woman seated in her office. Mia Corregianni leaned forward in the straight-backed chair, so tense the air molecules around her seemed to vibrate with suppressed energy.
Her skirt suit was conservative and wrinkle-free despite the humidity, as if the fabric itself knew better than to threaten the ordered perfection of her appearance. Even her glasses didn’t dare slip out of place. Her name and coloring betrayed Italian descent, but there was nothing effusive or unrestrained about her. She was bony enough to make any Italian mama tie her down and force-feed her a platter of lasagna, and she’d yanked her dark hair back in a bun so tight it had to be painful.
At first glance Miss Corregianni seemed perfectly composed, back straight, hands neatly folded. Poised. Calm. Until you heard the barely-holding-it-together edge to her voice and looked closer to see the white-knuckled clench of her fingers and the glassy panic in her eyes.
And until one recalled the slurred hysteria that had caught Karma’s attention on her call last night.
Karma found her utterly fascinating—rigid control was something of a hobby of hers and Mia was an intriguing case. Not just in the restrained fervor of her need for it , as she had repeatedly blathered on the phone last night though she had carefully avoided explaining what it was, but also in the way she seemed to deeply resent her need for it , and correspondingly her presence in Karma’s office.
Karma laced her fingers together on her desk and revealed none of her fascination in the coolly professional tone with which she said, “Miss Corregianni, I assure you, in spite of his somewhat less-than-professional appearance, Chase is one of our best.”
Every instinct Karma possessed demanded it had to be Chase who handled Mia’s case. If only to pit the finder’s lazy, surfer-boy attitude against Mia’s unrelenting control. Karma’d pay good money to watch that show.
“How does this work exactly?”
“I see no need to invoke the Prank Clause in your case. Should you elect to use our services, the consultant will work with you to locate your missing item. In cases involving our finders we do not charge any fees unless we deliver, and we use a sliding pay scale. The longer it takes us, the less it will cost you.” Karma indicated the pricing brochure in Mia’s hands.
“No, I mean I want to know how this finding, this…magic supposedly works.” She lowered her voice. “I’m a scientist,” she confessed as if she half expected to be thrown out for the admission.
Professional skepticism explained part of her reluctance to be there, but Karma had a feeling there was more to it than that. And her gut was rarely wrong.
“All this is quite a lot for a student of scientific skepticism to swallow.” Mia unclenched her fingers long enough to flick them around the office, as though there were three-card monty hucksters dripping from the walls and bearded ladies dangling from the ceiling instead of the clean, classic lines and subtle Asian influences Karma chose to surround herself with at work.
She couldn’t entirely fault skeptics like Dr. Corregianni. She’d fielded job applications from far too many fakes and con artists over the years to still have any naiveté intact on that subject.
“I don’t actually know the science of how my finders’ abilities work,” Karma admitted. “I simply know that they do. Seeing is believing.”
Mia grimaced—just a slight twitch of her oh-so-restrained facial muscles—and rocked back in her chair, though her back still stayed a strict two inches from the chair back. “I see. I’m on a tight time frame,” Dr. Corregianni said with the same crisp precision she’d stated all the other facts of her case. It had been stolen out of her condo safe sometime in the last eleven months. She had no idea who had taken it or why . It was a family heirloom of particular significance but no great monetary value. She needed to hand it off at a
Her skirt suit was conservative and wrinkle-free despite the humidity, as if the fabric itself knew better than to threaten the ordered perfection of her appearance. Even her glasses didn’t dare slip out of place. Her name and coloring betrayed Italian descent, but there was nothing effusive or unrestrained about her. She was bony enough to make any Italian mama tie her down and force-feed her a platter of lasagna, and she’d yanked her dark hair back in a bun so tight it had to be painful.
At first glance Miss Corregianni seemed perfectly composed, back straight, hands neatly folded. Poised. Calm. Until you heard the barely-holding-it-together edge to her voice and looked closer to see the white-knuckled clench of her fingers and the glassy panic in her eyes.
And until one recalled the slurred hysteria that had caught Karma’s attention on her call last night.
Karma found her utterly fascinating—rigid control was something of a hobby of hers and Mia was an intriguing case. Not just in the restrained fervor of her need for it , as she had repeatedly blathered on the phone last night though she had carefully avoided explaining what it was, but also in the way she seemed to deeply resent her need for it , and correspondingly her presence in Karma’s office.
Karma laced her fingers together on her desk and revealed none of her fascination in the coolly professional tone with which she said, “Miss Corregianni, I assure you, in spite of his somewhat less-than-professional appearance, Chase is one of our best.”
Every instinct Karma possessed demanded it had to be Chase who handled Mia’s case. If only to pit the finder’s lazy, surfer-boy attitude against Mia’s unrelenting control. Karma’d pay good money to watch that show.
“How does this work exactly?”
“I see no need to invoke the Prank Clause in your case. Should you elect to use our services, the consultant will work with you to locate your missing item. In cases involving our finders we do not charge any fees unless we deliver, and we use a sliding pay scale. The longer it takes us, the less it will cost you.” Karma indicated the pricing brochure in Mia’s hands.
“No, I mean I want to know how this finding, this…magic supposedly works.” She lowered her voice. “I’m a scientist,” she confessed as if she half expected to be thrown out for the admission.
Professional skepticism explained part of her reluctance to be there, but Karma had a feeling there was more to it than that. And her gut was rarely wrong.
“All this is quite a lot for a student of scientific skepticism to swallow.” Mia unclenched her fingers long enough to flick them around the office, as though there were three-card monty hucksters dripping from the walls and bearded ladies dangling from the ceiling instead of the clean, classic lines and subtle Asian influences Karma chose to surround herself with at work.
She couldn’t entirely fault skeptics like Dr. Corregianni. She’d fielded job applications from far too many fakes and con artists over the years to still have any naiveté intact on that subject.
“I don’t actually know the science of how my finders’ abilities work,” Karma admitted. “I simply know that they do. Seeing is believing.”
Mia grimaced—just a slight twitch of her oh-so-restrained facial muscles—and rocked back in her chair, though her back still stayed a strict two inches from the chair back. “I see. I’m on a tight time frame,” Dr. Corregianni said with the same crisp precision she’d stated all the other facts of her case. It had been stolen out of her condo safe sometime in the last eleven months. She had no idea who had taken it or why . It was a family heirloom of particular significance but no great monetary value. She needed to hand it off at a
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