Kitty and Cat rolled around, locked in a firm embrace on the floor. Their high-pitched wailing, hissing, scratching, and biting seemed for all the world like one great catfight.
At one point Cat managed to get the neck of Kitty's robe pulled up high over her head. obscuring Kitty's vision long enough to roll her over onto her stomach and yank back both arms, pinning her in place and sitting on her back even as Kitty continued to buck and kick, frantic to get loose. 336 Victoria Laurie
I, on the other hand, wasn't having nearly as much luck, because Gerald proved to be a rather worthy opponent. When I tackled him I'd managed to knock the gun from his hand, and it landed across the room. But instead of pinning him to the floor, I barely managed to hold on to him as he crawled across the carpet in the direction of the gun. At first I gripped his considerable waist tightly and braced my legs against the bed, trying for dear life to keep him from gaining ground, but he was a sweaty, slippery beast, and my grip just wouldn't hold.
Next I tried holding on to his pants, but they were fitted to hug his pudgy belly, and once they cleared that, his pants came easily down to his calves. At that point all I could do was grip his legs somewhere around his knees, while staring at his tightie-whities and praying for a miracle.
At that moment I actually got one when just two feet from the gun, after dragging me nearly all the way across the room, Gerald was knocked unconcious with the same lamp Kitty had pulled the cord from. Standing triumphantly over the broken lamp and Gerald's bleeding head stood Millicent, who also managed to kick the gun clear to the bathroom and out of reach.
Quickly letting go of Gerald's limp legs, I stood up, kissed Millicent firmly on the cheek, and dove for the phone.
Half an hour later Kitty Lowenstein and Gerald Ballen- tine were being escorted away in handcuffs. We learned later that the two had met at another psychic convention, when some other poor target had caught Celeste's atten- tion. They had been secretly rendezvousing and planning Celeste's murder for months, waiting for Deirdre and Ce- leste to cross paths so that they could frame her for the murder. We also learned that Gerald owed several bookies with very checkered reputations hundreds of thousands of dollars, and his life probably wasn't worth a plugged nickel if he ever got out of prison. Now that Zoe's boss was being
� taken away to jail, she was named interim director of the Institute of Metaphysical Studies, and luckily her new du- ties required her to get back to Kansas immediately, reliev- ing me of my human-guinea-pig obligations.
Right after Kitty and Gerald were carted away, Cat and BLIND SIGHTED 337 I attended to our various scratches, bites, rug burns, and bruises. Millicent, however, who had avoided even the smallest scratch, was busy telling anyone who would listen about the big battle and how she, a little old lady of seventy-three, had saved the day.
The Seacoast Inn was so relieved to have the murder of Celeste Ballentine solved that they comped Cat for the en- tire weekend, and offered us each an extra three days on the house, all expenses paid. Cat, unfortunately, couldn't take them up on their offer of extending her visit, but had to fly home for some important board meeting.
Millicent left early Sunday morning, so excited to tell her husband, Ernie, about her great adventure that she nearly forgot to leave us her address so that we could keep in touch.
Deirdre promised Millicent she would keep her end of the bargain, and sure enough, mere hours after Gerald and Kitty were led away she could be seen pacing the lobby with a cell phone pinned to her ear, making reservations and talking to her agent about her next book tentatively titled, Deirdre Pendleton and the Seacoast Killer: How One Psychic Detective Solved a Gruesome Murder.
As for me . . . well, let's just say I took the hotel up on their offer and made a few calls to my clients, pulled in a few favors from some other psychic friends of mine to cover me, and wasted no time hitting the beach.
Ah, sun . . . Don'tcha just love a good, restful vacation?
