“Well, then maybe you shouldn’t be hiring Wynona Jakes to help you solve cases. Because the woman sitting at the defendant’s table is as innocent as my left pinkie toe.”

My uncle shifted in his seat. I felt dread saturate his entire body.

The captain frowned at us. I could feel his knee-jerk reaction to my statement, that reaction 100 percent negative. But he’d learned a lot about me during our last powwow. He knew I could sense things others couldn’t.

“What are you talking about, pumpkin?” Joe asked, so patient with me even when I was doing my darnedest to be mean. But he’d been mean first. “I told you, I never hired Wynona Jakes. It was a setup. Payback, remember? For when you set me up?”

Fine. I set him up.

For happiness!

He wasn’t asking Cookie out when he’d so clearly wanted to, so I constructed a scenario that would change his mind. The plan was to send Cookie on a few dates to make him so jealous, he’d feel compelled to ask her to dinner. Only he figured out what we were doing. For payback, he’d brought in a fake psychic to consult on a case. Or he pretended to, anyway. Thought he’d ruffle my feathers a bit. I got that. I understood. I was setting him up. He set me up. But what he did next – unforgivable.

“You know what you did,” I said to him, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I really don’t.”

I closed my eyes, counted to ten, then said as calmly as I could, “The book.”

After taking a moment to absorb my meaning, he doubled over into a fit of coughs to suppress his laughter. Everyone looked, but he recovered quickly, coughing into his handkerchief, his face red with humor. “She did it?” he asked from behind the white material. “Wynona Jakes sent you the book?”

“I didn’t even know she had a book out,” I said, my words a hiss through my teeth. “She is as fake as a  p**n  star’s orgasm. How did she get a book deal?”

He bent toward me and said in an understanding whisper, “Is that what all this is about?”

“Maybe.” I stared straight ahead, unable to meet his gaze.

“She asked if I thought you’d like a copy of her book.”

“She knew damned well I didn’t want one. I made my opinion of who she was and what she did perfectly clear the day we met.”

People like Jakes were dangerous. Period. And those who followed her, who believed the cockamamie lies she dished out… well, I felt sorry for them. There was the real deal, and then there were the charlatans. She’d ruined people’s lives and refused to take responsibility, to come clean to the public. Maybe someone would have to expose her. Or, I thought, conjuring a plan, I could just have Reyes sever her spine.

No. Severing spines rarely solved anything. And I couldn’t turn to his spine-severing service every time I needed to incapacitate someone. The consequences were so permanent.

“I didn’t know she actually sent you a book, pumpkin. Is that why you’ve been ignoring my calls?”

“I haven’t ignored all of them,” I said, defensive.

“Okay, well, when you do pick up, you pretend like we have a bad connection.”

My shoulders concaved.

“Sweetheart?”

“I thought you were making fun of me. Of my reaction to her.”

“Like you have anything to worry about from someone like Wynona Jakes.”

“But she’s making money, Uncle Bob. Off innocent people.”

“And she’s the first?”

“Detective,” the captain whispered, his impatience palpable. “The defendant.”

Ubie nodded. “Right. Back to this. Are you telling me this woman is innocent?” He gestured toward the defendant.

I nodded. “Completely.”

The captain cursed under his breath and leaned toward me. “This isn’t a game, Davidson.”

Before I could say, Really? ’Cause it looks so much like tennis, the judge cleared her throat. Loudly. My gaze snapped to the front of the courtroom to see the witness being led away in cuffs on his way back to prison.

The judge, a large African American woman who could kick my ass so fast, I’d need CPR – she’d done it before – leveled a hard glare on me. Refusing to take all the blame, I pointed to Uncle Bob.

“Mizzz Davidson,” she said. Her voice, loud and razor sharp, echoed against the wood walls. Everyone turned to look at us. At me.

Judge Quimby always called me Miz Davidson, buzzing out the Z sound like a bee to let me know just how unimpressed she was with my existence. And, like the sound of running water, it had a way of making me want to pee myself.

I clenched Virginia just in case. “Your Honor,” I said, my cheeks burning in mortification.

“Would you care to enlighten me as to why you are in my courtroom when you have been banned from ever stepping inside my humble hall of justice until the day one of us dies?”

I refrained from mentioning the fact that if I died first, the point would be moot. “Oh, that,” I said, adding soft laughter. “I just —”

I glanced over at the defendant. She was the only one in the entire room not looking at me. She sat with her head bowed as absolute misery washed over her. The man had lied and she was filled with anger, hurt, and hopelessness. Two women who bore a striking resemblance to the defendant sat directly behind her. One looked like her mother. Same soft brown hair pulled back. Same work-hardened hands as she wiped at a tear and leaned forward to rub the defendant’s shoulder. But the one next to the older woman caught my interest the most. The emotions rolling out of her were filled with deception. I strained to single out her feelings, which were stronger than most of those around her.