Peril for Your Thoughts (Mind Reader Mystery) (4 page)

“Are we done here? I think Ms. Alvarez has been through enough for one day. Don’t you think so, Detective?” I shot Detective Stevens a look that said
You owe me
.

“Well, I don’t know—” Matheson started to speak.

“I think you’re right, Miss Ballas. We’re done here,” Detective Stevens said, giving his partner a firm no-nonsense look.

His partner stared him down, then finally backed off. “Fine. You know the drill. Don’t leave town, Ms. Alvarez. And call us if you can think of anything else. We’ll be in touch.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got your number,” she snarled.

And I had an edge, I thought. I shuffled her out the door as quickly as I could. I truly believed everything happened for a reason. Maybe this mind-reading ability had happened to me at the perfect time. My best friend needed me, and I had access to information others didn’t. Whether it would be admissible in court, or even believable to the average person, didn’t matter. I would find a way around that. I wouldn’t stop until I found a way to clear my best friend’s name. I owed her that much. One thing was certain …

I wouldn’t stop until I found the real killer.

“I don’t like her.” My mother rubbed her hands on her olive oil–splattered and spice-stained apron, having sampled most of the menu today alone. What could I say? My family liked to eat.

“You don’t even know her, Ma.” I sighed, having a sinking feeling that tonight was going to be the longest dinner of my life.

My new PR person for Interludes, Natasha Newlander, had called earlier, letting me know she had arrived in Clearview. We were supposed to meet for dinner to go over the promotion plan for my new Kalli Originals spring line. Of all the restaurants she could pick, she had to choose my parents’ place, Aphrodite. The goddess of love, beauty, and all things Greek filled every inch of space, with plenty of marble statues scattered about just short of overkill.

Ophelia Ballas squinted her dark-brown eyes and stared at the overly thin woman who was fashionably late and had made my cousin Eleni seat her at three different tables until she was satisfied. Strike one. She wore her short-cropped dark-red hair slicked back in a sleek style that somehow matched her perfectly tailored purple suit and four-inch heels. Apparently purple was the new “it” color. The woman couldn’t be more than five feet tall and looked as though she hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks. Strike two. Things were
not
looking good. If she reached strike three, there was no telling what my family would do.

“Oh, I know her, all right,” my mother said, her Greek accent growing thicker with her irritation. “She’s from that big fancy city that put stars in your eyes, but her kind are no good I tell you. They come in here thinking they are better than the rest of us with their expensive clothes and fat wallets.”

“She chose your restaurant, so she must have good taste. She can’t be all that bad, right?” Flattery was my only hope of salvaging the evening that had barely started. “All I’m asking is that you give her a chance.”

My mother’s scowl diminished slightly as she squared her shoulders with pride. Other than me, Aphrodite was the apple of my parents’ eyes. Their firstborn. Something they’d actually birthed on their own. “Well, who wouldn’t like Aphrodite with her beautiful Greek culture on display and food prepared with skill and pride.” My mother’s scowl was back. “If that pointy-nosed bird only orders a salad, I’m throwing her out. Who eats this late at night, anyway? Most people around here are finishing dessert and heading home.”

“Things are different in the city, Ma. Most people from there are just getting started as you’re heading to bed.”

“No wonder she can’t eat. That’s horrible for your digestion, and just one more reason why you should never move away from home. That city is not good for you.”

“I’m not moving there, my designs are. At most I’ll make an occasional trip for business, so you can relax.” I patted her shoulder. It was the closest to a hug I could get.

Her expression softened. “I’ll relax when you stop hanging around with troublemakers. First, that hussy you work with scandalized everyone with being involved in murder.”

“Allegedly involved.”

“Same difference.”

“Not really.”

She went on as though I hadn’t even spoken. “Then you start fraternizing with a woman who wants to starve you and take you away from me.”

“She’s not taking me away from you. She’s helping me launch my new line.”

“That’s another thing. Your work is fifty shades of embarrassment to this family. Why can’t you be a good girl like your cousins? Settle down, get married, and give me some grandbabies. At the very least get a boyfriend.”

“Ma, you promised …” I had to force myself not to whine. My mother had a way of bringing out the child in me, and right now I felt like throwing a temper tantrum.

She threw up her hands and shook her big poof of black teased hair. “All right, all right. I’ll stop for now. Go eat before you faint, Kalliope, but know I’ll be watching that woman. One wrong move, and I’ll—”

“Throw her out. I get it. Just behave yourself, for my sake, please.”

She let out a heavy sigh, then patted my cheek before I could protest. “For you, my darling. Only for you. And then you can do something for me, no?” She grinned as she walked away with a spring in her step.

I rubbed my cheek with the sleeve of my suit coat and frowned. Why did I feel like she had just won some secret battle I knew nothing about?

Shrugging off my unease, I pasted on a smile and headed to Natasha Newlander’s table with the stars in my eyes shining brightly. I was so excited to start this new venture, I could barely contain myself. I still couldn’t believe it was actually happening. “Ms. Newlander, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Natasha stood as I arrived and smiled back, looking professional and sophisticated. Someone I aspired to be. “The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Ballas. Sorry to have missed you last week. I had some urgent matters with another out-of-town client that had to be dealt with in person, but I’m here now.” She held out her hand, and I didn’t even freak out. I had prepared myself, knowing I would have to shake her hand. Discreetly holding my breath, I shook her hand firmly.

Her smile might be pleasant, but her grip was tight and she held on longer than necessary. A wave of distaste and resentment swept over me and then I heard,
Great. Erickson assigned Marcus to a top designer while I get Little Miss Sunshine. It’s so unfair. Why do women have to work so hard to get ahead in this business?

I tugged my hand away, lost my smile, and sat down as the stars faded from my eyes big-time. I was going to excuse myself to slip away and rub some hand sanitizer on, but my stubborn streak emerged. I pulled out the small bottle I always carried with me and blatantly squirted a generous amount into my palm and scrubbed hard.

Natasha narrowed her eyes a bit and asked as she sat, “Is something wrong?”

“I just feel a bit icky all of a sudden, but don’t worry. I’m tougher than I look.”

She arched a sleek auburn brow. “That’s good. This business isn’t easy.” A flash of vulnerability crossed her face, and I decided to cut her some slack. I couldn’t blame her for wanting to get ahead. I’d been around Jaz long enough to know getting ahead in any business was tough for women. Maybe Natasha wasn’t as mean as she seemed. Maybe she was just ambitious. Now
that
was something I could relate to.

“So it would seem.” I relaxed and gave her a genuine smile.

She studied me curiously, looking like she’d never come across a woman like me before. “Something tells me you’ll do just fine.” She actually gave me a genuine smile back.

Eleni stopped by and took our order. She was the perfect waitress: pretty, personable, and polite. Yet even her smile faded a bit by the time Natasha was through with her. Then my cousin Frona appeared out of nowhere, her dark hair in cockeyed pigtails and her apron on inside out. She refilled our coffee mugs with water, our water glasses with coffee, and then opened Natasha’s napkin and stuffed it down her shirt before skipping back into the kitchen.

Natasha gasped. “What was that? This is unacceptable. I’m speaking to the manager.”

“Wait,” I quickly said. “Let me. I know the owners. Don’t mind the poor woman. She fell off an apple wagon and hasn’t been the same since. She’s supposed to be on dish duty, but sometimes she gets confused. Excuse me.” I slipped into the back, yelled at Ma, gently scolded Frona, and bribed Eleni to keep an eye on her before returning to my table. “Our dinner is on the house,” I stated apologetically.

“Well done, Ms. Ballas, though I would have had her fired.” She studied her manicured nails, then flicked a piece of lint off her arm. “Let’s hope you are even more efficient with your book of designs. Speaking of the book, when can I expect it to be ready?”

No pressure
, I thought, and so much for giving her the benefit of the doubt. Her ambition clearly outweighed her compassion.

“Well, Mr. Erickson told me I had a month.”

“And I’m telling you we need it in two weeks.” She stared me down, but I refused to look away. “Erickson might be the CEO, but the PR department is your bread and butter. We can make or break a new line. If you want a stellar launch, we need all the time we can get. I need that book ASAP.”

“I don’t want to hold you up any longer than necessary, but you can’t rush creativity,” I replied carefully.

Her face stiffened ever so slightly, but her smile remained in place. “Understood, Ms. Ballas, but creativity alone doesn’t pay the bills. I need that book to get started on a proper PR plan. I am at your disposal. Maybe I can take a peek at the book and—”

I shook my head before she had half the words out. “I’m sorry, but I don’t let anyone see my work until it’s finished. That’s one rule I won’t break for anyone.”

“Oh, you artists are a funny lot,” she said with a chuckle. I didn’t have to be a mind reader to imagine the mental eye roll she must be giving me.

“We do have our quirks.” I chuckled back, albeit a bit more like hysteria than a chuckle. “I really don’t want to hold you up, but I’m kind of going through something that might hinder my creativity even further. Why don’t you go back to the city, and I can contact you when the book is ready.”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere without that book, Ms. Ballas. My orders are to stay here and help you in any way that I can. Now, what exactly are you going through? Maybe I can help resolve the issue.”

“Unless you can help me catch a killer and clear my friend’s name, there’s not much you can do.”

She blinked. “Pardon me?”

“Murder, Ms. Newlander. I need to solve a murder before anything creative can flow.”

Her shock quickly passed to resolution. “I’m sorry for your trouble, Ms. Ballas, but make no mistake. Murder is what’s going to happen to your new line and your book of designs is going to become a book of death if I don’t get it soon.”

And just like that I lost my appetite. I hated when my mother was right.

I’d stayed up all night trying to work on my book of designs with no success. Poor Jaz was pacing relentlessly, going stir crazy at home, her place of business still a crime scene. I had her making a list of possible enemies for herself while I tried to be creative.
Tried
being the operative word.

After giving up at the crack of dawn and sleeping a measly two hours, my mother woke me up by phone for mass at our Greek Orthodox Church. I spent the whole hour wondering how many days sleep deprivation had just stolen from my life. If that wasn’t bad enough, we’d run into Nikos in full Greek mode. His mother was in town visiting, so of course my mother invited them both over for our weekly Sunday brunch. This time she couldn’t blame me for not eating. It was all her fault that I’d lost my appetite.

“I like your nice Greek boy,” Dido said. She was short and plump with her gray hair pulled back in a bun and her ever-present apron tied around her waist. “He’s a keeper.” She rubbed my back.
I just hope it’s not too late and your eggs haven’t dried up.

I bent down to fix my heel, which didn’t need fixing at all, but since I was there I readjusted it three times, trying to ignore her mental sigh. The action removed her hand from my back, which was my main goal. There were some thoughts I really didn’t care to hear. “He’s half Greek, Yiayia, and he’s not my anything,” I responded, hoping to squash my grandmother’s plans before she put them in motion.

Yiayias were far worse than mamas.

“He’s Greek enough, considering … you know.” She shrugged sympathetically, but then a mischievous twinkle entered her faded brown eyes. “He might not be yours yet, but Ophelia says it’s only a matter of time.”

She locked eyes on my mother, who had her head bent close to Nikos’s mother, Chloe. The women were about the same age, but that’s where the similarity stopped. Chloe had short black hair styled chicly and wore fancy clothes, whereas Ma wore her hair in a beehive and preferred a flashy polyester look. That didn’t matter one bit when it came to scheming mamas.

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t believe anything Ma says. You know how desperate she is for a grandbaby.”

“She’s not the only one. Look at Homer. He’s beaming at Nikos. I can see the longing in his eyes all the way over here. My poor boy. Why you deny him the son he never had? And look at Amos. Your papou only wants to see his granddaughter happy. Is that so wrong?”

The drama gene ran rampant in my family. Every day was like a three-act play with them. It didn’t matter how many times I yelled “cut,” they never stopped. I loved them, but they were exhausting.

“Opa! Opa! Opa!” Frona yelled as she skipped about, supergluing the napkins together and wrapping Duct tape around the gazebo poles.

“Frona, no.” Yiayia scurried off after her. “Eleni, take your sister inside and keep her there.”

Frona giggled hysterically, poured olive oil all over herself, and zigzagged around the yard. All chaos erupted as everyone tried to catch the slippery waif to no avail.

Detective Stevens walked toward me, wearing khaki pants and a baby-blue polo shirt that brought out the amazing color of his eyes. His thick, coffee-colored wavy hair accented his olive skin and five-o’clock shadow perfectly, causing my insides to flutter in a most uncomfortable way. I was pretty sure that could
not
be good for me. He came to a stop beside me with a concerned look on his face and hooked his thumbs into his pants’ pockets. “Hey,” he said. “How are you?”