“Correct,” he informed her.
“Even though I just told you two minutes ago that whatever abilities I have are not very precise or reliable? I don’t know anything much about police work, but I’m reasonably confident that ‘precise’ and ‘reliable’ are two of the more important components.”
“In a perfect world, sure. Hell, in a perfect world I’d be able to pay you as a police consultant, but ‘we don’t do that, here.’ ” Something about the way he said it told Leda that he’d brought it up before and someone had shot it down.
“So when you said you want my help, you meant… you want my help for free.”
“I’d love to have your help for free, but I’m not an asshole. I don’t have a lot of money to throw around, but I can afford your agenting fee. We can call it a trip of a different sort, right? I’ll pay another booking fee, and you can kick around with me for an afternoon. What do you say?”
“This can’t possibly be legal, that’s what I say.”
“Why not? I won’t divulge any sensitive police information, you won’t tell anybody I invited you out for a consultation, and maybe we’re just a couple of pals, sightseeing around the greater Puget Sound area. Bring her, if you want.” He cocked a thumb at Niki. “If she helps, or if you just feel better with a friend present. I realize I’m some random dude you don’t know, and I won’t take it personally if you don’t want to be alone in a car with me.”
“Woo-hoo!” Niki chirped. “It’s a ride-along!”
But Leda wasn’t there yet. “No,” she protested, without really knowing why. “No, that’s a terrible idea. Sir. Detective. Mr. Merritt. Grady,” she tried at last. “You have to understand, this is not a science. It’s not even an art. Like Niki said, it’s a crapshoot. My time is a waste of your money.”
“This time it’s my own personal money, not precinct travel funds—and I’ll waste it however I want. I promise I won’t get mad if nothing pans out, and I’ll never say a word about this to anybody, ever. Believe me, I don’t want the rest of the guys at the precinct knowing I hired a psychic, no offense. They give me enough shit for being vegetarian.” He sat forward, a gleam in his eye. “What do you say?”
What could she say?
No was always an option, but did she really want to peeve a policeman? He didn’t seem like the petty sort, not that she was a particularly good judge of that kind of thing. She’d saved his life, hadn’t she? She could probably get away with telling him no.
Instead, she said, “I don’t want to look at any dead bodies.”
“No dead bodies, swear to God.”
“You know I’m probably going to get it wrong.”
“Your instincts are imprecise and unreliable, got it.”
“Then why do you even want them?” she asked, exasperated.
Firmly, insistently, he said, “Because this case has been driving me crazy. I have to believe that it’s solvable, but I need a hint, or a nudge, or a clue—and I’m willing to take any half-ass, foggy, wayward clue I can get.”
“Even if it comes from a psychic travel agent who’s never actually helped anybody, not even once, in her whole entire life?”
“You helped me.”
She sighed hard enough to blow out a birthday cake. “Okay, you got me there. But that was an accident! I’ve never done anybody any good before. Not on purpose. Not when it really counted.”
“Don’t you want to… I don’t know. Help your fellow man? Contribute to the net good in the world? Fight crime? Everybody likes to fight crime, right?”
Leda and Niki exchanged a look.
They were both thinking about the same thing: a guy who nobody saved and whose violent death had never been explained. Leda didn’t want to go anywhere near that subject, so she asked Grady a question instead.
“I am no fan of crime or criminals, but you’re not hearing me. Let me try to explain from another angle. Do you ever watch Saturday Night Live?”
He shrugged. “I used to, but I haven’t in years.”
“That’s okay. The skit I’m thinking of aired back in the nineties, I think.”
“Were you even alive back then?”
She smirked. “Flattery will get you nowhere. I saw the skit on YouTube when I was in college, and it stuck with me. Here’s why,” she added fast, keeping the anecdote moving before he could derail it. “I don’t know if it had an official name, but me and Nik always call it the ‘Inconsequential Psychic’ skit. There’s a psychic who goes around warning people about silly stuff. Tells them they’re going to spill coffee in their car on the way to work, that kind of thing.”
“Okay?”
“Well, I’m the real-life inconsequential psychic. Nothing I ever see or feel or whatever… none of it is actually very important. Usually my, um, flashes of insight, if you will, they’re super pointless.”
“For example?”
Nik interjected. “The gazpacho.”
Leda pointed at her. “Yes. The gazpacho. The other day we were headed to this lunch place we like, over on Capitol Hill. On the way there, I had this powerful feeling that there would be no gazpacho soup, and that was exactly what I wanted, so I said we should go someplace else. Nik wanted the polenta, though, and she was all, ‘Noooo… I want to do Shirley’s anyway….’ So that’s what we did.”
“And you were right?”
“I was stuck with the quiche, yes.”
Niki rolled her eyes. “It’s good freaking quiche, Leda. Jesus.”
“It’s not as good as the gazpacho!” Leda insisted. “What I’m trying to say is, even when my oddball clairvoyance is reliable, it isn’t useful to anybody. Ever. Except for you, that one time.”
He dug in his heels. “Maybe I’m special. Come on, what have you got to lose? You don’t look very busy…” he said, his eyes scanning the room for signs of other clientele. The phone didn’t ring, the email alert didn’t chime, and no text messages buzzed in to anybody’s cell. “I’ll pay you double your rate.”
Slowly, methodically, and with great drama, Leda began to bang her head up and down on her desk. “This. Is. The worst. Idea. Ever.”
“Great!” He reached into a pocket and pulled out his business card. “We’ll do it this weekend. Text me with whichever day and time work best, and we’ll meet wherever you like.”
“Castaways!” Niki suggested.
“No,” said Leda immediately. “Not Castaways.”
“What’s Castaways? And what’s wrong with it?” Grady wanted to know.
“It’s a bar. Or a venue. It’s… all things to everyone, but it’s closed on Sundays, and it doesn’t open until four on Saturdays.” Then to Grady, she said, “Listen, I’ll think about it, okay? Give me a day to decide.”
He rose to his feet and offered her his hand, now that she wasn’t banging her head on the desk anymore. “I can do that. Thanks for your time, Ms. Foley.”