Page 35 of A Seer and Present Danger

He reached into his coat pocket, and I wondered if he was going to pull a gun.

Futures flashed:

A badge

A badge

A badge

He opened a black leather wallet to show a badge with his name: Simon Vandre.

“Oh,” I said, studying it. It looked real. “Are you state police?”

“No. I’m a detective. And I’ve been watching Hugo Molloy for a couple years now.”

“For the thefts?”

“What do you know about the thefts?”

Shoot. I should know better than to give him things to question me about. How did Jules and Dusi handle interviewing suspects? One thing they did was try to get them to talk instead.

“I don’t know anything about the thefts.” (True.) “Someone mentioned he was a thief.” (Also true.) “Someone in the diner.”

“A customer?”

“That’s what I heard.”

He hummed like he was absently doing math in his head and spun the closed badge against the tabletop. “You saw the body?”

I nodded.

“Was there a knife in his back?”

Okay, time for me to do some questioning of my own. “Do killers just leave weapons behind like that?”

He seemed pleased with my question. “Sometimes. If they’re angry enough. If they’re interrupted. In a hurry.”

“There was no knife.”

He grunted. “Did you see anyone go out the door before you? See anyone come in?”

“Well, this is a diner and our back door is near the bathrooms. People move around. Hard to keep track of everyone. Plus, the back of the diner is accessible from the outside too. But you’d know that if you saw the crime scene.”

“I did. Look…” He flattened his palms against the table and pressed down hard enough it was like he was trying to hold onto ice.

Ooooo. Suddenly Mr. Detective-Stalker Guy was serious.

“This is going to be a strange question, but it could be important for building my case. Do you think magic is real?”

I waited to see if he was going to clarify what he meant by magic.

“Like hocus pocus, bunnies in hats?” I finally asked. My throat was dry. Was it hot in here? Why was it so hot in here? Whatever he was doing with his hands on the table was making me feel pinned down, itchy.

“Not like stage illusions,” he said. “More like witchcraft, ghosts, curses, seeing the future.”

Well, hadn’t this taken a turn?

I laughed to break the intensity of the moment. “Magic? I suppose it could be real. But I’d have to see proof before I believed. Why, detective?” I leaned my elbows on the table. “Do you think the killer was a ghost?”