difference between the two groups of clients. Those with real psychical abilities of their own believed her when she explained that she worked by reading their auras. Those without talent wanted to believe that she could see their energy fields. It was a win-win situation for a woman in her line.
“This isn’t a joke,” Gwen said.
“I know. Sorry. It’s been a very long day. The drive back from Anacortes took longer than usual. Accident on the interstate.” Abby swallowed some of her wine and lowered the glass. “If it helps, I have been informed that there is no way Sam Coppersmith could have murdered his fiancée.”
“Who told you that?”
“The water-taxi guy.”
“He’s an authority?”
“He certainly seemed to think so. Evidently, no one on that island thinks Sam did it.”
“And what proof do they offer?” Gwen demanded.
“They seem to feel that if Sam had murdered someone, he would have done a better job of it.”
“I beg your pardon. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He would have made the victim disappear.” Abby waved one hand in a now-you-see–it–now-you-don’t motion. “And he would have taken care to make sure that there was nothing left behind that pointed back to him.”
“And you believed this water-taxi guy’s theory?”
Abby looked at Gwen over the top of her glass. “Having met Sam Coppersmith, yes, I believe that theory.”
“You do realize that there’s a lot of money in the Coppersmithfamily,” Gwen said ominously. “With money comes the kind of power it takes to make sure someone in the family does not go down for murder.”
“Your cynical side is showing, Gwen.”
“It’s my best side. Is this Sam Coppersmith a real private investigator?”
“He described himself as a technical consultant.”
“Oh, that’s just wonderful,” Gwen said.
“But I do think he’s the best man for the job.”
“Why, for heaven’s sake?”
“Because this situation involves a very hot book, and I need an investigator who at least takes the paranormal seriously. Not a lot of those floating around, in case you haven’t noticed. Besides, you know as well as I do that Thaddeus Webber would never have sent me to Coppersmith if he had believed there was a better option.”
“Point taken.” Gwen sat back. “Have you received any more email from the blackmailer?”
“No, thank goodness. But there’s something else I want to talk to you about.”
“What?”
“I’ve had a really weird dream two nights in a row. They both featured Grady Hastings.”
Gwen frowned. “The crazy guy who staged that home invasion in your client’s house?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s not surprising that you would have some bad dreams for a while. That was a very frightening situation.”
“True, but what is freaking me out about the dreams is that I’ve started sleepwalking. I’ve never done that in my life.”
“There is nothing unstable about your talent,” Gwen said, “if that’s what’s worrying you.”
“You’re the one who told me that a disturbance in the dreamstate can be an early indication of serious problems with the para-senses.”
“It’s true, but that kind of disturbance is visible in the aura. You’re fine.”
Abby framed the base of her glass in a triangle formed by her thumbs and forefingers. “Take a look. Please.”
“Okay, okay.”
Gwen heightened her talent. Abby felt energy shiver gently in the atmosphere. A few feet away, a middle-aged businessman who was slouched on a bar stool suddenly turned his head and looked around, as though searching for someone or something. Abby knew that he had felt the tingle of psi in the vicinity but probably did not know what it was that had lifted the hairs on the nape of his neck. Over in the corner, a redheaded stylist drinking a cosmopolitan glanced uneasily
“This isn’t a joke,” Gwen said.
“I know. Sorry. It’s been a very long day. The drive back from Anacortes took longer than usual. Accident on the interstate.” Abby swallowed some of her wine and lowered the glass. “If it helps, I have been informed that there is no way Sam Coppersmith could have murdered his fiancée.”
“Who told you that?”
“The water-taxi guy.”
“He’s an authority?”
“He certainly seemed to think so. Evidently, no one on that island thinks Sam did it.”
“And what proof do they offer?” Gwen demanded.
“They seem to feel that if Sam had murdered someone, he would have done a better job of it.”
“I beg your pardon. What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He would have made the victim disappear.” Abby waved one hand in a now-you-see–it–now-you-don’t motion. “And he would have taken care to make sure that there was nothing left behind that pointed back to him.”
“And you believed this water-taxi guy’s theory?”
Abby looked at Gwen over the top of her glass. “Having met Sam Coppersmith, yes, I believe that theory.”
“You do realize that there’s a lot of money in the Coppersmithfamily,” Gwen said ominously. “With money comes the kind of power it takes to make sure someone in the family does not go down for murder.”
“Your cynical side is showing, Gwen.”
“It’s my best side. Is this Sam Coppersmith a real private investigator?”
“He described himself as a technical consultant.”
“Oh, that’s just wonderful,” Gwen said.
“But I do think he’s the best man for the job.”
“Why, for heaven’s sake?”
“Because this situation involves a very hot book, and I need an investigator who at least takes the paranormal seriously. Not a lot of those floating around, in case you haven’t noticed. Besides, you know as well as I do that Thaddeus Webber would never have sent me to Coppersmith if he had believed there was a better option.”
“Point taken.” Gwen sat back. “Have you received any more email from the blackmailer?”
“No, thank goodness. But there’s something else I want to talk to you about.”
“What?”
“I’ve had a really weird dream two nights in a row. They both featured Grady Hastings.”
Gwen frowned. “The crazy guy who staged that home invasion in your client’s house?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s not surprising that you would have some bad dreams for a while. That was a very frightening situation.”
“True, but what is freaking me out about the dreams is that I’ve started sleepwalking. I’ve never done that in my life.”
“There is nothing unstable about your talent,” Gwen said, “if that’s what’s worrying you.”
“You’re the one who told me that a disturbance in the dreamstate can be an early indication of serious problems with the para-senses.”
“It’s true, but that kind of disturbance is visible in the aura. You’re fine.”
Abby framed the base of her glass in a triangle formed by her thumbs and forefingers. “Take a look. Please.”
“Okay, okay.”
Gwen heightened her talent. Abby felt energy shiver gently in the atmosphere. A few feet away, a middle-aged businessman who was slouched on a bar stool suddenly turned his head and looked around, as though searching for someone or something. Abby knew that he had felt the tingle of psi in the vicinity but probably did not know what it was that had lifted the hairs on the nape of his neck. Over in the corner, a redheaded stylist drinking a cosmopolitan glanced uneasily
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