Текст книги "Day Shift"

Автор книги: Charlaine Harris

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

28

Manfred had to leave his work desk untended the next day to honor his promise to drive into Davy to see Arthur Smith. Though he grumbled internally about leaving his work, and he did need to talk more to Barry and Olivia about what had happened when they were in the Goldthorpe house (there’d been no chance for him to get the full story), he had to admit he was anxious to hear whatever Arthur had to tell him. Davy only seemed a large town in comparison to Midnight. Though it was just a few minutes’ drive north, Davy had many more restaurants and shops. It was also the county seat, with the usual cluster of lawyers around the usual courthouse. Since Davy was also on a small river where rafting and canoeing were possible, the town conducted a brisk tourist trade in the summer and early fall.

The law enforcement agencies in the town had recently consolidated into one building, a renovated school. The sheriff’s department, the jail, and two courtrooms were in the same building, and the ambulance service was one block away, the fire department a block after that. Manfred had expected a little district that ran on emergencies and crime to be bustling, but not in Davy. There were no fires, nor anyone in need of rescue at the moment. The sheriff’s department seemed just as quiet. The jail had a separate entrance at the other side of the building, so Manfred didn’t even have to share parking space with visitors. He was not at all tempted to find out if there was more bustle over on the jail side. He was nearly phobic about cages; he had not gone to a zoo since his first visit to the Memphis zoo with his school class.

The lobby of the sheriff’s department was spick-and-span, thanks to an inmate who was mopping it with great vigor. Another inmate was dusting the leaves of the large potted plant by the door. They were both wearing traditional orange jumpsuits.

A female officer in uniform was behind the desk. Manfred’s heart sank when he recognized Officer Gomez, who’d been to Midnight before and shown herself unsympathetic in the extreme. She glared at Manfred, her round face hardening with disapproval. They’d never talked, but apparently she recognized him. Or maybe she just hated small men with facial piercings.

“Officer Gomez, what a pleasure to see you. I hope you’re doing well.” Manfred didn’t even try to summon up a smile, but he did manage to sound civil.

Arthur Smith came through an open doorway behind Gomez, just in time to hear her say, “Yeah, asshole, what do you want?”

There was a moment of silence that could only be described as pregnant. Manfred was fighting the sudden temptation to grin, Gomez was sharply aware that someone was behind her, and Arthur was furious. The mopping prisoner sniggered, and the dusting prisoner stifled a smile.

“Officer Gomez,” said Arthur, the care he was taking to make his voice calm and smooth apparent in every syllable.

“Sir,” she said. She didn’t dare to turn around. She kept her eyes fixed down on the telephone at the desk.

“After I talk to Mr. Bernardo—a taxpayer and a citizen of this county who has never been charged with, much less convicted of, any crime—you and I are going to have a conversation. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Manfred could read Gomez’s posture. She did not lift her eyes because she didn’t want to meet Manfred’s. She was afraid he would be triumphant or gleeful.

Not much, he thought. Hardly at all.

“Please come back to my office, Manfred,” Arthur said, sounding close to normal.

“Thanks, good to see you.” Manfred worked to make his own greeting nonchalant.

When they were in Arthur’s very modest office with the door shut, Arthur said, “What was that about? Has she behaved this way before?”

“Short answer is yes. She’s not a fan of Midnight. She answered a call out there when we were worried about motorcycles buzzing the streets, basically told us to go to hell.”

“You didn’t tell me about this.”

“The motorcycles left when they saw the patrol car, so just the fact that she showed up worked. Telling you about her attitude seemed a little like tattling to Daddy, I guess. Besides, Fiji threatened Gomez with her cat.”

Arthur smiled. “I would have liked to see that.”

“We also figured, maybe the next time we called it might be Gomez who responded again. We wanted to stay on her good side, just in case.”

“I apologize. I try to run a good department.”

“I’m sure you do.” Manfred shrugged. “Cops are just people. They have their likes and dislikes. It would be nice if she could be pleasant and respectful. But as long as she does her job, that’s what we need.” Manfred felt noble and surprisingly adult after his little speech.

“It doesn’t sound like she did her job that day.”

“You’ll have to ask her about that.”

“I intend to.” Arthur nodded sharply, as though that topic was closed and they should move on to other things.

“Putting that aside,” Manfred said agreeably, “you were telling me about what killed Rachel. And I have a question.”

“What’s that? I may or may not know the answer.”

“Would it have been fatal even if she hadn’t been sick?”

“Yes, probably. Of course, I haven’t read the autopsy report or talked to the medical examiner. Not my place, not my case. But that’s what the Bonnet Park cops say.”

“So her blood pressure just dropped? Until she couldn’t live anymore?”

“Essentially, yes.” Arthur lifted some papers on the desk in front of him, then dropped them. “The important point as far as you’re concerned is that unless something was radically different about Rachel Goldthorpe’s metabolism, she ingested that medicine before she got to your room. Probably forty-five minutes to an hour before, but it could have been a little later.”

Manfred felt overwhelmingly relieved. “How do you know?” he said.

“She died less than fifteen minutes after she’d entered your room. The toxicologist says that makes it almost a hundred percent certain that she ingested it earlier than that.”

“So I’m off the hook for putting pills in her water bottle and causing her death. But I’m still on the hook for the theft of her jewelry.”

“Based solely on Lewis’s words.” Arthur leaned back in his chair, which creaked alarmingly. They devoted a minute to thinking about that.

Footsteps went by outside, the telephone rang, voices rose and fell in conversation. A man laughed, full out, as if he’d heard the funniest joke ever. Manfred had the sense that life flowed all around them, that they were on an island in the middle of a stream. It was curiously comfortable and personal.

“I have to worry about the jewelry?” Manfred said.

Arthur spread his hands. “Lewis is acting so irrational that the Bonnet Park police hate to deal with him. But they have to take what he says seriously. And the jewelry is not in the house. There are six pieces that aren’t accounted for. They’re insured for quite a large amount.”

“As I told the cops there, she told me she hid the jewelry from Lewis.”

“As he told the cops there, she was carrying it in her purse and you stole it while she died. He said versus he said.”

“They searched the room. They searched my luggage. They searched her purse. They searched her poor old body, I’m sure.”

Arthur patted the air to tell Manfred to calm down. “Until it shows up, you need to be concerned. I wish you had a recording of Mrs. Goldthorpe saying those words.” He stood up. “I’m sorry, Manfred, but they’re bringing in a suspect in those convenience store robberies. I’ve got to question him.”

“Sure, and thanks for the good news.” It just wasn’t good enough. Manfred hoped his talk with Olivia and Barry today was productive. He was ready to feel free again.

29

To Manfred’s astonishment, he had a guest when he returned from Davy. And she was as mad as anyone he’d ever seen. Magdalena Powell pulled up in her car just as he got out of his, and Olivia (with perfect timing) came out of the side door of the pawnshop and walked across the dry brown lawn.

Magdalena shot out of her car and launched right in. “Forging my letterhead to send a bogus letter from me! Don’t deny it. I’m seriously considering bringing a case against you. You’d never get out of jail once I got through with you.”

“Hello, Ms. Powell,” Manfred said, spreading a big dollop of calm all over his voice. “Before you get any more upset, let me tell you the circumstances.”

“Ms. Powell, I have to confess,” Olivia said, her voice so charming that Manfred turned to her with his mouth hanging open. “It wasn’t Manfred. It was me.”

It was hard to say who was more astonished by Olivia’s confession.

“And you are?”

“Olivia Charity. I’m Manfred’s neighbor. I’ve been so worried about him. In trying to get him out of this terrible predicament he’s in, I confess I went overboard. But when you hear the result of the stunt I pulled, I think you’ll forgive me. I had Manfred’s welfare at heart.” She looked at Manfred meaningfully. The ball was in his court.

Manfred made his jaw snap shut and said numbly, “Please come in. I can tell we need to talk for a while.”

“We sure do,” Magdalena said, though in a somewhat modified tone. She swept into the house when Manfred stood back, and Manfred gave Olivia a big, silent, questioning expression when Magdalena’s back was to them. Olivia just smiled. Then Magdalena turned around and the moment was over.

“Um, please, come in and sit down,” Manfred said. He’d had a lot of visitors lately, and he was beginning to wonder if Midnight was isolated enough. As he turned to close the front door, he saw a naked man walking on the sidewalk across the street. He froze for a second. The man was Diederik, and Diederik was definitely fully grown. Manfred pushed the door shut before Magdalena caught a glimpse. He thought, What the hell?

But he turned to face his guests, who hadn’t seen. He did his best to act as though they were the sole focus of his attention.

“Can I get you a glass of water or some coffee or some tea?” he asked, not too surprised his voice came out funny.

“An explanation will be sufficient,” Magdalena said, sounding every inch the lawyer.

“Please, let’s sit in the living room,” Manfred said, shepherding them farther into the house. Anything to get away from the front window.

With tactical precision, Magdalena sat in the armchair so that she could look at Manfred and Olivia at the same time. “All right,” she said, her hands planted on her knees. “Let’s have it.”

Manfred was more than ready to leave the explanation to Olivia, since he had no idea what she was going to say. He was surprised when she gave Magdalena a factual account of their trip to Bonnet Park the day before—factual, that is, if you believed in telepathy and if you didn’t know that Olivia had a lot of experience as a sort of covert operative.

To give the lawyer credit, she listened with every appearance of attention and interest. If her slight smile got tighter and tighter, that was only what Manfred expected.

At the end of Olivia’s story, Magdalena said, “You know this is a bunch of bullshit, right?”

“I know to most lawyers it would sound like the chitchat of a total nut,” Olivia said. “But I also know you’ve done legal work for my . . . boyfriend, Lemuel Bridger.”

“Yes, well, Lemuel is a real person to whom I have spoken on more than one occasion,” Magdalena said. “He’s not a mind-reader or a psychic.”

“But he is an energy-sucking vampire,” Manfred said brightly.

Magdalena looked down, as if she didn’t want to go on record as admitting even that much. “Lemuel is unusual,” she conceded.

Olivia didn’t even try to conceal her smirk. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it,” she said. “But the important thing is that Manfred is telling the truth. And if we hadn’t gotten into the house to see for ourselves, I would never have known where the jewelry is. But now, I know.”

That was what Manfred wanted to know. They hadn’t had a chance to talk alone on the drive home. “Where?” he asked eagerly.

“Where is it?” Magdalena leaned forward.

“It’s in the globe.” Olivia leaned back, smiling triumphantly. “Remember? Well, maybe you wouldn’t, since you weren’t yourself. Rachel told us she saw the world. World, get it?”

“The globe,” he said blankly.

“The globe in Morton Goldthorpe’s study.”

“How do you figure that?” Magdalena was skeptical, to say the least.

“I’ve seen another one made by the same company, a globe that was designed to hold guns,” Olivia said. “It has a fitted compartment inside so they won’t shift around and make noise if someone spins the globe.”

“But you haven’t had an opportunity to open the globe to test this theory of yours?”

“No, I couldn’t do it with Lewis standing by. He would turn around and accuse us of planting the jewelry to escape prosecution.”

“Since you’ve been in the house, that is certainly what a police officer might assume.” Magdalena wasn’t as angry as she had been, but she wasn’t thrilled about Olivia’s information, either. She was thinking it through. “Say you’re right, and the jewelry is in the globe. How will we go about proving that in a way that won’t leave a shadow on my client?”

“Let me just add another detail here,” Manfred said, feeling that the two women were settling his future without his input. “I just came from a conversation with the sheriff in Davy.”

“You went to talk to the sheriff without me.” Magdalena’s temperature was rising again.

“Since he’s not the Bonnet Park police, yeah. He had something to tell me that we didn’t get around to yesterday,” Manfred said. “Since he’d driven down here to tell me, it seemed like the least I could do. And what he told me was that apparently Rachel was murdered.”

Both women were absolutely stunned. Manfred took care to look at Olivia directly, and he could swear that she was genuinely taken aback. Relief flooded him, but he was very careful not to show it.

“How?” Olivia asked. “How was she murdered? When I saw her in the lobby, she seemed to be unwell but not anywhere close to death.”

“It’s likely that someone crushed several of her blood pressure pills and put them in her water bottle. I guess there’s a remote possibility she did that herself, but she was really sane, and she did not have a suicidal thought in her head.”

“Someone who had access to the pills and the bottle,” Magdalena said. “That limits the field considerably.” She smiled. “In fact, that means it has to have been the maid or the son, right?”

“No, not exactly. I wish it were that clear-cut. When she dropped her purse in the lobby,” Manfred said, “everything fell out of it, including the water bottle. So it’s just possible that the bottle was switched there. It was pretty distinctive: a black refillable bottle with butterflies on it. I say it must have been a switch—I can’t see how anyone could drop the medicine into the bottle she already had, not out there in public with so many eyes watching. To say nothing of the security cameras. To say nothing of having to ensure Rachel dropped her purse in the first place. To say nothing of the timing of the pill ingestion being wrong, according to the postmortem.”

“I helped her pick her things up,” Olivia said immediately. “She was really flustered and embarrassed. And I handed her everything I found. But I don’t remember a water bottle. Either I simply didn’t register it, or someone else must have picked it up.” She looked momentarily abstracted, as if she were re-creating the scene in her head. “There were lots of people helping her, including a police officer. It took more time than you’d think. Stuff had rolled under the furniture.”

Manfred gave himself permission to believe Olivia was innocent. What he said out loud was, “Since Lewis is going to be a hot suspect in his mother’s murder, do we still need to worry about the jewel theft?”

“Yes, of course,” Magdalena said, as if he were an idiot. “He hasn’t been arrested yet. Even if he is, he’s got a good lawyer, as I think you know, Mr. Bernardo.”

Manfred winced. “Yeah, he sneaked my last lawyer out from under me, but I’m pleased with my representation now.” He managed a weak smile, which Magdalena didn’t bother to return.

“Besides,” Magdalena said, pursuing her own train of thought, “his fingerprints could logically be on the bottle. So could the maid’s. Maybe Rachel kept her bottle in the household refrigerator. They could have moved it from one side to another, innocently. They both had access to her pills. And thousands of people take that same medicine. Perhaps the pills could have been introduced into the bottle of water much earlier. She might not have used it in a while. You say she’d been confined to the house, sick, and maybe she only took the bottle with her when she was riding in her car. I’m sure there were many occasions when people were in the house prior to Rachel leaving for her appointment with you. Her entire family was surely in and out during her illness. All of those people might have a reason for wanting her dead at that point in time. Maybe her daughters got impatient for their inheritance.”

Manfred wondered if he looked as dismayed as he felt. “But none of that is true,” he protested feebly.

“It all might be true,” the lawyer said. “There’s plenty of doubt there. Unless the case against Lewis gets strengthened somehow . . . for example, if Bertha the maid says she saw him putting something into his mother’s water bottle, or if he has a girlfriend who taped him confessing to killing his mother . . . there might not be enough real evidence to charge him with the crime.”

Olivia nodded. “I’m afraid that’s the case,” she said. “Of course, Lewis is so unpredictable that he might confess. Though I don’t think so. I think he’s all about Lewis, all about getting everything that’s his due and then some.”

“So really, I’m no better off? Even now that it really seems probable that Lewis killed his mother?”

Magdalena sighed heavily. “I don’t think so. Plus, now you’ve made me angry with you, with good reason, though your friend Olivia is taking the blame. And we have to decide how to get the police to check the globe.”

Olivia said, “Can I just apologize to you very sincerely for using a trick that seemed brilliant to me at the moment?”

“You can apologize, but I hardly think that’s enough.”

Manfred groped around for a response. “What else can we do, Magdalena?” He felt he had to include Olivia in the atonement, since she’d shouldered the blame.

Magdalena sighed again and looked off into the distance. “You can give my mother a reading. A personal reading.”

Olivia looked away, too, to hide her smile, but Manfred saw it. He kept his own face solemn. “Your mom’s a follower? I’m flattered.”

“She is. It’s the flaw in her character. Otherwise, she’s a sane and rational woman. Active in her community and in her church. But she’s a fan of the Great Manfredo. Every time you put on your website that you’re going to do some personal readings in whatever city, she figures out the cost of going and having the reading, and every time she can’t quite bring herself to part with the money. But if you would go to her home and give her a reading, I will forgive your deception in forging my letterhead. I’m choosing to blame you instead of Miss Charity, here, because it was done on your behalf. If you ever do such a thing again, I will sue your ass.”

“Where does your mother live?” Manfred accepted those terms happily. He was relieved. He didn’t care if Magdalena saw that. In fact, he was glad she did.

“Mother lives in Killeen. Her name is Agnes. You’ll have to set up a time with her. I’m telling her this is her belated Mother’s Day present.”

“I’d be delighted.” Manfred wondered how long the drive to Killeen was, but he would start out right now if he had to. He was just relieved she didn’t live somewhere even farther away.

He had a definite presentiment that he would meet Magdalena’s mother, so at least he would live a little while longer. He wandered to the front window, where the curtains were drawn, to see what was happening now. The Rev was outside the chapel. He was pulling a long hose back to the fence enclosing the pet cemetery. He was fully clothed, though he was not wearing his usual black jacket. The boy—man?—was nowhere in sight, thank God.

“Now that that’s settled,” Magdalena said, her voice sharp to demand his attention, “have you and Miss Charity had an idea about how to tell the police where to look?”

“Anonymous phone call?”

“From where?”

“I could drive to a town between here and Dallas and find a pay phone.” Olivia sounded doubtful.

“Yes, but there aren’t any isolated ones anymore. At least, not any that you could assume would function. There are some at rest stops, but those are usually under camera surveillance.”

“True,” Olivia said. “Okay, cell phones are out. We could buy a phone, but I suppose they keep serial numbers somewhere?” Of course Olivia had a burner phone in her apartment, but she wasn’t about to admit that to a lawyer. “What about an anonymous letter?”

Manfred grimaced in distaste. His grandmother had gotten some. That was a very bad memory. The viciousness of them, the cowardice of people who wouldn’t reveal their names, had nauseated him.

Of course, if he sent one, it wouldn’t contain an accusation. It would be a statement. “The jewelry of Mrs. Goldthorpe is in the globe in her husband’s study in her house.” Something simple and declarative like that, with lots of nouns. But still . . . that was a last resort.

Magdalena said very reluctantly, “I have a client. The police say he sells illegal drugs. I say they haven’t proved it. But he told me there’s an app on his phone that can turn it into a burner. It’s legal. He might show me how that works.”

Manfred let out a gust of breath. “So, you’ll call them soon?”

“He has an appointment this afternoon,” she said. “If he keeps it, I just may ask him to show it to me.”

Manfred had never appreciated how much more difficult sneaking around had gotten. Surveillance cameras, cell phone records that showed where you were when you made a call, advances in lab testing . . . but he wondered how much of the available technology (which must be expensive, both the investment in equipment and in technicians who understood how to use it) the average law enforcement department could actually finance and employ. Would this poor county have access to forensic labs that could tell you what ream of paper a sheet of computer paper had come from, and where it was sold? Would they view hours of surveillance footage to determine who’d bought that paper? Manfred was skeptical. He’d watched plenty of television shows where police departments not only could unearth this very specific information but could do it instantly. He didn’t believe that could be the truth. So maybe this would be the right way to go: having his lawyer make a sneaky phone call. Simple enough.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s do that. I’m ready to be rid of this situation and get back to work. Especially now that I owe my lawyer more money.” He smiled, though he was pretty sure it wasn’t a happy smile.

Olivia said, “So that’s it? After all the trouble we went to, that’s the end?”

“What else do you want to do, honey?” Magdalena asked, genuinely interested. “You want to break Lewis’s neck?”

Olivia looked at Magdalena with an expression that chilled Manfred. “That would be a start,” Olivia said.

“No need,” Manfred said, though there’d been moments when he could have throttled Lewis himself. This had turned into a personal mission for Olivia, though he wasn’t sure how or why. “We’ve got a plan, and if Magdalena will make the phone call, we should be seeing the result soon.”

“We have a deal,” the lawyer said, standing up. “I’m sending you my mother’s phone number today, and you’re honor-bound to call her and set up an appointment to meet in person.”

“Honor-bound,” Manfred agreed. He didn’t believe he’d ever heard anyone say that out loud.

Without another word, Magdalena left.

“She didn’t even let her car air out,” Olivia observed. “Iron woman.”

She began prowling around restlessly. “Did you ever get a chance to talk to Barry? After we started back yesterday?”

“No, but it looks like I will now. Here he comes.”

Barry knocked on the door before Manfred could swing it open. “Hey, man,” he said. “Listen, I was just going to tell you about yesterday.”

“Please. Olivia was telling me you had some things to share. And I’ve got to pay you.”

“It’s really cool to tell stuff to someone who’ll believe it.” Barry stretched and yawned. “My grandfather came into my room to wake me up last night. He kept wanting to go home.”

“Where to?” Olivia asked.

“That’s the thing, he’s lived about twenty different places. Texas. Nevada. California. Longest in Vegas, where he was a blackjack dealer at one of the casinos. Till Eva Culhane snatched him up and brought him here.”

“I wonder why? It’s like Tommy and your grandfather and the ladies are just camouflage for something.”

“Those are good things to wonder about, but let me get this stuff off my chest first.” Barry made a sweep with his hand, indicating he was ready to unload.

“Okay, man, go ahead.”

“This is what I learned yesterday on our little trip to Bonnet Park. First, the maid, Bertha, is scared to death of Lewis, right? She thinks he’s going to kill her one of these days. He’s getting increasingly off the rails mentally and emotionally, and he’s getting more and more specific. Like, he wants his tea in a certain glass with a certain type of straw and a sprig of mint with three leaves on it. Shit like that. So she’s scared, and she’s glad he’s sleeping out in the pool house so she doesn’t have to see him all day, every day. She thinks he’s unworthy to inherit so much from his folks. She thinks her own son is far superior.”

“So she’s got no loyalty to Lewis,” Olivia said.

“On the contrary. Bertha can’t stand him. But she’s also determined to stay with the job as long as she can, because she wants to know what Lewis is up to. Somehow, when Mr. Goldthorpe died, her son didn’t get what she thought he would. She thought he’d get enough to start up his own landscaping business, buy a couple of trucks and mowers, and hire people. But instead, everything went to the wife. Rachel. There’s some test that has everything hanging in the balance.” Barry had closed his eyes while he related all of this, as if it would help him remember Bertha’s thought better.

“So Bertha was expecting a legacy she hasn’t received,” Manfred said. “Anything more pertinent?”

“Here’s the really good stuff. When we went into the study and Lewis was so upset, he was thinking about his mother and how scared he’d been that she would say something about Bertha to the psychic—you, Manfred. And he was wondering if Rachel’s will was going to mention Bertha.”

“Why would it?” Manfred sat for a minute. “What’s the connection? Has Bertha’s son been romancing one of Rachel’s daughters? But they’re both married women.”

“And they’re at least fifteen years older than him, going by appearances,” Olivia said. “I guess the son and Lewis could be having a thing, though I can’t imagine anyone being genuinely interested in Lewis sexually.”

Barry snickered. “I can’t, either.”

“You can hear people’s deepest secrets,” Olivia said. “Manfred can talk to dead people. I feel very plain compared to your skill set.”

“What I do has its weak points,” Barry said. “People don’t always think in an orderly way, with background. They know all the background. So you’re left with lots of gaps. You have to be careful not to fill them in yourself.”

Olivia said, “Your life must be one long trail of disillusionment.”

He nodded. “You’re about right. That’s a good way to put it.”

Manfred was trying to think of something positive to say when Barry stood up. “Okay,” he said. “I think that’s it. I just wanted to tell you that and collect my money. I got to get back to Shorty. He’s not having a good day. I think moving him from Vegas was a mistake. Mrs. Whitefield says he’s seemed mentally fuzzy ever since he arrived. When I’d call him in Vegas, he wasn’t that off base.”

Manfred got out his wallet (stocking up on cash was another thing he’d done in Davy) and handed Barry the agreed amount. As soon as the door closed behind the telepath, Olivia said, “What’s really interesting is what they’ll decide to do with Shorty once they’ve found he actually has to go into some kind of home and they can’t really keep him in the hotel any longer. If all the old people are just window dressing, what’s going to keep them from dumping them out in the desert? What could be the purpose of this?”

Manfred nodded. “I could swear Lenore Whitefield isn’t a villain. She really believes she’s there to keep her guests happy until they move on to their final destination. Ah . . . that sounds way more gruesome than I intended. What I’m trying to say is, she doesn’t have any designs on them.”

“Yeah, I get that, but the fact is that only the guests staying there who are doing contract work for Magic Portal are real, actual paying guests, and of course whoever is crazy enough to stop in Midnight. I guess the hotel might get to be a sort of destination place since it’s been converted so cleverly, but it’s not really a period piece, is it? It’s a modern version of a motel, fitted into an old shell.”

Manfred said, “This whole town is a shell.”

“What?”

“There are more storefronts boarded up than open. How does anyone here live? How does Home Cookin stay open? How does the Rev survive on what he makes burying dogs and cats and performing weddings? How does the Antique Gallery and Nail Salon make a profit? You have to leave here to make your living. Why don’t the others?”

“You left out Fiji and Bobo,” Olivia said.

“Fiji inherited the house. She’s got almost no overhead. And she sells some spells online, as well as the crap she carries in the shop. Plus, the Thursday night classes are paying propositions.”

“She sells things online? Really?”

“Yeah, I helped her set something up about four months ago, and I got a friend of mine to design her website.”

“You’re a man of secrets.” Olivia did not seem to think that was a good thing. There was a long moment of silence before she said, “Sometimes I think about that, too. But I have no way of knowing how the others get along, and I’m not going to ask them. We don’t ask many questions here, and I like it that way. Call me if the police actually get into the house and find the damn jewelry in the globe. I need to go do stuff.”