Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Truth Seeps Out
CLIFF
It didn’t matter if Jamie thought Cliff had taken the longest dump in human history in that men’s room, he could not have her knowing the truth about Amber.
So, he had come up with the faulty-lock-on-the-door story while he found his way back into the building.
Luckily, he’d been able to escape his icy walk-in freezer prison, crawl out onto the roof, scuttle across it, shimmy down a drainpipe, take care of business, and make his way back in through the kitchen without anyone noticing.
When he arrived, everyone was talking to the SWAT team in the dining room.
He was stopped in front of the wine cellar, from which he chose a fine French Bordeaux, poured two glasses, and took a deep breath before heading out to find Jamie.
She seemed to buy his explanation, but it was hard to say. Cliff had noticed Jamie possessed an innate ability to read people. Which was unnerving. Could she tell he was lying?
The truth was, Cliff hated lying and liars.
Yet, his former career as a master thief had demanded it.
But going even further back, he realized his entire life had demanded it.
The only way to survive foster care was to lie about who you were.
Be nice, and agree even if you really don’t agree, become affable.
Don’t share anything that someone could use against you later.
Sure as hell don’t tell anyone you used to be rich and cultured before your inexorable descent into parentless poverty.
But here he was, lying to the one person he didn’t want to lie to, and probably the only one who could tell if he was. He stopped talking.
Around the restaurant, things were slowly coming back in order. Chairs and tables righted, candles lit, and the smell of something amazing coming from the kitchen. If they were to be locked down, it could be worse.
As if reading his mind, Jamie said, “There are worse places to be in a lock-down situation I suppose.”
“True,” Cliff said, still looking out at the room. “We should make the best of it.”
That’s when he took the insane risk of reaching for her hand.
When her delicate fingers touched his, it was like a jolt of electricity.
But somehow, all the playful conversation and flirting that had come so easy earlier in the evening felt constipated with all the things he couldn’t say.
But he had to try. Cliff pulled Jamie in with his eyes.
She looked up at him with raised eyebrows, expectant.
Now or never.
“Jamie, I—”
“Margaritas?” Justin the bartender appeared with a tray of frothy beverages.
Jamie waved him away, “Not now, thanks.” Justin wandered away and she turned back to Cliff. “You were saying?”
“I want to tell you something—”
“Garlic knots?” Amber promptly delivered the freshly baked bread. Warm, toasty, smelling like heaven. “Oh, hey,” Amber said as she cocked her head, as if surprised to see Cliff, He said nothing in return. They shared a charged look before Amber marched away. Her footsteps angry.
“So,” Cliff endeavored to continue, “as I was saying, there’s something you should—”
Rick scuttled over. “Are you guys going to eat Chef Pascal’s food?
” There was a paranoid undertone. He took a seat next to them, oblivious to the intimate moment Cliff and Jamie were attempting to share.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, it smells delicious, but he has killed a guy before.
There should have been some kind of warning! ” Rick shook his head.
The spell broken, Jamie and Cliff released their grasp and turned their attention to Rick. “We all ate the same food as the critic,” Cliff said. “Not one of us got sick. And we don’t know how or why Nigel died yet. Could have been natural causes.”
“Could have been a heart attack,” Jamie added,
“Pffft, right.” Rick appeared to believe something nefarious was afoot.
Holly walked aggressively over. “Gotta be murder, right?”
“That is quite a conclusion to jump to, and I should know,” Jamie said. “I worked for LA Superior Court.”
This stopped Cliff in his tracks. “You worked at the court? Doing what?”
“I was … am … was a forensic psychologist. I reviewed perp files and did psych evaluations for the prosecutor’s office.”
Cliff turned a little white. “Oh.” Oh no.
“That is a fascinating job,” Holly said. “How did you come into that profession?”
“I was interested in people. What their motivations were. And I have sort of a gift,” Jamie answered.
“Like you can tell when someone is lying?” Rick asked.
“Not exactly. But I do have a very developed sense of when people are not being truthful.”
Cliff grimaced further.
Sensing something interesting was afoot, Shannon and Kyle walked over to join the four of them. “What are we talking about?”
“Jamie has a gift,” Holly said.
“What? Like juggling?” Shannon asked.
“I knew it. Photographic memory?” Kyle asked.
Growing increasingly uncomfortable, Jamie begged off. “No, it’s not that big of a deal, really.”
“She worked as a forensic psychologist at the LA Superior Court assessing criminals,” Holly informed them.
“Like a profiler?” Kyle asked, excitement in his voice.
“Sort of,” Jamie said.
Cliff was getting nervous. He racked his brain to remember if he had ever interviewed with a psychologist in Los Angeles Superior Court.
He recalled talking to one up in Chico, but that was way back when he was twenty-two.
He was certain he’d never seen Jamie before; he would have remembered.
You don’t run across that kind of attraction and forget it.
“Go on,” Holly urged.
Jamie took a deep breath and began to explain.
“Ever since I was a teenager, I have been able to sort of see the essence of a person’s character quite quickly.
My mind picks up energy, then deductive logic fills in the rest. It usually comes in three-word descriptors.
With school and training, those skills got sharper.
I became a forensic psychologist for the LA Superior Court and I was able to ascertain certain characteristics through body language, energy, and facial expressions.
A psychology degree helped me inform the rest.”
“Did you ever deal with a serial killer?”
“Yes, several. The most recent was Clarence Eddy.”
“He killed seven co-eds with a French hunting knife in Santa Clarita,” Holly said. Rick shot her a look as if she couldn’t be more weird. She returned his gaze and said, “I watch a lot of true crime.”
“He was a nasty piece of work,” Jamie added. “I was on the team that put him away for life.”
A gasp from Shannon. Kyle was nodding along, impressed. Holly’s brow was furrowed with interest. Rick jutted his chin out, but also nodded along. Cliff could feel himself sweating.
“Do you do it for normal people? Or just criminals?” Holly asked.
“Well, I mean, it’s just sort of a default for how my brain works,” Jamie said. “So, yes, normal people, too.”
“Can you give us an example?” Holly asked.
Jamie looked over at Justin the bartender and then whispered, “Okay, so for instance, the bartender, Justin.”
All of them looked over at Justin as he built a mini fort out of cocktail straws.
Jamie continued, “I pick up aimless, uncomplicated, Peter Pan syndrome.”
All of them looked over at Justin as he bobbed his head to a tune only he could hear and took a selfie by his mini fort. They all turned back to Jamie.
“That’s pretty spot on,” Kyle said.
“Uncanny,” Shannon said.
“So, how does it work?” Rick asked.
“What do you mean?” Jamie asked.
“You’ve been around us for a bit. Did you assess us?”
Cliff saw Jamie squirm ever so slightly. Uh-oh.
“I mean, it’s sort of second nature, but we don’t have to talk about—”
“Do me!” Shannon implored.
“If I had a dime every time a broad said that to me…” Rick chuckled.
“You’d be dead broke,” Holly answered Rick’s joke.
Cliff attempted to rescue her from the situation. “You guys, I’m sure Jamie doesn’t want to go into this and besides, do you really want to be boiled down to three characteristics?”
Shannon, Kyle, Rick, and Holly all looked over at him and said in unison, “Yes.”