Glass Eye: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective

The air in Sneak Peek, Zandra's 'psychic services' storefront, was thick with the scent of old paper and simmering resentment. Sunlight, fractured by dusty crystals and beaded curtains, cast an uneven glow across the worn desk where Zandra sat, her oversized purple gown shimmering faintly. Another one.

She didn't need a third eye to see it. The woman stepping through the door was a cop, plain as the 'Psychic Services' sign above Zandra's head. The slight tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes scanned the room, cataloging exits and threats – it was all too familiar. What would it be this time? A thinly veiled threat? A reminder of her place as the town's resident 'witch'?

Zandra let her usual crinkled smile settle on her face, a practiced mask for the simmering contempt beneath. She knew the game, and she was always ready to play. The woman took a seat, and Zandra began her mental checklist, the rapid assessment that formed the backbone of her 'psychic' act. Short blonde hair, trimmed nails, baggy flannel concealing a weapon. Classic.

“I sense you had an appointment today,” Zandra began, flipping open her faux-leather planner with a wink. An old joke, but it always broke the ice. The woman, 'Lynda' as she introduced herself, smiled back, revealing two slightly darker incisors – a tell-tale sign of a hard coffee drinker. The dance had begun.