You Know Who I Am (The Drusilla Thorne Mysteries Book 2) Read Free

too practical. She needed them for more than holidays in Vegas. She was a trifle embarrassed but laughing, looking to have fun. Not seasoned with speaking in front of a crowd. She and her male companion both wore wedding rings that had the same style and lost their initial luster, so they’d been married a while. He had a redder face than his wife did and had crossed his arms over his chest.
    “Do you have a specific question?” I asked her.
    She shrugged and shook her head. “Didn’t think you were going to pick me.” Then she giggled again.
    Southern accent. Sounded…Texan. East Texas, possibly Houston.
    Here’s what I did: I picked the topic. Then, a few possible angles, all of them light-hearted. Never anything heavy, like divorce. Every time I got a hit off the person, some sign that what I’d said registered, I got a new direction to go in. It was sort of like one of those “pick the adventure you want!” stories my sister Stevie loved so much when she started reading. Granted, she was eighteen months old at the time, and she was over them by the time she was three, when she’d moved on to reading Dumas. In French.
    Colin and I had added mind-reading to the act five months ago. We did twelve shows a week, two mind-readings per show for twenty weeks, and in all that time I’d had one person say that I was wrong. All the rest were amazed, confounded, excited by what I said. More than a few people, women and men both, had made their way to the dressing room afterwards, asking for a longer reading. Yes, periodically I did it, because it was an easy way to pick up some extra cash, and a nicer way than half of the showgirls in town earned extra money in their dressing rooms.
    I took the woman’s hand and asked her name. Rebecca.
    “You’re a Becky, aren’t you?” I said.
    She giggled again and nodded.
    I took her hand, damp and cold from her drink and trembling with stage fright, and closed my eyes. What would a woman in her early forties who had a comfortable marriage ask questions about? It was either her job or her kids. Job it was. I stay away from doing readings about kids. Too much chance to hit a deep nerve.
    “You don’t want to know about your job, do you?” Starting out with a question like this was a win-win—if the person said yes, then I get points for bringing up the topic, and if she said no, then I get points for having dismissed the idea.
    Becky’s hand clutched mine a little and she nodded.
    “You work in—” Good comfortable shoes, an amiable demeanor, easy with people. Health care or teaching? “—the medical field.”
    Becky gasped.
    “You’re a nurse?”
    She nodded.
    “You’ve been overworked lately, haven’t you?” The least psychic thing I could have said: nurses everywhere were overworked. “You’re wondering if you should change positions?” A tiny flex in the hand. “You heard about a new position opening up and you’re wondering if you should move to it.”
    Becky shrieked as she pulled her hand away from me and clenched her fists. She was smiling though, which was a good sign.
    “Becky, I think you know exactly what you need to do. You need to trust yourself more that you can do what’s right for you and your family.” After a second’s pause, I grinned at her. “Would you mind telling the audience how well I did?”
    I tilted the microphone toward her and Becky said, “That was amazing! That’s what’s been on my mind! We’ve been talking about it every minute we’ve been here!” She grabbed me and hugged me, which caused a minor bit of feedback over the sound system.
    When she let go, I asked for the second and final volunteer, and a lot more hands went up.
    I glanced over at the side of the stage. Colin was leaning against the pole, his arms folded across his chest. He was smiling. Stupid bastard. I picked a second volunteer.
    #
    After I finished, the music for the final illusion started. The house lights dimmed and I went backstage to get into