Charlaine Harris - Day Shift

“I think maybe they lose their hold on specifics about the world, in the first place. If you were in a whole new situation and had no contact with the universe you’d known all your life, you might not remember every little thing, either. If we can talk to a spirit, they’re sticking around because they haven’t reached their final destination, for whatever reason. But they aren’t in the world any longer, so a lot of worldly stuff no longer seems important to them. My alternate theory? They do it to aggravate us. Because if they aggravate us, they’re still important to us and interacting with us and affecting us.”

“Interesting,” said Joe. “In this instance, identifying the room and using the qualifying ‘inside’ may be specific enough. I don’t suppose there’s any way you can just go to the house and tell the daughters that’s where you suspect the jewelry is hidden?”

“No,” Manfred said. “Because they’ll say, ‘How did you know?’ And I’d have to answer one of three things: ‘A little bird told me.’ Or, ‘Your mom’s spirit possessed me and told my friends.’ Or, ‘I know it’s there because I hid it there.’ Guess which one they’d believe?”

“But at least the jewelry would be found, and the case would go away,” Joe said.

“Leaving my reputation ruined. Psychics don’t have much reputation as it is, and you can imagine that my business would sink like a stone if it was widely believed I’d robbed an elderly lady out of her sparklies and then tried to return them when I’d gotten caught out.”

“Plus, Lewis the asshole would go unpunished,” Olivia said. She pulled herself away from the wall and walked around the little room, unable to be still any longer.

“Olivia, you need not fear about that,” Chuy said. “In the end, Lewis will get whatever he has earned.”

Olivia gave Chuy a very skeptical look. “Right,” she said. She laughed, but it was a laugh that sounded anything but amused. “I would never have thought you, of all people, would say that.”

“Why?”

“Because you and Joe have faced such ugliness, being together,” she said, obviously editing as she spoke.

Joe looked at Chuy. “We try not to judge,” Joe said quietly. “There’s always a chance for redemption.”

“If that’s what you have to tell yourselves so you can live with all the assholes, so be it,” Olivia said. “But I don’t have to.” Her eyes were lit with the fire burning in her. To Joe and Chuy, it was visible.

Manfred said, “Who needs a glass of water?” The passion of the conversation clearly made him uncomfortable.

“That’s right, just sweep it under the rug,” Olivia said, turning on him.

“After being inhabited by a lady in her sixties, I feel I can do without any more upset tonight,” Manfred said, an edge to his voice.

“I see your point,” Olivia said stiffly, after a moment. “I’ll go back to my place. We’ll make another plan. I’ll check in with the Rev. How’s the little boy doing?”

“Not so little. He’s growing,” said Chuy. “Visibly,” he added.

“He’s taller than he was when he got here,” Joe said.

They all looked at each other.

“I was going to say, ‘How is that possible?’” Manfred shrugged. “I should know better.”

On Monday morning, Manfred was at his window as the Rev and Diederik went from the Rev’s cottage to the chapel. He had his phone in his hand as he watched them make their way down the newly restored sidewalk. A couple of old people, one with a walker, were taking their constitutionals around the hotel. Both of the senior citizens stopped in their tracks as the oddly assorted duo went by.

The new citizens of Midnight were probably gaping because the Rev was wearing the same rusty black suit, black hat, and string tie he always wore, along with his ancient cowboy boots and his threadbare white shirt. (His face did not look as old as his clothes, but it was deeply grooved.) But the boy was at least two inches taller than he had been mere days before; consequently, his clothes were straining at the seams.

“Well, damn,” Manfred said to himself. “We’ve got to get that boy more clothes. The Rev’s been wearing the same thing for years. He’ll never notice the kid needs something new.” He called Fiji. “I don’t know how much you know about kids’ sizes,” he began, “but the Rev’s visitor has to have something that fits.”

“I just got him some shorts and T-shirts,” she said, surprised.

“They’re too small now,” Manfred said.

She hung up, and Manfred watched as she burst out her front door and walked over to the chapel. The Rev and Diederik were just crossing the chapel yard to the steps, the boy looking anything but enthusiastic. Fiji stopped dead at the sight of Diederik, and then she marched toward them. The wind had picked up, and Manfred smiled to see her hair and her skirt frisk in the air like banners. She planted herself in front of the Rev. Manfred watched her mouth moving. The Rev was standing stock-still, stiff with unhappiness at being intercepted on his appointed round. But then her words caused the old man to look behind him at the boy, and he appeared a bit surprised at what he was seeing.

Fiji’s arms waved a little, and the Rev nodded, and then he entered the chapel and the boy followed Fiji over to her house. As they walked through Fiji’s front yard, the boy looked around him at all the flowers, blooming gloriously, and the bushes, lush and green despite the Texas heat. Finally he spotted the cat, Mr. Snuggly, and Manfred watched Diederik’s face light up. He scooped up the cat and carried him in the house, Mr. Snuggly’s face visible over the boy’s shoulder like a fuzzy golden thundercloud.

Manfred laughed. It was the best he’d felt in days.

Then Manfred pondered the meaning of the boy’s accelerated growth. He didn’t have a clue. He wondered when Diederik’s father would return. He hoped it would happen before Diederik was six feet tall.

Manfred got a personal phone call about an hour later, just when he’d gotten into his stride on his professional phone site. “Hi, Mr. Bernardo, Phil Van Zandt here,” said a man’s voice. “From Magdalena Orta Powell’s office,” it added helpfully.

“Oh, sure! Sorry, I was deep in the work zone,” Manfred said. “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to say the police department in Bonnet Park wants to question you,” Phil Van Zandt said sympathetically. “They called Ms. Powell. She’s made an appointment there for two this afternoon, which will give you enough time to drive there, stopping for a quick lunch.” Because only barbarians skip lunch, his voice implied.

“Okay, I’ll try to be there,” Manfred said, trying to rearrange his day mentally.

“Ohhhhhh… there mustn’t be any ‘try’ about it, Mr. Bernardo. You can be there at two, right? Or Ms. Powell will have to call them to reschedule. And that’ll mean she has to rejigger her whole afternoon.”

“Or you do.”

“Well, yes, but that’s my job. So you can make it?”

Manfred glanced at the clock he kept on the desk. “Yes, I can make it,” he said. “Headquarters of the Bonnet Park police?”

“Yes, right, need the address?”

“Thanks.” Manfred scribbled it down. “I’d better get started.”

“No problem,” said the obliging Phil. “Hope all goes well.”

Cryptic, but pleasant.

Manfred logged out and checked his pockets to make sure he had everything. Unfortunately, he had no good-luck charm to include. Fiji was walking up to his front door as he went out.

“I was going to ask if you’d go with me to Marthasville to buy Diederik some more clothes,” she said.