Read Online Our Red Hot Romance Is Leaving Me Blue by Dixie Cash - Free Book Online
Authors: Dixie Cash
Tags: Fiction, General, Chick lit, Humorous stories, Humorous fiction, Romance, Contemporary, Contemporary Women, Texas
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voice sounded distant and dreamlike in her own ears. “I was talking to Isabella’s granddaughter. Her name’s Sophia. She sounded real nice.”
Edwina thrust out her left arm and rapidly rubbed her forearm up and down. “Dammit, those goose bumps are back. Just look at my arm. I’ll bet I just put on twenty pounds’ worth of goose bumps.”
“Ed, don’t you get it? She called me Debbie Sue.”
“So? That’s not exactly earth-shattering news. Everybody I know calls you that.”
“I didn’t tell her my name, Ed. I didn’t mention my name at all. All I said was the Domestic Equalizers. How could she know my name?”
“Geez, this is creepy,” Edwina mumbled, rubbing her forearm again. “You know, I heard somebody say once, ‘Be careful what you pray for.’”
six
$3,000, give or take…
Justin disconnected from the call from Debbie Sue and drew another block around the note he had written on the scratch pad by the phone on the end of the kitchen counter. He had traced it so many times his pen had cut through the paper to the next page.
He hadn’t expected to hear from Debbie Sue and Edwina so soon. They had been gone from his house no more than a couple of hours. He tried to decide if Debbie Sue calling back this quickly meant they were a little bit too eager to take the case.
She had explained what the Equalizers could offer and their fee, with which he had no problem, but she had addedan unexpected expense—the services of a woman in El Paso who had “powers.” And Debbie Sue had even personally vouched for her. Compared to the El Paso woman’s fee, the cost of the services of the Domestic Equalizers was small potatoes.
Justin was happy Debbie Sue had agreed to help him, but a psychic? Communicating with the dead? The whole thing was creepy. But was it possible? And if it were, what would he say to Rachel’s, uh… ghost ?
He remembered horror stories he had heard around a campfire as a boy. Movies he had seen came to mind. Poltergeist had scared the bejesus out of him when he was a kid.
He knew reams of articles had been written about extrasensory perception, but he had read few of them. He had seen news stories and TV shows about charlatans who had taken advantage and collected enormous amounts of money from people whose common sense had been overpowered by profound grief. He knew of reported cases of people who claimed to have ESP, but he didn’t know anyone personally. Nor did he know anyone who had even relied on someone with this so-called God-given gift.
Yet, for all of his skepticism, something from a mysterious place deeply buried within him told him the unexplained message on his refrigerator called for something beyond simple surveillance. Maybe hiring someone who claimed to be able to communicate with unearthly types could explain it for an earthly type like him.
But spending so much money on something like a fortune-teller still gave him pause. It wasn’t the money, not really, because he had money to spare. He never discussed—and tried hard to not think about—the money that had been awarded to him by Rachel’s insurance company. His deceased wife had been insured by the law firm that employed her by a $250,000 double-indemnity life policy. The proceeds came via certified mail six weeks after the accident. Though he was the beneficiary, he hadn’t even been the one to make the claim. He assumed someone where she worked submitted it. That money, more than he had ever seen or hoped to see in his life, now lay untouched in several banks. The cost of the medium would scarcely make a dent in the total.
He had to do it, didn’t he? What better option was there? But if he said he would pay for this, he could be cautious, couldn’t he? He could agree to bring the person claiming to have mystic powers to Odessa, spring for a nice hotel room and meals. He could even establish up front that before she and the Domestic Equalizers got their hands on any part of the proceeds
Edwina thrust out her left arm and rapidly rubbed her forearm up and down. “Dammit, those goose bumps are back. Just look at my arm. I’ll bet I just put on twenty pounds’ worth of goose bumps.”
“Ed, don’t you get it? She called me Debbie Sue.”
“So? That’s not exactly earth-shattering news. Everybody I know calls you that.”
“I didn’t tell her my name, Ed. I didn’t mention my name at all. All I said was the Domestic Equalizers. How could she know my name?”
“Geez, this is creepy,” Edwina mumbled, rubbing her forearm again. “You know, I heard somebody say once, ‘Be careful what you pray for.’”
six
$3,000, give or take…
Justin disconnected from the call from Debbie Sue and drew another block around the note he had written on the scratch pad by the phone on the end of the kitchen counter. He had traced it so many times his pen had cut through the paper to the next page.
He hadn’t expected to hear from Debbie Sue and Edwina so soon. They had been gone from his house no more than a couple of hours. He tried to decide if Debbie Sue calling back this quickly meant they were a little bit too eager to take the case.
She had explained what the Equalizers could offer and their fee, with which he had no problem, but she had addedan unexpected expense—the services of a woman in El Paso who had “powers.” And Debbie Sue had even personally vouched for her. Compared to the El Paso woman’s fee, the cost of the services of the Domestic Equalizers was small potatoes.
Justin was happy Debbie Sue had agreed to help him, but a psychic? Communicating with the dead? The whole thing was creepy. But was it possible? And if it were, what would he say to Rachel’s, uh… ghost ?
He remembered horror stories he had heard around a campfire as a boy. Movies he had seen came to mind. Poltergeist had scared the bejesus out of him when he was a kid.
He knew reams of articles had been written about extrasensory perception, but he had read few of them. He had seen news stories and TV shows about charlatans who had taken advantage and collected enormous amounts of money from people whose common sense had been overpowered by profound grief. He knew of reported cases of people who claimed to have ESP, but he didn’t know anyone personally. Nor did he know anyone who had even relied on someone with this so-called God-given gift.
Yet, for all of his skepticism, something from a mysterious place deeply buried within him told him the unexplained message on his refrigerator called for something beyond simple surveillance. Maybe hiring someone who claimed to be able to communicate with unearthly types could explain it for an earthly type like him.
But spending so much money on something like a fortune-teller still gave him pause. It wasn’t the money, not really, because he had money to spare. He never discussed—and tried hard to not think about—the money that had been awarded to him by Rachel’s insurance company. His deceased wife had been insured by the law firm that employed her by a $250,000 double-indemnity life policy. The proceeds came via certified mail six weeks after the accident. Though he was the beneficiary, he hadn’t even been the one to make the claim. He assumed someone where she worked submitted it. That money, more than he had ever seen or hoped to see in his life, now lay untouched in several banks. The cost of the medium would scarcely make a dent in the total.
He had to do it, didn’t he? What better option was there? But if he said he would pay for this, he could be cautious, couldn’t he? He could agree to bring the person claiming to have mystic powers to Odessa, spring for a nice hotel room and meals. He could even establish up front that before she and the Domestic Equalizers got their hands on any part of the proceeds
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