The Psychic and the Sleuth by Bonnie Dee

Author:Bonnie Dee
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Published: 2012-01-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

If there was one skill that Oliver had perfected during his time as a medium, it was the ability to understand the general sentiment in a room and manipulate it to his best advantage. As he was introduced to Phillip Hasel’s friends, he recalled the bit of background Court had provided on each man.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Barrington.” He shook the banker’s hand and gazed into his eyes, waiting for the onrush of dread and dizziness that had accompanied each of Lily’s last visits. But Oliver saw only sadness in the portly man’s eyes and felt a dash of loneliness in his touch, no doubt the result of his broken engagement. Barrington and Hasel were particularly close, both having suffered the loss of a fiancée, though for far different reasons.

“So pleased to meet you, Mr. Parekh.” The East Indian physician emitted the faintest scent of incense and a trace of uncertainty. Perhaps this was something he always felt, being a stranger in a cold, wet foreign land.

Oliver waited to feel more, but apparently the ability had vanished again.

“And very pleased to meet you, sir. What is your connection to our Mr. Hasel?”

“Friend of a friend,” Oliver replied. “This gathering is an opportunity to widen the range of my acquaintances. You understand what it’s like to accustom yourself to a new place and try to build friendships.”

“Indeed, I do.” Parekh nodded animatedly, his lilting accent rising and falling. “You don’t by chance play Pachisi, better known to you English as Parcheesi? A few friends and I have started a club. We meet on Saturday afternoons.”

“That sounds marvelous. Tell me the details and I’ll be certain to stop by some time.” Oliver smoothly extricated himself from the eager Mr. Parekh and Phillip Hasel introduced him to another man.

“May I introduce Mr. Edward Dumbarton?”

Oliver felt nothing out of the ordinary as he grasped the shopkeeper’s hand, nor did he receive a vision from any of the other three men Hasel introduced him to. But he was able to read from their expressions and the way they carried themselves various inklings about their personalities. Dumbarton’s smug, self-righteous manner covered a sense of insecurity. Quentin Arliss was a genuinely happy man, but he seemed curious, as if he wondered why in the world he’d been invited to this party. And so forth.

Oliver took the measure of each man, piecing together what he knew of their backgrounds coupled with their mannerisms and adding in his own bit of sensitivity when he took their hands. This was the first time he’d fully realized—or at least acknowledged—that he’d perhaps always had a touch of his grandmother’s gift. He could read people, or rather feel them in some elemental way, which had nothing whatsoever to do with sensing the afterlife but perhaps they were related. What a nuisance to have a skill but no notion of how to control it or even understand its basic nature.

There was a moment when Phillip left his side and went to get refreshments. Robert came up beside Oliver.

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