sorry. I’m trying to help.”
“Well, you’re not helping.”
“No, you’re not going to become a zombie,” Audrey said. “I…well, I’ve just never seen anything like that line.”
“This just gets better and better,” Genevieve said.
“It probably means nothing at all,” Audrey said with a shrug and a smile. “I’ve told you—this is just how I make my living.” She grinned. “We have ghost tours down here, too. Do you think all the guys leading those tours believe in ghosts? We’re all vulnerable to the power of suggestion. It’s how I keep ’em coming back. And if you repeat that…” She tried—and failed—to look threatening.
“Let’s have lunch soon,” Bethany suggested. “We’re not diving on Saturday. Can you meet us?”
“Sure. Let’s shoot for late afternoon. I don’t open until five on Saturday, when the tourists are filling the bars,” Audrey said. “I give my very best readings to drunks,” she assured them with a trace of wry amusement.
“Saturday, then,” Genevieve confirmed. “And, Audrey…thanks.”
“Sure. See you two then,” Audrey said.
She stood in the doorway, watching as they left.
“That was kind of stupid,” Genevieve murmured.
“Seeing Audrey?” Bethany asked.
“Seeing Audrey for five minutes,” Genevieve said. “I feel guilty.”
“And freaked out,” Bethany added.
“I’m not freaked out,” Genevieve protested.
“Well, what she said—”
“What she said was that she’s a fake,” Genevieve said sternly. “And I feel guilty for not being a better friend and keeping up.”
“We’re going to see her for lunch,” Bethany said. “And I’m getting a little worried, even if you’re not.” She held open the wrought-iron gate to the walkway so Genevieve could follow.
“That I’m cracking up—or that a ghost is after me?” Genevieve asked wearily, closing the gate behind her as they reached the street.
Then she froze.
He was there.
Thor Thompson. Casually leaning against the wall. He smiled as they saw him, nonchalantly glancing up at the sign that announced Audrey’s business.
She could have held her temper, she told herself afterward. Should have held her temper. He hadn’t said a word.
He didn’t need to. She saw the way he looked at the sign, then looked at her.
She walked up to him furiously. “You followed me,” she accused him.
He seemed a lot taller. She wasn’t short, especially in heels, but he was able to look down at her.
“We ordered your drinks for you. We didn’t know where you were. Nothing quite as bad as warm beer.”
“You followed me,” she repeated. “You son of a bitch. You had no right.”
He arched a brow. “Maybe I followed Bethany.”
“I think Bethany ought to be getting out of here right now,” Bethany said nervously. “If you’ll both excuse me—”
They turned to her simultaneously. “No.”
“Oh,” Bethany said, acutely uncomfortable.
“For your information, Mr. Thompson, we were just stopping in to say hello to an old friend from school,” Genevieve advised him. “Not that it’s any of your concern.”
He looked up at the sign again, then cast her a disdainful look. “Everything you do right now concerns me. I need you sharp and on the ball.”
“You need me sharp and on the ball? Have you forgotten something? I don’t work for you. I work for Marshall.”
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