Glass Eye: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective

Chapter 17

"Peppermint?" Gene says. He scoots a crystal dish of hard candy toward Charlie and Zandra from the other side of the desk. It's the first thing he says after his assistant shows them through the door.

It's said Gene sucks down peppermints to cover the shit on his breath. Some say it's halitosis. Others say there's a rot deep inside him. Whatever it is can't be extinguished by with a dish of peppermints, despite what Gene might think.

He looks remarkably similar to the version of Gene Zandra remembers from 25 years ago. Cool, smooth, amphibian skin. A crown of thin, gray hair atop a taut, shiny scalp that pulls on his face every time he opens his mouth, which is often. Deliberate, confident movements that take their sweet time, reminding everyone to wait for His Excellency to finish his thought.

Gene's yet to acknowledge Zandra's presence. The crystal dish of peppermints rests on the desk in front of Charlie. The crystal may be fancy, but it's still just a rock.

"Thank you, but I'm fine," Charlie says. She scoots the dish to Zandra. Gene still doesn't make eye contact with the psychic.

"I see you brought a friend," Gene says, still looking at Charlie.

Zandra tightens her rolled up sleeves and shifts in her chair. The Morse code in her foot returns. Her jaw hunkers down within her jowls.

"I'm sure you're familiar with Zandra," Charlie says. "She's assisting me on a few things."

Gene cracks his neck. It's a hideous sound. He looks over Zandra. Slowly. Over and over. They wait for his dramatic pause to wrap up.

"Of course," Gene says. He leans forward and folds his hands. "And what might Zandra be assisting the good lieutenant with today?"

Zandra clears her throat. She wants to reach across the tacky, overpriced desk and twist out Gene's pale Adam's apple, but the urge is suppressed in a quick hack into her rolled up sleeve.

Zandra tries to talk, but the words are squeezed shut inside her swollen throat. Charlie swoops in for the save.

Get it together.

"We have a couple questions about your hunting land outside of town," Charlie says. "Do you lease that to anyone?"

Gene nods. The skin on his face tightens and loosens with the motion. "Seth. Younger guy. Son of a friend of a friend. One hell of a deer hunter. He leases the land each fall," he says. "Did something happen to him? Or is this related to Elle?"

"We're just looking into a few things, that's all. How well do you know Seth?" Charlie says. She glances to Zandra, egging her to say something.

"Ah, I didn't think you were here to talk deer hunting," Gene says. "Seth's a good kid. Big into church and family. Adopted his niece last year, if I remember right. I gave police my full blessings to search the property. Anything I can do to help."

Does the niece wear pink shoes?

Zandra unwraps a peppermint. The cool flavor relaxes her, helps open up her throat. The words float their way up to her mouth.

"Truce," Zandra says.

"I beg your pardon?" Gene says.

"Truce."

Gene cracks his neck again. Looks to Charlie.

"You must understand that Zandra and I have what you might call a history. And it seems another unfortunate disappearance has delivered that history into the present," he says. Rubs his dry, scaly hands together. Then to Zandra, "If you're saying let bygones be bygones, I've been ready for this moment for years."