Celinda caught the sudden flaring of agitated psi energy. Betty was experiencing a sudden amount of stress.
“Are you certain?” Celinda pressed gently.
“Absolutely certain. I heard nothing.” Betty frowned. “I don’t allow any loud noises from this apartment. Told you that when you took the place. I didn’t see anything, either.”
Celinda exchanged glances with Davis.
“She didn’t ask you if you’d seen anything, Mrs. Furnell,” Davis said. “Celinda just wondered if you’d heard anything.”
“Didn’t see anything or hear anything.” Betty was becoming more anxious by the second. She put her fingertips to her temple. “I’m getting a headache. I don’t want to talk about this any longer.”
Celinda took one of her hands. Betty’s violently disturbed psi energy flooded her senses. Up on the refrigerator, Araminta and Max stopped whispering sweet nothings to each other and fixed Betty with alert, attentive expressions.
“It’s all right, Mrs. Furnell,” Celinda said quietly. “I understand that you didn’t hear or see anything the other night. There’s no problem. You can relax.”
Betty looked at her with a dark, haunted expression. “I didn’t hear or see anything,” she repeated, desperate to be believed.
“I know,” Celinda said.
Betty seemed to take some comfort from the reassurance, but she did not return to her previously cheerful, inquisitive state.
“I should go downstairs,” she said, her voice dulled with pain. “I need something for my head.”
“Mrs. Furnell, I might be able to do something about that headache if you’ll allow me.”
“Thank you so much, dear. I would really appreciate that. I rarely get headaches. But for the past couple of days they’ve been bothering me. Every time I think about—” She broke off, blinking in confusion.
“Think about what?” Celinda probed cautiously.
“I’m not sure.” Betty shook her head, bewildered and frightened. “I get them when I think about something. But I can’t recall what that something is, if you see what I mean.”
“Was it something that happened the other evening?” Celinda asked.
“No, nothing happened the other night. It was just a dream.” Betty’s psi energy kicked up violently again. “Did you say you had some pills, dear?”
“I think I may have something more effective.” Celinda smiled encouragingly. “Will you allow me to use it?”
“Yes, anything. I can’t stand this feeling. It’s worse than a headache. To tell you the truth, I’m afraid I might be going senile.”
Celinda released her hand. She raised the plastic lid on the cookie jar, reached inside, and took out the ruby amber relic.
“What’s that?” Betty asked, frowning with curiosity.
“One of Araminta’s toys.”
She touched Betty’s hand again and rezzed a little energy through the relic.
Instantly she could clearly detect Betty’s sparking, flashing psychic wave patterns. It was relatively easy to identify the most disturbed rhythms and trace them back to a distinct location on the spectrum.
Cautiously she went to work, soothing and strengthening the chaotic pulses until they resumed a normal rhythm.
Betty grew visibly calmer. Her distraught expression cleared miraculously.
“How do you feel?” Celinda asked.
“Much better.” Betty blinked and then smiled. “My headache seems to be gone. That’s amazing. What did you do, dear?”
“It’s a form of psychic meditation that I’ve been studying lately,” Celinda said, keeping things vague. “It’s supposed to be very relaxing.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I understand why it might work on you, since you’re the one studying the technique, but why did it work on me?”
“I’m not sure,” Celinda admitted. “The instructor said it has an effect on others around the practitioner.”
“I suppose it makes sense,” Betty said. “Psi energy does radiate, doesn’t it? Everyone knows that some people, such as myself, who are highly intuitive, often notice when others are upset or depressed.”
“Exactly,” Celinda said. “Now, do you remember if you heard or saw anything unusual from this apartment three nights ago?”
“Oh, no, dear, I’m sure that nothing out of the ordinary—” Betty broke off abruptly. Her eyes widened with indignation. “Good heavens, the burglars. How could I have forgotten about those two dreadful men? I was going to call the police but—” She halted again, looking baffled. “But I didn’t.”
Davis turned slightly on the stool and rested one arm on the counter. “Why didn’t you call the police, Mrs. Furnell?”
“Why, because it was all a dream.” Anger flashed across her face. “No, that’s not right. I didn’t call the police because that dreadful man told me that it was a dream. And I believed him. He said that if I tried to remember the dream in detail I would get a terrible headache.”
“Can you tell us exactly what happened?” Davis asked.
“I heard noises from up here. Thought the two of you had come home early and were, well, you know.” Betty waved one hand. “Doing what couples do. But after a while, I realized that something was not right. I came up here with a key and opened the door. There were two men in here. I knew that they were burglars and tried to back out, but they had heard my key in the lock.”
“What did they do?” Celinda asked.
“The tall, thin one grabbed me. The other one said, ‘Hold her still.’ Then he…he touched me.”
Celinda was horrified. “Intimately?”
Betty looked startled. Then she quickly shook her head. “Oh, no, dear. He just put a hand on my arm and started telling me how everything I had heard and seen was a dream and how I would get a headache if I tried too hard to remember it.”
“Where was his other hand?” Celinda asked. “Was he holding anything in it?”
Betty frowned a little. “No, I don’t think so. Wait. I remember he kept his other hand in the pocket of his raincoat.”
“But it wasn’t raining the other night,” Davis said quietly.
“No, it wasn’t.” Betty’s lips thinned. “I remember thinking it was odd that he was wearing any sort of coat. The night was quite warm.”
“Can you describe the two men you saw?” Davis asked.
“Well, I’m not sure I can give you a very useful description,” Betty said uneasily. “I was a bit distracted at the time.”
Celinda smiled sympathetically. “For a very good reason.”
“The lights were off, of course, so I couldn’t see their faces very clearly,” Betty explained. “The one who held the gun on me wore a cap pulled down very low over his eyes. He was rather twitchy. I remember being terrified that he would pull the trigger by accident.”
“What about the other man?” Davis asked.
Betty pursed her lips. “Tall, but not as tall as the twitchy guy. From what I could tell he was well-built. Very fit and trim. Excellent shoulders. I remember wondering if burglars worked out in fitness clubs.”
“Do you recall anything at all about his features?” Celinda asked.
Betty shook her head. “I’m afraid not. As I said, it was quite dark in here.”
“Anything else about him strike you as distinctive?” Davis said.
Betty hesitated. “Well, there was his voice.”
“What about it?” Celinda asked.
Betty’s forehead crinkled. “He didn’t have a burglar’s voice, although I must admit I’ve never spoken with a burglar before.”
