sedona files - books one to three Page 8

  I stared at Paul for a few seconds, then blinked. “Um, what happened to not using your phone because they might be able to trace it back through one of my contacts?”

  “Would they have any way of knowing you’ve frequented this spa?”

  He actually had a point there. Information about my clients could be easily gleaned from the laptop back at my apartment, since I kept fairly extensive records for tax purposes. However, anything personal, whether pertaining to my dentist, my hairstylist, or Ula, the genius at Lotus who tended to my brows, stayed on my phone. So unless the feds — or whoever they were — had been tailing me for weeks, I was pretty certain they had no idea who did my hair, or my toes, or my teeth cleanings. And since we’d already tentatively established that no one had paid any attention to me until Alex Hathaway had showed up on my doorstep, I guessed I was in the clear on this one.

  “Probably not,” I admitted. “So I make an appointment…and then what?”

  “Get a sample of the spray tan fluid,” Jeff said immediately. “I have some people who can analyze what’s in it if we can lay our hands on some.”

  “And what if it’s not Lotus, but one of the other salons?”

  “Then we’ll try again,” Paul replied. “But it makes the most sense to start with a place that’s familiar to you and work our way from there.”

  That made some sense, but I still wasn’t thrilled about the situation. Somehow things had seemed more distant, less real, when all I was doing was hiding out in a motel in Pomona and refraining from using my cell phone or going back to my apartment. But the image of Alex Hathaway’s dead face had brought it all back that this was real, that someone — or something — had raised the stakes pretty damn high. I had a hard time believing that Badri, the stunning Persian woman who owned Lotus, had anything to do with alien plots and government cover-ups. However, I sort of guessed it wouldn’t be that hard to slip someone a topical Mickey. After all, Badri didn’t even handle the spray-tan side of the operation; her assistants did that.

  “All right,” I said. An idea had begun to form in my head, one I thought might just work. “I’ll give it a try.”

  Jeff melted away to his hideout in Silverlake with barely a goodbye. Not that I was too sad to see him go. He made sure to see Paul and me off, as if he didn’t want us to know what kind of car he was driving or which direction he would go once he reached the bottom of the hill. I refrained from mentioning that I already knew the number of his house and the name of the street where it was located. Things came to me that way sometimes, in flashes of blinding clarity. At other times, I needed the cards, or Otto.

  Otto, who was still conspicuously absent. Maybe he’d decided this one was a little too close to home and so was leaving me to fly solo. But if that were the case, then why had he sent me to see Paul in the first place? If I’d learned anything in my years of being a psychic, though, it was that some questions always remained unanswered. Only time would tell if Otto’s disappearance was one of them.

  Paul parked the Camry a few blocks away from Lotus, down a side street. He’d been silent on the drive over, except to ask for clarification on some of my directions. In the middle of the day, it wasn’t quite as difficult to navigate the streets between Griffith Park and West Hollywood, but it had still taken us almost a half-hour to go those few miles. We lucked out by having someone pull away from the curb just as we turned the corner, and he neatly maneuvered the car into the space the much bigger SUV had left behind.

  “So what exactly do you have planned?” he asked, just as I reached for the passenger-side door handle. As usual, he sounded calm and unruffled, but something in his expression seemed to indicate he might actually be a little worried.

  “It’s a surprise,” I told him, and reached up to adjust my sunglasses with my free hand. “Trust me — I’m just going to work the L.A. angle.”

  His brows knotted as he apparently attempted to puzzle through that one. While he was occupied, I opened the car door and got out.

  The main reason I hadn’t wanted to tell him about my plan was that I didn’t want him, the double-doctorate with the overwhelming brain power, to start poking holes in it. As it was, I had just enough sheer nervous energy carrying me along to keep me going, down the sidewalk and out onto Santa Monica Boulevard, where I turned to the left and passed a few storefronts before entering Lotus’ reception area and waiting room.

  Everything there had been carefully designed to be soothing, from the warm cocoa color on the walls to the fountain with its floating lotus blossoms under a glass-block skylight in the far corner. I felt far from soothed, however, as I made my way past two glossy-looking women who were waiting on the buff-colored couches, and on to the reception desk. Hoping they wouldn’t realize I’d gotten my entire outfit off the clearance rack at Kohl’s, I removed my sunglasses and smiled down at Paz, the receptionist.

  “Persephone!” she exclaimed, widening eyes made even wider by perfectly applied false lashes. She glanced over at her computer screen, then typed a few commands and did a quick scroll-up. “I thought you weren’t coming in until next Thursday.”

  “I wasn’t, but I had something very important come up. Is Badri available?”

  “Let me check.” Paz picked up the phone and dialed what I guessed was the extension in Badri’s office. “Badri? I have Persephone O’Brien here, and she needs an immediate consult. Is it all — ” She broke off, and then nodded. “Of course.” After hanging up, she said, “She’ll be right out.”

  Almost as soon as Paz had finished speaking, Badri appeared. Her age was something she’d managed to conceal from everyone, including me, and could have been anything between thirty and fifty. There was something timeless about her elegant features, and she always wore classic clothing that seemed to transcend trends. In other words, she almost always made me feel like a complete schlump, and my bargain rack attire wasn’t exactly helping at the moment. On the other hand, she seemed to find something fascinating about having a bonafide psychic as one of her clients and always went out of her way to be polite to me.

  “Persephone!” she exclaimed, and extended a pair of perfectly manicured hands. “What is it I can do for you today?”

  “I need some expert advice on a very important matter.” I hesitated, then looked quickly at the women in the waiting room and back at Badri.

  She got the message immediately. “To my office. Here we go.”

  So I followed her down the hallway, past the rooms where women were getting massages or body wraps or facials or any of the myriad services the spa offered to make us all better conform to current standards of beauty. Badri’s office was located at the end of the corridor, in a large room decorated in the same exquisite taste as the rest of the facility. Here, though, I saw personal touches in the form of framed Persian textiles on the walls, and sculptures that also must be Persian, though my knowledge of world art wasn’t all that extensive, and I couldn’t be completely sure. She indicated that I sit down, and took her own seat behind a desk of warm mahogany.

  “So what is it?” she inquired, with what she probably thought was a surreptitious glance at my left hand. “Should I be offering congratulations?”

  I stared at her blankly for a moment, followed by a quick laugh. “Oh, no. Not that. I’ve, well — actually, I’ve been offered a reality show.”

  In any other town, such a pronouncement would most likely have been met with skepticism, if not downright derision. But here, where everyone could be a star if they had the right connections, it probably seemed completely plausible. After all, with the multitude of reality shows currently populating the airwaves, didn’t it make sense to have one that focused on a psychic?

  “But that is wonderful!” she exclaimed. “How very exciting for you!”

  “Yes, it is,” I replied. “However, the producers think that is, they’d like me to be spruced up a little. You know, a little polish.”

  “Ah,” she said. Of course she was far too polite to
say out loud that she agreed with them, but it didn’t take a psychic to know privately she concurred.

  “One of the things they mentioned was a spray tan,” I continued.

  “Oh, excellent. That would give you a nice, healthy glow.”

  “True,” I allowed. “I know I’m a little pasty for L.A. The problem is that I have sensitive skin. Really sensitive.”

  “Not to worry. We use the highest-grade formula, the best — ”

  “I’m sure you do. But I was wondering…would it be possible for me to get a sample of the tanner you use? I’d really like to take it to my dermatologist, have him test it for me. Just to be sure,” I added, as Badri started to open her mouth again, no doubt to protest that their tanning ingredients wouldn’t cause a reaction on the most sensitive skin.

  “Well, it is most unusual — ”

  “I know. And normally I wouldn’t ask. But this is a big deal for me, and I really want to do what the producers want. I just don’t want to harm my skin.”

  “Of course,” she said, and smiled, although it looked a little stiff. “This I can do for you. If you can give me a moment?”

  “Sure,” I replied, and waited as she got up from her desk and went out the door. I let out a sigh of relief. Crazy as it had seemed when I first cooked it up, it looked as if my plan might just work after all.

  Of course, we could be on the wrong track, and Alex Hathaway’s alien-infected girlfriend could have gone to a completely different salon. But, as Paul had said, we had to start somewhere, and I could probably use this ploy at the other places if necessary. And if my life ever got back to normal, and I did return here to get my brows done, I could always say the deal had fallen through. I worked with enough entertainment industry types to know that sort of thing happened all the time.

  After a few minutes Badri returned, holding a plastic vial filled with golden liquid.

  “Here it is,” she said, and extended her hand. “Make sure you keep it very tightly sealed — Dita said it can stain clothing and upholstery quite badly if it is spilled.”

  Dita, I knew, was one of the assistants, but I’d never worked with her. Smiling, I took the vial from Badri. “Thank you so much. I’ve already talked to my dermatologist, and he’s going to see me first thing tomorrow morning. So I should know fairly soon if I can set up a tanning appointment.”

  “Excellent. And if there’s anything else — a wrap to firm up, an oxygen facial — ”

  “You’ll be the one I call,” I promised, as I tucked the vial into the inner pocket in my purse.

  “And possibly a credit on the show?”

  “If I can.” By that point I was feeling horrible about all the lies I had told, but what else was I supposed to do? I had to have that sample, and if the cost was a little false hope, well, I could live with that. Better that than the risk of other people getting infected.

  Or killed.

  I thanked Badri again and left her office, and nodded at Paz as I passed through the reception area and went outside. I speed-walked back toward the car, purse clutched tightly against me. It would be just my luck to get mugged at this point, although I had to admit the odds for that sort of thing at this time of day were pretty low.

  But I made it back to the car without incident, and slid into my seat, then made a point of locking the door as soon as I could.

  Paul had been sending a text on his phone when I entered the car. He continued with the message, tapping away furiously, then closed the phone and turned to me. “Did you get it?”

  In answer I reached into my purse and held up the vial. “Piece of cake.”

  “You are truly an amazing woman,” he said, and it didn’t sound as if he were teasing me.

  I shook my head, but he continued, even as he turned the key in the ignition and started up the car, “No, really. You’ve been through things in the last twenty-four hours that would be enough to put anyone off, and yet you seem completely unfazed by it all.”

  “Oh, I’m fazed,” I told him. “Trust me. But I couldn’t just walk away from this, could I?’

  “Definitely not after that shootout with the agent,” he replied, with what looked like an actual grin pulling at his mouth. “Even so, I want you to know I appreciate all the help you’ve given me.”

  Compliments had been few and far between as of late, and I really didn’t know how to respond to his praise. So I just lifted my shoulders and said, “So what now? Meet with Jeff and hand over the loot?”

  “Something like that. He wants us to meet him.”

  “Let me guess. Dodger Stadium.”

  Paul laughed. “No, someplace a little less public this time. Apparently he has some contacts at a lab out in — ” He squinted down at the phone, which was lying in his lap. “ — Fontana?”

  All the way back to where we’d started in Pomona, and then some. I hoped Paul had gotten unlimited mileage on the car. “Keep heading east on Santa Monica, then turn right on Fairfax. I guess we’ll have to take the 10 Freeway and hope for the best. Maybe the traffic hasn’t gotten too bad yet.”

  “You make an excellent GPS,” he remarked, and pulled over into the right lane.

  Maybe not the sort of praise most women would want, but I’d take it. My father always said I had a bump of direction. Might as well put it to good use. “More reliable than the one in your first rental car?”

  “Infinitely.” He turned the car down Fairfax, eyes fixed on the traffic, thick even at barely two in the afternoon. “But I suppose I should be grateful for that malfunctioning GPS.”

  “Oh?” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

  Then he did glance away from the road, just for a second, but that second was enough. The hazel eyes met mine and shifted away. He said, “If the GPS hasn’t stopped working, I wouldn’t have met you.”

  A rush of warmth moved through my midsection, and I found myself staring at the choked streets of Little Ethiopia passing by as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world. “Oh, I don’t know. Otto might’ve still found a way to get me over to the Sheraton Universal.”

  “Ah, Otto. Any advice from the world of the spirits?”

  “Absolutely nothing. Dear Otto, it seems, has taken a powder.”

  “Does he do that often?”

  “Occasionally, but usually not as long as this.” Again I tried to tell myself that it was just Otto being difficult — something he excelled at — but I was beginning to wonder. He’d always made the spirit world sound as if it were a serene place, for the most part. Not a world where you could be detained or held captive or any of the other awful things that might happen to those who were still corporeal. Most likely my worries were for nothing, and I was being neglected because one of his other gigs was allowing Otto to hold forth, which would be much more interesting to a being with his sort of ego.

  “And you’re worried.”

  “A little. It’s probably nothing. I’m not his only psychic.”

  “Really?” Now Paul sounded almost amused. “I didn’t know it worked that way.”

  We had just approached the onramp to the eastbound freeway, so I waited until he had safely maneuvered the car up the ramp and into the traffic. As I’d feared, it was already starting to stack up. L.A. freeways were almost always a nightmare, but Friday afternoons were the worst.

  “Some spirit guides speak to only one person, but some have other…clients…for lack of a better word. It’s always been like that with Otto and me.”

  “Do you know who these other ‘clients’ are?”

  “No. Otto won’t talk about them, except to make excuses as to why he wasn’t around for a particularly important session.”

  “Do your own clients mind?”

  “They usually can’t tell.” Thank God, or I wouldn’t have been able to build my business to its current levels. Dead sessions, like the one I’d had with Alex Hathaway, were few and far between. “If Otto’s not around, I use the cards. And sometimes I can get information through psyc
hometry, or what I refer to as my spider sense, although of course I don’t call it that in front of my clients.”

  “Fascinating,” Paul said, sounding positively Spock-like.

  I tried not to chuckle. “What about you?” I asked. “How long have you been chasing UFOs?”

  Something about him seemed to tense, his fingers clasping the steering wheel a little more tightly than they had only a few seconds earlier. “About six years.”

  “Is that all?” Somehow it had seemed to me that he’d been doing this for much longer than that. “What, no boyhood dreams of riding around in a spaceship?”

  “No more than usual, I suppose.” He paused, then said, “I’d always been fascinated by the stars, got my first telescope for my eleventh birthday, but I never saw anything out of the ordinary, even with all the hours I spent watching the skies. Like most members of the scientific community, I thought UFOs were the realm of crackpots talking about abductions and little aliens with big heads. But then — ” And he broke off. “Which way am I supposed to go, anyway?”

  “Stay to the left. Follow the signs that say ‘10 Freeway, San Bernardino.’”

  He did as I had instructed but didn’t seem inclined to continue the conversation. Since the freeway was choked with early commuters, and it was tricky navigating the odd little jump you had to take in east L.A. to continue on the eastbound 10, I thought it better to remain silent until we were safely where we needed to be and headed due east. From this point, all we had to do was keep going straight until we hit Fontana.

  “Then what?” I prompted. I hadn’t forgotten where he’d left off the conversation.

  “Then I was out in the desert. I just gotten a new 200mm telescope, so I wanted to test it out. It was a clear night in March.” Again he hesitated.

  “And?”

  “And I saw it. A huge wedge-shaped ship, with lines of lights shifting through the colors of the spectrum. At first I thought it had to be a new experimental craft — but no manmade object could move like that. It hovered over the desert, then shot straight upward at a speed that should have been impossible.”