Gilda Joyce, Psychic Investigator by Jennifer Allison

Author:Jennifer Allison
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781101562840
Publisher: Penguin Group
Published: 2006-11-22T22:00:00+00:00

16

Going Undercover

That’s the most ludicrous idea I’ve ever heard.” Juliet watched with obvious disapproval as Gilda calmly dumped six teaspoons of sugar into the cup of coffee that Rosa had reluctantly poured.

“What’s so ludicrous about it?” Gilda stirred her coffee calmly. She had just finished explaining her theory about Melanie’s death.

“For starters—everything about it is ridiculous. My father isn’t a murderer!”

“I’m not saying that he necessarily committed the murder himself. But what if he knows who did it, but just can’t say anything? Maybe he’s afraid for your safety.”

“It’s still pretty far-fetched.”

“Well, my plan is to go downtown to your father’s office to see if I can find any evidence to support my theory. You can come with me and distract the receptionist, and I’ll—”

“No way,” Juliet interrupted. “You’re on your own with this scheme.”

“Come on. It’ll be fun!”

“Nope.”

Gilda stared fiercely at Juliet, trying to use mental telepathy to force her to change her mind. It didn’t work. “Well,” Gilda sighed, “will you at least show me where your father’s office is?”

Juliet poked her half-eaten hard-boiled egg with a fork as if it had offended her in some way “I guess. But don’t blame me if you completely embarrass yourself.”

“Juliet, if I wasted time worrying about embarrassing myself I would never get anywhere as a psychic investigator.”

“No comment.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go put on my disguise.”

Waiting together at the bus stop, Gilda and Juliet were a strikingly mismatched pair: Juliet carried an elegant leather handbag and wore the “distressed” designer jeans that were a fashion requirement among the girls at her school. Gilda wore an elaborate disguise composed of vintage clothing purchased from obscure flea markets and garage sales.

“So how do I look?” Gilda asked, making her voice low and hoarse in an attempt to mimic an aging smoker. “You haven’t even commented on my disguise.”

Juliet squinted at Gilda, as if trying to shield her eyes from an unpleasant source of light. “Terrible,” she said. “You look absolutely terrible. You sound terrible, too.”

Gilda’s wig was obviously synthetic: originally designed as a bob with flirty bangs, the hairstyle now featured brassy, disheveled clumps. Along with the wig, Gilda wore a bright shade of magenta lipstick, beige foundation makeup, a cheap set of metallic gold fingernails, a strand of fake pearls, her leopard-print jacket, an oversize purse, and a pair of stiletto pumps with pointy toes. The shoes hurt her feet, but Gilda was willing to endure the torture of her high heels because the pain forced her to walk with a pigeon-toed gait, and that was part of the disguise. Gilda had read somewhere that being recognized had as much to do with a familiar walk as it did with one’s face, body, and clothing. Before leaving the house, she had practiced slouching forward and limping slightly with each step.

“But would you recognize me?” Gilda persisted.

“No—I don’t think so.” Juliet wrinkled her nose as she surveyed Gilda’s attire. “I mean, if I didn’t already know it was

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