![]() ![]() You were expected at one-thirty.” Her agent had called to remind her, or Clarissa would still be knee-deep in her vegetable garden. “I could claim precognition, but I’m afraid it’s simple logic. Intuitively she felt he was a man she could trust and rely on. ![]() Should I wonder how you know who I am?”Īs their hands linked, she let impressions of him come and go, to be sorted out later. He’d done enough research so far to be prepared for the normalcy of people involved in the paranormal. “Miss DeBasse.” David adjusted his thinking and accepted herhand. “Hello.” She offered a small, attractive hand and a smile. David’s impression that she was housekeeper or companion to the renowned psychic was immediately disabused. She smelled of lilacs and dusting powder, not musk and mystery. The woman who opened the door of the comfortable suburban home in Newport Beach looked as though she would more likely be found at a bridge table than a séance. The truth was, he’d thought an afternoon with a fortune teller would bring him a refreshing, even comic, relief from the daily pressure of scripts, storyboards and budgets. Anything and everything that went into one of his productions was checked and rechecked, most often personally. As a producer of documentaries for public television, David Brady dealt in hard facts and meticulous research. Though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, he’d actually looked forward to it. Burning candles and incense wouldn’t have surprised him. H e’d expected a crystal ball, pentagrams and a few tea leaves.
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