Page 58 of Power of the Mind

“It’s true, and mine came late and never simmered again. Been a randy one ever since. I could go seven days a week without batting an eye.”

Oh my god, TMI.

“Poor Allan,” Winifred continued. “Could hardly blame the guy when he struggled to keep up. Men at his age have long past their peak. How old are you, sweetie?”

“Um… twenty-six.”

“Right in the thick of it, aren’t ya? You know what you need? An older woman. Do you have a healthy sex life?”

“I… don’t want to answer that.” Before Diem threw the table and left me on my own, I added, “I think we’re getting off topic.”

“I’m sorry. Gosh, listen to me go on and on. I’ve been told I need an edit button.” She retrieved an ice tray from the freezer and dumped a handful of cubes into the blender. “We were discussing Allan’s arthritis. Well, anyhoo, I introduced him to my naturopath, Janek Piotrowski—Do you know her?”

“Can’t say I do.”

“Lovely woman. She knows her stuff. I’m a big fan of keeping things natural.” She gestured to a lineup of bottles on the counter, displaying labels of various supplements. “No artificial crap for me, thank you very much. Well, Janek set Allan up with a treatment plan, and let me tell you, I think it was doing the trick. He wouldn’t admit it, but I saw a difference. Now hang on a toodley doodle while I run this here machine.”

Winifred secured the lid of the blender and turned it on. It whirred and ground the ingredients until it became an unappetizing green sludge smoothie. She poured the thick liquid into a tall glass and took a sip. I wanted to vomit.

Diem jabbed my ribs with an elbow, and I stopped making an ick-face, finding the smile I usually wore so easily.

Winifred displayed the concoction. “Would y’all like a glass?”

“No!” A laugh exploded from within me, and if it was half-maniacal, Winifred didn’t seem to notice. “No, thank you. I ate earlier.” A great big fat cookie that was likely packed with enough unpronounceable chemicals to fill a dictionary, but I didn’t care. It was delicious, and I would rather die young than subject myself to whatever the crazy woman was drinking.

Winifred glanced at Diem, who grunted in the negative.

“Um, Ms. Winifred.”

“Just Winnie, darlin’. Plain old Winnie.”

“Winnie.” I unlocked my phone and drew up the article that had brought us to her house. “You did an interview with Viewpoint Magazine, is that correct?”

“It’s a fucking tabloid,” Diem grumbled.

I shushed him.

“I certainly did.”

“And in the magazine, you claimed”—I checked the wording so I wouldn’t misquote it—“your neighbor had been acting paranoid in the days leading up to his death.”

“Yes, he was.”

“And you stated he was possessed and manipulated by a supernatural being.”

“Sure seemed that way to me.”

The bear in Diem’s chest rumbled.

I stepped on his foot again to shut him up.

He didn’t shut up, and the second growl was directed at me. I licked my lips salaciously, and he stopped.

“Do you think it was related to his suicide?”

“Yes siree-bob, I do.”

“Can you explain what made you think these things?”

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