“The freak was here, all right,” he said. “Or maybe I should say a freak was here. I never went into the basement of your aunt’s house in Shelbyville, so I don’t have a basis for comparison.”
“Trust me, it’s the same person.” She stared unhappily at the broken bit of china. “This is the first time one of them has followed me home.”
“Unnerving,” he agreed.
“Try scared out of my wits.”
He caught her by the shoulders and pulled her gently against him, wrapping her close. “Scared out of your wits is good. Scared people tend to be more careful.”
“No offense,” she said, pressing her face into the front of his shirt, “but that wasn’t quite the positive, upbeat approach to this situation that I was looking for.”
“Sorry. Probably a J&J thing. Fallon Jones holds with the everything-that-can-go-wrong-probably-will-go-wrong theory of psychic detecting. He becomes annoyed whenever his agents get too positive and upbeat.”
“Sounds like a real fun guy.”
“Look up the definition of fun in the dictionary and you’ll see Fallon’s picture right next to it.”
She made a strange, half-muffled little sound that could have been a choked laugh. Some of the tension went out of her. She raised her head.
“Tell me what you saw,” she said.
“I got a visual of what you heard. The bastard smashed the cup in a fit of red-hot rage and panic. He’s running scared. Blames you for ruining his plans.”
“He must have been watching me in Shelbyville, waiting for me to leave. But he took a risk going into my room. I wonder if anyone noticed him.”
“Good question. But there’s another possibility.”
“What’s that?”
“Maybe he wasn’t afraid of being seen. Maybe he had a right to be in the B and B.” He thought about it a little more. “Could have been one of the employees or a guest. The inn was crammed with news crews. It wouldn’t have been hard for someone to blend in with a crowd of strangers in town.”
“True.”
“The big question here is what made him focus on you? As far as everyone back in Shelbyville is concerned, you and that real estate agent stumbled onto the victim by accident.”
She pulled back a little and looked at him with a shadowed expression.
“I don’t know about you,” she said, “but in my experience, the real freaks don’t make allowances for coincidence. Everything is a sign to them.”
He exhaled slowly. “You’re right.”
“The girl was found in my house, a witch’s house. He knows that I’m the witch’s niece. That makes me a witch, as well. Last but not least, he knows that I was there when his victim was discovered. The upshot is that he holds me personally responsible for ruining his latest witch hunt.”
“Any other traces here in your condo?”
“No. I did a quick tour while I was waiting for you.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Doesn’t mean he didn’t have a good look around.”
“I doubt if he stayed for more than a few minutes. Too risky.” He took out his phone.
“Who are you going to call?” she asked.
“First guy on my list is Chief Langdon in Shelbyville. Got a number for him?”
“Yes, but why bother?” She swept out an arm. “We haven’t got a scrap of proof. Langdon made it very clear that he doesn’t believe in psychics. What’s more, I got the distinct impression that he thinks I’m a leather-and-whip-style bitch. I don’t think he cares for that type.”
“Obviously a man of limited imagination. Get me the number.”
She rewarded that with the severe glare he no doubt deserved but she obediently reached into the closet and took out her purse. He watched her dig out a card.
“Personal issues aside,” she said, handing him the card, “all we’ve got in the way of hard evidence is that fragment of a teacup, which proves nothing. I wouldn’t be surprised if Langdon concludes that I broke the stupid cup and brought the pieces back with me so I could stage an attention-getting scene for the media. I could tell when I talked to him that he was just waiting for me to claim to be psychic.”
“But you didn’t give him the satisfaction?”
“Are you kidding? If I pushed that angle, he wouldn’t have listened to anything at all that I had to say about the killer. As it was, I’m pretty sure he thought I invented everything I did tell him.”
“I’ll call him, anyway. He may not pay attention but he can’t say that he wasn’t kept informed.” He punched in the number on the card.
A gruff, sleep-heavy voice answered on the fourth ring.
“Langdon here.”
“Wake up, Chief. Looks like your killer was in Oriana tonight.”
“Who the hell are you?” Langdon was fully awake now.
“Zack Jones. I’m a private investigator.” It was his standard ID when he was on a case and it was true. He had the license to prove it. All J&J agents did. The agency was a legitimate firm, duly registered as such in every state in which it maintained an office.
He gave Langdon a terse version of events.
Langdon was not impressed.
“You’re telling me that Miss Tallentyre believes the killer followed her back to Oriana just because she found part of a broken cup in her coat pocket?” he asked.
“She didn’t break it herself,” Zack said patiently.
“How do you know that?”
“I’m very sure of it.”
“Is she your client?” Langdon asked, suspicious.
“Yes.”
“Then you’ve got a reason to believe her. I don’t. I’ve got a lot of solid leads to follow up. I can’t waste time.”
“The freak was in her condo tonight.”
“Why would he focus on her?” Langdon demanded.
“Excellent question.”
“Look, as far as the media is concerned, Doug Spicer, the real estate agent, was the one who was responsible for finding the girl. I didn’t give Miss Tallentyre’s name to the press.”
“Shelbyville is a very small town, Chief. Everyone there knows that she was with Spicer when the girl was found. More to the point, the girl was found in her aunt’s house. It makes sense that the killer would aim his rage at her. Although, come to think of it, you might want to check on Spicer and make sure he’s okay. It’s possible he’s in danger, too.”