"You have GOT to be kidding me."
"Can you stop? Please? You've been yelling that in my ear. It's not a big car."
"You HAVE got to be KIDDING me."
"Roxi, I swear to God I will turn this car around." Stella hit the steering wheel with her hand, imitating the way she would occasionally hit the drums as she drove. This time, it was in frustration.
"Roxi, my love, it was many years ago. We've both moved on. She is a very old flame." Jayna scratched behind her cat's ears, his purrs agreeing with her every word.
The nonchalance of her words made Roxi wonder just how brief of a chapter Rosalind was. It maybe wasn't the fact that Rosalind was a woman, but that her aunt had never mentioned her before. The DeLuci sisters and their Jayna had barely any secrets between them. She reasoned that if there was that much electricity between them, there had to be a more complex story than "they moved on."
It made Roxi feel a tad bit guilty of her own dirty little secret by the name of Dean Winchester.
Roxi shook her head, her elbow resting on the tiny shelf that the window made, freezing air gushing in through the open glass. The car was old enough that Stella had no way of closing the window remotely; Roxi had stubbornly hand-cranked the window open to feel that crisp January air.
"I just can't believe it." Roxi's dark curls fluttered through the open window. "Am I the only straight one in this car?"
Stella shrugged and turned her wheel hard into a tiny parking lot, and into a parking space. "We're finally here."
Roxi unbuckled herself, but Stella made a loud, "MMMMmmm no." at her as she popped open the cracked glove compartment at Roxi's knees.
"What?"
"I'm going in alone." She grabbed her fake reporter badge that Sam made for her, and slapped the glove compartment shut. She hung the badge around her neck. "I'll be in and out, just need the police report. Besides, the three of us as reporters seems like overkill."
"At least pull your tank top down a bit. You look Amish."
Stella closed the door and rolled her eyes, walked a few hesitant paces and then ran back to open the blue Chevy's door. "Do you know if my blazer's in the trunk?"
Roxi nodded. "It might be crinkled."
Stella smirked, "Can you pop the trunk for me?"
"Of course. Fake lenses are back there, too." Roxi leaned down and pulled the leaver next to the driver's seat, and the small blue car lurched as Stella opened and closed the rear, re-emerging bespeckled, her thick blue denim jacket replaced with a slightly wrinkled black blazer.
Before entering the station, she turned back to the car and adjusted her bosom, her younger (and bustier) sister giving her a thumbs-up of approval.
Roxi shifted in the passenger seat, scooting herself around so that she could see why her aunt was so quiet. "We should start reading that journal of the medium."
Jayna peeked over the pale blue moleskin journal. "Way ahead of you, love." She turned the journal around so that the young huntress could see two styles of handwriting in a two-page spread. "The Madame had a scribe pen the last entry."
Roxi squinted at the difference between the looping lines and the last entry of cramped scribbles on the page. She raised her gaze to match her aunt's round hazel-amber eyes, trying to read in her if it could be the person – or thing – that attached Madame de Rothschild.
Stella licked her thumb and rubbed a smudge off of her fake-reporter badge. It seemed like maybe a stray glove compartment M&M melted over her face – there was a swirl of chocolate and red gunk in her photograph's hair.
As she pushed in the second set of doors she contemplated putting on her, "I Am A High Powered Reporter, Don't Ask Me Too Many Questions Or I Might Burn Down Your House And Frame You For It" face. Instead, she did her best to soften her eyes and try not to scowl. She consciously relaxed her forehead and exhaled in a smile.
"Hi there," Stella said, glanced down at the desk cop's nameplate. "Officer Sullivan." She said officer like she imagined a mistress might, crossing her fingers. She felt like she was betraying every feminist instinct in her body that puked at the sound of her too-high voice trill officer, but she didn't want to waste any time without a backup.
She judged him right – his bushy and grey-spotted mustache took an upturn and she could see the laugh lines in his five-o-clock shadow. "Hi there" He grinned; spinach or broccoli or something green was still stuck on an incisor. His voice was higher than she expected judging his wide stature.
"My name is Stella White, I'm a reporter from the Salem Daily." She smiled again, sensing a prickle of distrust in the officer's tired eyes. "I'm here to pick up the police reports for the psychic case?"
"Miss," he scoffed, "We're not trying to cause a panic in time for the festival. It brings in big revenue for the town so we're trying to investigate this police matter quietly."
"Officer," she tried smiling again, but it came off more like she was baring her teeth at him. She closed her mouth. "These reports are public record, are they not?"
"On an active investigation? Unless you're another officer—"
"Please, I'm not trying to obstruct justice…or anything, just investigating a story that I was assigned to." He raised his thick eyebrows at her. "One that I am…" She twirled a short wave of her hair around her finger. "very interested in."
He rolled his eyes, but Stella could see his pupils dilate. "Which one?" He said reluctantly.
"There are multiple?"
He nodded as he stood, and Stella noticed a faded coffee stain that was being hidden by his navy tie. "This is Salem, Miss. Home of the psychics. Are you even from around here?"
Stella's stomach dropped and she pushed her fake lenses back up the bridge of her nose. "Just moved here two weeks ago. It's my…first report for this paper."
This seemed to impress Officer Sullivan. Playing up the young virgin journalist seemed to be working better than Stella expected. She continued, "I really want to make a good first impression. I'll take any open cases involving a violent Psychic murder or attack."
He looked at her strangely. Had she spoken too explicitly too quickly? "Please?" She tried.
"We have three open cases right now." He slapped down three beige manila folders on the counter, her short locks breezing up behind her ears with the air. "Copies. Enjoy, Miss White."
Stella beamed triumphantly, "I'll be in touch!" She scribbled down her cell phone number. "For any new information." She raised her eyebrows, hoping he would accept it. He nodded again and slipped it in to his breast pocket and patted it.
She wrapped her arms around the manila folders, and started to saunter back out the front glass doors, until she heard the door slam behind her and shook the building.
"Great meeting you boys and looking forward to working this case with you. We don't get a lot of FBI way up here in little old Salem." A hearty voice belly laughed.
"Fucking Christ." Stella muttered, frozen in the middle of the fluorescent-lit station lobby. She waited for the inevitable pair of footsteps that forked around her.
"Well well…look what the black cat dragged in," Dean grinned.
Stella pursed her lips. She was hoping this case wouldn't impede on their vacation, and if the Winchesters were here, it could only mean that it was about to get worse.
"Great to see you Agents. What band is it this time? I seem to forget your names from our last encounter." She said it a little too loud and Sam pressed her shoulder forward with a giant palm.
Sam tried leaning down to her level, proving difficult to do while walking, and said through gritted teeth. "Agents Wetton and Downes."
"Mmm, no wonder you're annoyed, Sam. You didn't pick the band." Stella pushed open the glass door with a free hand and tilted her head at Dean. "Asia? Really?"