78 Keys by Kristin Marra Read Free Book Online Page B

tell you how easy information is to obtain, Ms. Rosten.”
    Then I recognized her. The candidate. The candidate. Senator Elizabeth Stratton, soon to be nominated by the far right for president of the United States. Reverend Jerry Greenfield’s wife. I wasn’t happy.
    “I won’t pretend I don’t know who you are, Senator Stratton. But my house and my business aren’t places where someone of your, let’s say, philosophies, typically shows up on a rainy evening.”
    “I would think it’s always a rainy evening when someone of my so-called ‘philosophies’ appears at your door. More dramatically fitting that way. May I come in?”
    “Actually, I’m not sure. I don’t need a witch hunter in my home. Is that why you’re here, to call your righteous troops in to attack me?” She glanced down. I’d hit a nerve.
    Her mouth pursed as she formulated her reply. “I would think your line of work, as mine, has left you with few illusions about the public faces of celebrities. Regardless of what my supporters may think, I need your services, and I’ve heard you’re the epitome of discretion. Are you alone?”
    “My friend is here, but I’m not sure I want to be involved with any of your motivations. I have a few scruples and aiding the mishegoss of the right isn’t on my to-do list.”
    She took a breath and placed a hand on the wall of the porch. “We are far from crazy. I know some Yiddish too. I assure you that any involvement with me will not help my supporters’ campaign to recapture the glory of our country.”
    “I’m not sure I believe that, but come in. This is against my better judgment, though. I’ll send my friend away for a while. You’ve got one hour with me, and it will be expensive.”
    “If you can help me, it will be worth more than you can charge.”
    “That’s what I’m worried about.”
    I led her to the living room, wanting to avoid the mess in the library. While she made herself comfortable on the couch, I found Fitch and directed her to a roadhouse several miles away to pick up some broasted chicken with jo jo potatoes.
    “Is that edible?”
    “Trust me, you’ll love it and the roadhouse. It’s a cultural experience. Be back in one hour and fifteen minutes. I might have more work for you. Oh, and would you stop at the mini-mart and grab a pack of those vitamin C suckies? I think my immune system needs work. And, Fitch, no picking up women.”
    Looking hostile, she stomped out to the garage where she’d parked her vehicle. I heard her mutter something about never hitting on a woman while wearing denim. Everybody has their standards, even Fitch.
    When I returned to the living room, Elizabeth Stratton, minus her iconic makeup and chignon, sat on my couch like royalty. I wanted to slap her hypocritical face, but I was inexplicably compelled to carry out this session. It wasn’t the money. Something else drove me forward, probably just dumb nosiness, my perennial Achilles’ heel.
    “You’re wondering why someone like me would choose to meet with someone like you, Ms. Rosten. Rest assured. I believe your work is nothing less than Satanism, but it brings results, so my sources tell me. I’ll get in bed with the devil to achieve my goals and, I believe, so have you. Pragmatism accomplishes great things, in my experience.”
    “Wrong, Ms. Stratton. There’s nothing Satan-like about my work.” At least I privately hoped there wasn’t. I didn’t know where my abilities came from or even if they were diabolically supplied. But I had the intuition that they were just my legacy, like my wavy black hair and five feet eight inch stature.
    As I shuffled the worn cards, I set my usual ground rules. “Please stay relaxed and don’t ask me to perform stunts like naming what’s in your purse or your secretary’s mother’s maiden name. I don’t do parlor tricks. If I remain quiet for several seconds to several minutes, you’ll need to keep still, or you’ll distract me from what I’m