Charlaine Harris - Day Shift

“Can you call him?”

“I can, but I won’t,” she said. “He’s having a great time, and he deserves it.”

She did not know that at all. She had heard from Lem only twice since his departure: once after he’d found no help in Atlanta, and again when he’d tracked down a possible translator in Minnesota, who’d not been able to help but had referred him to a vampire in New York.

She had told herself that to Lemuel, a week was like a moment. To her, it was like a week. Or two. And she had reminded herself that he did not like the telephone, though he knew how to use it. Lemuel had a cell phone, and from it he had texted her briefly at each stop. Nothing else.

The Rev looked grave, as if he could read her thoughts. But he didn’t say anything more about Lemuel. Instead, he said, “We have to get all those people out of Midnight.” He jerked his head to his right, to indicate Manfred’s house. The boy had his back to the Rev. He’d wandered to the first set of shelves to stare inside a glass case at a ukulele. It appeared to be older than any of the people in the room.

“We all want that,” Bobo said, between sideways looks at Diederik. Olivia knew they were all trying to figure out what made Diederik so special. “But I don’t think there’s a short-term way to make that happen.”

Fiji was fidgeting, and finally she said, “Bobo, do you have a brush or comb handy?”

“There’s one under the counter,” he said, and after a moment’s search she came up with a small hairbrush. She looked at it dubiously, but she took a deep breath and advanced on Diederik with a determined look.

“Come on, young man,” she said. “You and this so-called brush need to meet each other.” Diederik looked alarmed, but he reacted to the authority in Fiji’s voice and came over to stand in front of her. She turned him around so his back was to her, and then she went to work on his dark hair. Seeing how gentle Fiji’s hands were, Olivia turned a little away so she wouldn’t have to watch.

The boy did look less like a feral child when Fiji had finished.

“While you’re fiddling with the boy, we need to talk about the situation,” the Rev said. “Olivia!”

“Yes?” Olivia straightened and looked at the older man. His clothes might be ancient, his hair thinning, and his body small, but when the Rev spoke, you listened, and you listened good.

“You have to find this missing jewelry so they know Manfred doesn’t have it. Then they will leave.”

“Why me?” she said angrily.

“Because you’re a thief,” the Rev said, and there was no judgment in his voice. “You can figure out where a thief would hide such a thing.”

He could have said worse things, and they would have been true, so Olivia felt a moment of relief. But she wasn’t pleased with the way everyone was carefully avoiding her eyes, and she felt the cold feeling creeping across her, the feeling she got when everyone’s hand was against her.

“Why should I help Manfred?” she asked. “I hardly know him.”

“Olivia,” the Rev said. One word. But it was enough.

“I’ll do my best,” she said. “But I’d better be able to count on any help I call on the rest of you to give.”

“I’ll help,” Fiji said instantly. Despite the fact that her attention was apparently focused on Diederik, she’d been listening. Now she pulled an elastic band from the pocket of her skirt.

Of course she’d have one, Olivia thought. Of course she’d be ready to help. But there was no sting to these thoughts. Olivia had finally accepted the fact that Fiji was simply that kind of person.

“I’ll help however you ask me,” Bobo said.

Joe hesitated for a moment. “Chuy and I will do what we can,” he said cautiously. “And, of course, Rasta is always ready to help,” Joe added, and everyone laughed except the Rev and the boy.

Olivia nodded to show she’d registered their offers.

Fiji had put Diederik’s hair back in a neat ponytail. He looked like a different kid. He looked older.

“Rev, Diederik here needs to take a bath,” Olivia said, so Fiji wouldn’t have all the grooming to herself. “And he needs clean clothes.”

The Rev looked at the boy as if he were seeing him for the first time. “If you say so,” he said. “Diederik, I have to take care of you right. I promised your father.” He turned to look at the rest of them. “The chapel will be empty for a while. Keep an eye on it. I have a funeral today at four. A cat named Meatball.”

Mr. Snuggly froze in the act of licking his paw. He made a sound that was close to that of coughing. Olivia realized that the cat was laughing.

“That’s worse than ‘Mr. Snuggly’?” Olivia murmured. The cat gave her a disdainful look.

The Rev left without any more words, taking Diederik’s hand again as if Diederik were a three-year-old instead of… Well, how old was he? Olivia watched the ill-assorted pair as they went to the Rev’s house, presumably to put Diederik in the bathtub. She said, “You figure he’s eight years old?”

Fiji frowned. “Last night I thought he was a lot younger. His clothes flapped on him.”

Bobo shrugged. “I think he might be as much as eleven.”

Fiji was returning Mr. Snuggly to the basket. “I’d believe eleven,” she said. “And today his clothes are tight.”

Joe said, “I wonder how old he’ll be tomorrow.” And he left without adding to his statement. They all stared after him.

“I wonder what he knows,” Fiji said.

Olivia, bored with the conversation, said, “I’ve got to go over to talk to Manfred. I’ll call him first.” She went down to her apartment to get her cell phone.

When it was in her hand, she was tempted — once again — to call Lemuel.

But she didn’t.

As he’d been instructed, Manfred was waiting at his back door to let Olivia in. She’d run across the side-by-side driveways and reached the door so swiftly that some reporters weren’t sure they’d seen anyone. Manfred was able to close and lock the door behind her before any of them could make a move.

“Boy, am I glad to see you. Uh, can I get you a drink or something?” Manfred’s first impression was not reassuring. Olivia the Deadly seemed irritated and tired. He had hoped for Superwoman, but he’d gotten something less. He tried to conceal his dismay.

“Yeah,” she said. “Some water would be good.”

They sat at the little table that he’d crammed into the kitchen and regarded each other steadily. “The Rev has appointed me to get you out of this,” she said, not making any pretense at sounding happy about it.

“Why? I mean, he and I aren’t exactly buddies.”

“He has this kid staying with him. Diederik. There’s some big mystery about him.” One corner of Olivia’s mouth dipped down wryly. There was always a mystery. “The Rev doesn’t want reporters anywhere around this kid, is what I gather. So he wants them gone. The quickest way to do that is to solve your problem.”

“Do you think…” Manfred trailed to a halt.

“That I can do it?” Olivia smiled, not troubling to make it a socially acceptable smile. “If anyone in Midnight can and will, it’s me.” She regarded the psychic. “You know I have skills, right?”

“Ah… I figured. But.” He floundered for a moment. “The thing is, Olivia, your skill set, as far as I know, is kind of drastic.”

“Awwww… squeamish?” The shark smile was very much in evidence. Olivia was enjoying being herself.

“Yes,” Manfred admitted. “More than you, anyway. I hope we can find a way to solve this problem without doing anything… undoable.”

“I was never as young as you.” She looked away for a long moment before turning back to say, “I’m going to do this whether you approve of it or not. This is a town issue, not just your problem. So tell me what’s happened.”