holidays, birthdays, and when they needed something, like a co-signer for a loan.
It was those damn telemarketers, and they had already disturbed his dinner twice this evening. Dora had been too polite to tell them to take the number off their calling list, but he would make sure they never called his number again.
The question was, how had they gotten his unlisted number in the first place? Dora must have entered it on one of her online orders again. He’d told her a thousand times not to use the home number, but she kept forgetting.
Snatching the phone off the cradle, he barked, “Who is it?”
“Hello, Mr. Roberts. This is Calvin from Generpro. Has your family’s quality of life been impacted by the frequent power outages in your neighborhood? Our standby generators switch on the moment power is out.”
As a sense of unnatural calm washed over him, he pulled out a barstool and sat down. Something in the guy’s voice made him sound like a good friend, like someone whom Roberts wanted to talk to.
“Who is it?” Dora asked.
Roberts turned to his wife. “It’s a telemarketer from Generpro.”
“Oh, good. With all those damn power outages, we need a standby generator.”
The telemarketer continued his pitch, “Owning a Generpro standby generator provides thousands of homeowners like you with on-demand reliable power. If you schedule an appointment with one of our representatives today, I can offer you a twenty percent discount on the installation and three years of free service.”
“Perhaps some other time.” Roberts ended the call.
That was odd. He’d wanted to schedule the appointment, but something compelled him to end the call.
Dora glared at him. “Why did you hang up on him? I told you we needed it.”
“We should do some research first. Those big whole-house generators are expensive, and I don’t want to hire the first Joe Schmo who calls.” The words tumbled out of his mouth as if he had the speech prepared and rehearsed, and it didn’t end there. “I’m in the mood for a beer.” He grabbed his car keys off the hook. “I’m going to the supermarket. Do you need me to get anything for you?”
His wife regarded him with a raised brow. “Since when do you drink beer after dinner?”
“Since today. Do you need me to get anything or not?”
Dora sighed. “Ever since Edgar’s death, you’ve been acting strange, and it’s understandable. You two were friends for many years, and you must miss him terribly. But you refuse to talk about it, and that’s not healthy, Elijah. You need to let yourself grieve. Perhaps you should talk to a therapist?”
“I’m fine, Dora. Don’t psychoanalyze me.”
She shrugged. “Suit yourself. Get a five-pound bag of potatoes and a box of laundry detergent.”
“Is that all?”
“I can’t think of anything else.”
“I won’t be long.” He patted his pocket before heading out.
That was another strange thing he’d been doing lately. He was carrying around the list of potential new paranormal talents that the system was flagging and adding names to it as they came in. Most would prove to be duds, and he would be lucky if one of them had actual talent, but why the hell was he taking the list home with him each day?
It wasn’t as if he wanted to make additional background checks after hours. Dora didn’t like it when he brought work home. Hell, he didn’t bother doing that during office hours either. He had others do that for him.
The supermarket was a ten-minute drive from his house, and as he entered, Roberts headed straight for the beer aisle. He was in the mood for Blue Moon for some reason.
A young man approached him. “Excuse me. A good friend of yours needs to talk to you.” He handed Roberts a phone.
As if in a daze, he took the device and brought it to his ear. “Hello?”
“Good evening, Elijah,” a familiar voice said. “Do you have the list with you?”
Roberts patted his pocket. “Yes.”
“Excellent. Hand it over to my associate.”
“Yes.” Roberts pulled out the folded piece of paper and gave it to the guy who’d handed him the phone.
“Is it done?” asked the man on the phone.
“Yes.”
“Did you fire Marisol?”
“I did.”
“Do you know what she’s up to?”
“Probably planning my assassination.” For some reason, Roberts felt compelled to tell the truth, even that which he hadn’t admitted to himself before.
His fear of the crazy bitch wasn’t pure paranoia. With her ability, she could have been making millions on the stock market or selling whatever to whoever. Marisol had most