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nearly uncontrollably, and, two, the ghostly image of a tall and regal woman appeared behind Peter.
    She smiled at me, nodded, and disappeared.
     
     
     
    Chapter Seven
     
     
    Morning couldn’t have come soon enough. I’d had a rather strange night, filled with dreams of ghosts and girls, of witches and murder.
    Now I was sitting on my couch sipping a cup of coffee, with my laptop where it belonged: on my lap.
    On the screen before me was simply a local phone call. The Psychic Hotline portal that I logged onto each day only provided me with the caller’s city. Never a name or full phone number. This call, I saw, had originated in nearby Santa Monica.
    “Hi, this is Allison. Thank you for calling The Psychic Hotline. How can I help you see into the future?”
    “ Oh, thank God,” said a familiar voice.
    “ So, how long did it take this time?” I asked.
    So, when I heard the familiar voice, it was a pleasant surprise...and a bit of a break. I’d just dealt with a longwinded woman who would rather hear herself talk, than me. Which was fine. I wasn’t getting a good read on her, anyway, and was questioning what I was telling her. I hated when that happened.
    “Took me nine tries this time,” he said. “And cost me fifty bucks to finally get you.”
    “ I’m an expensive date,” I said.
    “ Well, it’s as close to a date as I can get. For now.”
    “ Forever,” I said, laughing, although I admired his persistence. “You know my rules.”
    “ You don’t date clients. Plus, you have to say that because they might be listening.”
    “ Well, they might fire me. And I happen to like this job.”
    “ You have to say that, too, because they might still be listening.”
    I laughed at that. I was sitting on my couch with my legs crossed under me, sipping on a decaf Americano. If I wasn’t drinking a protein drink, I often drank decaf before and during sessions. Caffeinated drinks made my mind race just enough that I couldn’t tune into the spiritual. In fact, it was a rare day that I actually did have caffeinated coffee. And when I did, I almost always regretted it. I’d become used to connecting to what I thought of as my higher self. This connection was deeply spiritual, and it allowed for some fantastic results, especially when I was tuning into another person. I suspected that it was my higher self that tuned into others, and then reported its findings to me. Caffeine cut off that connection. Not good.
    My sliding glass door was open. A bee had found its way inside and came right over to me. I said howdy, then ignored it completely. When it was done checking out the crazy lady in the headset, it found its way out again.
    “ They’re not listening now,” I said.
    “ You’re sure?” he asked.
    I checked again how I felt about that, and a certain knowing came over me. “I’m pretty sure.”
    “ That’s good enough for me. So, what are you wearing, baby?”
    I laughed. “Nothing you would be interested in.”
    “Don’t be too sure about that.”
    “ Don’t be creepy,” I said.
    I liked Conn. In fact, I was very intrigued by Conn. I got a very good feeling from him. A warm feeling that I couldn’t deny. Conn was also a Scorpio, and I knew that you had to keep Scorpios in check. It was easy—very, very easy—for them to turn something fun and light into something steamy and sexual. It was in their natures. God bless their natures.
    “Sorry,” he said. “You know I didn’t mean anything by it.”
    I know Conn liked to present small openings, always hoping I would jump into them. I never did, although I admired his persistence. And, again, God bless those randy Scorpios. They kept things interesting.
    “Forgiven,” I said. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of this phone call?”
    “ Do I have to have a reason to call?” he said. “Perhaps I just need to hear your voice.”
    “ Perhaps you need to get a life.”
    “ I do have a life,” said Conn. “I’m just missing one