Sweet Fortune Page 5

“Well, Jessie?”

  “I think you'd better go.” She poured the tea with shaking fingers.

  He waited a moment longer and then, without a word, he turned and walked out of the kitchen and out of the apartment.

  When the door closed behind him, Jessie sagged heavily against the counter, shut her eyes, and gulped down the hot tea.

  * * *

  The dowdy, worried-looking woman was hovering in the hall outside the offices of Valentine Consultations the next morning when Jessie arrived for work. Jessie was so excited at the prospect of a real live client that she nearly dropped her key.

  “I'm sorry,” she apologized. “Have you been waiting long? I'm afraid Mrs. Valentine isn't here today, but perhaps I can help you?”

  “I'm Martha Attwood,” the woman said, glancing around uneasily. “I had an appointment.”

  “You did?” Jessie opened the door and led the way into the office. “I'm Mrs. Valentine's assistant. I don't recall setting up an appointment for you.”

  “I called her at home the night before last.” The woman trailed slowly into the office, looking as though she expected to find crystal balls on the tables and dark, heavy drapes covering the windows. “I told her I wasn't sure if I really wanted to hire her. She said to come in this morning. Just to talk, you know.”

  “Certainly. Have a seat, Mrs. Attwood. Coffee?”

  “No, thank you.” Martha Attwood sat down on the edge of a chair, her handbag perched on her knees. She cast another anxious look around the office. “I don't really believe in this sort of thing. Bunch of silly mumbo jumbo, if you ask me. But I don't know where else to turn. I'm desperate and the police say there's nothing they can do. There's been no actual crime committed, and my daughter…” Her face started to crumple. “Excuse me.”

  Jessie sprang up from behind the desk and came around the corner to extend a box of tissues. “It's all right, Mrs. Attwood. Just take your time.”

  Martha Attwood sniffed several times, blew her nose, and then dropped the used tissue into her purse. “I'm so sorry. It's the stress, you know. I've been under so much of it lately.”

  “I understand.”

  “She was doing so well in college. I was so proud of her. She was studying computer science.”

  “Who was studying computer science?”

  “My daughter. Susan. She was always so mature for her age. Even as a child. Quiet. Hardworking. Sensible. Never got into trouble. I never dreamed she'd do something like this. I feel as though she's run off and abandoned me. Just like Harry did.”

  “Where, exactly, has Susan gone, Mrs. Attwood?” Jessie sat down beside the woman.

  “She's gone off and joined some sort of cult. It's operating here in the Northwest somewhere. At least, I think it is. Her last letter was postmarked from right here in Seattle. Dear God, I still can't believe it. How could Susan get caught up in something like that?” Mrs. Attwood reached for a fresh tissue.

  “Let me get this straight, Mrs. Attwood. You know where your daughter is?”

  “Not exactly. I just know she's dropped out of her studies at Butterfield College and joined DEL.”

  “DEL?”

  “In her letter she said it stands for Dawn's Early Light. I gather it's some sort of cult that thinks the rest of us are going to poison the environment so badly that we'll all be destroyed. But the DEL people claim they can save the planet.”

  “I've never heard of this particular cult.”

  “In her last letter Susan said she wasn't free to tell me too much yet because the DEL Foundation is trying to maintain a low profile, whatever that means.”

  “What is she doing for the foundation?”

  “I don't know,” Mrs. Attwood wailed. “They're using her, somehow. I'm sure of it. God knows what they have her doing. I can't even bear to think about it. Dear heaven, she was going to get a degree in computer science. She would have had a good job, a bright future, not the sort of life I had. I just can't believe this is happening. I came to you because I didn't know where else to turn. I can't afford a private detective, which is what I really need.”

  Jessie frowned thoughtfully as she absently patted the woman's hand. “Why did you call Mrs. Valentine if you don't believe in her psychic abilities?”

  Mrs. Attwood blew her nose again. “Because the leader of DEL, a man named Dr. Edwin Bright, is obviously some sort of charlatan. He must be. He's convinced innocent young people like my Susan that he has special powers to predict the future and that he can change it. I guess I had some vague notion that if Mrs. Valentine could find some way to expose the man, Susan might lose her faith in him.”

  “You're working on the theory that it takes one to know one?” Jessie asked dryly.

  Mrs. Attwood nodded, looking more miserable than ever. “It occurred to me that a…well, a professional like Mrs. Valentine would know all the tricks a man like Bright would use to convince others he had special powers. I mean, she must have been using such tricks, herself, for years.”

  Jessie bristled. “I think you should understand, Mrs. Attwood, that Mrs. Valentine has a genuine talent. She is not a fraud.”

  “It doesn't matter to me, don't you see?” Mrs. Attwood said hastily. “Either way, she'll recognize an impostor, won't she? Be able to expose him? And I'm sure Edwin Bright is an impostor.”

  “I'm really not sure we can help you, Mrs. Attwood.”

  Mrs. Attwood clutched at Jessie's arm. “Please. I don't know where else to turn. I'll pay her to help me prove Bright is a fake. Will you tell her that? I don't have a lot of money, but I'll find some way of paying the fees. Please.”

  Jessie felt her irritation dissolving swiftly in the face of the woman's obvious desperation. It was so hard to say no to someone who was clearly at the end of her rope. And besides, this was a potential client.

  “Let me see if I understand,” Jessie said carefully. “You don't actually want to buy the services of a true psychic. You simply want Valentine Consultations to prove that this man who runs the Dawn's Early Light Foundation is a fake, right?”

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  “Hmmm.” This was something she could handle on her own, Jessie told herself with gathering excitement. The client was not even looking for a genuine psychic. A successfully completed case such as this one could open up whole new realms of possibilities for Valentine Consultations. It was the perfect place to start her new marketing program. Valentine Consultations, Psychic Investigations.

  “Say you'll help me,” Mrs. Attwood pleaded.

  “You do realize that even when their leaders are exposed, people don't always lose faith in them, don't you?” Jessie felt obliged to point out. “People who need to follow a leader will make all sorts of excuses for that leader so that they can keep on following him. It's possible we could prove this Bright is a fraud but not be able to convince Susan of it. Do you understand, Mrs. Attwood?”

  “Yes, yes, I understand. But I have to try. I have to get my Susan out of the clutches of DEL.”

  “All right,” Jessie said, making her decision on a crest of rising enthusiasm. “Valentine Consultations will take the case.”

  Mrs. Attwood blinked in the face of Jessie's new gung-ho attitude. “Thank you.” She opened her purse. “I've brought some things along. A picture of Susan. Her last letter. There isn't much. If you can think of anything else you might need, let me know.”

  Her first real case. Jessie picked up the photo of a shyly smiling young woman who appeared to be about twenty years old. She wore glasses and her hair was tied back in a ponytail. There was something rather innocent and naive about Susan Attwood's face. She looked as though she had grown up in a small farm town, not a city.

  “I will certainly keep you informed, Mrs. Attwood. And don't worry, I'll get started on this right away. In fact, I'm going to consult with Mrs. Valentine immediately.”

  “Where is Mrs. Valentine?” Martha Attwood peered through the open doorway of the inner office.

  “
She took a nasty fall the night before last and she's still recovering.”

  “Oh, dear. Will she be able to work on my, uh, case?”

  “Don't you worry about a thing, Mrs. Attwood. I'm Mrs. Valentine's assistant and I'm in charge around here now.”

  Mrs. Attwood cleared her throat, looking vaguely alarmed. “You're sure?”

  “Absolutely positive. Relax, Mrs. Attwood. I was born for this kind of thing. It's in my blood. I just know it.”

  Irene Valentine looked even more worried than Mrs. Attwood had appeared. She lay back on the white pillows and listened to the entire tale, shaking her head slowly back and forth.

  “I don't know, Jessie. I don't like the feel of this.”

  Jessie stared at her in astonished delight. “The feel of it? You've got your psychic abilities back, then, Mrs. V?”

  “No, no, I mean I just don't like the plain old ordinary human feel of it. It doesn't take any psychic ability to sense a little trouble on the horizon, my dear. Just common sense. And my common sense tells me this cult business is way out of our league.”

  “But, Mrs. V, just think what a case like this could do for the image of Valentine Consultations.”

  “This isn't the sort of thing we normally handle, Jessie, dear. You've been with me long enough to know that. We deal with people who are under a lot of stress. Or people who are confused about things. We soothe their fears of the future and give them self-confidence. We're therapists of a sort, not private detectives.”

  “But this is an ideal chance to expand our business,” Jessie said, unwilling to give up. “Please, Mrs. V. I told the client we'd take the case. I can work on it while you're recovering. It's not like I'm going to try to fool the client. Mrs. Attwood herself said she really doesn't expect to hire someone with genuine psychic ability. She just wants someone who can prove this Bright character is a fraud. That should be easy enough to do.”

  “Don't count on it. Con men are extremely clever.” Mrs. Valentine narrowed her eyes. “You really want to take on this case, don't you?”

  “It's a great opportunity for me to prove myself to you, Mrs. V. Let me at least do a little research on the cult and this guy Bright. If it looks too big for us to handle, I'll tell Mrs. Attwood she'll have to go to someone else. What do you say?”

  “If I had any sense, I'd say no.”

  “Mrs. V, please. I have a feeling about this case. I know I can handle it.”

  Mrs. Valentine sighed. “As it happens, I've just taken a nasty blow on the head and I'm obviously not thinking clearly at all. All right. Do a little research, dear. Find out what you can about DEL and this man named Bright.” She fixed Jessie with a firm gaze. “But you are not to go any further than that on your own, understand? Keep me posted every step of the way, and please don't do anything foolish. We don't know what is involved here, and I do not want you taking any chances.”

  Jessie grinned, satisfied. “Don't worry, Mrs. V. I'll be careful.”

  “Why do I get this overwhelming sense of impending doom?”

  “You must be psychic.” But Jessie regretted the little joke instantly when she saw the tears in the corner of Mrs. Valentine's eyes. “Oh, God, I'm sorry, Mrs. V. I didn't mean to upset you. You are psychic and you will get your inner sight back when you've recovered from the fall. I know you will.”

  “I hope so, Jessie.” Mrs. Valentine wiped away the tears and smiled mistily. “I feel as if some part of me has been amputated. It's a dreadful feeling.”

  “I can imagine. Do you still think you might have been pushed down those steps?”

  “I don't know what to think. The doctor explained to me about how one loses one's memory after a head injury. And the police were very nice. An officer came around again this morning and assured me there was no sign of any intruder in the house. My sister says nothing was missing or out of place. I guess I just slipped and fell.”

  Jessie nodded. “Well, to tell you the truth, I'd rather believe it was an accident. The idea of someone deliberately pushing you gives me the creeps.”

  “I agree. Best change the subject. How did your date go last night?”

  “It was a disaster, just as I predicted.” Jessie forced a smile. “You see? I may have some psychic ability of my own, Mrs. V.”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Valentine looked very serious suddenly. “Yes, you may, Jessie, dear. I have suspected for some time now that you have a natural, intuitive ability that you have never fully developed.”

  “Really?” Jessie asked, surprised.

  “It's the reason I took you on as my assistant. The thing is, I can't quite figure out what sort of talent you have, dear. No offense, but there's something rather odd about the way your mind works.”

  “A lot of my previous employers have said something along those lines.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jessie looked down at her half-sister who was standing with her in Vincent Benedict's reception area. “You ready, kid?”

  Elizabeth Benedict, curly brown hair in a neat halo around her head, her serious green eyes shielded behind a set of thick-lensed glasses, grinned bashfully. She tugged on the strings in her hand. The strings were attached to several helium-filled balloons which bobbed merrily in the air above her head. “Ready.”

  Jessie glanced at the trim middle-aged woman sitting at the nearby desk. “His calendar's clear for lunch?”

  “I cleared it, Jessie, just like I did last year for you. He doesn't have a clue.”

  “Thanks, Grace. We couldn't manage this without you. All right, Elizabeth, here we go.” Jessie shifted the huge bouquet of cut flowers and knocked on the heavy paneled door.

  “What the hell is it now, Grace?” Vincent called out irritably from the other side of the door. “I said I didn't want to be disturbed for a couple of hours.”

  Elizabeth's grin faded, and behind the lenses of her glasses, her young eyes took on an uncertain expression. She glanced up at her sister uneasily.

  “Don't worry,” Jessie advised. “You know his bark is worse than his bite. He's forgotten it's his birthday, as usual. When he realizes what's happening, he'll lighten up. Come on.” Jessie pushed open the door and marched into the room.

  Vincent Benedict looked up with a ferocious scowl. “What the hell? I said I didn't…Oh, it's you two. What are you doing here?”

  “Happy Birthday, Dad.” Jessie put the huge basket of flowers down squarely in the center of the desk in front of her father. “We're here to take you to lunch.”

  “Good God. Is it that time of the year already?” Vincent took of his glasses and gazed at the mass of balloons and flowers. His expression warmed ever so slightly as he swung his gaze back to his daughters. “Shouldn't you be in school, Elizabeth?”

  “Sure,” Elizabeth admitted. “But Jessie wrote a note saying I had an urgent appointment. The teachers always believe Jessie's notes.”

  “I have a talent for making excuses.” Jessie untwisted the balloon strings from Elizabeth's fingers and reattached them to the nearest lamp. The balloons hovered over the massive desk, looking very much out of place in the solemn atmosphere of her father's office. “Nice touch, don't you think? The balloons were Elizabeth's idea.”

  “I figured no one else would give you balloons. Do you like 'em, Dad?” Elizabeth anxiously awaited the verdict.

  Jessie caught her father's eye. It was automatic. She'd been doing it for years in this sort of situation, she reflected. She was always on the alert to make certain her father understood he was not to casually hurt Elizabeth's feelings the way he had frequently bruised her own when she was younger.

  Vincent pretended to ignore the warning look as he contemplated the balloons with a deliberate air. “Definitely a nice touch. And you're absolutely right. No one else is very likely to give me balloons for my birthday. Or flowers.” He touched one of the petals. “Thank you, ladies. Now, what was this about lunch?”

  “Pizza or hamburgers. Your choice.” Jessie perched on the edge of the de
sk. “Elizabeth and I are treating.”

  Vincent frowned down at his desk calendar. “Better let me check my schedule. I thought I had something on for today.”

  Elizabeth grinned hugely. “Jessie made Grace keep your calendar clear for today, Dad.”

  “Is that right? A conspiracy again, eh?” Vincent raised his brows at Jessie.

  “Whatever works,” Jessie murmured, fingering one of the petals of a brilliant red lily.

  “What the hell, it's my birthday.” Vincent turned back to Elizabeth. “Pizza or hamburgers, huh? That's a tough choice. I think I'll go with the pizza.”

  Jessie relaxed. The battle was over. It had not been too bad this year. There had been far worse battles in the past. Maybe her father was finally mellowing. She looked at her sister. “Pizza it is. Witness a true executive decision, kid. Dad is definitely a man of action.”

  “Damn right,” Vincent agreed as Elizabeth giggled again.

  Jessie hopped off the desk. “Let's get going. We want to beat the crowd to the pizza parlor. It gets real cutthroat in there at lunchtime.”

  The office door swung open before Vincent could get to his feet. Everyone automatically turned around to gaze at the man filling the open doorway.

  “Somebody die?” Hatch asked, his gaze resting on the bright bouquet of flowers.

  “Not yet.” Vincent stood up and reached for his jacket. “Just another birthday. My daughters are taking me out to lunch. Seems my calendar has been mysteriously cleared for an hour or so this afternoon.”

  “You can come with us, if you want,” Elizabeth told Hatch shyly.

  Jessie smiled loftily. “I'm sure Hatch is much too busy to join us. I'll bet he's got all sorts of megabuck deals that need his personal attention this afternoon. Isn't that right, Hatch?”

  Hatch regarded her meditatively, idly tapping the folder in his hand against the door frame. “I think I could manage to get away for an hour or so. Unless Vincent would rather hog all the female company for himself?” He glanced at the older man.

  “Hell, no. There's two of 'em. Enough to go around. You're welcome to join us. Jessie and Elizabeth are buying.”