I grunted.
Calvin took the lead and said to Quinn and Radcliff, “Let’s be smart about this. If Brad Habel is in there, we don’t know how he’s going to react when faced with law enforcement.” To me, he said pointedly, “You’re staying out here.”
“Message received.”
Calvin continued to address the other detectives. “There’s a second individual who works here that I think we should speak with—Rose.”
“Who the fuck’s Rose?” Quinn asked, the casualness of her tone at odds with the saltiness of her words.
“Another supposed medium. More specifically, a competitor in the business who appeared to be having it out with Habel online. Sebastian uncovered a few messages that have piqued my interest.” Calvin looked at me a second time. “Who else did you speak with in there?”
I shook my head. “Just Rose and the receptionist, Harmony. It didn’t seem like anyone else was home at the time.”
Calvin motioned Quinn to take the lead, and added, “Watch the street, Radcliff.” They went through the front door, and the noxious scent of all-day burning sandalwood wafted out in their wake.
I turned and watched three young men with identical haircuts and the same exact pair of chinos walk through the open door of the neighboring bar. Their arrival elicited bro-cries of excitement from patrons already inside. I made a bet with myself about what kind of beer they’d order at the bar: PBR was too hipster for guys wearing shirts with collars, but maybe they went slumming with a bottle of Bud Light. No, no. On draft—pseudoclassy.
“Radcliff,” I said, looking back.
He glanced away from Midtown Mediums’ front door.
“Finance bros: Bud Light on draft, yes or no?”
His brow furrowed a minute, but then he seemed to put two and two together after a quick glance at the Irish flag over my shoulder. “Nah. They’ll go for some Brooklyn-brewed IPA with a name like Mad Dog Hoppin’. It’ll cost as much as a good glass of wine.”
“No one appreciates a pint of Guinness as much as they ought to,” I said under my breath.
The sun was fully below the horizon now, and despite the darkening city, the heat wave wasn’t showing any signs of breaking, proving a weather report accurate for once. I tugged absently on my shirt, fanning myself as I turned to watch the bodega on the other side of Radcliff. A young woman had stormed out the door, turned, and thrown a bouquet of flowers at her male partner, following close on her heels. She screamed about what a cheap asshole he was.
Simply because he’d bought her bodega flowers? I loved those bouquets. They were an underappreciated blip of happiness on the mean streets of New York. Sometimes, Calvin would bring me home carnations from the bodega a few blocks from his precinct. It always made my day because it meant he’d been thinking of me. Sure, the flowers might have only cost twelve bucks, but the message they relayed was priceless.
Radcliff had watched the woman momentarily, determined the situation wasn’t anything needing police intervention, and returned his attention to the front door. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?” he finally asked.
“A real fruit basket.”
“How’s that?”
I smiled a little. What was it that the Grail knight had said in that ridiculous Indiana Jones movie Aubrey made me watch? “You have chosen…wisely.” Because in that breath, that heartbeat, that single second, it couldn’t be any clearer that Calvin Winter really was the perfect counterbalance in my life. “Nothing.”
“Sebastian—”
“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer Mr. Snow.”
Radcliff got the hint. His mouth hung open a little, like he’d been ready to lay another whopper on me and was now having to do some mental gymnastics as he reconsidered Operation: Sebastian’s Nether Regions.
The door opened suddenly, and Calvin motioned Radcliff inside without a word.
Radcliff shot me one last look, but when I made no attempt to delay him, he followed Calvin.
I waited on the street a moment longer, but you know, fuck it. I grabbed the door handle and poked my head inside. Harmony was standing near the counter, crying loudly. Her big chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. Quinn stood beside her, notepad in one hand, the other patting Harmony’s back the same way you’d soothe an upset infant. There appeared to be no customers in the small reception area. I slipped inside and hurried for the beaded doorway that led to the long corridor of reading rooms.
Quinn glanced up as I rushed by. “Sebastian, what the fuck—”
“BRB, Quinn,” I said as I pushed a handful of beads aside.
“BRB? Are you fucking fifteen?” she called after me.
But I rushed down the dim hallway as Radcliff exited the second-to-last room on the left. He was on his phone, requesting CSU and the ME as he slowly walked toward the front of the store. He looked up at my footfalls, but I brushed past him and continued on to the tapestry-choked room.
