Bad Blood: Latter-Day Olympians by Lucienne Diver

to try to hunt him down. I know how you are.” I winced. “But now, my public awaits. We are in New York through Monday, but call me any time you have gossip. The next time I have to hear about you on the news, I will put on you the Spyropoulous hex.”
    I snorted. It was a good trick for psyching people out over cards, but somehow, I didn’t think I had much to fear. “Yes, Yiayia,” I said anyway. “I will call.”
    We rang off and I found that not only had my check arrived, but my waiter’s card had come with. No doubt he hoped to be remembered when it came time to cast my fictitious script.
    As I stared down at the card, inspiration struck. I had my very own Hollywood reference library on salary.
    I flipped open my phone again as I reached for my wallet, then halted the latter impulse. If I wanted to foster the idea that I was a wheeler and dealer, I’d need to exude a sense of entitlement, not comfort the waitstaff that yes , I really did intend to move on someday and leave my table to someone willing to shell out for more than a scone and a latte. Certainly, the image would do well for me service-wise if I dropped by in the future, which, given the proximity to the cop show, seemed likely.
    Jesus picked up on the second ring—always—said it gave the impression of too little to do to pick up on the first and too much to wait until the third.
    “Good morning, Karacis Investigations,” he said pleasantly.
    “Hey, Jesus. I need your expertise. Would you get on the ’net and look up everything you can about the mermaid flick that’s been filming out at Venice Beach? Cross-reference the cast list against Circe Holland’s name. See what you can come up with.”
    “Oh hey,” he responded, dropping the energized voice for his regular ennui. It just wasn’t worth the effort for little old me. “You mean investigate .”
    I didn’t need the Sight to figure out where he was headed—big client, money influx—Jesus was thinking raise. Ever the realist, I wasn’t ready to count my chickens before they were fully grown.
    “I mean assist in an investigation, yes.”
    He gave me a raspberry. “Spoilsport.”
    “Diva,” I countered.
    “That’s aspiring diva to you. Speaking of which, I’ll be out Friday; I have an audition.” He followed up with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll have everything on your desk when you return. You are coming back, right? You haven’t run off with your studmuffin? You still have time for us little people?”
    “And you are?” I asked.
    He very properly hung up on me.
    My waiter’s eyes glowed as I pocketed his card and placed my money in the leatherette bill folder. He thanked me without even looking inside. I envied him the optimism of youth.

Chapter Six
     
    “Living is just what we do to entertain and sustain ourselves until death. So, latte anyone?”
    —Jesus
     
     
    Jesus fairly leapt out of his chair the second he saw the whites of my eyes.
    “Chica, you will not believe what I have found!” He paused dramatically for an appropriate expression of interest.
    “Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” I obliged. I even sat in the reception chair beside his desk rather than make him follow me into my office to report.
    “You will not believe the half of it. I mean, I’d heard the production was cursed , but I had no idea…”
    “Jesus, any chance of you actually telling me what you learned any time today?”
    He sniffed, but was too about-to-burst to withhold data as punishment. “Fine, the highlights. You know about Sierra Talbot’s death, yes?”
    “Um—”
    He clicked his tongue in disgust. “She died in her bathtub three-quarters of the way through filming. No apparent cause of death. They’ll have to CGI the rest of her scenes.”
    Oh, that Sierra Talbot. “Go on.”
    “Okay, so that’s on top of walk-outs, damaged equipment. No big, right? Happens all the time. But here’s the thing, some of the actors and even the crew claimed they saw strange things