Page 31 of Power of the Mind
“And Kelly Woodsman is?”
“A records clerk.”
“Oh my god,I’ma records clerk. I wonder if I know him.” The sarcasm was triple-layer-cake-thick. “Diem! I swear to god, donot turn this into a dental procedure. I will give you a manual about the art of conversation and make you read it out loud, cover to cover, while standing naked in my living room. Try me.”
His neck took on an interesting shade of red. “He works downtown at the Center of Forensic Pathology.”
Another long pause ensued, so I prompted, “Annnd?”
“And he can take a look at the girl’s autopsy and confirm if we’re looking at drugs. It sounds like drugs. I bet it’s drugs. It’s fucking drugs. You heard the kid, and if I’m right, you’ve solved your case, and we don’t have to poke around anymore. We can put this ridiculousness to rest.”
I scoffed. “No, if you’re right,you’vesolved my case, and I’ll be sad because playing Sherlock is a dream come true, and since I’m the lead, I want to be the one to solve it.”
Diem worked his jaw.
I dramatically pouted.
He growled under his breath and spat, “Fine. I’ll find information for Allan’s neighbor, and we can pay him or her a visit.”
Sighing, acknowledging my petulance, and basking in the glory of winning the battle, I relented. “Never mind. Contact your friend.”
“He’s not my friend.”
“Shocking. I understand now why you don’t have friends. Contact your contact. I’ll go home, sit on my couch with a glass of wine, and wait to hear if I’m out of a job as lead investigator.” I inserted a full dose of dejection into my tone—on purpose—and topped it off with a heavy sigh.
My ego wasn’t as bruised as I let on, but upsetting me made Diem visibly uncomfortable, and it was glorious to see. He squirmed and dashed a few surreptitious glances in my direction, not saying a thing. His thoughts were loud. It took adozen blocks and him losing at least a solid layer of enamel on his teeth before he muttered, “I could be wrong.”
“No, no, you’re probably right. What do I know? This whole thing is stupid anyhow.” And because I was exactly the manipulative bastard Kitty claimed, I added, “I’ll call Memphis and tell him to go ahead and meet with Madame Rowena, then I’ll get out of your hair. I didn’t mean to upset your life.”
I was going to hell. It was too easy.
Thewoe is mecard worked like a charm. As did the mere mention of Memphis. In my defense, Diem needed a push to break him out of his overly contemplative shell. Plus, I only had five days to get that date and couldn’t spend them off the case.
If Diem had feelings for me—which he so obviously did—I wanted him to own them, which meant being in his space as much as possible. I wanted to stop dancing around the subject and stop caving to his random booty calls. I wanted him to do something about it. Like ask me the fuck out.
Diem drove several more blocks before speaking. “Don’t call Memphis.”
I suppressed a smile. “Why not? He’s my… friend.”
The scar near Diem’s eye crinkled with the strain on his face. His elevated anguish shone. I wanted to reach out and run my fingers over his shorn hair to calm him down—even when I’d caused the suffering on purpose. I wanted to trace the curve of his misshapen ear and ask what had happened to cause it to be so disfigured.
Maybe someday.
When he explained, his tone was more subdued. “Madame Rowena has an extensive criminal record. We should be sure she’s not up to her old ways before subjecting your fuck bud… yourfriendto her potential cons. She’s not murdering people with mind control, but she could be scamming them out of money. That stupid kid back there said his sister kept going backto her because the woman claimed she needed multiple sessions to cleanse the bullshit. That right there is a red flag.”
“I love it when you talk with words. It’s super sexy.”
“Shut up.”
I chuckled. “So we aren’t done with the case? Is that what you’re saying?”
Diem squeezed the steering wheel, worked his jaw, and mumbled, “No. We’re not done.”
8
Diem
When we arrived at the office, Tallus didn’t show signs that he planned to join me upstairs. We lingered next to the Jeep in the parking structure across the street from the building, and I shifted my weight, unsure what to say or do. I didn’t have the courage to invite him in. Not with all it might entail. I was too sober and unprepared. Was that what he was waiting for? An invitation?