Part 2 (1/2)

”Thank you.” Ever the optimist, I took his comment as a compliment, though it probably wasn't meant as one. ”It's Suns.h.i.+ne Meadows to be exact.” His brow crept higher. ”My parents named me Sylvia, but I changed it as soon as I was of age. I don't know, Sylvia sounded way too stuffy. I always thought Suns.h.i.+ne suited me better, don't you think?”

”Tinker Bell suits you better if you ask me,” he mumbled, flipping open his notebook.

”Tinker Bell?”

”You know.” He gestured toward my overall appearance with his pen. ”Cute blond pixie cut, green eyes, pet.i.te frame . . .”

This time I quirked a brow at him and stifled a smile. Maybe he had potential after all. I bit the side of my lip.

”Never mind.” His voice was curt. ”Why did you call me here, Miss Meadows?” His eyes met mine. ”Or is it Mrs.?”

A little zing zipped through me. ”Oh no, it's definitely Miss. Not that I'm against being Mrs. or anything. But I'm not one.” I could feel my pale cheeks flush pink, my freckles undoubtedly bright red. ”Call me Sunny,” I snapped, irritated with myself.

He stared at me for a full minute, scribbled something in his notebook, and then spoke. ”So, Miss Meadows, how can I help you?”

”Right.” I felt like a fool and had no idea why he rattled me so much. ”Sorry.” I sobered, remembering why I'd called the police in the first place. ”I wanted to speak to a detective because this matter is of grave importance.”

”What matter?”

”I witnessed a murder,” I finally blurted.

He surged to his feet. ”Are you crazy? Why didn't you call 911?” He pulled out his cell.

I jumped to my feet and grabbed his arm, feeling a tingle travel through my fingertips and warmth hum through my veins. I yanked my hand away and clenched my fist, my eyes locking with his shocked ones.

He cleared his throat. ”You didn't answer my question. Why didn't you call 911?” he repeated, s.h.i.+fting his stance.

”Because the murder hasn't happened yet,” I finished.

He sat back down, his eyes guarded and full of wariness now as he rubbed his forehead. ”How the h.e.l.l did you see a murder if it hasn't happened yet?”

”Tea leaves,” I answered quietly, afraid to meet his eyes and see the same look everyone back home always gave me. Total disbelief and speculation that I had more than one screw loose. I peeked up at him. Oh yeah, he had ”the look.”

”Are you kidding me?” He scowled. ”You mean to tell me you saw this so-called murder in one of your readings?”

”That is correct,” was all I could get out. This was why I had waited an hour after the librarian had left before calling the police. I'd warned the librarian, gave her some calming tea leaves to drink later, then sent her on her way. Yet something told me it wasn't enough. I needed to do more, even though I knew this would be the response I would get.

He rubbed his whiskered jaw, looking like he didn't have a clue what to do with me. Well, he wouldn't be the first, that was for sure. ”I'd heard you were some fortune-teller from the Big Apple, but come on,” he finally said. ”You don't really believe in all that hocus-pocus, do you?”

I jerked my shoulders back. ”As a matter of fact, I do. I'm psychic, Detective. Tools like tea leaves simply help me interpret my visions more clearly.”

”Then why don't you clear a few things up for me. When is this murder supposed to take place, and who is supposed to commit the heinous act?”

”I don't know,” I said sheepishly.

”Well, that's crystal clear, now isn't it?” The detective stood, closing the book on this case . . . on me.

I rushed forward and blocked his path to the door. ”Look, I might not know when it's going to happen, but I do know it's a man who commits the murder. If you don't do something quickly, that poor little librarian is going to die.”

”I saw Ms. Robbins this morning, and she was fine.”

”Um, h.e.l.lo, hence the words 'it hasn't happened yet.' ” I looked at my watch. ”Clock is ticking, Detective.”

He sighed, grumbling, ”Fine. I'll check on the librarian, but that's as far as I'm prepared to go. I don't like playing games, Miss Meadows.”

”I'm not playing games. I'm telling you the truth.” I opened the door for him. ”Thank you, Detective. You won't be sorry.”

He turned and strode out the door into the frosty night, mumbling, ”I'm already sorry, Tink,” and then he was gone.

Twenty minutes later, I heard sirens wailing and screeching in the distance. My heart started pounding, and all I could do was pray it wasn't the librarian. Or if it was, then maybe they'd gotten to her in time and caught the bad guy before he could hurt her. Either way, justice must be done.

The siren was so loud now, it sounded like it was right outside. I went to peer out the window but jumped back when someone pounded on my door.

”Who is it?”

”Detective Stone, Miss Meadows. Open up.”

I scrunched up my face. What on earth was the detective doing back at my house? Exhausted and weary, I wanted this day to be over. I opened the door wide to a pair of handcuffs dangling from his fingertips.

”W-What exactly do you plan to do with those?” My voice hitched.

”Nothing if you come along peacefully.” His eyes studied me as he finished with, ”I'm taking you in.”

Shock ripped through me like ice water. Taking me in? In where . . . jail? This was not how I'd expected the first day of my new job to go, and my future was most definitely not looking bright.

I pushed my fear aside and allowed my outrage to consume me. ”Taking me in for what? I haven't done anything wrong.”

He simply stared me in the eye with that stern, unreadable expression of his. ”Just doing my job,” he answered, his deep voice devoid of any emotion. ”Suns.h.i.+ne Meadows, you're wanted for questioning about the murder of Amanda Robbins.”

3.

How could I have ever been attracted to that Neanderthal? I thought, dusting off my clothes. The nerve of him actually hauling me into jail like I was some dangerous criminal. Me . . . Tinker Bell, for G.o.d's sake. Honestly, what did he think I could possibly do to someone? Pixiedust them to death?

”You're free to go, Miss Meadows.” Detective Stone parted his sports coat, placing his hands on his jeans-clad hips as he leaned forward an inch, exposing his weapon. ”Don't leave town. You're still a suspect in this murder. Until I catch the killer, you won't be able to blink without me knowing about it. Do I make myself clear?”

”As my clean-freak mother's windows,” I ground out between clenched teeth. ”Are we done here? I would think almost two hours of questioning would be more than sufficient.”

He stepped back. ”I'll be watching you.”

”Enjoy the view,” I snapped, turning around and storming out of Divinity's cold and dreary police station, leaving the detective in my dust.

”It's dark outside. Need a lift?” he called out from behind me.

”Not from you,” I hollered, and kept charging down the snow-covered sidewalk.

Detective Stone might not have enough evidence to detain me, but that didn't mean he wouldn't keep looking for a way to pin this murder on me. I had to clear my name and find the real killer. My business would fail for sure if people thought I gave fortunes of doom and gloom. Or worse, if they thought I was a murderer. No way would I return home to hear my parents say I told you so. Also, I felt somewhat responsible for Amanda Robbins's murder. I should have called the police immediately instead of waiting for an hour.