Psychic Series Boxset: Books 1-3 Read online

  Currently, she was child and cat-less as her kids were spending the summer with their dad in northern New York and she hadn't owned a cat in years. That was the purpose of my visit today, besides getting what I thought were only going to be a few highlights. Guess we were both in for a surprise.

  Yet, for some reason, I was having problems working felines into our conversation, a rarity for me and an unforeseeable problem.

  Another issue was the normally cheerful Lotte, yes, she was smiling and chatting as per usual, there was just something hanging over her. I could sense it but before it would become clear, it was gone.

  Slap, crumple, crumple went another foil in my hair. I was shocked I had a single unfoiled strand left. Time was running out, soon I would be stuck under the dryer with no opportunity for cat talk or 'Lotte what's eating you?' candor.

  “Lotte, how are the girls doing?”

  “Oh, they're good. At their Dad’s for the summer, I think I told you that before? They call every couple days and I miss them, but I'm glad they get this time with him.”

  “And you? Everything okay?”

  Lotte sighed heavily and was quiet for a few moments before slowly answering.

  “Oh, Teresa, I don't know. The house feels so lonely without the girls, and I've been putting in extra hours here at the shop to fill up my time, but that emptiness is still there when I get home.”

  Bingo! The perfect moment to bring up Maxine, the lovely older Siamese that needed a home, but when I opened my mouth that wasn't what came out.

  “You know, I have a friend that would be perfect for you!” I did?!

  “Oh, girl, I'm not one for fix-ups.” Lotte laughed and a glob of purple gunk dropped onto my pink cape covered lap. That was my cue to put my hands back under.

  “Nobody really is, but what can it hurt? You have the summer to yourself, you've been divorced for over a year now, why not go out on a simple date?”

  “Teresa, you sound like one of those dating site commercials!” Lotte laughed it off yet I could tell she was interested.

  “Lotte, I'm going to send my friend in for a haircut and I won't breathe a word of this conversation to him. You decide and ask him out.”

  I watched Lotte in the mirror, conflict and interest warring on her expressive face, then her wide green eyes met mine.

  “What the hell, I'll do it! How will I know who he is?”

  “He'll be the tall, shy guy with shaggy brown hair.” John owed me and besides, the more I thought about it, Lotte and he would be perfect for each other. She might be older and wiser, but John needed that in a woman. Plus, he was wonderful with kids, had a steady job, and was a decent guy-more than I could say for half the men in this town, let alone Lotte's loser ex-husband.

  “Ok, girlfriend, we'll see. Now under the dryer you go.”

  While cooking under the dryer, I gave some serious thought to my sudden matchmaking skills, guess getting laid had a lovey-dovey effect on me. Now what about poor Maxine?

  After a torturous fifteen minutes, Lotte declared I was done and released me from the heat chamber. At the sink, she ripped the foils from my head in two swift yanks sending dry bits of bleach raining down and I felt my limp, warm hair flop down on my head. One soggy lock smacked me in the face.

  I was afraid to glance in the mirror once seated back in her chair. A peek confirmed I was right to be afraid, the bush-woman cometh.

  Rubbing the towel briskly through my white and orange locks, Lotte nodded in satisfaction. She grabbed her shears and comb beginning to snip away while asking questions about John.

  Preferring instead to keep things mysterious, and slightly afraid that she was paying more attention to our chatting than what she was doing to my hair, I kept my answers short and succinct while following her every move in the mirror.

  After she ran some mousse through my locks, I got up the nerve to bring up the topic that brought me to the salon in the first place.

  “Lotte, Whisker Kisses got a few new cats the other day from a rescue in Maryland.”

  The hair dryer clicked on and I had to raise my voice.

  “Lotte! One of the cats is perfect for you! A gorgeous Siamese! I call her Maxine after that grouchy lady in the comics!”

  The dryer clicked off.

  “You think a grouchy cat is perfect for me? Maybe I should be rethinking this friend you're trying to pawn off on me. Why aren't you dating him anyway?”

  “We've been friends too long, I can't think of him like that. Maxine has personality, so do you, you need a cat with character and she needs someone who can handle her.”

  “Oh, well, that does make sense. Did you know Mark and I were high school sweethearts? I never dated anyone else. I should have.”

  The dryer turned back on and my formerly wet, white and orange mess was turning into a sleek mane of blond and gold waves. Not bad, not bad at all.

  When Lotte finished, she ran some goop through her hands and then rubbed it into my hair, stepping back she gave me a saucy grin.

  I gasped. I looked like a runway model. Ok, my hair looked runway perfect.

  “Lotte! Wow!” I gave my head an experimental shake, loving how my hair swished around.

  “I know, remember to tell people who did your hair.”

  I continued to toss my hair this way and that, admiring the way it fell around my face. “Oh, I will!”

  “Now when should I go meet this cranky old girl?”

  “Really?” I jumped up and embraced her, forgetting about my hairy, damp, and bleach spotted cape.

  The hug was brief as Lotte gently pushed me away and whipped the cape off.

  “Yes, really. And don't forget to send that man my way. Lord knows why I agreed to that though.”

  I paid the bill and practically floated out of the salon.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I felt sassy, cute, and sexy and it impacted me. Smiling broadly with a bounce in my step, I walked toward my car. Both my bounce and my smile died a quick death when I saw a familiar figure nonchalantly leaning against a gravestone in the cemetery across the road.

  I had enough sense to look both ways like Megan had taught me but that was about it as I stormed across the road up to the gate of the carefully maintained grounds of the small Baptist church’s graveyard.

  Victor raised a brow at my approach but didn’t stir from his causal pose, arms crossed, left ankle over his right, all while a hip rested on the large marble stone marking the last resting place of one Martin Grace.

  “Sexy hair.”

  “Thanks!” came my automatic reply, as a self-conscious hand immediately rose toward my new do. I stopped myself before making contact.

  “Funny place for a chat.”

  He straightened and his charming smile grew, making me weak in the knees. Dead or not, Victor was one sexy man. And now that my long sexual drought was over, I found that it was true, the more you got the more you wanted. And I wanted him, never mind the graves. If I didn’t fear retribution from pissed off spirits, and if he had a mortal body, I would have jumped him right there. Or maybe just hauled him into my SUV. Just the idea of that had me squirming, or maybe the new sex kitten hair was working its magic on me?

  “So, what’s going on? You know I don’t like cemeteries.” And I didn’t. Restless souls made for some very unpleasant vibes.

  “So, I returned Lance to his house as you requested.”

  “Good,” I said and then had no idea what else to say. Dang, why were things so awkward now? This was Victor, the same frustrating Victor he had been a few days ago. Why did a night of wild action have me behaving like a girl with her first crush? Oh wait, he was my first crush. And I had already decided it could never happen again, so why was I now having second and third thoughts? Lance was a jerk, anyway he was probably so drunk some nights that he wouldn’t miss the lost time if Victor borrowed his body for a few hours. A few hours of wild, sexual satisfaction.

  Think of something else! Think of something else!<
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  “Teresa, you want me to take his body over again, don’t you?”

  Was I really that transparent?

  “No! No, that’s so wrong.”

  “You can’t lie to me. Besides I want to do it again too. Why don’t we go home? I’ll go grab his body and you wait for me in bed?”

  “Victor! You’re not making this any easier. You can’t go stealing his body whenever you want! How is he? Was he aware of anything? Loss of time?”

  “I don’t know what went on in his head! I left him on the bed and he stumbled into the bathroom for a piss and some aspirin. And that’s all I needed to see. No harm done.”

  Somewhat satisfied with that information, I relaxed, though I still didn’t step a foot inside the graveyard. “Do you mind getting out of there? And since when do you hang around among the tombstones?”

  “It’s pretty peaceful here, you should consider being buried here when you die.”

  “Ugh, no thanks! I’m being cremated.”

  “Burned up?” He shuddered and stepped away from the headstone he had been leaning against, coming closer to me but still within the cemetery. “Why? When you could have a nice satin-lined box complete with a pillow.”

  “Must we talk about this?” I rubbed my hands along my bare arms feeling chilled.

  “I suppose not. What should we talk about? How much you liked being rammed by my cock?” He grinned, stepping close enough to touch if we had wanted and could.

  “I thought it wasn’t your cock?” I said turning my back to him and walking toward my SUV. Feeling the warmth of the sun hitting my cool skin as I got further away from the hallowed ground improved my mood tremendously.

  Victor fell into step along with me. “My borrowed dick then. Why don’t we talk about how much we both enjoyed it and why we’re not doing it again right now? I don’t have to get Lance. I could get another body. What about him?” He nodded toward a dark-skinned jogger who was quickly approaching. The sweat glistened on his shaved head and shirtless muscle-bound chest.

  I smiled as he jogged right through Victor, then I turned to catch a quick glimpse of his backside. He was definitely hot. And probably married or had a girlfriend. Either way, no. “No, just no. No more body snatching please.”

  “When did you become such a downer, Teresa?” Victor snapped, frustration very evident in both his tone and the jerky movement of his hand plowing through his wavy black locks.

  “Just because I’m not letting you play doesn’t make me a downer!” I groused.

  “How can we ever have any fun if you won’t let me take some chances?”

  We had reached my truck and he jumped inside, when I tried the handle it was still locked. Normally he would have unlocked it for me. When I looked at him, he stuck his tongue out and wiggled it suggestively. With a sigh, I used my key fob and unlocked it myself.

  I waited until I had pulled away from the curb to resume our conversation. “It’s not right to take chances with someone else’s body. What if Lance has some weird allergy and you eat something that kills him? Or you walk in front of a speeding car?”

  “Or I spend the evening making love with an adorable lady?”

  “What if Lance is gay?” I was grasping at straws here.

  “He isn’t,” Victor replied while messing with the radio.

  “How do you know?”

  “Easy, he had some naked women magazines in the second drawer of his nightstand and some lotion on the stand.”

  “Yuck.” The idea of Lance stroking off completely disgusted me for some odd reason.

  “Give old Lance a break,” Victor said, coming to the other man’s defense. “Besides, all men do it. And most women too.”

  “Well, I don’t!”

  “That’s on you, I wouldn’t mind watching if you want to give it a try.” He tipped me a wink and then apparently decided the subject was exhausted and so was he because he scrunched down in the seat closing his eyes.

  I switched the radio to one of my stations and ignored him the rest of the way home. Though I did sneak a few peeks because with his long lashes fanned against his cheeks he looked so adorably innocent. And because I tingled every time I thought about our night together.

  Pulling into the garage, I looked over and found Victor gone, again.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I was pissed. It had been a full week since Victor had gone to Lance's house and we had our little chat at the cemetery. And he hadn't returned since, as Lance or as himself. The man had disappeared completely from my radar, pretty easy thing for a ghost wanting to avoid me. I tried walking by Lance's gray house most evenings to see if I could get a glimpse of him but other than lights going on and off, no actual sightings of Lance or Victor.

  I was further annoyed that this afternoon the Firefighter's Carnival was underway. John was expecting me to do my thing, and I had procrastinated enough that now I had to frantically search the local Goodwill in search of my costume. Yes, I had told John I wouldn’t wear any silly gypsy getup, but a girl is allowed to change her mind. Besides, I might as well have some fun with this.

  Gaudy gold skirt, yes! A few sizes too big, but better big than tight. The same went for a blouse, John might think the girls needed to be showcased, I had different ideas, big, loose and baggy.

  “Ma’am, can I look in the case please?” Several loud bracelets had caught my eye and what fortune teller was complete without them? Plus, they reminded me of Mrs. Larsen's arm full of bangles. I was doing this in part for Whisker Kisses, but mostly due to my continued guilt over my lackluster treatment of Hannah's MomMom. Repaying my debt to the universe one small step at a time, right?

  Bracelets, gold skirt, yellowed blouse and three purple scarfs later, I donned my promised gold hoop earrings and drove out to the large grassy area behind the firehall. Once there, I spotted John before he saw me but not before several of the other volunteers had spied me. The catcalls I could deal with, the one jerk that took up the “here kitty kitty” call I wanted to pummel. Obviously, he knew who I was, maybe I should wrap a scarf around my hair?

  “T! You look great, very dime store psychic. You're gonna blow them away.” John, looking his normal aww shucks self only with a fresh haircut, was dressed comfortably in jeans with a Station Ten t-shirt. “Your tent is set up over here near the back, come-on.”

  As we walked to the tent, I tried quizzing him on what the status of a date with Lotte was. He had obviously been to see her; the haircut gave that away. He usually trimmed his own hair, but this was nicely styled. Both of them had been mute when it came to updating me. I had expected a call from either or both of them, or at the very least a text. And it looked like I was going to be denied again today, judging by the slight smile on John’s firmly closed lips.

  I gave up and instead concentrated on looking around so I could figure out my way back to the parking lot when the time came. As we walked over the slightly damp grass between the stands, I was impressed with the variety. This was my first time attending Station Ten's carnival and I liked what I saw and smelled. The sizzling sausage sandwiches smelled divine.

  There, situated a mere foot or two behind the dime toss, was a bright yellow and turquoise blue tent that looked no bigger than your average Porta Potty. My anticipation of a sausage sandwich was not going to be enough to get me through the next two nights.

  Squeezed into the tent were two metal folding chairs and a minuscule table draped with a fitted floral bed sheet. “You couldn't have gotten a tablecloth?”

  John shrugged, “Sorry, all we have is banquet table length plastic ones.”

  “So how does this work?”

  “Pretty much it's up to you how much spiritual guidance to give someone. Flat fee is fifteen dollars, so read their palm, do your trick with objects, make them happy.”

  Make them happy. No pressure.

  One hour later and not a single customer later, I slipped away to get a soda. On my return, I found a middle-aged couple occupying both seats.<
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  “Sorry, but someone must stand and it's not Madam T.” After the couple shifted positions and my chair was free, I plopped down and took a quick sip of my drink before placing it on the floor near my feet.

  “What do you seek?”

  Cracking up at my over the top accent, the seated woman leaned forward, placing her tiny well-manicured hands on the table. Her perfume wafted to me overpowering the smell of fried treats from the carnival and making my nose twitch. “I want you to tell us our fortune.”

  “The fee first please.” I pulled a pickle jar with a slot in the lid from under the table.

  The tall man, standing to the right of his petite wife, reached into his left back pocket pulling out a fairly new wallet. He plucked three rumpled looking fives from an inner compartment, slid them into the jar, and then returned his wallet to his jeans pocket. “Okay, now let's have it.”

  “Join left hands and show me the palms.” I wanted to touch their wedding rings.

  Running my fingers over their palms, I lingered briefly over his ring, it was the one sending off more pings. Ahhh….so simple I should have guessed just by looking at them.

  “A child to complete your lives, yes, I see children in your future.”

  The woman gasped and seemed close to tears while the man looked at me suspiciously.

  “Are you sure? We've tried IVF so many times and spent so much money already! Should we try one more time?”

  The woman looked so hopeful I felt bad disappointing her, but the pings were clear. I reached out to cover her cold, quivering hands with my own. “Adoption, your children are waiting for you and praying daily for a mother and a father.”

  The man's relief and quick smile relayed the truth of those words. He had wanted to adopt for years, only his wife's desire for a biological baby was holding them back. I hoped for all their sakes they did adopt.