Page 44 of A Step You Shouldn't Take

“He stopped at an apartment complex first. The parking garage was underground, but he pulled into a spot near the back.”

“Do you remember where the building was? The name?”

“Sorry. But I saw a girl walking her dog outside, and it reminded me of my Rosie. Did you know I used to have a dog? A Maltese, and she—”

“Can we stay on topic? Please? Was there anything else distinctive about his appearance that night? I told Reed I wanted to sit in the car to jog my memory.”

“Wait—he doesn’t know you can see me? You haven’t told him about your…you know…abilities?”

A hysterical giggle bubbled out of my throat. “Of course not. He’d think I was crazy.”

“Maybe not. You should confide in somebody,” Georgette said. “A problem shared is a problem halved. My mom always used to tell me that.”

“Well, my mom confided in my dad. He had her committed, and she spent the rest of her life spaced out on all the drugs they gave her at the so-called treatment centre, barely able to think or speak or move. That’s where sharing gets people like me.”

Although she still kept enough faculties to save up her pills and overdose. I wasn’t supposed to know that, but I’d found the report in my father’s study, hidden away in a drawer. That I might have picked open with a bobby pin.

And I’d never forgive him for what he did to her.

“Perhaps she just shared with the wrong person. This guy’s a detective, right? Just tell him you’re psychic. Sometimes they work with psychics. They made a whole TV program on it.”

“What TV program?”

“Medium.”

I rolled my eyes. “That was fiction.”

“But based on a real person.”

“Who loads of people think is a fraud.”

“You should open your mind.”

“I’m sitting here talking to a freaking dead person, and you tell me to open my mind? What happened to staying on topic? Clues. We need more clues.”

“No offence, but you don’t seem very good at this.”

“You think? I’m only doing it to help you out. It’s not as if I’ve had any practice.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a wedding planner.”

“Figures.”

“Figures? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. But you definitely need help here. That detective looks kind of nice too. I like his eyes.”

“How can you see—”

Tapping on the window made me jump, and I hit my knee on the steering wheel.

Shoot. Reed was looking down at me, one eyebrow raised. “Who are you talking to?”

“Uh, nobody. Just myself. It’s a nervous habit.”

“Just tell him,” Georgette said.

---