Crazy in Chicago by Norah-Jean Perkin Page A

it worth a chance? Besides, how much longer do you think you can go on like this?”
    Cody frowned. He looked grayer and older than he had only moments ago. “You’re right. This can’t last much longer. I can’t take it. But a psychic . . .” His frown deepened. He paused. “Oh, all right. I’ll go see Madame Carabini.”
    His next words halted Roberta’s smile. “But on two conditions only.”
    Roberta eyed him suspiciously. She didn’t like the gleam in his dark eyes. “What conditions?”
    His lips curved upwards in a slow smile. “One, you come with me.”
    She nodded. “Okay. What else?”
    â€œAnd two, you ask the psychic if she sees a romantic relationship with me in your future.”
    * * *
    Cody slid out of the Corvette and stretched. He glanced at the car as Roberta got out, then looked away. Driving had been an act of will, his mind fighting this weird aversion to the car as well as the queasiness assaulting his stomach. At least there hadn’t been any flashes of blue light.
    â€œAre you okay?” Roberta stood at his side.
    â€œI’m fine.”
    Cody ignored the concern on her face. Roberta had made it clear yesterday she was capable of resisting his charm. For him, this was a new experience, one he didn’t like. In the past, his interest in a woman had always been reciprocated. But he hadn’t pursued any woman for a long time. Had he lost his touch? He hoped not. Because, unfortunately, he found it impossible to resist Roberta.
    He turned his attention to Madame Joanne Carabini’s house. Except for the turquoise door and trim, the ranch-style home resembled its neighbors in this middle-income suburban area.
    But it didn’t matter how normal it looked. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t believe Madame Carabini could tell him anything he didn’t already know. But did he have a choice? Between the sleeplessness, the nausea, and now that blue light, he was beginning to think he was losing his mind.
    He swore under his breath. No way would he see another psychiatrist. He’d had more than enough of them and doctors and therapists of every other stripe since his return. That left only one place left to turn. The psychic.
    He started up the walk, then glanced at Roberta. “So who’s first?”
    â€œYou, of course.” She shot him a dirty look; he choked back a chuckle. He had no intention of pushing her to ask the psychic about their relationship. But it was fun to tease her.
    He knocked on the turquoise door. A plump woman with brown, wavy hair opened the door. She smiled pleasantly when he identified himself and Roberta, and asked them in.
    As he followed her into the tiled entranceway, then down into a subdued sunken living room and dining area, he noted nothing flamboyant about her or her home’s decor. She wore tan slacks and a matching silk blouse, both of good quality, and her soft leather sandals made no sound on the tile or carpet. Just as well, he thought. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if she’d answered the door wearing a turban and clutching an armful of crystals.
    In her soft voice, she asked them to sit at the dining table. She settled herself in a chair kitty-corner to Cody, and then studied him. She took her time, her unusual aquamarine eyes seeming to probe deep within him. Cody found the sensation . . . disturbing.
    â€œDid you bring anything that you wore or had with you during your disappearance?” she asked.
    Cody nodded. He unbuckled his wrist watch and placed it on the table, then pulled off a tiger’s eye ring. “I don’t have the clothes I was wearing. The police took them. I never did get them back.”
    Madame Carabini picked up the watch. She ran her fingers along the metal back and the leather strap, and turned it over in her hands several times before putting it down. She placed the ring in the palm of her left