Copycat Killer (Psychic For Hire 1)

I grind my teeth, having no intention of telling her that my mother had been on a morgue slab for years on end while law enforcement desperately tried to find some clue that would lead them to her murderer. Rosalie is just the sort who would love to spread malicious gossip. She’d probably tell people that I had murdered my own mother.

Why are you begging these fools? says the little voice. Just walk out. You don’t need this job anyway. I can help you find a better one.

Ignoring her, I say in what I hope is a perfectly calm and reasonable voice, “Please, Mr Smithers, I have to go to this funeral.”

He shrugs, not bothering to hide that he doesn’t give a damn. “Not my problem.”

“I can help you,” says Rosalie suddenly.

I gape at her. Rosalie doesn’t have a helpful bone in her body.

“I can stay late and finish your shift,” she offers. “But…”

I wait for it. There is always a price with Rosalie.

“Only if I get double pay,” she says smugly.

I look at Smithers hopefully, even though I already know there is no way that he will agree to this. It would take me threatening to walk out on this job for him to agree to that, and he and I both know that I’m not about to do that.

He snorts as if what she has said is hilarious. “No.” He doesn’t even bother to give a reason.

Rosalie raises her eyebrows at me. I know what she wants. I can pay her the extra myself or I can miss my mother’s funeral. I can’t have both. At least I will have my share of the tips. That’s something. It should be bigger than the usual pot, given the high profile client.

With a heavy heart, and praying that the tips will be enough to cover what I need for rent, I say, “You can pay her my wages for this shift.”

Smithers doesn’t care. He nods. Rosalie beams. But she isn’t done yet. “And I want your share of the tips too.”

I glower at her. I want to say no. I want to tell her to get lost. To wipe that smirk off her face. But she and I both know that I won’t. “Fine,” I say grudgingly.

“And…” she says.

I stare at her. What the hell else can she possibly want?

“I want your shift at the Ambassador’s Ball,” she says smugly.

I gape at her. No way. No way in hell. I don’t care that the Ambassador’s Ball is the hottest shift going and everyone on the staff had been dying to get on it. I don’t care about the celebrities and royalty, or even that the most famous of otherkind in London will be there, it being the Otherworld Ambassador’s Ball. The only thing I care about is those tips. I can’t lose them. Smithers has already cut back two of my usual shifts this week as if to punish me.

People who Smithers’ dislikes always end up with the worst shifts. But this time, to stop arguments about favoritism, senior management had drawn lots to allocate the coveted positions, and I had got lucky.

Rosalie had been fuming for weeks about it. No doubt she had been hoping to catch herself a rich paramour there. She wouldn’t have missed out if Smithers had been allowed to allocate the work like he usually did. No doubt she thought it was unfair that she worked so hard to keep Smithers on her little hook and now she had lost out on the best job that would come by this year.

And now she is trying to steal my shift.

“No,” I say automatically.

She only raises her eyebrows in amusement. She waits.

I need those tips. Without them no way in hell am I gonna make my rent. But it’s my mother’s funeral. She died because of me. I vowed to bring her killer to justice, and I already messed up my best chance of that. Am I really going to miss her funeral too?

“Fine,” I say in a low voice, unable to even look at Rosalie.

Trilling in laughter she almost bounces out of the office.

Chapter 3

DIANA

The little church looks very old and out of place among all the towering modern buildings of central London. I arrive late, my shift having been so busy it had been almost impossible to get away. The old wooden door of the church creaks as I enter, making a small group of ten or so mourners turn to look at me.