The Witch and the Gentleman (The Witches Series Book 1) by J.R. Rain

Author:J.R. Rain [Rain, J.R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-12-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

After waiting nearly thirty minutes, I was shown into Detective Smithy’s office.

Detective Smithy was a smallish man in a biggish office. His desk was polished. The window behind him appeared recently cleaned. I didn’t detect any cobwebs or dirt or even dust bunnies. The computer monitor on his desk was bigger than my TV screen at home. Even the wires that led up to the monitor gleamed. I swear to God, someone had wiped those, too. Must be nice working for the Beverly Hills Police Department.

If Detective Smithy gave a damn about any of it, he didn’t show it. His thick cop mustache was slightly askew. As in, I was fairly certain he didn’t trim it as neat as his superiors would hope. His nails were mostly trimmed, except for his pinkie nail, which he seemed to have forgotten about. It was twice as long as the others. There was dirt under exactly half of the other nails. I suspected that what Detective Smithy lacked in grooming and hygiene, he more than made up for it in performance. At least, I hoped so.

When I came in, his smallish hand with the long pinkie nail was resting on top of a thick file. He didn’t bother standing, but instead motioned to one of the three chairs sitting before him. I took the middle one because I enjoyed symmetry.

“What’s your interest in this case, Ms. Lopez?” he asked while I straightened my workout pants so that the drape hung neatly. More symmetry. Then again, I think I was overcompensating for his lack of neatness with an overabundance of my own.

Detective Smithy looked at me as if I were doing something foreign to him, blinking once or twice. He waited. While he waited, I thought about how I should answer. Ultimately, I decided to go with the truth—the freaky truth—knowing there was a good chance I might be laughed out of the department.

“I was hired to help look for the killer,” I said simply enough.

“I see,” he said. “In what capacity?”

“I’m a psychic.”

“A psychic?”

“A good one, too, although I’m new to murder investigations.”

He didn’t laugh. At least, not yet. Instead, he studied me closely. “I see. And where do you generally employ your services?”

Detective Smithy had an uncanny ability to look directly into me. Meaning, I knew he was sizing me up far differently than I was used to being sized up. The man was literally absorbing everything about me in ways that I suspected only a homicide cop could. What those ways were, I wasn’t entirely sure, but judging from the way his eyes touched on every aspect of my face, my features, my clothing, there wasn’t a whole lot this guy missed. Also, I intuitively sensed he was a hell of a fine detective.

“I work at the Psychic Hotline.”

“The Psychic Hotline? Those guys I see on TV?”

“I’m one of those guys, or girls. There’s a few of us, actually. I work out of my home, though. Callers get rerouted to me.

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