exchange.
“Should I . . . ?” she asked Leonora quietly.
Leonora nodded, and Marisa hurried after the grieving couple. From long experience with her mother’s work, Nicky knew that Marisa would offer to set up an appointment for a private reading, free of charge, at some future date. Presumably, when she was no longer “blocked.”
“That was great ,” Tina breathed, unclipping the microphone from Nicky’s lapel. Nicky got the feeling that she would have been jumping up and down in her platform shoes if the soles hadn’t been too heavy to allow it. “Your mom rules .” She let Nicky go and turned enthusiastically to Leonora. “You are the absolute bomb ,” she told Leonora as she removed her microphone. “Do you think you could do a séance for me sometime? My grandmother died last year and . . .”
Tina was part of Nicky’s usual team, too, and ordinarily, Nicky loved the tiny blonde to death: Her bubbly enthusiasm could be counted on to inject a note of cheer into any shoot, no matter how nerve-racking the conditions. One glance at her mother’s face, however, confirmed her gut instinct: For Leonora, now was definitely not the moment.
“Maybe next time we’re in town,” Nicky intervened hastily before her mother could answer, and took Leonora’s arm. Her mother didn’t actually pull away, but the resistance—to her daughter’s touch, not to leaving—was there. At least her mother’s annoyance served a purpose: It kept Nicky from dwelling on her uncomfortable conviction that in that icy brush of air across her face, she’d just had her own up-close-and-personal encounter with the resident ghost. “We need to get packed up and out of here pronto, before Barney Fife and company”—she nodded toward the two cops, who were cautiously entering the bedroom at that moment—“really do arrest us.”
“Can they do that?” Tina spotted the newcomers and frowned.
Already tugging her mother toward the door, Nicky shrugged. “I don’t know about you, but I’d just as soon not find out.”
The room’s lighting suddenly went from blazing bright to normal overhead fixture bright, and the temperature dropped at least a couple degrees. Nicky blinked and glanced around automatically, but realized even as she did it that the reason had nothing to do with the paranormal: The plug had just been pulled on the TV lights. The gang was already bustling about, doing their jobs. She knew from experience that they’d have the whole house restored to pre-broadcast conditions in less than half an hour.
“Nice show,” a man commented dryly, and Nicky looked up to find Barney Fife in her path. He was good-looking enough to be described as hunky, she discovered now that she got her first real look at him in decent lighting: wavy black hair, bronzed, chiseled features, a broad-shouldered, lean-hipped body that was all muscles and sex appeal. In fact, all the usual clichés applied, and her female radar gave its standard hot-guy-in-the-building heads up, but the dorky shirt coupled with the expression on his face helped her keep things in perspective. This was a small-town cop with a bad attitude. In fact, if she’d had to describe him now, she would have said tall, dark, and nasty. There was a glint in his eyes and a twist to his mouth that told her that he believed in what he’d just seen and heard about as much as he believed in Santa Claus. “It sure sent chills down my spine.”
“Thanks.” It required considerable effort, but she took the high road and ignored the not-so-subtle sarcasm. Screw you was what she felt like saying, but at the moment, she had bigger problems than an ignorant cop. Problems such as her mother, whom she steered carefully around him. She could feel Leonora’s arm stiffening beneath her fingers. If she looked—which she didn’t dare do—she knew she’d see her mother swelling up like a puffer fish.
If he’d asked, she would have warned him that Leonora was not in the mood
“Should I . . . ?” she asked Leonora quietly.
Leonora nodded, and Marisa hurried after the grieving couple. From long experience with her mother’s work, Nicky knew that Marisa would offer to set up an appointment for a private reading, free of charge, at some future date. Presumably, when she was no longer “blocked.”
“That was great ,” Tina breathed, unclipping the microphone from Nicky’s lapel. Nicky got the feeling that she would have been jumping up and down in her platform shoes if the soles hadn’t been too heavy to allow it. “Your mom rules .” She let Nicky go and turned enthusiastically to Leonora. “You are the absolute bomb ,” she told Leonora as she removed her microphone. “Do you think you could do a séance for me sometime? My grandmother died last year and . . .”
Tina was part of Nicky’s usual team, too, and ordinarily, Nicky loved the tiny blonde to death: Her bubbly enthusiasm could be counted on to inject a note of cheer into any shoot, no matter how nerve-racking the conditions. One glance at her mother’s face, however, confirmed her gut instinct: For Leonora, now was definitely not the moment.
“Maybe next time we’re in town,” Nicky intervened hastily before her mother could answer, and took Leonora’s arm. Her mother didn’t actually pull away, but the resistance—to her daughter’s touch, not to leaving—was there. At least her mother’s annoyance served a purpose: It kept Nicky from dwelling on her uncomfortable conviction that in that icy brush of air across her face, she’d just had her own up-close-and-personal encounter with the resident ghost. “We need to get packed up and out of here pronto, before Barney Fife and company”—she nodded toward the two cops, who were cautiously entering the bedroom at that moment—“really do arrest us.”
“Can they do that?” Tina spotted the newcomers and frowned.
Already tugging her mother toward the door, Nicky shrugged. “I don’t know about you, but I’d just as soon not find out.”
The room’s lighting suddenly went from blazing bright to normal overhead fixture bright, and the temperature dropped at least a couple degrees. Nicky blinked and glanced around automatically, but realized even as she did it that the reason had nothing to do with the paranormal: The plug had just been pulled on the TV lights. The gang was already bustling about, doing their jobs. She knew from experience that they’d have the whole house restored to pre-broadcast conditions in less than half an hour.
“Nice show,” a man commented dryly, and Nicky looked up to find Barney Fife in her path. He was good-looking enough to be described as hunky, she discovered now that she got her first real look at him in decent lighting: wavy black hair, bronzed, chiseled features, a broad-shouldered, lean-hipped body that was all muscles and sex appeal. In fact, all the usual clichés applied, and her female radar gave its standard hot-guy-in-the-building heads up, but the dorky shirt coupled with the expression on his face helped her keep things in perspective. This was a small-town cop with a bad attitude. In fact, if she’d had to describe him now, she would have said tall, dark, and nasty. There was a glint in his eyes and a twist to his mouth that told her that he believed in what he’d just seen and heard about as much as he believed in Santa Claus. “It sure sent chills down my spine.”
“Thanks.” It required considerable effort, but she took the high road and ignored the not-so-subtle sarcasm. Screw you was what she felt like saying, but at the moment, she had bigger problems than an ignorant cop. Problems such as her mother, whom she steered carefully around him. She could feel Leonora’s arm stiffening beneath her fingers. If she looked—which she didn’t dare do—she knew she’d see her mother swelling up like a puffer fish.
If he’d asked, she would have warned him that Leonora was not in the mood
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