There’s a tic beneath Theo’s right eye. “Are you afraid you’re not living your own life?” I ask.

“No. I just . . . that idea is sad.”

He needs more. I trace circles on the arm of my leather chair. “Katy is showing me a building. Industrial. Lots of dogs, cats, too.” I meet Theo’s gaze. “Do you work at an animal shelter?”

“Wow! No. But Katy volunteered at one. Helping animals was her passion.”

“This is weird. I know you like cats, but did she want to bring home a dog?”

Theo runs a hand through his hair. “Yes—a shepherd-collie mix. Our apartment was too small, but I should’ve done it to make her happy.”

“She understood that you were overwhelmed.” I should wrap this up. “Could I—would you mind if I held your wedding band?”

Theo hesitates then slides it off. There’s no indentation or tan line beneath it, but some men don’t wear their ring all the time. I put it in the center of my palm and a spirit lunges through the red door. “There’s a male energy. He says to tell her she was right about the rain. Does that mean anything to you?”

Theo sits back. “Not really. No.”

My skin prickles. Is he lying? “Was this wedding band handed down?”

“No.”

“Bought as an estate piece?”

“We had it made,” Theo says and slides it back on his finger. “Both rings.”

The audience shifts. I’m losing them. “I’m sorry. I must be picking up on someone else.”

“It’s okay. Anything else?”

“. . . Yes. Katy wants you to spread her ashes at the beach you both loved. Does that make sense?”

“It’s perfect.” Theo leans forward, slides a business card in front of me so smoothly that the audience doesn’t see it.

THOMAS HOLMES

Reporter

Los Angeles Times

1.444.767.8888

He mouths, “We need to talk.”

My heart is slingshot into my sternum then plummets as I realize that the color of his eyes is the identical blue-green as the deadly ocean wave in my vision.

FIVE

Thomas

“Thank you so much, Sylvie. It meant the world.”

She smiles warmly. “You’re welcome.”

I give the dog a wide berth, walk back to my seat. Music swells. The audience applauds, cheers. Not for me, for Sylvie and her gift. But I know the truth. She’s a fraud. And when my exposé is published, the world will know, too.

As the crowd filters out of the theater, I choose to stay put. Adrenaline flows like I just scored the game-winning touchdown. What she said about the journal and the rest? Those were lucky shots over the bow of a sinking ship. Even a blind man can get a bull’s-eye if he knocks back enough arrows. My phone vibrates.

DARYL: Meet in the lobby?

ME: Waiting to see if she wants to talk

DARYL: Did any of it deviate from the script like mine did?

ME: A little

DARYL: I’m still freaked out

ME: Don’t be. Either it was a lucky guess, or she figured out you were a plant and has ways to mine information we haven’t discovered. I’ll find out

DARYL: You really think she’ll ask to talk with you?

ME: It’s her only chance

DARYL: Have to admit I like her

ME: Halo effect—we assume pretty people are good people

DARYL: Are you sure she’s not?

ME: She sells false hope. Money people can’t afford to lose for lies