“Aside from saying we saw her after he left? I didn’t know you could lie so convincingly,” Olivia said. “I think that’s a pretty damn good thing, that we did that.”
“If he did it, I don’t care,” Fiji said. “Especially in view of what we’ve learned about Aubrey.”
“I wouldn’t have cared even if she’d been a saint,” Olivia said calmly. “I’m sure our focus should be on who else could have killed Aubrey, and if we find another viable suspect . . .”
The hunched man had left, and now Lemuel spun around on the stool behind the counter. “Yes,” he said. “That’s what we must do. The gun is worrying me. From Olivia’s description, I remember it. It was here in the shop for years.” Lemuel’s icy eyes glinted with excitement.
Fiji wasn’t surprised at Lemuel’s being on topic. He’d always had amazing hearing and the equally interesting ability to listen to two conversations at one time. She respected Lemuel, and she wasn’t afraid of him . . . much. Once, when Olivia’s return from one of her mysterious trips had been delayed, Fiji had offered Lemuel some blood. She’d been glad when he’d taken some energy instead, standing silently in her kitchen holding her hand for five minutes that felt like an eternity. Afterward, he’d thanked her briskly and then left with as much haste as if they’d done something much more intimate and embarrassing.
Olivia had come over to thank her, perhaps a bit cautiously, a bit warily, when she’d returned. But after a sharp look at Fiji’s face, she’d given her a hug, and they’d been almost-friends ever since.
Now Olivia said, “Not only was the gun from here, Bobo took it out to shoot targets a couple of times.”
Fiji’s heart sank at this piece of information. Surely the sheriff would consider that damning evidence. “I can think of twenty explanations for the gun being out there,” she said, though that wasn’t literally true. Two or three, maybe, and none of those particularly convincing.
“Sure, so can I. I’m leaving on a short trip tomorrow, but I’ll be back soon, and we’ll talk about how to get this done.” Olivia nodded to them both. “I’ll be thinking on the plane.”
“Where you going this time?” Fiji asked. She didn’t know if she’d like to travel as much as Olivia did, but it would be nice to find out someday.
“San Francisco,” Olivia said, and from the corner of her eye, Fiji saw Lemuel’s head jerk. Obviously, this was new information to him. He began to speak but snapped his pale lips shut on his comment.
Olivia looked at him directly. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Don’t worry. Quick in and out.”
What the hell is this about? Fiji asked herself.
“All right.” There was no expression on Lemuel’s face whatsoever.
“I’ll be fine,” Olivia repeated.
Lemuel nodded reluctantly, and silence fell. The three sat in an uneasy companionship (Fiji trying to think of a graceful way to leave without being obvious) until a ragged woman came in to pawn a very old gold wedding ring.
The ragged woman reeked. There was no other word for it. Fiji had never smelled anything like the odor that surrounded the woman like a cloud. She held her breath as long as she could, which wasn’t long enough.
Quickly and wordlessly, Lemuel gave the woman forty dollars and took the ring. The ragged woman, whose sticklike figure and huge dark eyes made her look like something out of a cartoon, hurried out into the night, her movements both furtive and jerky.
Lemuel turned the ring in his fingers, holding it close to the desk lamp. “N.E.S. to his Leticia,” he read. “It’s engraved on the inside of the ring.”
“Where’d she get that, I wonder?” Fiji asked.
“I suspect she dug up a grave and stole it off a corpse’s finger,” Lemuel said.
“Oh, my God,” Olivia said, her nose puckering with disgust.
“That’s just rank,” Fiji agreed.
“Has the sheriff come by to talk to you?” Lemuel said suddenly.
“No. He spent this morning with Bobo, though,” Fiji said. “I saw his car.” She didn’t try to sound disinterested. They’d know it was a lie.
“He didn’t talk to me,” Olivia volunteered. “But I did notice he drove over to the Reeds’ place.”
“From the most involved to the least involved,” Lemuel said thoughtfully. “I must think on that some.”
And maybe there’s something about the Reeds we don’t know, Fiji thought.
15
On Wednesday morning, Manfred woke up thinking about the people of Midnight, starting with the mysterious Olivia. When Manfred imagined her with Lemuel, it gave him a frisson of something he didn’t care to examine. (He called it distaste.) Based on Manfred’s own experience, he couldn’t deny that Lemuel had a powerful presence—though if Lemuel had been human, he’d hardly have been an attention-grabber by virtue of his looks alone.
As Manfred ate whole-wheat toast at the little Formica table his grandmother had had in her own kitchen, his mind next wandered to his happiest thought target, Creek Lovell. He wondered how she’d feel today. He’d noticed the discovery of Bobo’s girlfriend’s body had been both shocking for Creek and exciting for Connor. Manfred figured neither of the kids had encountered as much death as the older Midnighters. Creek had locked down emotionally after a few tears, while Connor had looked from one person to another, soaking it all in.
Manfred had worked the day before, as usual, but he’d paused often to think over the disastrous picnic. And the lack of grief over the death of a young woman they’d all known. None of them had looked shattered besides Bobo and the flash of sadness from Creek.
And that brought Manfred full circle back to the girl at Gas N Go. Reaching a sudden decision, he downed the last of his Coca-Cola (his morning beverage of choice) and left the house to saunter past Midnight Pawn, navigate the Davy highway (three cars!) before crossing the apron to the belled front door of the convenience store. Inside, everything was bright and shiny and fluorescent. All the walls were freshly painted and the linoleum was clean.
A dark-haired man in his early forties was behind the high counter. He was loading cigarette packs into the display, and as Manfred entered he locked the clear plastic door and turned to face him. “Hi!” he said, leaning over the counter to extend his hand. “You’re the new guy, right? Manfred? I’m Shawn Lovell.”