Parker And The Gypsy. Susan Carroll
sit down,” he said to Sara. “And this time give-it to me straight without the psychic bull—that is, just give me the cold, hard facts.”
Sara sank back into her chair, folding her hands primly. “Well, Mamie—Miss Patrick—first made contact with me about two weeks ago. Her only son, John Francis, was put up for adoption when he was six years old. For her own peace of mind, she desperately needs to see him again.”
Mike noted the name of the Patrick kid on his pad. “And how long has it been since she last saw the boy?”
“John Patrick would be somewhere in his late thirties by now.” Sara added anxiously, “Do you think there’s any real hope that you can find him after all this time, Mr. Parker?”
“Anything’s possible. Although I have to warn you, adoption records in New Jersey are sealed.” Mike shrugged. “I’ll have to talk to this Miss Patrick myself and see what leads she can give me, but frankly, I think you should make sure she really wants this matter pursued. These tender family reunions you watch on the talk shows are not always what they’re cracked up to be. After all this time, Mamie Patrick might be better off forgetting about her son and getting on with her life.”
“That would be difficult,” Sara said quietly. “She’s dead.”
“What!” Mike pressed down so hard with the pen, he punctured the paper.
“Mamie Patrick died over thirty years ago.”
“You mean...you’re telling me this client of yours is—is a—”
“A supernatural manifestation.”
“Let’s use plain English here. You mean a ghost.”
“Well... yes.”
“Ah, jeez!” Mike ripped off the sheet of notebook paper he’d been filling out and crumpled it into a ball that he arced into his metal waste can. Shoving to his feet, he stalked around the desk.
Sara shrank back, looking mildly alarmed as Mike’s hands closed around her arms. He tugged her to her feet.
“Mr. Parker! Mike, what—what are you doing?”
“It’s not what I’m doing, doll. It’s what you’re doing. Leaving.”
He started hustling her toward the door, but Sara dug in her heels. “What’s the matter? Have I said something wrong?”
Mike rolled his eyes. “No, nothing much. You just waltzed in here and asked me to go to work for some woman who kicked the bucket over a quarter of a century ago.”
“Oh, so that’s it.” Sara managed to wriggle free of his grasp. She angled a challenging glance up at him. “You don’t believe in ghosts?”
“No, I sure as hell don’t.”
“But you just said a moment ago that anything’s possible.”
“I meant anything normal, not things that go bump in the night. I don’t believe in anything that I can’t see, hear, smell or feel.”
“Then that means that you don’t believe in intuition. Or faith. Or even love.” She exuded a soft sigh. “That’s very sad.”
“Yeah, tragic.” She was the one ready for a straitjacket and yet she had the nerve to stand there looking as though she felt sorry for him.
Stepping around her, he swung open the door. “Sorry I can’t be of service, but I’m sure you and Miss Patrick will manage just swell without me. Maybe you can locate the guy in your crystal ball.”
“I don’t have a crystal ball,” Sara said reproachfully. “If I had that much psychic power, I wouldn’t need you to help Mamie.”
“If she’s a ghost, why doesn’t Miss Mamie just fly off and find the kid herself?”
“She’s restricted to the old Pine Top Inn, the last place she lived before she died. Manifestations usually cannot go wherever they want to.”
“Ghosts have rules?”
“Everyone has rules, Mr. Parker.”
“And one of mine happens to be I don’t take on any client where I have to hold a seance to present my bill. So if you don’t mind—” Mike indicated the door with a sweeping gesture, but Sara ignored him, fishing inside her purse instead.
“If you’re worried about being paid, you needn’t be,” she said. “I can write you a check right now.”
Mike pressed one hand to his brow. This woman just wasn’t getting the message. As she started to drag out her checkbook, he covered her hand to stop her.
“Look, honey, save your dough. I have a feeling you’re going to need it. Good psychiatric care is expensive these days.”
She flinched as though he’d struck her “I was hoping that you would be much more open-minded, Mr. Parker.”
“Whatever gave you an idea like that?”
“It was your picture in the paper. Your face...it seemed so wise and accepting. And kind.”
“That was my dazed look. A flashbulb had just gone off in my eyes.”
“But I was so certain you were the one to help,” Sara murmured almost to herself. “I could sense it, and when I trust my instincts, I’m almost never wrong.”
Pressing her lips in a stubborn line, she gazed up at Mike again. “Would you mind letting me feel your aura?”
“Feel my what?” Mike’s pulses rioted with the possibilities. But it was only his hand she reached for. She turned it palm upward.
He tugged free of her grasp, but she begged, “Please. Just let me run this one little test. Then I promise I’ll go away and leave you alone.”
Mike opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again as she looked up at him, pleading. Why was he always such a sucker for big blue eyes?
Grimacing, he held out his hand. “This test isn’t going to involve voodoo pins or anything like that?”
“Of course not.” She cupped his hand in her own smaller fragile one. “Now close your eyes.”
“What for?” he asked suspiciously.
“I’m not going to hurt you. Trust me.”
It had been a damned long time since Mike had trusted anyone, but he gave a long-suffering sigh and shut his eyes. She ran her fingertips lightly across his open palm.
“Just relax, Mr. Parker.”
Mike sucked in his breath. That wasn’t what was going to happen if she kept stroking him in that slow, sensual fashion. When her soft fingers danced across his wrist, his pulse gave an erratic leap. He was starting to really enjoy this when, to his disappointment, she stopped.
“Now I’m going to close my eyes and lower my hand toward yours. If we do this right, as I get closer, you should feel a surge of power between us.”
“This is stupid,” Mike grumbled. He wished she’d go back to the caressing part again. He felt like a total idiot standing here with his hand held out like a bellboy hoping for a tip.
“Please, Mr. Parker. Concentrate and keep your eyes closed.”
Mike tried to, but he’d always had the same problem not peeking whenever he played hide-and-seek as a kid. He cracked one eye open and realized that whatever else Sara might be, she wasn’t a con artist. She really believed in all this mumbo jumbo.
Her smooth brow was furrowed in earnest concentration. Her purse balanced in her left hand, her right one hovered barely an inch above his own. There was something strangely arousing about standing so close to her, just short of touching. He had only to reach out to bury his fingers in her ripples of silky gold hair, trace the line of