The Unquiet - J. D. Robb [79]
Her psychic line rang.
“Romy, honey,” Charlie said, his customary greeting, and immediately she dropped her accent. She’d dispensed with it long ago with Charlie, although neither of them could remember quite when or under what circumstances. It had just happened naturally.
“Charlie, hi, how are you?”
“You tell me.” He always said that, too, and it was her cue to say something clairvoyant.
“Hmm . . . I think you’re a little tired today.”
“That’s right.”
“And you’re not in such a great mood.”
“Bingo!” Her perspicacity always amazed him.
“But nothing terrible has happened, and you’re going to feel better soon. Very soon.” While they were still talking, if history was a predictor.
But he was calling too often—she could hardly believe how much money he’d spent talking to Madame Romanescu last month, at least according to his grandson. “Charlie,” she said reluctantly, “I think we might have to—”
“So listen, I had this dream. I’m in the store, but it’s the first one I had, the one on Cordell Avenue, and I’m young.” For forty years, before he retired, Charlie had owned Worth’s Fine Men’s Wear. “And who walks in but Dottie.” His wife, dead for two years. “And she says to me, ‘I could use a new hat,’ and she winks. So I’m thinking she doesn’t mean hat, but what does she mean? I don’t want to make a mistake, see, leap to conclusions, because even though it’s Dottie, in the dream we don’t know each other yet. So I say, ‘I got a whole new shipment of hats in,’ but I can’t tell if that’s the right answer because just then, bam, the lights go out, and that’s it, I wake up. So whaddaya think?”
“Um, I think you still miss her a lot. And I think right up to the end she kept you guessing.”
“She was a helluva gal. I didn’t tell her that often enough.”
Molly knew where this was leading. “We all take our loved ones for granted, it’s just human na—”
“So what time do you want to come over Tuesday?”
“Well, about that, Charlie, I’m going to have to—”
“I made us a Bundt cake. Dottie’s old recipe, so I tried it. It came out! You like sour cream icing? I got this special tea to go with it. If it’s nice, we can sit out on the balcony and look at the blue-hairs. So what time’s good? Don’t forget your crystal ball. Four?”
Molly made two fast decisions. “Four is perfect, and Charlie?”
“Yeah?”
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. About my phone rates.”
“Uh-oh. Is this bad news? Because to tell you the truth, there’s something I’m supposed to tell you, too.”
“What a coincidence. I’ll go first. I have a new rate, a special fee for special customers.”
“How much?”
“Nothing. It’s free.”
When he could speak, Charlie said, “Get outta town!”
“What I do is, I give you my regular phone number, not the 900 one, and you call me at certain times we agree on.”
“I love this deal.”
“And, of course, you never abuse it.”
“Never!”
“No, I know.”
“Right. But how do you know?”
“Oh, Charlie. I’m psychic.”
FIVE
Not very psychic, though. Otherwise, she’d have realized Oliver Worth was a big fat liar.
Charlie wasn’t poor at all! He lived on the third floor of a new, attractive high-rise overlooking the seventh hole green and a lake at The Lakes at Cartamack (or “Heart Attack,” as he insisted on calling it). A uniformed guard in a gatehouse consulted a list before letting Molly drive in, and the green awning in front of Charlie’s building reminded her of a fancy hotel’s. Limited savings and limited Social Security, her foot.
“More cake? More tea?” Charlie pushed the plate and the teapot toward her, and she took some more of both to please him, refilling his cup while she was at it. It wasn’t only his apartment; Charlie didn’t look like what she’d been expecting either. She’d thought he’d be small, a little sprite of a guy, probably bald, with a perpetual sideways smirk to