Read Online Superstition by Karen Robards - Free Book Online

bystander’s objective appreciation, bared her teeth. Very nice, straight, white teeth they were, too.
    “Actually, we don’t need a permit. All we need is the permission of the homeowner, which we have, in writing. Would you care to see it?” She unslung her purse from her shoulder.
    “No, ma’am, I wouldn’t. The bottom line is, you don’t have a permit. That being the case, I’m going to have to ask you and your people here to leave.” Vince held his ground as she unzipped her purse and plunged a hand inside.
    “Here.” Nicky thrust a piece of paper at him. “Written permission from the homeowner. We checked, believe me, and that’s all we need.”
    Vince took the paper and scowled down at it.
    “Hey, Vince,” the blond guy called by way of a casual greeting as he and the older woman reached the top of the porch stairs and started toward them.
    Vince—who knew everyone on the island while, so far, Joe was basically acquainted with the guys in his department, their families, the city council, and various assorted lawbreakers—looked up. Joe watched him focus and frown.
    “John. Mrs. Stuyvescent.” Vince nodded at the newcomers perfunctorily. “I hate to tell you to turn right back around, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
    “Nobody’s leaving,” Nicky said through her teeth, snatching the paper from Vince and thrusting it back into the depths of her purse. “We’re on the air, live, in”—she glanced down at her watch—“oh, God, eight minutes.”
    “Without a permit . . .” Vince began, shaking his head in pseudo-sorrow.
    “Stuff the permit.” Nicky’s eyes shot sparks at him. “We don’t need one.”
    “You cuttin’ it close, girl.” The chiding voice, a woman’s, interrupted before the exchange could grow truly heated. It came from behind Joe. Three people—clearly, they’d come from inside the house—rushed past him. A small, wiry, Hispanic-looking man, a tall black woman with close-cropped hair, and a tiny little blonde with a waist-length ponytail and huge platform shoes surrounded Nicky. They wielded, respectively, a hair-brush, lipstick, and a giant pink powder puff. The blonde had what looked like a translucent overnight case hanging from her arm; it was full of makeup. Joe watched with surprised interest as the trio swooped around Nicky like hyperactive fairy godmothers, everybody working on her at once.
    “I know,” Nicky replied. “I had to . . .”
    “Quit talking and purse your lips.”
    Nicky pursed. A thin brush—lipstick—was whisked over her mouth. Joe watched in fascination as the full, pouty contours he had admired on the screen earlier were restored.
    “Hold on there.” Vince raised his voice to be heard over the hubbub. His face, Joe noted with interest, was becoming flushed. “There’s no point in all this, because there’s not going to be any TV show. Not here, not tonight.”
    If anybody was listening, they could have fooled Joe. Even as the guy used his brush to flip up the ends of her hair, Nicky pulled Mrs. Stuyvescent, who released John with seeming reluctance and murmured something that sounded like a panicky Nicky, no into the circle.
    “Guys, I think a little powder here,” Nicky said. “And . . . should we touch up the lipstick?”
    “Oh, definitely.”
    Mrs. Stuyvescent was attacked by the same giant puff that had just dusted Nicky’s face as the fairy godmothers went to feverish work on her, too.
    “The show is cancelled,” Vince announced loudly, to no visible effect. “Cancelled, do you hear?”
    “If I were you, Vince, I’d give up on trying to interfere with Leonora’s big TV comeback,” John said, his eyes, like everyone else’s, on the women. “You can’t stop a runaway train. Anyway, why would you want to?”
    Leonora? Leonora James? For Joe, the other shoe dropped as he figured out that Mrs. Stuyvescent, who was at that moment cringing in the midst of the makeover frenzy, must be the famous psychic