Tempest in the Tea Leaves Read Online Free Page B

thorough, once-over. He stepped across the threshold, scanning every inch of the room before focusing back on me. “Is there somewhere we can sit?”
    “Right this way, Chief.”
    “It’s Detective.”
    “I know, I just meant—”
    “If you don’t mind,” he cut me off, “I’m kind of in a hurry.” His blank, unreadable face stared at me pointedly.
    “Oh-kay, never mind.” Mr. Grumpy Pants wasn’t that intriguing. I led him to the same spot in front of the fireplace where I had first talked to the librarian. Morty’s hackles raised, and he let out a hiss. “Be polite, Morty. Don’t you know if you can’t say anything nice, then don’t say anything at all?” Morty stood, thrust his nose in the air, and pranced out of the room. “Sorry about that.”
    “Interesting pet you’ve got there.”
    “Oh, he’s not mine. This is his house.”
    “Lady, no one’s lived here for years.”
    “Well, he certainly has. I’m beginning to see he doesn’t warm up to just anyone. Can I get you something to drink, Detective?”
    “No thank you, ma’am.” He reached into the inside pocket of his sports coat and pulled out a pen and paper.
    “Please, call me Sunny,” I said. “Ma’am reminds me of my mother.”
    He arched an ink black brow the same shade as his thick hair. “Sunny? Unusual name.”
    “Thank you.” Ever the optimist, I took his comment as a compliment, though it probably wasn’t meant as one. “It’s Sunshine 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 Sunshine 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, petite 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, shifting 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 hell 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