Killer Moon (Psychic For Hire 2)

“Why would you think something happened to her?”

“Because she was supposed to meet me for lunch and she didn’t show up.”

“Didn’t she?”

“That’s what I just said.”

He takes out a notebook and pen. “Where and when were you supposed to meet her?”

“Just now. At Frannie’s café around the corner at one o’ clock. Can you please tell me why you are here?”

He ignores my question. He is noting down the things I am saying. “How do you know India Lawrenson?”

“She came into the store yesterday.”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You met her yesterday for the first time and decided to have lunch?”

“She was nice. And she lives in my neighborhood. We’re both new-ish to London so we thought it would be nice to have lunch.”

“And where were you on Friday night?”

“What time? At six I started work at Luca’s in Notting Hill. It’s an Italian restaurant. I finished at quarter past twelve and walked home. I live not too far from it. Then I went to bed.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm,” he says.

“Why did you need to know?” I ask. It sounded like he was asking me for an alibi, which is really freaking me out. My voice rises an octave as I say, “Are you going to tell me if India is okay or not? Was it the Wolf-Claw Killer?”

That super-malleable eyebrow of his rises again. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because the newspapers said there was another one last night in Shoreditch. India tol

d me she was going to Shoreditch for her friend’s birthday party. And India’s blond like the other victims.”

“So you knew all about where India and her friend would be last night, hmm? Quite the little detective.”

“Yes, if you must know,” I snap, losing my patience with the buffoon. “I work with the Agency of Otherkind Investigations as a consultant sometimes.”

“You?” he sneers. He looks me up and down, and doesn't seem much impressed with what he is seeing.

“Yes me. As a psychic.”

“Really? And what can your psychic skills tell me about the current whereabouts of India Lawrenson?”

“Nothing,” I say, seething now. “It doesn't work like that.”

“If it works at all.”

That stings. Especially since what he says is true. I should never have mentioned it. “Are you going to tell me what happened to India,” I demand, “Or do I need to call Agent Storm?”

“You know Agent Storm?” He looks mightily peeved at the mention of Storm’s name.

“Yes,” I say smugly. “He’s the one I work for.”

“Then where were you yesterday evening? I didn’t see you at the crime scene.”