"Edghill,.Rosemary.-.SS.Collection.-.Murder.By.Magic.v1.0.txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Edghill Rosemary)

"As a matter of fact, no. It's a Great Dane."
"Should you be doing it so soon? I mean, it was only yesterday that you nearly passed out in the laundry room."
"I'm fine." Her eyes were cool, her tone businesslike. "Is there something I can help you with?"
I found myself blurting, "You can let me go with you."
"I'm sorry," she said, "but that wouldn't be a good idea."
"Why not?"
"Because you don't believe what I told you. You want to go only to prove to yourself I'm lying."
I opened my mouth to deny it. Closed it. Shrugged. "Maybe so. I guess you art psychic."
"Not really. This particular gift goes far beyond that."
"But you told meЧ"
She interrupted. "I told you what you wanted to hear. You said you worked with psychics when you were a cop. What I do is different."
"But you said 'us.' As in you and me."
"Because it's in you, too. Buried very deeply under years of denial, but there."
"You can't know that."
Her tone was tinged with humor. "Of course I can." Then abruptly, she pushed the screen door open one-handed and stepped back. "Are you coming in?"
"You have an appointment, you said."
"Appointments can be rescheduled."
"ButЧ"
"You came here for a reason."
It was very lame, but I offered it, anyway. "Cup of sugar?"
She smiled dutifully, but the eyes remained serious. "Come in."
"Won't the Great Dane be offended?"
"The Great Dane would just as soon be a couch potato." She stepped aside as I moved past her. "It's his owner who believes the dog knows something."
"And it doesn't?"
"Probably not. Sometimes dogs are just dogs. But this is California, home of the Great Woo-Woo, and some people identify a little too much with their pets." She slipped the purse from her shoulder and put it on the console table behind the sofa. "I got over feeling guilty years ago. If it makes the owners feel better, it's not wasted money."
"You mean they hire you even if there's nothing to read?"
"There's always something to read." She gestured to the sofa, then sat down in the easy chair. "But sometimes what I read is merely a dog's inarticulate longing for food, or a cat's annoyance with the fly buzzing around its head." She smoothed the slacks over one knee. "What can I help you with?"
I glanced around. "Where are your dogs?"
"Outside, basking in the sun." Her eyes were steady. "Well?"
"Can you read something that belonged to an animal?" I asked. "Like aЧa food dish or something?"
"Sometimes. Is that what you want me to do?"
I drew in a breath, released it. Then dug down into the pocket of my jeans. I pulled out the collar. "This."
She looked at it in my hand. A simple braided nylon collar, tan, stained dark in spots, the kind called a slip collar, with a metal ring at each end. You threaded the nylon through to make a loop and slipped it over the dog's head.
I watched her eyes. The pupils went pinpoint, then spread like ink. Her hand came up, lingered; but she dropped it back to the chair arm. "Wait a moment. Please."
She pulled a cell phone from her purse. Ten numbers were punched in. In a moment she was explaining quietly that something had come up and she'd have to reschedule; and, likely in answer to what was said, explained it was very important. Then she disconnected, dropped the phone back into her purse, and leaned forward.
Her hand hovered. I pushed the collar into it. Her fingers grasped it, closed tightlyЧand then spasmed, dropping it.
She was standing. Trembling. "My GodЧ"
I looked at the collar lying on the carpet. Then at her.
"My GodЧ," she repeated. "Do you know what that is?"
"Do you?"
uYes, I know what that is! ButЧ" She broke it off, bit deeply into her lip, drew in a shuddering breath, then took a visible grip on her emotions. "If I do thisЧand yes, I know what you wantЧthen you have to come with me. Put yourself behind the dogs eyes."
"Me? But I can't doЧ"
"Yes, you can." We stood three feet apart, stiff with emotion. The collar lay between us. "Yes. You can."
I felt saliva drying in my mouth. "You think I didn't try] Hell, we were all ready to try anything by then! I took that thing home with me, practically slept with it, and never saw a single thing. Never felt anything." I sucked in a breath and admitted it for the first time in thirty years. "Not like with my dog when I was a kid."
She shook her head. "I can't do this alone."
"I don't know how. I shut it away, just like you said. My parents told me I was imagining things . . . that I'd had a shock, and they understood, but that I couldn't let it upset me so much." I made a gesture of futility with empty hands. "I don't know how to do it."
"I'll help you. But you have to agree to come with me. All the way." Her eyes were unexpectedly compassionate. "You were a cop once. You'll have to be one again."
After a moment I nodded. "All right."
She sat down on the carpet and gestured for me to do the same. The collar lay between us. "We will reach out together, and we will pick it up together."
"Then what?"