“So, Derek,” her father said.

Oh, boy, I thought. Here it comes.

“Ellen tells me you’re an investigator of sorts.”

I smiled. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“I’m curious what the ‘of sorts’ means.” He gave me that look that said, “Answer properly, and I may let you keep dating my daughter.”

I wasn’t about to lie to him, but I wasn’t about to give him the out-and-out truth, either. “I work on investigations with the police.”

“So, you’re a detective?” he asked.

“No,” I told him. Okay, fine. “I’m a psychic.”

And there it was. The Frown^tm. “Oh. You’re one of those crackpots.”

That irritated me. “No. I’m not. I have abilities that allow me to find things.” Ellen looked at me, pleading. “No, sweetheart. He wants to play this game. So, let’s play.”

He laughed, derisively.

“I understand your Porsche was stolen. Would you like me to find it?” I leaned over and whispered, “Or don’t you want your wife to know about the blonde you gave it to?”

He paled. So much for that little problem.

Checkmate.