Page 29 of Power of the Mind

Diem slapped the table, surprising me and making Mackie jump. “Question. Could your sister have been on drugs? Did they do an autopsy?”

Mackie shook his head, chewing fast and swallowing. “No, sir. No drugs. Or rather, not like what you mean. Mom asked the same thing. Amber was on stuff the doctor prescribed that was supposed to manage her migraines. She took over-the-counter allergy medicine because her hay fever was bad in the summer. Other than that, they didn’t find anything suspicious.” Mackie glanced at me. “I’m telling you, that woman fucked with her head.”

“Who was the hypnotist?” Diem asked.

I sat straighter. The hypnotist? Was Diem thinking…

“Oh man. I can’t remember.” Mackie squinted into the middle distance as he seemingly strained his brain to its limits. It looked painful. “Some guy name Hill… ton? Hilly… Hickey… Hackly”

“Hilty?” I asked.

Mackie pointed at me with the crust of his second slice. “Yeah, that’s it. Hilty. Dr. Hilty.”

I glanced at Diem, then back to Mackie. “When did she see him?”

“Um… maybe a month before she saw the psychic chick. I don’t remember exactly. It was one time. Amber didn’t like him. Said he smelled like patchouli, burned a lot of incense, and made her uncomfortable. One of those people who stand too close to you when they talk. You know, like, they invade your personal space.”

“Story of my life,” Diem muttered, too quietly for Mackie to hear.

“Anyhow, an old guy asking my eighteen-year-old sister, who was not ugly, by the way, to lie on his couch and close her eyes is ten kinds of creepy, yo. Amber said she wasn’t able to relax enough to be put under. I think it was for the best. Can you imagine? Dude could have totally taken advantage while she was out of it.”

Mackie shivered at the thought and stuffed more pizza into his mouth as he shook his head in obvious disgust.

I glanced at Diem, whose face was an unreadable mask. “What do you think?”

“I think if I have to sit here and continue to watch this kid eat pizza like a fucking Hoover vacuum, you’ll need bail money to get me out of jail.”

I chuckled. “That’s fair. Did we collect enough information?”

“Not my investigation, Starsky.”

“Aw, come on. I wanna be Hutch. He was way smarter.”

Diem glared with the heat of a thousand suns.

“Alrighty then. Starsky it is. He’s the dark-haired one, right? No, he’s the blond. God, I don’t know anymore. That show was long before my time.”

More glaring.

I cleared my throat and stood. “We should go before the beast breaks free from his cage. We’ll talk to you later, Mackie, my man. Thanks for your help today.”

“Are you going to arrest her?” With his mouth full to bursting, the question was garbled.

Diem’s live-in bear growled, so I snagged his arm and dragged him away before he leveled the kid. “We’ll keep looking into it, Mac. I’ll keep you posted.”

When we were outside in the street, Diem wrenched his arm free like I’d physically assaulted him. He hated unsolicited touch—which, for him, was all touch.

I pointed at his arm. “That was weird, right? Me dragging you. It’s normally the other way around.”

“What?” His tone cusped the edge of hostility. Likely too long in a stuffy restaurant, listening to a teenager rambling nonsensically.

“The… never mind. I would apologize for touching you without permission, but I’m not sorry. In fact, you should be thankingme. I recognized the imminent danger of the situation and proactively diffused a bomb before it went off. How’s that for learning to read your cues? We work well together.”

I patted his chest. “Anyone ever tell you how extremely fit you are?”

Diem stared for several intense beats, then pivoted and headed toward the parking lot and Jeep. I followed, jogging to keep up with his strides. The man had crazy long legs and far more stamina.

“Do you think it’s suspicious that Madame Rowena and her ex-husband both saw Amber before she died?”

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