Dee fought to keep from sweating like a suspect. What did it mean? Why was he really here? And damn it, how could just smelling the power on him make her so darned itchy? No, that was the wool against her ass, which she suddenly couldn’t seem to hold still, as if rubbing it against Naugahyde would relieve her distress.

Danny James replaced the tape recorder with a notebook and a Third Virginia Bank pen. ‘You don’t like talking about your parents?’

She looked around for that Martini, suddenly grateful the Greasy Fork had sold out. ‘What are you researching?’

Smooth, Dee. Very smooth.

He didn’t seem in the least disconcerted. ‘A book for Mark Delaney.’

She scowled. ‘Yes, I got that part. What could my parents have to do with alternative history?’ Except the alternative history she used to imagine for herself. Clair and Cliff Huxtable as her parents and a house in the suburbs where the silverware stayed silverware and stress caused nothing more than headaches.

‘Mark wants to do a non-fiction work on psychics,’ he said. ‘Since your parents were the most famous ones, he thought we should start there. I’m sure you know that they were sometimes referred to as-’

‘The Jim and Tammy Faye of psychics. Yes, Mr James, I know all the pejoratives.’ Like ‘charlatan.’ She wondered when that one would come up. And keep it down, please. I’m happier if no one in Salem’s Fork thinks I know anybody famous.’

‘I was sure you’d rather I got my information from the source, which would be you.’

‘Not really,’ Dee said, seeing Maxine set a full Martini glass on a tray and salivating. ‘There’s plenty of video on them. I doubt I could add anything.’

‘I’ve seen the video,’ he said. ‘No offense, but it all struck me as a cross between Ed Sullivan and Elmer Gantry.’

‘With just a soupçon of the Partridge Family. They did know how to put on a show.’

I’m sure that accounts for some of it,’ he said. ‘Their rise to fame was pretty meteoric. From neighborhood psychics to international stars in a matter of three years.’

Dee tried to see where Maxine was with that Martini. ‘The neighborhood they worked was West Hollywood,’ she said. ‘They numbered quite a few producers and agents among their clients.’

It had been Xan who’d spotted the opportunity. The producers had never known it wasn’t their idea.

Danny James consulted something in his notebook. ‘Well, it certainly was a winning formula. Especially when they added you girls to the show. You were naturals for the bright lights, all ruffled and sweet and singing those cute songs. You did a hell of an “I’m a Little Teapot.”‘

Dee scowled. ‘If you’re trying to butter me up, Mr James, that probably isn’t the way you want to do it.’

His eyebrows headed north. ‘You didn’t find it as charming as the rest of us.’

Being blinded by those hot, hard lights? Hundreds of hands on her; people bending so close she could smell fetid breath, smiling and smiling and lying? And her parents always standing apart on the other side of the stage like benevolent deities while she waited for just one word of praise? What more could a girl want?

‘I guess I must lack that showbiz gene.’

‘Yeah, I can see that,’ he said. ‘You couldn’t be more buttoned down if you were a nun.’

Dee went rigid. ‘Well, thank God you’ve come along and shown me the error of my ways, Mr James. Now you have the length of one Martini to talk.’

Right on cue, Maxine stopped at their table, drinks in hand. ‘Thatta girl,’ she said with a sharp nod as she set the longneck down. ‘Even if he does have a point, a gentleman has no business being rude when he’s courting.’

Mortified, Dee shut her eyes and held out her hand. ‘Can I order my second Martini now?’

Maxine laughed and settled Dee’s first Martini right into it. ‘You bet.’ Balancing her tray against her hip, she turned to Danny James. ‘So, it was like love at first sight, huh? You just met, right?’

That got Dee’s eyes open fast. What the hell? Maxine was spacey, but even for her that was a bizarre question. On the other hand, it might be a better line of inquiry than the real one. Especially since the other waitresses were standing back by the kitchen door waiting for Maxine’s report on the new man in town.

‘No,’ Danny said, picking up his longneck. ‘We met in college. I haven’t seen Dee since junior year, have I?’

Dee almost couldn’t get her mouth closed enough to form consonants. ‘Um, yeah.’

Was he really covering for her? Hell, he was here to expose them. Wasn’t he?

‘Really?’ Maxine said, sounding confused. ‘College?’

‘Loyola,’ he said.

‘Butler,’ Dee said at the same time, and damn near winced.

‘For senior year,’ he retorted easily. ‘She left before I could ask her to the fraternity formal, and I never got over it. So I’m using this research project as an excuse to see her again.’

Dee felt as confused as Maxine. Did Danny really mean to protect her? Maybe she could at least listen to what he had to say.

‘Well, that’s just great,’ Maxine said, still sounding bewildered. ‘So you’re like in love and everything?’

Dee damn near spilled her Martini. ‘We’re in what?’

Danny gave her a conspiratorial look. ‘Give us time, Maxine.’

‘Give me another Martini, Maxine,’ Dee said, in a tone that said, Get out of here, Maxine, and Maxine, evidently realizing her tip was in jeopardy, made tracks back to where the rest of the waitresses waited.

Dee faced Danny James. ‘Why did you do that? You could have outed me like Rock Hudson.’

He lifted an eyebrow. ‘You’re not escaped felons. I figure you have your own reasons for protecting yourselves. And while I’d dearly love to know why, that’s not why I’m here. Okay?’

She found she could breathe again. At least for now. ‘Thank you.’

He picked up his longneck. ‘No thanks necessary. Maxine was right, though. I wasn’t being a gentleman. I’m sorry. It just seems such a long way from that “Delightful Dee-Dee” on the show who always sang in her pretty pink dresses.’

So that quickly he was back on the hunt. Dee went after her Martini. ‘I’ll have you know crinoline itches like a bitch.’ So did wool, but he didn’t need to know that. ‘What else itched?’

Dee stared. He’d just done it again. ‘What?’

He leaned closer to her and kept his voice down. ‘You and your sisters disappeared twenty-four hours after your parents’ death, and haven’t been heard from since. What have you been hiding from?’

‘Nosy researchers.’

‘I thought you might like to tell your side of the story. Did you really go to Butler University?’

‘If we wanted to tell our story, we probably would have done it anytime during the last twelve years.’ She reached for her purse, trying to force an end to this nonsense. ‘There is no story.’

He didn’t move. ‘It’s not just that you’ve never even gone back to your parents’ commune – who would all like to hear from you, by the way. You’re living in seclusion half a continent away under an assumed name. Why?’

She stopped again and faced him with a semblance of calm, even as her pulse skittered around like a pea in a hot skillet. ‘Who wants to live in a commune of psychics? Everybody knows your business.’

‘And now nobody does.’

‘And oddly enough, they don’t seem to mind.’

‘What about your sisters?’

‘They don’t mind, either.’

‘Even the name change?’

She was getting frustrated. ‘You don’t like O’Brien? It was my grandmother’s name.’

He jotted something down, although Dee couldn’t figure out what it could have been. She hadn’t said anything yet.

‘Your parents,’ he said, his posture still comfortable. They were both gifted?’

He looked so objective. Too bad Dee had already heard his opinion on the matter.

‘You really want to know?’

He looked up, surprised. ‘Of course. If anybody knew, it would be you.’

‘And you’ll believe me.’

He offered a wry grin. ‘You seem a trustworthy sort.’ She wanted to shake her head. This was going to be such a waste of time. ‘Yes. They believed they were gifted.’

‘And you?’

‘Me what?’ Are you gifted?’

‘Why, yes, thank you. I can knit and tap-dance a little, and I’m a whiz with a block of ice and a chain saw.’

‘What about…?’ He let his hands drift through the air, the universal sign language for ‘woo-woo.’

‘Looking for somebody to entertain at parties?’

‘Looking for the truth about your parents.’

‘No you’re not.’ She shoved her drink away and sat back. ‘You’re trying to prove they were frauds. I mean, they must have been, mustn’t they? After all, they were convicted of it. They were convicted because they are fairly credulous and believed the wrong financial advisors.’ And Xan, who had known better. ‘I’m not going to help you vilify them further.’

‘And what makes you think I’m going to do that?’

Dee gave him the benefit of sincerely considering her answer. ‘You don’t believe it’s real, do you?’ she asked.

He never hesitated. He didn’t even smile. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t.’

Dee almost laughed. She should have known. He was a psychophobe with a pile of psychic magazines in his bedroom. ‘Not ghosties nor ghoulies nor even things that go bump in the night?’

‘Swamp gas and overheated imaginations.’

Lord, was she tempted to show him. It would be so easy. All she had to do was reach across the table, grab him by the ears, and kiss him. Really lip-lock in on him so that she sucked on his tongue like a Popsicle and he suddenly looked up to see his mother sitting in front of him. Wouldn’t he be surprised?