Blowing Smoke Read Online Free PDF Page A

when Louis interrupted. Doing that seemed to be a bad habit of his.
    â€œAnyway, what she thinks is besides the point,” he said.
    â€œIt most certainly is the point.”
    â€œNo, it isn’t. The point is that we don’t want Mother taken advantage of.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Hillary agreed, entering the room. As she handed me an iced tea, I could see that her nails were bitten down.
    â€œI was just curious,” Amy said, but her tone had changed from defiant to defeated.
    â€œYou’ll have to forgive my sister,” Hillary told me. “She’s just concerned about our mother.”
    â€œAs are we all,” Louis chimed in.
    I took a sip of my tea and put it down. It had that chemical aftertaste of the powdered instants. “Does your mother have a name?”
    â€œOh.” Hillary paused. “I thought you knew.”
    â€œShould I?”
    â€œOf course not. Why should you?” She gave a dismissive little laugh at her own foolishness. “It’s Rose. Rose Taylor,” she continued, idly caressing her arm with her hand.
    The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it, and I didn’t ask, figuring I could always do that later.
    â€œI suppose,” Hillary continued, “I could go to one of the larger detective agencies, but that seems like overkill.”
    â€œNot to mention expensive,” I couldn’t help volunteering. As an unlicensed part-timer I charged bargain-basement prices.
    â€œThat, too,” Hillary conceded, her gray eyes widening a fraction. “I won’t lie about that.”
    â€œOne hundred dollars an hour is a lot on a postal worker’s salary,” Louis griped.
    Evidently they’d already made inquiries at other places.
    Hillary fingered the hem of her skirt. “Actually, I thought we needed a more personal touch.”
    â€œSo what is this job about?” I asked.
    Louis and Hillary exchanged glances as Hillary sat down on the other side of me. She crossed and uncrossed her legs. She seemed to like the way they looked. I noticed she had a small half-moon tattooed on her left calf.
    â€œTell me,” Hillary asked, turning her head in my direction. “Do you believe in psychics?”
    â€œPsychics? You mean people who communicate with the dead?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œNo.” I’d tried one after my husband Murphy had died. It had cost me a hundred bucks and left me feeling like a fool.
    Hillary and Louis exchanged another look. “Do you believe people have the ability to talk to animals?” Hillary asked me.
    â€œI think we can communicate.” My dog, Zsa Zsa, was pretty good at letting me know what she wanted.
    â€œI mean talking.”
    I looked to see if she was joking. She wasn’t.
    â€œAs in my cat telling me, watch out, the lady down the street is in a bitchy mood today?” I asked.
    â€œSomething like that.”
    â€œNot outside of the movies.”
    â€œWell, my mother does.”
    â€œShe believes she can talk to animals? I don’t think...”
    â€œNo, she believes a woman named Pat Humphrey can.” Hillary spread her hands and studied what was left of her fingernails.
    â€œGo on,” I finally prompted.
    â€œThis is so embarrassing.”
    I waited.
    Hillary sighed and brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “All right. Three months ago—more or less—my mother’s cat disappeared from the house. At first, we thought someone let it out by accident. Now, of course—” Hillary stopped. “Well, you decide. My mother was hysterical. She’s very attached to ... this animal. Anyway, the next morning at nine o’clock, this woman—”
    â€œPat Humphrey?” I asked.
    Hillary nodded. “She appeared at my mother’s door with the cat in her arms. She said she was a pet psychic. She said she’d found the cat wandering in the park and the cat told her where my