Foods, Fools and a Dead Psychic by Maria Swan (read a book .TXT) 📗

the age of the home and the sense of nostalgia it projects.”

“Or maybe it’s that walk-in tub,” she chided. None of us mentioned Tristan Dumont, but the air in the van was filled with the vibes of amber eyes.

When we arrived at the house, she punched in the numbers I called out and the big metal gate opened with a low groan.

“Well, I expected more activity on the streets,” I said. “Aren’t old folks supposed to be early risers?”

“It’s after nine,” she laughed. “Probably almost nap time.”

A truck with a landscape logo sat askew by the side of the road, a few men were busy raking, and others made a racket with a leaf blower. By the time we reached the house, we left the din behind. I felt invigorated, maybe because of J.S.’s bubbly energy permeating the van or maybe because with all the green around and the small man-made lake in the distance, it felt more like a day in the country than work.

“Let me try the duplicate key I had made for the lock box,” I said, “and then I’ll let you in.”

J.S. was scanning the view, unconcerned. “No hurry, I only have a twilight shoot this evening, way on the other side of town. My time is your time.”

I had to admit, she had a pretty good attitude in spite of our rough beginning way back when J.S. wrote a scandalous piece about Tristan and Celine. They’d been considered an item, at least by some of us. Having been one of those people and having the scar on the Fiat to prove it. Celine’s pay back.

The duplicate worked fine. I dropped it in the lockbox, attached it to the outside water faucet and kept the original key in my purse. I opened the door, moved aside and let J.S. in first. She headed for the kitchen.

“We could set up the display with the fliers and the other printouts I made with general information of the area on the kitchen counter, easily visible from the entrance.”

“Sounds good to me.”

I went to open the kitchen mini blinds. A large, dried up brown spot covered part of the bottom of the white sink. “What happened here?” I yelled.

J.S walked over. “What is it?” She ran a finger over the stain.

“Watch it,” I cautioned. “What if it’s some kind of chemical?”

She sniffed her finger, shrugged. “Are you always that cautious? It’s soda, dried up Pepsi or something similar. Can’t tell. All the colas smell the same.”

I could feel my face screwing up into a frown. I didn’t like this. “How did it get there? I checked the whole house yesterday. The sink was clean.”

“You’re sure? Little things like that are easy to miss.” She turned on the water, “Here.” The brown spot disappeared along with the water. And J.S. went back to her display setting while I walked around the house, checking every nook and cranny and every shower, every sink, every whatever.

Paranoia, my steady companion. The dreadful sense of someone else having been in the house followed me from room to room.

“Still concerned about the sink?” J.S. was all smiles. Perhaps S stood for Sunshine. “Come see.”

I followed her back into the kitchen where her display was already set up and it looked very professional. Prospective buyers and realtors alike would be impressed by my presentation, even if I was a newbie.

“A newbie with talented friends.” I hugged her. “Thank you so much. The mechanic hasn’t called yet. Want to look at the walk in tub? The yard?”

She tilted her head back and forth, her raven curls bobbing along her shoulders while she considered my offer. “We could do that or we could go grab a bite to eat at the restaurant close to here. I hear they have a nice yet modestly priced buffet.”

A girl after my own heart. A food lover. “Good idea, my treat. I insist. We can cut through the back and walk there. And you know what? I’ll leave one of the windows open to get some air circulating. I can’t stand those flowery plug-ins.”

“What are we waiting for?” She grabbed her purse and after locking the front door from inside, we left thorough the back door.

We had just finished eating our eggs and hash browns when my phone chimed. My car was ready to be picked up. As if on cue, we both grabbed a muffin, wrapped it in a paper napkin, and after I left a few dollars tip on the table, we rushed out.

“I feel like we are playing hooky,” she giggled.

“You too? This has been fun. I need to go in and lock up the window I left open.”

“Okay, you do that and I’ll get the van started.”

We went into the house the same way we left but I turned left to go lock the window, and she turned right to go out front door to her vehicle.

“Hey, hey you, get away from that van.” I heard her scream before I even reached the open window. I turned around, accidently dropped my keys, but kept on running to help J.S.

FOURTEEN

MY RESCUE RUN came to a screeching halt when I caught a glimpse of J.S.

Hands on hips and seemingly very confrontational, she looked and acted pretty much in-your-face to some man standing a whole head taller than she was. What the hell? They had to know each other. Either that or ‘private space’ meant to them as much as ‘no more husbands’ had meant to Elizabeth Taylor after hubby #2.

I tried hard to eavesdrop from a distance, gave up and inched a bit ahead, you know, in case J.S. needed my, ahem, assistance.

“What’s going on?” That’s all I got to say before J.S. turned her head and blocked me with a forceful, “I got this.”

And believe me, I was instantly convinced. Ouch. Something in her voice and body language seemed pricklier than a Hindu bed of nails. I didn’t walk away nor did I move closer. I watched in fascination as