Free Hear No Evil by Bethany Campbell Page A

operation?” she echoed.
    “He wants to be an Elvis Presley impersonator,” thewoman said proudly. “But he’s got to get his nose fixed. He got it broke bad in a bar fight.”
    Eden’s guilt vanished, replaced by astonishment. “Oh.”
    “We go to Graceland twice a year. It’s like a pilgrimage,” said the woman. “I got all the T-shirts, the videos, everything, even the phone shaped like him.”
    “Umm,” murmured Eden.
    “Thank you, Sister. I’ll say a prayer for you next time I’m at Graceland. Good-bye.”
    Eden replaced the receiver and put her face in her hands. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she muttered. “Elvis has left the building.”
    She forced herself to scribble a quick note about Lily on the card. Then she rose from the desk to check on Peyton. The television set still blared, and the cartoon show was now
Fearless Fran
, which Eden had worked on, years ago.
    Peyton lay in front of the set, her body a relaxed sprawl, the crayon fallen from her hand. She had fallen asleep. Eden leaned against the door frame, uncertain whether to wake her. The child needed sleep, but if she napped now, would she again be awake all night long?
    The psychic line rang, and Eden was spared the decision. She moved back to the desk, lifted the receiver. She nudged her voice down an octave and prepared to imitate Jessie’s grammar and phrasing.
    “Sister Jessie,” she said. “God’s gifted seer.”
    It was a Lionel Bevans, phoning from New York. Hurriedly Eden located his card and was surprised to see that he was a stockbroker who regularly called for tips.
    “Jessie—I couldn’t get you this morning,” Bevans said heartily. “I want to ask you about a few commodities.”
    “Ask away,” said Eden, who knew no more about commodities than she knew about rings of Saturn.
    From the other end of the line, she heard the rattle of papers. “I hope you’ve got that crystal ball polished up.”
    “To a high gloss,” Eden lied with an admirable imitation of confidence.
    “Good. Now tell me about Hammer Amalgamated.”
    Eden gritted her teeth. “What about it?”
    “Should I hold it or sell it?”
    Eden scribbled the words “Hold” and “Sell” on a scrap of paper, shut her eyes, and jabbed the paper with her pen point. She opened one eye warily. “Sell,” she instructed.
    “Absolutely?”
    “Absolutely.”
This is how the economy gets run?
Eden thought with horror.
    “I love it when you’re that certain,” he chortled. “Always a good sign for me. Now, how about Amondale? Research company. Gene splicing. Buy it? Or pass?”
    Eden scrawled “Buy” and “Pass” on the other side of the paper, squeezed her eyes shut and stabbed again. She examined her handiwork. “Pass,” she ordered him.
    He sounded disappointed. “You surprise me on that one. You sense something negative? Can you tell me what?”
    “The stars is wrong for it,” Eden said shortly. “And you don’t argue with the stars.”
    “You’re the psychic,” he sighed. “Okay, this one’s got me stymied. Pass or buy? Polar-Nilsen, Limited. They’ve got a new development in asynchronous communications protocol, maybe the biggest thing since duplexing.”
    Jesus, he’s not even speaking English
, Eden fretted, but she played her senseless game with the penpoint again.She took a deep breath. “Buy it,” she ordered with the authority of an empress.
    “Jessie,” he said with a smile in his voice, “you’re a wonder. That one could be a real coup. If it works out I’ll send you a box of those chocolates you like.”
    By the time he said good-bye, her hands were trembling at her own boldness. “What the hell,” she muttered as she set down the phone. “It’s only money.
His
money.”
    Almost immediately, the phone jangled again. It was a woman from Peoria, who wanted a horoscope cast for the newborn kittens of her cat.
    Owen had been in Jessie’s room only a few minutes, but he saw that she was growing tired. Her pale skin