radio?"
"Honest Aaron probably sold it," I muttered.
She slumped down even further in her seat, her arms crossed. "I'm bored."
"Me, too," I said. "Maybe we should call it quits. It was a good idea, but—"
A pair of headlights swung around the corner up ahead, and a car rolled to a stop in front of Dorcas's building. The lights went dark, and the driver's door opened. Someone stepped out into the street, but we were too far away, and it was too dark to tell who it was.
Maizy sat up straight. "Jamie, look."
I was looking. "It's not an SUV."
"So what?" Her voice grew excited. "Whoever it is obviously switched out the SUV for something less noticeable to come back to the scene of the crime. You know, like us, with your Escort."
Except we'd gone more noticeable than my Escort. We'd practically gone fluorescent. "Can you tell who that is?" I asked.
Maizy squinted into the rain-smeared darkness. "I can't see a thing." She reached for the door handle.
"Wait!" I grabbed her arm. "Where do you think you're going? We agreed no getting out of the car!"
"I have to go to the bathroom," she said. Seconds later she was gone, hurrying down the block toward the figure rounding the hood of the car.
"Damn it, Maizy!" I jumped out and followed her, trying to pull her back before she did something stupid. More stupid than the two of us trying to conduct surveillance, that is. But she was determined and fast. Before I could stop her, she was twenty feet from the front of Destinies with Dorcas. "Hey, can I talk to you for a second?" I heard her call out.
The shadowy figure jumped and spun to face us, and I caught my breath. It was Weaver Beeber. Sort of. The Weaver Beeber I was used to was on the shy side, and pleasant. The man in front of me had anger clearly stamped on his face and a rigid, almost defensive, posture.
"Mr. Beeber!" I hurried up to him. "What on earth are you doing here?"
His features smoothed out into placid Weaver so quickly that I wondered if the angry expression had been simply a play of shadows across his face. "Oh, hello. Janice, isn't it?" He reached for a handshake.
I gave it to him. "Jamie." He gave a little start and looked down, and I realized I was still wearing the latex gloves. I peeled them off and shoved them in my pocket.
"I might ask you the same question," he said. "Why are you wearing gloves?" His suspicious gaze flitted to Maizy and back to me. "What are you two up to? You're not thinking of breaking into Dorcas's studio, are you?"
I bristled. "Of course we're—"
"I should introduce myself," Maizy said, stepping forward with her hand out. No gloves.
"I'm Emily Murdock, with the Journal of Paranormal Phenomena. You've probably seen it on newsstands."
I stared at her.
"No, I…" Weaver let her give his hand a few vigorous pumps before he took it back. He looked at me. "You brought a reporter to my sister-in-law's studio?"
"We weren't actually going up to—" I froze mid-thought. "I'm sorry, I thought—you must be Seaver."
"And she didn't bring me," Maizy cut in. "I brought her. I'm doing a piece on renowned modern psychics, and I thought I'd visit the place where this gifted woman worked."
Seaver's mouth twisted when he looked at me. "My brother tells me you work for his lawyer. Do you always find it appropriate to share confidential client information?"
I was glad it was dark so he couldn't see my color rise. "Well, in my defense," I said, "her business address is hardly confidential. Thanks to the Internet, you can find out pretty much anything about anyone these days. If you ask me, it's a bit too much. What if a person doesn't want to be found? I don't want to be found." I was talking too much because Seaver Beeber made me nervous. I could have had a worse reaction. When my childhood dog, Jingles, had gotten nervous, he'd peed on the floor.
I bit my lip and looked over at Maizy. She immediately took the handoff. "So I was chatting with Artemis Angle a few nights ago, and
"Honest Aaron probably sold it," I muttered.
She slumped down even further in her seat, her arms crossed. "I'm bored."
"Me, too," I said. "Maybe we should call it quits. It was a good idea, but—"
A pair of headlights swung around the corner up ahead, and a car rolled to a stop in front of Dorcas's building. The lights went dark, and the driver's door opened. Someone stepped out into the street, but we were too far away, and it was too dark to tell who it was.
Maizy sat up straight. "Jamie, look."
I was looking. "It's not an SUV."
"So what?" Her voice grew excited. "Whoever it is obviously switched out the SUV for something less noticeable to come back to the scene of the crime. You know, like us, with your Escort."
Except we'd gone more noticeable than my Escort. We'd practically gone fluorescent. "Can you tell who that is?" I asked.
Maizy squinted into the rain-smeared darkness. "I can't see a thing." She reached for the door handle.
"Wait!" I grabbed her arm. "Where do you think you're going? We agreed no getting out of the car!"
"I have to go to the bathroom," she said. Seconds later she was gone, hurrying down the block toward the figure rounding the hood of the car.
"Damn it, Maizy!" I jumped out and followed her, trying to pull her back before she did something stupid. More stupid than the two of us trying to conduct surveillance, that is. But she was determined and fast. Before I could stop her, she was twenty feet from the front of Destinies with Dorcas. "Hey, can I talk to you for a second?" I heard her call out.
The shadowy figure jumped and spun to face us, and I caught my breath. It was Weaver Beeber. Sort of. The Weaver Beeber I was used to was on the shy side, and pleasant. The man in front of me had anger clearly stamped on his face and a rigid, almost defensive, posture.
"Mr. Beeber!" I hurried up to him. "What on earth are you doing here?"
His features smoothed out into placid Weaver so quickly that I wondered if the angry expression had been simply a play of shadows across his face. "Oh, hello. Janice, isn't it?" He reached for a handshake.
I gave it to him. "Jamie." He gave a little start and looked down, and I realized I was still wearing the latex gloves. I peeled them off and shoved them in my pocket.
"I might ask you the same question," he said. "Why are you wearing gloves?" His suspicious gaze flitted to Maizy and back to me. "What are you two up to? You're not thinking of breaking into Dorcas's studio, are you?"
I bristled. "Of course we're—"
"I should introduce myself," Maizy said, stepping forward with her hand out. No gloves.
"I'm Emily Murdock, with the Journal of Paranormal Phenomena. You've probably seen it on newsstands."
I stared at her.
"No, I…" Weaver let her give his hand a few vigorous pumps before he took it back. He looked at me. "You brought a reporter to my sister-in-law's studio?"
"We weren't actually going up to—" I froze mid-thought. "I'm sorry, I thought—you must be Seaver."
"And she didn't bring me," Maizy cut in. "I brought her. I'm doing a piece on renowned modern psychics, and I thought I'd visit the place where this gifted woman worked."
Seaver's mouth twisted when he looked at me. "My brother tells me you work for his lawyer. Do you always find it appropriate to share confidential client information?"
I was glad it was dark so he couldn't see my color rise. "Well, in my defense," I said, "her business address is hardly confidential. Thanks to the Internet, you can find out pretty much anything about anyone these days. If you ask me, it's a bit too much. What if a person doesn't want to be found? I don't want to be found." I was talking too much because Seaver Beeber made me nervous. I could have had a worse reaction. When my childhood dog, Jingles, had gotten nervous, he'd peed on the floor.
I bit my lip and looked over at Maizy. She immediately took the handoff. "So I was chatting with Artemis Angle a few nights ago, and
Similar Books
