Page 6 of Kill Me Again: Psychics

I tilted my head, studying her. “Why would this paragon of financial stability be interested in me? I don’t even own my own bed. Or a microwave. Or a TV. Or a―”

“You did this morning.” It was a mistake to remind her of Carl. “Call him.”

“What?”

“Call Carl. He has a phone, right?”

He did. I should know. I’d not only bought it for him, but I’d been paying for the contract. I added it to my mental list of things to cancel. “And say what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Bring all my things back, you absolute tosser.”

“Nice opener,” I said, hitting call. In news that would surprise no one, it rang once before going straight to voicemail. “He’s blocked me.”

“Predictable.”

“Yeah.” I took a deep breath in, hurt and mortification making their way through the veil of numbness. We might not have been anywhere close to being in love, but I’d genuinely thought we were something. But it seemed everything I’d done for Carl didn’t matter a jot to him, and I didn’t know what that made me. Gullible, I supposed, which, I wasn’t going to lie, definitely stung. Even if I wouldn’t admit as much to Verity.

Verity checked her watch. “Much as I hate to leave you in your hour of need, I have to go. I need to pick up Wayne’s mother from her hair appointment. I’ll never hear the end of it if I’m late. I’m sorry. If I could stay until the police get here, I would.”

“The police?”

“Carl burgled you. You need a crime number for the insurance.”

“Right.” I nodded earnestly as I escorted her to the door, not ready to admit insurance required a policy in the first place. One lecture was enough for today.

She swung around before I could open the door, her expression one of concern. “What about your latest book?”

“What about it?”

“Did he take your laptop? Was it backed up?”

“No. I had it with me. And yes, it’s backed up.”

“Well, that’s something.”

“It’ll be fine,” I said. “Things can be replaced.” At least they could if you had the money, which I didn’t. I’d have to put in some extra days teaching history at whatever school I could get the work, which would put me even further behind with writing my book. But at least, as Verity had pointed out, I still had a laptop to write on.

Silver linings.

Verity’s parting words were a reminder to get the locks changed because Carl still had a key. Once she’d gone, I returned to the living room, its sparseness unchanged. I plonked myself on the sofa and closed my eyes, remembering Verity’s words about it not being worth stealing. The cheek of it. Although I recognized the irony of that thought as I shifted position and a spring jabbed me in the arse.

I considered calling the police. A minute of imagining the conversation was enough to stop me. It wasn’t like they’d be able to track Carl down, and even if they could, it would be his word against mine. He’d probably convince them it had been a lover’s tiff. It was better to cut my losses and replace everything. That was way down the list, though. Verity was right about one thing: I needed a locksmith.

She’d been gone less than five minutes when my phone buzzed with a message from her. In case I didn’t make myself clear, here it is in writing. LEAVE THE FUCKED-UP PRETTY BOYS ALONE.

She probably had a point.