Twice Bitten, Once Shy: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #5

Chapter 7

Chad drops the needle and thread to the floor. He places his fingers onto his temples. "Holy shit. I think it's working."

"Hello? I'm the one bleeding, Chad," Bexley says. "It would only work on me."

"Oh, yeah, good point," Chad says. "Wait. Do you think it could be—what's that word—contagious?"

That's enough. Back to my original plan.

Zandra shuts the door again. She hobbles to the stairs that lead down to the cabins. Cabin 27 unlocks with the twist of a key that Jade gave her. Before she can step inside, a voice calls Zandra's name from behind her. Sort of.

Bexley better not have followed me down here.

"It's Sandra, right?" Cherry Peach says.

"Zandra. With a z," Zandra says. "We met when you were talking with pDano®, with a p."

"Right. Yeah," Cherry Peach says. She forces a smile. "Hey, could I, maybe, talk to you about something?"

She wants her palm read or tips for charging her tarot deck. I'm too tired for this. It's nap time.

Zandra yawns and stretches. She uses the moment to assess Cherry Peach closer. True to her name, Cherry Peach is dressed like a fruit salad.

Actually, not like a fruit salad at all. Fruit salad in Wisconsin is a unique concoction. At minimum it requires grapes, Mandarin oranges, squares of Snickers, whipped cream, and—if you're lucky—fruit that didn't start its day in a can.

So, not a fruit salad. Let's try this again.

Zandra decides Cherry Peach's appearance couldn't possibly reference fruit salad, not by Wisconsin definitions. She continues with her quick observations through her long yawn.

Cherry Peach wears cherry prints on her sundress like a Las Vegas slot machine. Red- and peach-dyed hair. Alternating red- and peach-colored fingernails. One lip red, one lip peach.

Underneath all that is someone in her 20s with presence. She holds herself with confidence. It's a prerequisite for all that camera work.

Except for right now. Because right now the bends in her brows tell me she's nervous.

"I can come back later if you're tired, but I was really hoping we could talk now," Cherry Peach says.

Zandra wraps up her yawn and says, "OK. What is it?"

Cherry Peach hesitates. The pause lasts longer than the unspoken rule of three seconds. Now there's a problem.

"Are you planning to tell me now?" Zandra says.

"I was thinking we could talk in your room?" Cherry Peach says.

"Oh. OK, sure."

It's nap time, I'm not firing on all cylinders.

The air conditioning, on the other hand, is firing just fine. That much is obvious when they step inside the room. It provides cool relief from the warming day. Zandra raises a palm to a vent above the Murphy bed.

Perfect sleeping weather in here.

The air conditioning switches off, and the cool breeze stops. Zandra rubs her chilled hand on the back of her neck. It sends a tingle down her back.

Is this like ASMR?

Cherry Peach makes sure the door is latched all the way. Turning to Zandra, she says, "It's that football guy."

Zandra rubs her palms together. The chill in her hand disappears from the friction.

Suddenly, I'm not feeling sleepy anymore.