``Excuse me?'' Deirdre said, looking down her nose in my direction.
``We were in the middle of getting some good informa- tion from her. She was willing to cooperate with us--that is, until you showed up with guns blazing like some scene out of Gunsmoke. What the hell were you thinking?''
``My guide, Great Wind Talker, told me she had some- thing to do with Celeste's murder--'' BLIND SIGHTED 323
``For Christ's sake, Deirdre! Drop the act already! You and I both know you're about as psychic as a doorknob! You can't hear your guide! He's never appeared to you, and he sure as hell isn't some old Indian chief with a name like `Great Wind Talker'! His real name, if you must know, is Fred, and in a former life he lived in Missouri . . . on a farm . . . growing wheat!''
Deirdre looked at me for a long moment, her features unreadable, until finally she said, ``Did you just make that up?''
I sighed heavily and replied, ``No, it came to me last night when you were onstage.''
Deirdre's lower lip trembled a little, and her eyes grew a bit misty as she said softly, ``My mother used to tell this story about when I was a little girl and I had an imaginary friend named Fred who lived on a farm and grew hay for the horses.''
``Well, there you go then,'' I said gruffly, not really know- ing what else to say.
``So what do we do now?'' Millicent asked when the si- lence stretched out among us.
All eyes turned to me for an answer, but all I could do was shrug my shoulders. ``Well, I'm not sure. I think we blew our chances getting anything useful out of Zoe . . .''
�
``What other leads do we have?'' Deirdre asked.
``There's always Celeste's son,'' Cat said reasonably. ``Maybe we could all go and give our condolences and ask him if he knows of anyone who may have wanted to hurt his mother.''
``You know, Cat, that's a really good idea,'' I said, brightening.
``So what are we waiting for?'' Deirdre asked, standing up.
``Oh, no,'' I said as I got up too. ``There's no way you're coming along.''
``What? Why not?'' Deirdre asked huffily.
``Because, dear, you don't know how to keep your big yap shut,'' Millicent answered, and flashed Deirdre her sweetest smile as she shuffled past.
Cat and I both nodded and trundled after Millicent, leav- ing Deirdre standing there with her hands on her hips, her eyes making holes in the backs of our heads. 324 Victoria Laurie
* * *
Ten minutes and another room-number purchase later we were in front of Gerald's door, with Millicent doing the honors of knocking and being the point person. The door opened quickly after just a few taps, and there stood Ger- ald, looking like he'd been kicked in the stomach, his eyes bloodshot and weepy, the sound of a television blaring ESPN in the background of his room. ``Yes?'' he asked softly, looking at each of us, trying to place our faces.
``Hello, dear,'' Millicent began. ``We're so sorry to trou- ble you like this after you've experienced such a terrible loss. . . .''
``Thank you,'' Gerald said, politely nodding his head and wiping at his eyes. ``I'm sorry; who are you, exactly?''
``Where are my manners?'' Millicent said lightly. ``I'm Millicent Satchel, and up until your dear mother, Celeste, got up onstage the other night I was a devoted fan of Deir- dre Pendleton's. Do you know I almost bought a ticket to her Hawaiian retreat? And I'd even booked a reading with her for later in the month. Can you imagine what she would have taken me for?''
Gerald looked uncomfortably at Millicent, unsure where the conversation was leading and probably wondering what, if anything, it had to do with him. ``I see,'' he said tentatively.
``So you see, dear, we just wanted to come up here and express to you our deepest sympathies. If not for your dear mother doing her diligence, so many more people could have been taken for a ride. And we're also so deeply sad- dened that her commitment led to such tragedy.''
``Thank you,'' Gerald said, wiping his fatigued face. ``I'm just so relieved the police have fingered Deirdre Pendleton as their prime suspect,'' he added, his voice growing sud- denly darker.
``Yes, I know,'' Millicent agreed, slightly startled by the venom in his voice. ``But may I ask you why you're so sure Deirdre is responsible?''
``Well, for one thing, she had motive. She hated my mother,'' Gerald answered.
``Yes, your mother did ruin her career.''
Gerald barked out a laugh that was short and hard. ``No, not because of that; although that would have been reason BLIND SIGHTED 325 enough. See, Deirdre hated my mother because her father, my granduncle, loved Mother more than Deirdre.''
``Come again?'' I asked, completely confused.
``It's not really public knowledge,'' Gerald explained, ``but Deirdre and my mother were first cousins.''
``You're joking,'' Cat sputtered.
``No, it's true,'' Gerald insisted, ``Years ago my grandun- cle Jerome, Deirdre's father, had a huge falling out with her. It was right after Aunt Deirdre claimed to have all of these so-called psychic abilities, and my granduncle--a true-blue atheist--refused to have anything more to do with her.
``Then, a few years later, when she published her first book and basically lambasted him, he got even by setting up a prize to be held in trust for anyone who could prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that psychic phenomena really existed. The one rule he put on the reward was that it couldn't go to a family member.
``To add further insult to the daughter who turned on him, right after he and Aunt Deirdre had their falling out, Uncle Jerome and my mother became very close, so it wasn't
