It was long after dinnertime when Sabine and Beau drove through the giant iron gates on their way back to Mudbug. Sabine had been silent during the long drive down the winding road back to the highway, and Beau fought the urge to ask for her thoughts. But eventually he couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “So…that was something.”
Sabine looked over at him and smirked. “Don’t you mean it was ‘interesting’?”
Beau laughed. “Good Lord, woman. Remind me to never, ever comment on your shoes unless I think they’re fabulous.”
“It wasn’t just the shoes, although the general holier-and-better-than-thou attitude got on my nerves.” She frowned. “It was something else…just a feeling, but, oh heck, I don’t know.”
“A feeling like everyone in the room was performing a dance and you were the only one who didn’t have the choreography?”
Sabine stared at him. “Wow. That’s it exactly. You have an excellent way of describing things.”
Beau shrugged. “I’ve seen that dance a time or two before.”
“With the FBI?”
“With the FBI, in my private work, and unfortunately, in my own family.”
Sabine studied him and Beau knew she wanted to ask about the reference to his family, but she apparently decided it was either rude or not the time. “So was that what you were expecting, given what you already knew about them?”
Beau considered this a minute. “You never know exactly what to expect from people, no matter how much you read about them on paper. But to some extent, it was what I was expecting.”
“What part?”
“Everyone lies, Sabine. What you have to figure out is whether the lies are important.”
Sabine stared out the windshield, her expression thoughtful. “Everyone lies. You really believe that?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“I guess I do, too,” Sabine said. “Although some are little white lies and some are told to keep someone from being hurt and others are told to avoid embarrassment.”
“That’s where the ‘important’ part comes in.”
“I lied to you,” she confessed. “Well, not exactly a lie, but I didn’t tell you the entire truth.”
Beau’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, certain Sabine was about to tell him the secret. The one she’d kept even from Mildred. “The truth about what?”
“I’m not psychic. Not even a little. In college, I majored in business but had no idea what I was going to do when I graduated. Then one day I walked into a tarot shop in New Orleans as a last resort to find out anything about my family and met Raissa. Her shop was amazing. All those cool candles and powders and books. And the people who came in were so happy to see her.” She sighed. “I guess I thought if I could recreate that for myself, I might find the answers I was looking for. Stupid, huh?”
Beau knew Sabine would be hurt if he showed her an honest reaction, but he couldn’t stop the wave of relief that washed over him. Sabine was normal, kinda. At least far more normal that he’d thought she was just minutes before. But there was no way this was what she’d been keeping from Mildred. The hotel owner would have known that from the beginning.
Sabine shifted in her seat and Beau realized he had never said anything about her revelation. The anxious look on her face said it all. “It’s not stupid,” he said. “Creative, inventive, perhaps a shade of desperate, but not stupid at all.”
Sabine smiled. “Thanks.”
“No problem. So…Raissa, is she just in it for the pretty candles, too?”
“Oh, no! Raissa is the real deal. Her predictions are scary accurate. Makes Nostradamus look like he was smoking weed.”
Beau laughed. “So you believe in it, but you can’t do it?”
“Pretty much.”
“Well, being open-minded rarely leads to surprises. At least, that’s my opinion. So have you ever seen anything supernatural?”
Sabine smiled. “Once, I saw a ghost.”
“Were you scared?”
“I was horrified, but that was because of her outfit.”
“Ah, then maybe those people are your family.”
Sabine grinned. “Touché.”
“The drawing that Raissa did…was it really from a vision?”
Sabine’s expression grew serious. “Yes.”
Beau felt his curiosity rise. He hadn’t believed for a moment that the psychic had gotten a drawing that accurate from a vision, but for the life of him, he hadn’t been able to locate anything in Raissa’s life that could have connected her with the Fortescues any way other than through Sabine. “But how did she see it? In a dream?”
“No. A ghost channeled it so that she could draw it for me.”
Beau looked over at Sabine. “And you believe that?”
“I have to believe it. I saw it.”
Beau immediately felt it—that twinge that Sabine wasn’t exactly telling him the whole truth, but about what, he had no idea. Especially as she seemed completely sincere and adamant about the ghostly vision part of her story. “Well, now that you’ve met your family, there are some things I need to tell you about them and I don’t think we should put it off very long.”
Sabine nodded. “I know. I appreciate you respecting my wishes to meet them unbiased by the facts. But now that I’ve met them, I want to know what you found out.”
“Of course. When do you want to do this?”
“I’m free tonight.” Sabine looked over at him. “That is, unless you have plans already.”
“No plans except taking care of my client.”
A light flush crept up Sabine’s neck and she lowered her eyes. “You’re sure…I mean, it’s not exactly a short drive back into New Orleans and I don’t want to put you out, especially if you have things to do tomorrow.”
“Not a thing but dirty laundry, and I’m pretty sure it won’t care if I sleep in.” Beau felt his jaw flex with the lie, but he didn’t want Sabine to know he was staying across the street in the hotel. Not yet. Not until he had a damned good reason, and a gut feeling usually didn’t qualify as a damned good reason for spying on a woman. Not to the woman, anyway.
“Well, I have leftover pot roast, chips, and sugar cookies. I can offer you a great sandwich and we won’t have to worry about being overheard. Is that all right by you?”
Beau felt his pulse quicken. Alone with Sabine in her apartment. That was far more than all right. “That’s fine,” he said, hoping his voice sounded normal.