Page 99 of Power of the Mind

“When I asked if she had been acting strange in the period leading up to her death, he said it was hard to tell. His mother had mood swings regularly due to her uncontrolled sugars. When I asked if she had been prescribed herbal medications by Dr. Hilty or if he knew if she’d been seeing a woman named Madame Rowena, he said he didn’t know. His sister, Peggy’s daughter, was the one who cleaned out their mother’s apartment after her death. The son said he would call her and see if she found any nonprescription herbal-esque drugs in her cabinet and get back to me. However, he also claimed it wouldn’t surprise him if she had been taking supplements because his mother was always looking for an easy answer.

“And that’s a wrap.” I dropped the notepad on the coffee table beside the dwindling spread of food and waited for Diem to respond.

He finished the tamale, attention focused on his phone where his email was pulled up. He scowled and muttered, “Waste of fucking money. Goddammit.”

“What’s wrong?”

He indicated the screen. “Got a financial background done on Hilty and Rowena. Nothing out of the ordinary, but the psychic bitch is clearly doing well for herself. I thought… Fuck it. Doesn’t matter.” He tossed the device aside and focused on the chips and guac.

“What do you think about my research?” I asked, fearing he hadn’t been listening.

Diem chewed slowly as he seemed to roll the information around his head. After one last bite, he set his plate aside and cautiously met my eyes. His voice was unnaturally soft when he said, “You did good.”

I tilted my head to the side, grinning. “Guuuuns… why all the flattery today? You’re being so… nice. It’s… contrary to your personality.”

Diem scowled and returned his attention to the plate he’d abandoned, looking like he wanted to pick it up and refill it, if only for a distraction. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. You’ve been…” I laughed. “I don’t know… acting like I’m… your partner or something.”

“You’re not.”

“Oh, I know. You’ve made that abundantly clear. Nonpartners for life. I understand, but you’ve been fluffing my feathers pretty hard today. If you’re not careful, it might go to my head. I can feel my ego expanding. It’s dangerous.”

Diem grumbled indecipherably.

“Annnd there goes your ability to talk. What was that, sweetie?” I cupped an ear.

“Don’t call me that.” He scrubbed a hand over his chin and made a fist, dropping it on his lap. “What time are we meeting Doyle tomorrow?”

“Clumsy diversion.”

“It wasn’t a diversion. It was a question.”

“Seven in the evening. He needed time to talk to the pathology department and didn’t want us slinking around midday in case people asked questions. You’re welcome.”

Diem hated having anything to do with the department, so traipsing through homicide in the middle of the day, despite it being a weekend, would have been humiliating.

He grunted in acknowledgment, seeming pleased with the answer.

Dinner was over, and I’d shared all the information I’d gathered. I had more calls to make but decided they could wait. Before Diem could slink away or start tidying the leftovers, I made a move, giving him a quick warning so he was ready.

“At ease, soldier. Incoming nonviolent assault to your person. Prepare thyself.”

Diem whipped his head up, eyes wide as I closed our distance and straddled his lap. Staying on my knees, I used leverage to press down on his ropey, instantly tense shoulders, preventing him from instinctively jumping up.

His intent to escape was evident, but a moment later, he rewarded me with resignation and submission. He didn’t relax, per se, but he stopped fighting the urge to flee. Like every other time I’d gone inside Diem’s bubble, he stilled. Primed. Alert. Ready for anything.

He warily met my gaze, so many questions on the surface. I chuckled. “One of these days, my touching you won’t kick in your fight-or-flight reaction.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t—” He winced.

“Is this okay, Guns?” I squeezed his shoulders, ensuring he wasn’t going anywhere, and lowered myself to sit on his lap.

Face-to-face, I studied Diem. His expression went through several emotions, then settled on something neutral yet strained.

“I can move if this isn’t okay.”

“No… You’re… You’re fine.”

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