Read Online Better Read Than Dead by Victoria Laurie - Free Book Online

I’d have to make do with the salad.
    When the waiter left I took a tremendous swig of my glass of wine and looked anywhere but at either Joe or Dutch. I was fuming and trying valiantly to tramp down my feelings. I pictured all sorts of scenarios that began with me thumping Dutch on the head and him pleading for mercy. Trying for small talk, Joe asked sweetly, “So, Abby, Dutch has told me so little about you. What is it that you do?”
    So little about me? “I’m a psychic,” I said icily.
    Joe sputtered the iced tea she was sipping, “You’re joking.”
    I shot a question mark at Dutch and found him picking at the lint on his napkin, avoiding my gaze. Feeling hurt at his obvious discomfort with the topic of conversation, I shifted my gaze back to Joe and said, “No, not joking at all. I’m a psychic. I look into a crystal ball and wear lots of scarves and dance under the full moon buck-naked while I howl like a coyote. Didn’t Dutch tell you?”
    Joe tilted her head back and laughed heartily. She thought I was kidding. Dutch squirmed in his chair and I continued to take large sips of my wine. “No, really. What line of work are you in?” Joe persisted after she’d had her laugh.
    I sighed and turned my cool stare directly on her as I said, very deliberately, “I am a psychic. I tell people their futures . . . for real.”
    Joe smirked and cocked her head slightly as she looked at me, waiting to see if I’d crack a smile. Finally she said, “Okay, so what am I thinking?”
    Oh, brother. Here we go. “I said I was psychic, not a mind reader.”
    “Is there a difference?”
    “A big one,” I said dismissively as I downed the last of the wine.
    “Like what?” she persisted.
    I didn’t like this woman. Not one bit. Her attempts to be helpful were just a bit too over-the-top for me, and this whole warm and fuzzy routine was getting on my last nerve. I sighed heavily. “Psychics are able to see glimpses of events, opportunities and obstacles that may happen, or have already happened. Mind readers, who are sometimes referred to as mentalists, use extrasensory perception to get a sense of what you’re thinking or feeling.”
    “Huh,” Joe said, looking at me with narrowed eyes. Then she smiled and said, “Personally I think the whole thing’s a bunch of baloney, but there are a lot of gullible people out there, so I’m sure you’re doing quite the business.”
    The wine had hit my empty stomach and drained the restraint right out of me. I couldn’t believe what she had just said to me. I half stood out of my chair in a shaky motion; I was going to hit this bitch but good.
    Dutch bolted up and caught my shoulders; pressing me back down in the chair he said, “Abby, easy there. What Joe means is that until she sees proof, she’s going to remain a confirmed skeptic. Right, Joe?”
    Joe cocked her index finger and her thumb in a gun motion and winked at Dutch, “You got it, partner.”
    I glowered at Dutch, my cheeks flushed with anger that he would so quickly take her side, but sat back down anyway. I rolled my eyes, crossed my arms and glared at the tabletop. Screw them. Bring on Daffy . . . and another glass of wine!
    While I pouted sullenly, Dutch and Joe talked softly between them mostly about some paperwork they needed to do before checking in.
    “Checking in?” I asked, butting into the conversation.
    Dutch coughed loudly again and made a small “no” motion to Joe as he stood up and excused himself to the restroom.
    One thing I’d learned about my boyfriend was that he had the bladder of a hamster. As he departed the table I caught Joe visibly watching his derriere, and my anger, jealousy and now-empty glass of wine got the best of me. “Listen here,” I said with a deadly voice, leaning in, “I don’t know what you think you’re up to, but Dutch is spoken for. Got it?”
    Joe swiveled her head in my direction and regarded me with narrowed eyes. “Relax, Miss Cleo,” she said.