asking her out in the first place. Normally he wasn’t so easily annoyed, especially by a beautiful woman, but there was something different lately. Something he couldn’t put his finger on.

It didn’t matter, since Violet and Dr. Abbott were making their way toward the table. Drew tried not to stare, not to notice the luscious sway of her hips, the way her hand fluttered up to smooth her hair behind her ear.

God, she’s beautiful.

“Wow, it’s really packed in here,” Violet said, clutching her little purse against her stomach. “You guys got lucky nabbing a window seat with these sofas.”

“I come here every Monday night,” Drew said. “Arriving early is the trick to getting good seats.”

He saw something flash across Violet’s face. Surprise? Irritation? He wasn’t sure. She recovered quickly though, and placed her hand on the annoyingly broad shoulder of the man beside her. “Drew, this is Chris Abbott, my mother’s orthopedic surgeon. Chris, this is Drew Watson. He owns the business next to Moonbeam’s shop.”

“Great to meet you,” said the surgeon, giving Drew’s hand a firm but friendly shake.

“It’s so great to see you again, Dr. Abbott,” piped up Drew’s date, scooting over to make room on the sofa beside her.

“You, too,” said Dr. Abbott, no help at all with the name.

Violet looked at Drew, then at the girl, clearly awaiting an introduction. Drew opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. He was completely, utterly blank.

Violet’s eyes held his for a moment, intense and gorgeous and utterly spellbinding. He was pretty sure if he
had
known his date’s name, he would have forgotten it right then.

God, those eyes.

“Drew, come sit over here by me so these two can have the other sofa to themselves,” his date chirped.