Glass Eye: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective

Chapter 16

After two kolaches and three off-brand cigarettes, Zandra meets Charlie the next morning at the Portage County Registrar for details on the hunting land. The answer surprises both of them.

"Gene Carey is the owner?" Charlie says to the gray-haired man working the desk. "Are you sure?"

"Are you surprised by the name or that I can read?" the man says. He's the typical disgruntled cretin working the county offices. Not real found of women questioning him, either. Part of the old-fashioned streak beneath the progressive veneer of Stevens Point.

"Just check it again," Charlie says.

"It's Gene Carey, OK? Any other questions?" the man says.

"No. Thankfully, we're done here," Charlie says and turns from the desk. "Asshole," she says under her breath to Zandra as they walk away.

Zandra notices how the red flush in Charlie's neck is faded. Must not have been drinking as much the past couple nights.

By contrast, Zandra's own eyes are a glossy red. Stayed up late adding to her files again. Read over Gene's thick folder for good measure. Not that Zandra needed much reminding about the Carey family patriarch.

He'd be, what, 25 years older than the last time Zandra saw him? Has it been that long since Soma Falls? It shouldn't be. Feels closer to Zandra than yesterday. No, feels like right now, like Soma Fall is still happening. She's reminded every time she takes a step with her bad ankle. Gene Carey's handiwork.

But an ankle wasn't the worst of it. Not by a mile.

"You still with me, Zandra?" Charlie says back at her office.

Zandra shakes out of her mental journey back to hell.

"I'm listening," Zandra says.

"Good, because I was saying we have an appointment to meet Gene Carey over the lunch hour at his office downtown," Charlie says.

His office. Of course. Because running his insurance company is more important than finding his missing child. Sure, the company is one of the most successful in the country, but still. His child is missing. Shouldn't that be the obvious priority?

Of course, Gene's closing in on 75. The chance to be there for his youngest daughter is already gone. Wives move through Gene's address like his bowel movements, and about as frequently. Maybe that's why this last one's been around for the longest.

"Yes, that's good," Zandra says, her eyes still gazing out at an invisible sea.

Charlie snaps her fingers a couple times. "Come on, Zandra, get it together," she says. "You need a coffee or something?"

Zandra doesn't need a coffee. She needs something for the anxiety roasting her guts. It manifests as tapping in her good foot, like Morse code for the mice in the floorboards.

"I'll be fine," Zandra says. She pulls her cigarettes from the pocket of her purple gown. It's the same one from yesterday. No sense in a change of wardrobe when she's already considered a troll by most in Stevens Point. "Does he know I'll be there?"

"I didn't mention it. Would you rather not go? Is that what this is about?" Charlie says.

"Just need a moment," Zandra says. "I'm going outside for a smoke."

"Think of some questions to ask, will you? Because I'm not sure where you're going with this beyond asking him to confirm Seth leases Gene's land. You're on point here," Charlie says.

Handing the power of the visit over to Zandra gives her a rush of energy. "I'm a psychic. Of course I have questions," she says with more confidence.

On the sidewalk, Zandra smokes and gnaws on a thick fingernail. She'll think of benign questions to ask if Gene doesn't throw her out first. She'll also need time, much more than a single visit. This opportunity can't go to waste.

Her gnarled tooth clips the fingernail loose. It falls into her palm, the sharp edge pressing down into her soft skin. She squeezes her hand shut, feels the pain of the thick, dirty nail piercing her palm and thinks. Then she has it.

Zandra rolls up her sleeves and heads back to Charlie.