The Accused and the Damned: Book Three, the Eddie McCloskey Series (The Unearthed 3) (12 page)

“I’m sure she’s well worth it.” Eddie handed Stacy a credit card.

Stacy’s nose wrinkled. “I’m sorry, sir, but I need to see some ID. Someone came here recently and used a stolen credit card.”

Eddie wondered why the Madam hadn’t been able to foresee that. He handed her his driver’s license. Stacy compared the names and signatures on the two cards, processed the payment, then handed his plastic back to him.

“Thank you, sir. You can go on back now, right through that door there.”

Eddie didn’t spot any of the standard ruses as he entered the Madam’s office. No one-way mirrors he could see, no crystal balls. He could have been stepping into a small, professional-looking meeting space in a tiny but well-furnished office. Heavy drapes covered the windows, the lighting was glam-shot soft, and incense flitted through the air.

Ms. Magloin rose from the small, circular table in the middle of the room and met him halfway. She wore slacks, a blazer, a bright smile, and a blouse that was open one button south of modest.

Her voice was silky. “Welcome.”

“Thanks for your time.”

They shook hands. Her skin was creamy and smooth. She pointed him to a chair at the table and then sat in the opposite one.

She regarded him for a moment, her expression unreadable. He maintained a neutral posture, his hands folded on the table.

She was stalling, Eddie knew. Right now, her receptionist was googling his name, possibly peering through the windows of his car to obtain personal information about him.

Then came the first gimmick.

“I can tell you’re a smart man.” She stood and put one hip on the table and smiled at him. “You’ve heard of phrenology?”

He couldn’t help himself. “You tell me, have I?”

“Mr. McCloskey—Eddie. This session will be much more productive if you’re receptive and cooperative.” She leaned forward, exposing more of her ample cleavage. He feasted his eyes, letting her think the distraction was working. And also because he enjoyed the view.

She put her hands on his head and massaged his scalp. “The messages I receive are not always clear so I’ll need your help to interpret them. I’m just a guide. You’re the expert on your life.”

He said nothing. Just basked in the attentions of her fingers.

“Oh yes,” she said. “There is a lot here.”

The scalp rub released endorphins. Eddie’s lizard brain was associating the feelings of pleasure and comfort with Ms. Magloin. It was all part of the con. She wasn’t actually reading the bumps on his head. And if she was, they wouldn’t mean anything to her. Maybe a forensic anthropologist would be able to discern his Irish ancestry. Or even further back, to his possible Viking blood.

Ninety-nine percent of the questions people brought to psychics fell into three categories: relationships, health, and finances. As if on cue, Ms. Magloin spoke.

“There are two areas that are now giving you concern.”

Eddie closed his eyes, pretended to be lost in the scalp massage. “What are my choices?”

“You know, but I will tell you anyway.” Slowly, she stopped rubbing his head and folded her hands in her lap. “You have a problem with relationships and with finances.”

Who didn’t?

“I guess this would fit into the relationship category.”

All communication was incomplete and required the recipient to play detective in order to divine the meaning of the shared information. Psychics relied on this and let their customers fill in the blanks, ignore contradictory information, and emphasize meaningful statements while downplaying communications that did not fit. Eventually the client would forget all the misses and remember only the hits.

Ms. Magloin got up and repositioned her chair so their knees touched when she sat. She held both his hands. Her hands soft, warm. Her fingers gentle.

“You prefer a certain amount of change and variety and become dissatisfied when hemmed in by restrictions and limitations.”

Eddie said nothing. She’d read his facial expressions and body language so far and had made a few guesses about him. Using that information, she’d selected one of her many prefabbed stock readings and was giving it to him now.

“You pride yourself as an independent thinker and do not accept other’s statements without satisfactory proof, but you have found it unwise to be too frank in revealing yourself to others.”

She surprised him with her accuracy in selecting an apt stock reading. She was on the money so far.

“You are not from here,” she said. “You’re not from anywhere.”

So that was how she’d decided to handle the conflicting information he’d given her: the old New Jersey tags on the car and the varying sports gear in the backseat. Not bad.

Either the co-ed had gone outside to check his car or they had cameras spotting the parking lot so she didn’t have to leave her desk. The Madam’s hair hid her ears so he couldn’t check for an earpiece.

The Madam’s hands roved from his and her fingers ran along his wrists. “You’re a good person, Eddie. You’ve made some mistakes, some pretty big ones in your life, but deep down you’re a good person. That’s why people like you. You know that brunette you fell for? She still really cares about you too, even though she’s with somebody else. And she’s your soul mate.”

That part of his mind looking to make sense of the world immediately made the connection.

Moira
.

She’d been his first crush. Later, his first love. But he’d cocked that up, and now she was married to his best friend, Stan.

Then the rational part of his brain said,
Wait a minute
.

If he stretched the description a little bit, he could apply it to Ana, who was a dirty blond. They had developed a deep relationship on his last big job. And a cute girl like her didn’t stay single too long.

The Madam was a pretty good performer. She wouldn’t win any Academy Awards but she could have been a solid character actor. She wasn’t too theatrical. She was just unmannered enough to be credible.

She’d proudly displayed her fun bags for him, so she knew from his roving eyes that he was a heterosexual, red-blooded male. She knew from his appearance that he was in his thirties, so chances were good he’d been in several relationships in his life. And there were only four basic hair colors, with brunette being the most common so he was bound to have fallen for somebody fitting that vague description.

It made him laugh that he’d learned the psychic’s tricks by watching Gracie Barbitok’s show.

“You know who I’m talking about,” the Madam said, her voice still warm and even.

“There are a few girls that fit that—”

“Moira.”

Eddie was taken aback.

The Madam smiled at him knowingly. “Moira is your soul mate, but she is not yours. And this tortures you. It will always torture you until you find someone who reciprocates your feelings. Always remember, Eddie, that there is more than one soul for everyone.”

His head was spinning. Was it possible she fell into the less than one percent of psychics who had actual abilities?

“Souls have no age, Eddie. Don’t let physical years get in the way of your happiness with someone who is younger than you.”

She had him against the ropes. Now she was referring to Ana, who was a decade his junior.

She smiled sympathetically. “You have many questions, I know. But this will take some time. And love is a long-term problem. The more pressing issue is your business. It will flourish if you are successful on this job. If you are not, difficult times lie ahead.”

Also true. This case was high-profile, a career booster or buster, even before Gracie Barbitok showed up. Now the stakes were raised another tenfold. He was under the eye. If this went bad for him, he’d become one of Gracie’s many punchlines. No doubt the network’s writers and editors were already working on turning this into a special.

She let go of his wrists and put her palms on his thighs, near the knees.

“So you’re not just here because of Moira and Ana. You’re here to talk about Alice Ketcher, aren’t you, Eddie?”

She knew. She knew everything.

She had him convinced.

For a second.

He got up and gave her his back. Her name-dropping Alice Ketcher had him all hot and bothered.

Then he put it together.

He faced her and smiled. “Okay, you can cut the sideshow now. I have the same question for you as I did for Gracie Barbitok.”

The Madam remained perfectly still.

Eddie let his last comment hang, then said, “Your assistant got my name off my plastic. Very good idea to ask for corroborating ID. That was easy.”

She said nothing.

“For the few men who come in here you wear an outfit like that. It’s supposed to make us think with the wrong head. We’re more apt to believe you when we’ve got a view of the twin peaks there.”

She looked at him sideways.

“For the women, you play it modest. You put those lovely bosoms away and don’t hide your age lines so much. That way, the ladies don’t see you as a sexual threat and they’re more inclined to like you.”

Silence.

Eddie nodded at her. “There’s no bad blood here, Ms. Magloin. You’re pretty good. But I know the game.”

Finally she spoke. “You are a curious man. You come here looking for answers but then you insult me. I told you in the beginning, if you’re not receptive to the process, the process won’t work for you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I came here for information.”

Her eyes betrayed nothing. “Alice Ketcher … you want to establish contact with her.”

“How many times did she come to see you?”

Ms. Magloin frowned. “I’ve never met—”

“Please.” He smiled and looked around the room to make her uneasy. “Alice came to see you. Confidentially, of course, or else the lawyers and the police would have been through here like a pack of wild dogs already. Anyway, you pay attention to the local news so you know what’s going on in the community. Takes some of the guesswork out of your job. You read about the murder and since then you’ve kept a pulse on the criminal charges filed against Alice’s husband, so you knew I was involved and when Stacy verified my ID you knew it was Eddie McCloskey, paranormal expert for the defense, about to walk through the door. All good psychics know it’s better to have information ahead of time instead of resorting to the usual fishing expedition. You had your dossier prepped on me in case I showed up. Pretty good work. Then you went for the slow burn with me. Gave me a stock cold reading, made sure I was fully on the hook. And you had me for a second, lady. You really did. You took your time. Brought me under the spell. The name-drops of Moira and Ana had my head spinning. But then you mentioned Alice Ketcher.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Get out. Or I’ll scream rape. My word against the ex-con’s.”

A whisper. But a menace behind the words. Perhaps she’d been in this spot before.

Eddie smiled. “My word against the fraud’s. Or is it just part-fraud? That’s one of the things I wanted to know.”

“How dare you.”

“Take it easy, Ms. Magloin. You want to cooperate with me. Last thing your business needs is bad press tying you to a dead client who came to you for help about a haunted house.”

She folded her arms. “What do you want?”

“Same thing as any of your clients. Answers.”             

She watched him thoughtfully.

“Let’s scale this back down to Defcon-Five. Why don’t we have a seat and talk like two grown-ups, if not professionals.”

She ran her tongue along her teeth. Then without a word moved her chair back to the other side of the table. There would be no more touchy-feely this session. Eddie was a little disappointed.

Eddie sat back down. “How many times did she come to see you?”

“Many.”

“She asked for help with the ghost, didn’t she?”

“Yes, but …”

Eddie sat forward. “Ms. Magloin, the woman is dead and her husband could hang. If he’s guilty, then I’ll make sure that happens. But if he’s not, then I want to get him a fair shake.”

The Madam looked away, unfolded her arms, let out a big sigh. “I do have the Eye, you know.”

“That right?”

“Yes. But it’s unreliable. For every ten clients I see, I get true insight on one of them, maybe two.”

“Must be hard.”

“Don’t mock me.” Two angry lines carved themselves between her eyes. “I do provide these people a real service. I can read a person better than any shrink can.”

“I’m not judging.”

“Oh yes, you are. I can tell by your tone, the pacing of your words, the way your eyes are. Even if you don’t know you are, I know you are.”

Eddie suddenly felt self-conscious so he changed the way he was sitting. “So what service do you provide?”

“The people that come here just want answers. They don’t get satisfactory ones from most of their outlets anymore. And I can read them better than their best friends can. I can tell who they truly are. If you know yourself, you know everything you need to be happy. I open their eyes to their own truth. I’ve helped a lot of people, especially those I’ve gained true insight for.”

“Or you give them false hope.”

“Spare me the holier-than-thou snark. If your client’s claim is bogus, do you refuse the money you’re due?”

Eddie thought back to the Chins. Old man Chin had offered him money but Eddie had turned it down.

“The difference between me and you is I don’t know if a claim is bogus till I do my job.”