"Or course you did."
"No, I didn't. Just like I didn't say anything about my hair."
"I heard it plain as day."
"No, Detective, you didn't."
He looked up at me from the new couch. There was a bit of pink frosting already caught in his thick, cop mustache. He looked at me, frowned, and then slowly wiped his mustache clean.
He said, "Your lips never moved."
"No, they didn't."
"But I heard that bit about the frosting in my mustache."
"Apparently."
"What's going on, Sam?"
"I think," I said, sitting next to him and patting him on the knee, "that you're reading my mind."
"Your mind?"
"Yes."
"Ah, hell."
Chapter Two
After a moment, Sherbet said, "What, exactly, does that mean, Samantha?"
"It means exactly that, Detective. You're reading my mind."
The detective didn't look so good. He sat forward, rubbed his eyes with a hand that was bigger than even Kingsley's. I noticed scarring on his knuckles that I had missed before. He looked down at his own knuckles, and said, "I used to be a fighter. A brawler, really. A real hothead back in the day."
"You're doing it again, Detective."
"But you said - "
"I didn't say anything."
Some of the color drained from his face. "I feel sick."
"Hang on, Detective."
I left him alone for a moment while I tossed Anthony's undies in the laundry room. When I returned, the big detective was apparently over his initial shock. He was not only holding the greasy bag of donuts, but had just consumed the last of the pink donut. All was right in the world.
"Not quite," said Sherbet, licking his fingers, but then suddenly stopped. He looked up at me. "I'm doing it again, ain't I?"
"Yes, you are."
"What's happening to me, Sam?"
I sat next to him and gave him my "penny for your thoughts" face. He smelled of Old Spice and donut grease.
I said, "You're not losing your mind, Detective. Sometimes those closest to me have access to my thoughts. I also suspect it's because you're one of the few who know what I really am. I've put a lot of trust in you. And you in me. It has something to do with that." I smiled brightly at him. "So, as you can see, having access to my thoughts is a rare privilege."
He snorted. "I feel honored." He was about to turn back to his bag of donuts when a thought occurred to him. "So does that mean you have access to my thoughts, too?"