his early forties he didn’t have a wrinkle on his face. No doubt the result of plastic surgery and regular injections of Botox.
Annabel’s smile was the complete opposite and revealed a vast number of lines and creases on her face. ‘You want me to use my psychic powers for something, don’t you?’
‘Very good. Impressive. And absolutely correct. I’ll be honest with you, Annabel, if I may call you that?’ She simpered back at him, a sight, if anything, even more revolting than her hideous smile. ‘It’s no accident that you’re here at this hotel. I kind of rigged it so that you would win a ticket to the show.’
‘I sensed something was amiss when I received the letter telling me I had won.’
‘Really? Your psychic powers told you that?’ Powell sat up straighter, suddenly more alert.
‘Yes. That and the fact I hadn’t entered the competition to win a ticket in the first place.’
He smiled politely. ‘Let me cut to the chase. I’ve heard many good things about you. A friend of mine recommended you after visiting you for a reading once, a few years back.’ He paused, assuming a more solemn look. ‘And today I need your services for a matter of grave importance.’
‘You want me to tell you who will win the singing contest?’
‘No. It’s more important than that.’
The Mystic Lady was determined to divine what he wanted before he told her. ‘You wish to know what you’re getting for your birthday?’ she ventured.
Powell threw a look over her shoulder at the security guard by the door. A look that suggested he wasn’t wildly impressed by Annabel’s mystical powers. She still had to convince him she was worthy of the title ‘Mystic Lady’.
Sensing his scepticism, she tried to reassure him ‘I work a lot better when I have my crystal ball,’ she told him.
‘Ah. I see. And do you have it with you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Please do get it out.’ There was the hint of an order behind the suave delivery.
Annabel unzipped her handbag, but before reaching inside she frowned. ‘ Wait ,’ she said with a gasp. ‘I’m seeing something.’
‘What is it?’
‘I see you handing me five hundred dollars.’
Powell sighed. Annabel never worked for free, and she made sure that everyone knew it. Her reputation had spread far from Santa Mondega, so Powell had known what to expect. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a thick brown leather wallet. Opening it, he counted out five one-hundred-dollar bills. Then he slipped three of them over the desk to Annabel, who snapped them up and quickly concealed them somewhere about her person.
Powell kept one finger on the two remaining bills on his side of the desk. ‘Three hundred now,’ he said coldly. ‘Two hundred more if you tell me what I need to know.’
Annabel pretended to contemplate his offer. In truth, though, there was no way she was going to refuse. Normally some haggling would take place, but her request for five hundred up front had been a somewhat optimistic one. The fact that he was willing to pay the whole five hundred made the three hundred up front more than acceptable to her. So, with another nightmarish smile, she delved into her bag and pulled out a small crystal ball, an object far cleaner than the dirty receptacle that held it. She set it down on the desk in front of her and looked up at the man sitting opposite her.
‘So tell me what you want to know.’
‘Well, Annabel,’ he said, leaning over the desk and offering his own dazzling smile, ‘a few weeks ago I was approached by a rough-looking Mexican fellow named Jefe. Claimed to be an assassin or bounty hunter of some sort.’
‘I think I know him,’ said Annabel.
‘You should do,’ said Nigel. ‘He’s the one who recommended I speak to you .’
‘About what?’
‘He told me he’d been offered a substantial sum of money to kill some of the contestants in this year’s show. He had accepted the job via a third party, only then to be told that the
Annabel’s smile was the complete opposite and revealed a vast number of lines and creases on her face. ‘You want me to use my psychic powers for something, don’t you?’
‘Very good. Impressive. And absolutely correct. I’ll be honest with you, Annabel, if I may call you that?’ She simpered back at him, a sight, if anything, even more revolting than her hideous smile. ‘It’s no accident that you’re here at this hotel. I kind of rigged it so that you would win a ticket to the show.’
‘I sensed something was amiss when I received the letter telling me I had won.’
‘Really? Your psychic powers told you that?’ Powell sat up straighter, suddenly more alert.
‘Yes. That and the fact I hadn’t entered the competition to win a ticket in the first place.’
He smiled politely. ‘Let me cut to the chase. I’ve heard many good things about you. A friend of mine recommended you after visiting you for a reading once, a few years back.’ He paused, assuming a more solemn look. ‘And today I need your services for a matter of grave importance.’
‘You want me to tell you who will win the singing contest?’
‘No. It’s more important than that.’
The Mystic Lady was determined to divine what he wanted before he told her. ‘You wish to know what you’re getting for your birthday?’ she ventured.
Powell threw a look over her shoulder at the security guard by the door. A look that suggested he wasn’t wildly impressed by Annabel’s mystical powers. She still had to convince him she was worthy of the title ‘Mystic Lady’.
Sensing his scepticism, she tried to reassure him ‘I work a lot better when I have my crystal ball,’ she told him.
‘Ah. I see. And do you have it with you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Please do get it out.’ There was the hint of an order behind the suave delivery.
Annabel unzipped her handbag, but before reaching inside she frowned. ‘ Wait ,’ she said with a gasp. ‘I’m seeing something.’
‘What is it?’
‘I see you handing me five hundred dollars.’
Powell sighed. Annabel never worked for free, and she made sure that everyone knew it. Her reputation had spread far from Santa Mondega, so Powell had known what to expect. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a thick brown leather wallet. Opening it, he counted out five one-hundred-dollar bills. Then he slipped three of them over the desk to Annabel, who snapped them up and quickly concealed them somewhere about her person.
Powell kept one finger on the two remaining bills on his side of the desk. ‘Three hundred now,’ he said coldly. ‘Two hundred more if you tell me what I need to know.’
Annabel pretended to contemplate his offer. In truth, though, there was no way she was going to refuse. Normally some haggling would take place, but her request for five hundred up front had been a somewhat optimistic one. The fact that he was willing to pay the whole five hundred made the three hundred up front more than acceptable to her. So, with another nightmarish smile, she delved into her bag and pulled out a small crystal ball, an object far cleaner than the dirty receptacle that held it. She set it down on the desk in front of her and looked up at the man sitting opposite her.
‘So tell me what you want to know.’
‘Well, Annabel,’ he said, leaning over the desk and offering his own dazzling smile, ‘a few weeks ago I was approached by a rough-looking Mexican fellow named Jefe. Claimed to be an assassin or bounty hunter of some sort.’
‘I think I know him,’ said Annabel.
‘You should do,’ said Nigel. ‘He’s the one who recommended I speak to you .’
‘About what?’
‘He told me he’d been offered a substantial sum of money to kill some of the contestants in this year’s show. He had accepted the job via a third party, only then to be told that the
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