Page 12 of Midnight Creed

“Actually, I haven’t had breakfast,” Maggie admitted and helped herself to a cake doughnut with chocolate frosting. Then she pushed the plate closer to Nessie.

The woman wrapped her fingers around the ceramic mug, enjoying its warmth before she brought it to her lips for a careful sip. Tentatively, she set the mug aside and took up a fork from the tray to lift her choice from the plate, putting it onto a napkin. Maggie wasn’t sure if Nessie was being prim and proper for her sake or to prove she was still capable.

“I only knew him from Lydia’s Kitchen.”

“Lydia’s Kitchen?”

“They serve hot meals once a day during the week.”

“You said his name was Danny?”

“Mm huh,” she mumbled around a small bite of glazed crueler, closing her eyes and taking her time.

“Do you know his last name?”

“Don’t know anybody’s last name. Only noticed Danny a couple of weeks ago because he made such a fuss. He’s a strange one.”

“What do you mean, a fuss?”

“He got loud. A bit cankerous. Made a scene at Lydia’s. Accused Lewis of giving him less than the rest of us.” She shook her head. The pompon on top of her knit cap bobbed. “Lewis is the most honest man I know in D.C. It wasn’t right. Danny making such a fuss. So many of these young ones are flying high on things I can’t even pronounce.”

“Was there an argument between Lewis and Danny?”

“Oh, no. Lydia and Lewis are kind and generous to a fault. They let Danny rant and then he went and sat down and ate his food. Don’t get me wrong, they would have called the cops if Danny didn’t back off. They run one of the safest places around. They can’t help it that their meatloaf tastes like crap.”

“Do you remember what day this happened?”

“Well, it wasn’t the weekend, because the kitchen’s not open. Maybe last Thursday or Friday?”

“They don’t serve meals on the weekends?”

“Nope.” She popped a piece of the pastry in her mouth and washed it down with the coffee.

“Do you think it’s possible the person who did this is someone in the homeless community?”

“I don’t think he’s homeless, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Just my gut instinct. I wasn’t always homeless. I used to be somebody. When I was at State, they all knew I was good at figuring people out. Pretenders, imitators, charmers, and cons...it was pretty hard to fool me.” She paused to take another bite, but raised her finger to indicate she had something more to add. “It’s not necessarily a stellar personality trait, by the way, especially when your boss is one of the pretenders.”

She made a good point. Maggie’s past boss could easily fit that category. She held back her reaction to Nessie’s claim that she worked at the State Department. Racine said the homeless weren’t reliable witnesses.

“They lie,” was what Racine had told Maggie. “Drugs. Alcohol. Messes with them. Sometimes they don’t know what’s real, what’s not.”

Still, Maggie was interested in what this woman had to say. Maybe the victim’s name wasn’t even Danny, but it was more than they had to go on an hour ago.

“He seems to blend in,” Maggie said.

Nessie shook her head. “Doesn’t mean he’s one of us. Just that he has a bone to pick. Wants to get rid of us. On a mission or something.”

“From what I know, there’s nothing ritualistic left behind.”

“FBI. I should have known. Profiler, right?” Before Maggie could answer, Nessie stuck her tongue out and blew her a raspberry. “Pfft! Your vast knowledge is causing your tunnel vision.”

“How can you be so sure he’s not a part of the homeless community?”

“It doesn’t make sense. For one thing, why would he whack Carlo? Danny, sure. But everybody liked Carlo. He didn’t deserve that.”