Page 12 of The Psychic

There it was. “Of course. Let’s go to the conference room.” Ronnie glanced to Dawn for confirmation that the conference room was free. Dawn nodded once, emphatically, clearly glad to remove Mrs. Langdorf from reception.

Carlton leapt up and offered his arm, practically muscling Ronnie out of the way.

Marian ignored him and deliberately thumped her cane onto the carpet ahead of them as the three made their way to the narrow, rectangular room with the row of windows and the carved wooden table that could seat up to thirty, if necessary.

Today the rain was obscuring the panes, running in rivulets that blurred the view of the now skeletal trees that lined the street.

Marian sat herself on the end. Carlton quickly chose her right; Ronnie on her left.

While Marian settled herself, Ronnie thought about her recent conversation with Detective Haynes.

She was a bit embarrassed about saying Rebekkah.

She’d seen the name— Rebekkah, two k ’s and an h—floating in her mind, but she’d been wrong.

This happened enough that she shouldn’t be embarrassed about it any longer, but well, she was.

Maybe it’s the name of the woman in the clearing … ?

Or more likely, nothing at all.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Marian tsk-tsked as she crossed her arms on the tabletop and leaned in to Ronnie.

“I haven’t meant to.” A blatant lie.

“You save my life, and this is how you treat me? Come on, Veronica. You know I want you to work for me. This law job …” She made a face and looked around. “What are you getting paid? I’ll double it.”

Carlton choked and coughed, his face turning red. Mrs. Langdorf regarded him imperiously, her mouth turning down.

That one vision of Marian Langdorf had proved correct.

Ronnie had seen her gray face, slack jaw and terrified eyes as she’d been on a gurney, raced by EMTs across Glen Gen Emergency’s white tile floor.

The feeling of rushing speed, the squeaking and clattering of wheels, the odor of antiseptic and stale green beans.

A hospital, she’d realized, and had warned her to see a doctor and check her right side before blurting, “I don’t want to see you on a gurney being raced into Glen Gen Emergency. ”

In the moment, Marian had pulled back slowly from Ronnie as if she smelled bad, and had left quickly, one hand gripped hard on her sycophantic nephew’s arm.

She’d called Jonas within the hour and accused Ronnie of being the crackpot everyone said she was.

Forty-eight hours later she’d ended up in the emergency room at Glen Gen and it was nip and tuck for a while before they operated on her liver.

So, she called up Jonas, this time singing Ronnie’s praises.

Now she said, “Let’s not argue about it.

Let me be clear. You know I think you’re wasting your talents here.

I want you to come work for me, from my home.

There’s an upstairs suite that you can use as an office, decorate any way you wish.

I want you to be comfortable. As I said, I will pay you double what you’re making here, as long as it’s within reason.

I don’t want you to take on other clients.

Oh, and I would prefer it just be you. Nothing against your husband, but I need a personal aide whose attention will be solely on me.

It’s the second floor of my house, where my bedroom is and—”

Here, Carlton made a choking sound. His skin had whitened and it looked as if it was all he could do to not clamp his hand over his ears, or maybe Marian’s mouth.

“—your suite is just down the hall. I think you can understand I wouldn’t want a man on the same floor. No one has been since Howell died,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning down at the mention of her deceased husband.

“Look, Mrs. Langdorf—”

“It’s Marian. Please.”

“Marian,” Ronnie began again. “I—”

Carlton broke in. “Aunt Marian, it’s a lot to ask right off the bat. Maybe a trial period is in order?”

Ronnie tried to interject, “I was going to say, I don’t think—”

“Carlton.” Marian turned her hard gaze on him. “Your displeasure has been noted many times. This is my life we’re talking about. The life that I still have because of Veronica.”

“All she did was tell you to see a doctor,” he said faintly.

“Before. My. Liver. Failed.” Her voice was a knife, slicing off each word. “I could be dead, except for her.”

Carlton shot Ronnie a flash of resentment, before dropping his gaze.

He was Mrs. Langdorf’s heir, as far as Ronnie knew.

She could look up that information as a member of the firm, but she’d tried to stay away from any and all possible conflicts, especially since the woman had decided Ronnie was her savior.

Carlton was feeling the sting of Marian’s shift of interest and was likely worried his inheritance could be in jeopardy.

“I can’t do it, Mrs. Langdorf,” Ronnie said quickly. “This is where I work.”

“And you detest it, I know, dear. I may not have your abilities, but I can see your unhappiness. You are unfulfilled. This is an opportunity for both of us.”

“She doesn’t want it,” urged Carlton. “It’s not—”

“Carlton …” The warning in her tone stopped him from whatever he was going to add. She turned back to Ronnie. “I know you say you have no ability in the psychic realm, but that’s not really true, is it? Your reputation precedes you, whether you like it or not.”

“I’m not always accurate. You know that. A lot of my reputation is hype.”

“You saved me. And I heard about you saving that man’s life, too.”

Ronnie hesitated. What man? she wanted to ask, but that would be just playing into her hands. Taft? That wasn’t public knowledge, was it? Detective Haynes knew, but was there anyone else? Taft’s partner, yes, but …

There are other incidents , her conscience reminded her .

That broken latch on the gate to the pool at the Morrows’ house?

The one you saw after that vision of a child’s body floating in the pool, surrounded by a corona of her dark, waving hair?

Carrie Morrow had confided weeks later that she had found their daughter in the pool not long after Ronnie’s warning.

She’d planned on getting the latch fixed, but it had taken a bit of time.

Luckily, Ronnie’s warning had made her hypervigilant about her daughter’s whereabouts and she’d kept close tabs on the girl minute by minute.

Sure enough, the child had found her way into the pool, but luckily Carrie was right behind her and pulled her out immediately.

But maybe the man Marian Langdorf meant was Albert Tormelle’s grandson.

Ronnie had told Albert not to allow him to go on an upcoming ski trip.

Albert had half listened to her, and suggested the tween boy be kept home, which had not gone over well, to put it mildly.

She’d been ignored and the boy had fallen from the ski lift and cracked several vertebrae.

Since then he’d had a number of surgeries and was reportedly fine.

Sophomore or junior in high school now, she thought.

That was the incident that had really done it.

Before that, there were rumors, but Albert Tormelle couldn’t shut up about Ronnie’s psychic abilities.

He might be circumspect regarding his clients’ businesses, but he was a big, voluble man who’d stoked the myth about her reputation so hard that it left anyone who encountered her unsure how to treat her.

And then, of course, there was the time she’d warned the River Glen police that Edmond Olman was going to kill his wife.

“Mr. Lockenbill,” Marian said by way of explanation.

Well, that was unexpected. Ronnie said carefully, “Norm Lockenbill wanted to talk to his dead wife and he wanted a seance. That never happened.”

“But he saw her, after he talked to you. She visited him.”

“I can’t verify that,” said Ronnie. It was amazing how hard it was to keep the facts from turning into epic fiction.

This all started at The Pond.

Clint Mercer had spread the tale of her screaming about Evan Caldwell’s ghost and then asking Sloan to marry her.

She’d tried to explain, which only made things worse, that she hadn’t asked to marry him.

She’d seen it. The white dress. Candlelight.

“… kiss the bride …” And Sloan Hart doing just that.

I’m going to marry you.

She’d made the mistake of confiding the full vision to Brandy and Mel, once everything had died down.

They’d seemed to go along with her, but later she’d seen the sidelong glances they’d given each other when they thought she wasn’t looking.

And that was the beginning of the end to their friendship.

“God has given you a gift the rest of us don’t possess,” Mrs. Langdorf insisted. “Use it, my dear. When it’s your time, you want to be able to tell your Maker you wielded His gift to the best of your ability. You can’t let it be squandered.”

Carlton said in a mansplaining voice, “Ms. Quick doesn’t appear to be interested in the plan.”

“It’s more like I don’t think I can help you,” said Ronnie in a rush. She didn’t want either of them speaking for her.

“Don’t say no yet. You saved my life. Let me give you this opportunity to embrace yours as it was meant to be. Come by tomorrow. We’ll have a light lunch. Carlton won’t be there,” she added, throwing a look his way. “Or possibly tonight? For dinner?”

Carlton made a protesting peep, but then held back whatever he was going to say. Probably a smart move, though it looked like it was killing him.

“You can bring your husband,” the older woman added magnanimously. “So he can see, but I don’t want—”

“I signed divorce papers today.” Ronnie cut her off. “That’s where I was before I walked in. So, there is no husband any longer.”

Marian immediately brightened. “Well, okay. I’ll see you tonight. After work. Five thirty?”

“Make it six.”

“Good.” She rapped her cane on the floor once and stood. “I’ll see you then.” She lifted her chin and sailed out, with Carlton scrambling to catch up with her thumping gait.

Might as well get it over with. Marian wasn’t one to put off. She was a woman who was used to getting what she wanted and she wanted Ronnie. So what the hell?

Should I wear a conical hat decorated with stars and a silver cape and wand?

Carlton’s final warning glare was the icing on the cake. She was going if for nothing more than to thwart him a bit.

Finally, Ronnie retreated to her office. Her desk phone was ringing as she sat down and she reached for the receiver. “Veronica Quick.”

“Hi … this is Daria Armenton. Angel told me he talked to you about me?”

Daria. Angel’s cousin. “Yes, he did. And I told him you needed to talk to Martin Calgheny. He’s the lawyer for the Rollberson estate.”

“Oh?” She sounded distracted.

Ronnie added, “Angel said that the other heirs want you to give them your part of the inheritance, which sounds like harassment.”

“Yeah … yeah, it is. Harassment.”

“You can call the River Glen Police Department. Or the sheriff’s department, if you’re in the county.”

“I don’t want to do that.”

“Should I have Martin call you?”

“Can’t you do something?” Daria sounded a little desperate.

“I’m not a lawyer.” How many times was she going to have to say that?

“But you’ve helped other people,” Daria said.

“Yes …”

“So, can you help me?”

“What kind of help are you looking for?” questioned Ronnie. She knew, but she wanted to have it come from Daria’s own lips.

“I just heard that you were … that you could maybe help me … you know, I mean. Like you could know stuff.”

“About … the other heirs?”

“Or anybody, really, I guess.” Daria let out a puff of air. “You see stuff. You can see into the future, right? I mean, is there a chance you can see how much … ? I’d like to plan.”

Oh. So that was it. Ronnie said, “I don’t know how much you’re inheriting, no.” She shifted the phone from one ear to the other.

Daria said, “It’s just that me and my boyfriend would like to buy a house, but we are trying to figure out how much we’ll get.”

Ronnie tried to be patient. “Daria,” she said, “you really need to talk to your lawyer. Martin Calgheny. If you’re being harassed by the other heirs, it could be a matter for the police.”

“Oh, no. It’s not that. Angel can take care of things. I just thought …” She sighed. “Okay, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Ronnie said into the dead line. It irked her how everyone seemed to think she could magically fix all their problems.

She did walk over to Martin’s office. He was on a call and looking at his screen at the same time, talking into a headset while inputting notes to himself on his desktop computer.

He glanced her way and she nodded that she’d seen how busy he was.

She went back to her own office, wrote out a note with Daria’s name on it and slipped it in front of Martin’s eyes.

He nodded back, message received, so she returned to her own office.

Her cell phone rang as she was just settling in. She looked at the name on her cell screen. DOD.

Her shorthand for Dear Old Dad.