Page 23 of Power of the Mind

“But I do believe”—he held up a finger—“she can manipulate suggestable clients into doing things they wouldn’t ordinarily do. She’s a skilled observer and a predator. Predators know how to seek weak victims. When they find one, they move in for the attack. Her methods are unique and likely rare, but you can’t tell me it’s impossible. You said she had a record that included extortion, fraud, and identity theft. You called her a scam artist. What sort of characteristics does a person like that require?”

Tallus tapped his temple. “The power of manipulation, my dear sweet Diem, and she’s been at it for decades. Our self-proclaimed psychic has perfected the art, so it’s entirely possible she’s using her powers for evil to indirectly murder people.”

With a self-satisfied grin, Tallus displayed his hands in a voilà gesture.

I stared, grinding my teeth as I waited for more.

“The end. I’m done talking. Your turn, big guy.”

I narrowed my eyes, not wanting to agree, not wanting to look at Rowena Fitspatrick’s criminal past, not wanting to realize theremight—however slim—be a possibility that Tallus could be right.

Had Tallus’s little speech convinced me Madame Rowena was responsible for two deaths? Not even close.

Did I believe the woman had turned a new leaf and stopped breaking the law after decades of criminal behavior? Also no.

Rowena had likely gotten better at playing the game. She was careful, but old habits die hard, and I would bet a month’s pay she was up to something unsavory—but not murder. Tallus was out of his mind.

I’d taken too long to answer.

Tallus dropped his feet to the ground and balanced his elbows on the desk, cradling his chin in his upturned palms. The fedora slipped, falling over the brim of his glasses and covering his eyes.

My lips twitched as he adjusted it. Tallus might have been aiming for playful and sexy, but the whole act was coming off more in the realm of cute.

I neutralized the expression the instant he could see me again.

“D?”

“What?”

“It’s your turn.”

I frowned. “Turn for what?”

He sighed. “We’ve got to work on the art of conversation. It’s a turn-taking affair. You see how I shared information and then stopped talking? That gap is your cue to chime in with your thoughts, feelings, or opinions. Grunting and growling don’t count. They have to be words. Several in a row, preferably, until they form a sentence or two.” He rolled a hand. “And go.”

The corner of my lips twitched, but I bit the inside of my cheek, refusing to let him see any sign of humor. I wasn’t sure Tallus was fooled.

My opinion was this entire thing was a crock of shit and a waste of time, but instead of telling him as much—again—I said, “One week.”

He tipped his head, conveying confusion.

“You get one week to investigate this bullshit nonsense using whatever resources of mine you require. When nothing turns up—and it won’t because it’s fucking stupid—then you let it go and let me get back to real cases. Ones that pay me. Got it?”

“So you believe it’s possible?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“No.”

“But you’ll help me anyway?”

I gritted my teeth. “Yes. For one week.”

“What’s with the one-week deadlines lately? Okay, deal. After that week, can we still be friends?”

I cracked my knuckles, glanced at the window, then back. “I don’t dofriends.”

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