If Looks Could Kill. BEVERLY BARTON

Duffy,” Wade and Brian said practically simultaneously.

      Chuckling, Farlan eyed Max, who nodded. It would seem this meeting was over before it began. By unanimous agreement, they had their candidate. All that remained was putting the idea into Duffy’s head and promising him not only Farlan’s full support, but the backing of MacKinnon Media.

      Genny sensed Reve Sorrell’s uneasiness and did all she could to make the woman feel comfortable. Although Reve had eventually drunk a cup of tea and eaten a slice of cake, she still seemed tense, as if she were afraid of something. What was she so afraid of? The moment the question came to Genny’s mind, the answer appeared seconds later. The wealthy and powerful Ms. Sorrell was afraid of being taken advantage of, afraid of being used. She believed that anyone professing to possess a sixth sense had to be a fake. Was that what vast wealth had done to her? Made her distrust everyone? How sad, Genny thought, and decided at that very moment to make this lonely woman her friend.

      “I’d love for y’all to stay for supper,” Genny said, while the threesome sat around the kitchen table, their crumb- dappled plates and empty, tea-stained cups sitting in front of them. “And I will not take no for an answer.” Not giving Reve a chance to refuse, she turned to Jazzy. “Call Caleb and tell him to grab a ride in from town with Dallas.”

      “That’s a wonderful idea.” Jazzy lifted her small red- leather shoulder bag from where she’d hung it on the back of her chair. “I’ll call him right now. This supper will give Reve a chance to get better acquainted with the most important people in my life.”

      “I’m not sure—” Reve looked like an animal caught in a trap, her brown eyes wide open and filled with uncertainty.

      “As I said, I won’t take no for an answer.” Genny scooted back her chair. “Have you ever done any cooking, Reve?”

      “No, not really,” she replied. “When I was a child, I occasionally watched our cook when she prepared dinner. And sometimes she allowed me to help her frost a cake or bake cookies.”

      “Well, I intend to put you and Jazzy to work helping me fix tonight’s supper. Nothing fancy. Just some fried chicken, fried potatoes, butter beans, cornbread and deviled eggs.” Genny eyed the glass-domed cake plate sitting atop an antique sideboard at the far end of the room. “We still have plenty of cake left for dessert. And I froze a half gallon of homemade vanilla ice cream the last time we made some, so there should be more than enough for a couple of scoops each.”

      Jazzy punched in Caleb’s cell number and while the phone rang, she asked Genny, “Will we have time for you to give us a reading before we start supper?”

      “I really don’t want to participate in any kind of reading,” Reve said.

      Jazzy frowned, but quickly recovered from the disappointment. “Okay, then, just give me a reading. Reve can be an observer.”

      “If you’re sure that’s what you want.” Genny didn’t often give readings, only under special circumstances and for special people. She had learned that most people only thought they wanted to delve into the supernatural realm, and when confronted by predications they didn’t like, they wanted to shoot the messenger.

      “I’m sure it’s what I want.” Jazzy slid back her chair, stood and gathered up their empty plates, stacked them and put them in the sink at the same time Genny picked up their cups. “Do we need to go into Granny Butler’s room the way we did the last time?”

      “I’d prefer to do it there. I always feel closer to Granny and her powers in her old room.”

      Out of the corner of her eye, Genny caught a glimpse of Reve’s furrowed brow, her wrinkled nose, her pursed lips. The expression of skepticism and disapproval. “Give me a couple of minutes to prepare, then you two come on up.” She looked right at Reve. “I know you don’t believe, but come upstairs anyway. Consider it an adventure. Or perhaps a learning experience.”

      “She’ll become a believer,” Jazzy said. “Just give her time.”

      Genny offered them both an understanding smile, then left them to go upstairs. The moment she entered the semi-dark bedroom, the scent of roses assailed her. Granny had always worn rose-scented powder, and although she’d been gone for a good many years, her scent lingered. Of course there were times, when the scent was very strong the way it was today, that Genny felt her grandmother’s presence.

      You’re here, aren’t you? She didn’t expect a reply.

      Hurriedly she lit the array of white candles situated throughout the room, then pulled the curtains to darken the room completely, except for the positive light given off by the candles. After arranging two chairs at a small, antique table, she sat in one of the chairs, folded her hands in her lap and waited, her mind settling into a meditative state. Readings were not like visions. During a vision, the images were clearer, sometimes so clear it was as if she were watching them through the lens of a movie camera. But when she did a reading, she seldom received clear pictures. She usually simply felt things, sensed things and sometimes heard a voice inside her head.

      While she waited for Jazzy and Reve—she knew that despite her misgivings, Reve would come—Genny concentrated, all her thoughts on the look-alike redheads. Almost immediately she sensed a deep yearning to protect the twins. Protect the babies.

       Babies?

      Pure white light surrounded Genny. The innocence of newborn babies. Completely void of any evil. Love. Maternal love. A desire to nurture and protect.

      Whoever had given birth to the twins had wanted them, loved them and believed she had to protect them. But from what? From whom?

      Genny focused on Jazzy and Reve again instead of the mother, willing herself to move forward into the present and out of the past. She couldn’t even be certain that it was the real past she sensed, anymore than she knew for certain it was a past that Jazzy and Reve had shared. But her instincts, which were seldom wrong, told her that the two women were twins and the powerful maternal love she sensed did indeed come from their birth mother.

      “Are you ready for us . . . for me?” Jazzy asked.

      Genny opened her eyes. Jazzy stood in the doorway, Reve directly behind her.

      “Yes, please come in.” She motioned to the chair on the opposite side of the antique table. “Sit here, Jazzy.” She nodded to a rocker in the corner. “You may sit there, Reve.”

      Both women did as Genny had instructed. The vibrations from the sisters—the twin sisters—bombarded Genny. Jazzy was eager, hopeful, almost giddy with excitement. On the other hand, Reve was anxious, uncertain, fearful.

      Genny laid her hands, palm up, on the table, closed her eyes and repeated the name “Jasmine” several times. By using that one name, she hoped her gift of sight would connect only with that one person.

      “Happiness. Love. A rejoicing over good news,” Genny said.

      “That means the DNA tests will prove we’re sisters.” Jazzy sneaked a peek at Reve.

      “Two who are one. Forever linked. A bond that cannot be severed.” Suddenly the bright, clear light in her mind grew dim, darkened. Gray shadows filled Genny’s consciousness. She tried to will the negative thoughts away, but they persisted. Grew stronger. “Fear. Fear of discovery. Anger.”

      “Who’s afraid of being discovered?” Jazzy asked. “Is it Aunt Sally? Has she been lying to me all my life?”

      “No, I don’t believe it’s Sally.”

      “Then who?”

      The gray mist within Genny’s mind turned black. Black swirls of malevolence. “I sense a strong combination of love and hatred, of desire and rage.” Genny tried to see who emitted such powerful emotions, but she could not pin them down, couldn’t even discern if the person was male or female. But she did know—without a doubt—that these disturbing feelings were connected with Jazzy. And with Reve. The twins.