Day Shift

“Depends on what he accuses you of. If he tells the world you’re a thief, you may be sorry you didn’t get a preemptive strike in.”

“It would be best for me if this just went away. Any more time in the news, and my reputation’s going to be terrible, anyway. If there’s any big exposé on me because of this publicity, I’m not going to come out looking good. And frankly, I’m as nice a guy as they come in the psychic business.”

“Interesting way to put it.” The lawyer looked at him.

He shrugged. “But so true.”

“Why do you think Lewis Goldthorpe is gunning for you?”

“Because Mom always liked me best.”

When Ms. Powell looked blank, Manfred said, “Because his mother never got along with Lewis, and she did with me. She didn’t know me very well, so that made it easy. If she’d really spent a lot of time with me, it might have been a different story. But I didn’t want her possessions, I got along fine with her husband because he was dead, I listened to all her stories because she was a nice lady, and I believe in an afterlife, like she did.”

“Whereas Lewis…?”

“Fought with her husband when he was alive, badgered her about anything she planned to leave her children, didn’t believe in any psychic help I could offer her, and wasn’t at all interested in his nieces and nephews. Plus, he doesn’t really believe in life after death.”

“So you think that’s all it takes to keep a woman’s attention and loyalty? Not coveting her possessions? Listening to her stories?”

“Whoa! I think we just veered off the course. I wasn’t saying that at all. I was saying that was why Rachel was glad to talk to me rather than her own son. I was less demanding and more accepting.”

Ms. Powell took a deep breath and visibly calmed herself. “Sorry,” she said.

“You’re going through a rough patch in your own life,” Manfred observed.

“Not hard to tell,” she said, and smiled ruefully. “Sorry for being unprofessional. I’m back in lawyer mode now.”

“Has Lewis actually accused me with the police?”

“Yes, he has.”

“So why haven’t I been arrested?”

“Because there’s no evidence to prove you took her jewelry.”

“Then why can’t his allegations be ignored?”

“Because her jewelry still isn’t around, and though they don’t really believe him, it’s possible he’s right.”

“So I’m over a barrel until the jewelry is found. My situation is completely the same. Why did they call me in here?”

She was looking off into the distance. Her eyes went to his face. “Fishing expedition,” she said. “A waste of my time and your money.”

Manfred looked at her doubtfully. “My time is money, too,” he pointed out. He couldn’t help but feel a little offended.

“I’ll bet it’s not as valuable as mine,” she said.

And he was sure that when he got his bill, he would agree.

As he drove back to Midnight, Manfred thought about the bottom line on this little “fishing expedition.” The detectives didn’t know anything new, he hadn’t completely dispelled their suspicions — though he was convinced he’d weakened them — and he’d lost hours of work time.

On the plus side, he’d gotten to know his lawyer, and he found himself much more confident he’d stay out of jail.

Magdalena Orta Powell was not exactly what he’d expected, and he was pretty sure she felt the same about him.

15

Olivia had gotten a phone call from Lemuel during the middle hours of the night. Lemuel did not like the telephone, but he had overcome his natural aversion to call her because he knew it would make her feel better. The conversation had been brief.

“Olivia, I am now in New Orleans.”

She was silent for a second, dismayed at how relieved she was to hear his voice. “You learning a lot about the books?” she said, when her silence made her uncomfortable.

“I have found a woman who is knowledgeable. A female vampire.”

“Great. Are you feeling… Have you gotten enough food?” Olivia was always cautious about being explicit on the telephone. She knew how easily someone could listen in.

“There is abundance here,” Lemuel assured her. “I need only walk into a bar.”

She smiled. “And do you have an idea of how long you’ll be gone?”

“Not as of yet.”

“Then let me know when you’re coming back.” She hesitated. “It feels strange to walk past your apartment, since I know you’re not in it. It feels funny that you’re not here.”

“I miss you, too. Be careful and vigilant.”

“Good-bye.”

And he’d hung up without saying good-bye in return. That was Lemuel’s conversational style. She was satisfied with the conversation, though she had to repress a twinge of unease, bordering on jealousy, that Lemuel’s source for information about the long-lost and mysterious books was a female, and a vampire. Lemuel was more susceptible to women than men as bedmates, though he would take energy or blood from anyone except small children. Having two sources of sustenance was like being a hybrid car.