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The Dead Man touched me lightly to let me know I had no need to know about how she had charmed the Benbow staff. He didn’t want me going all dad.
“I pretended I didn’t know Singe or Dollar Dan when I left so they could see if anybody followed me.”
“Good thinking.”
Singe said, “A kitchen boy tried. Dollar Dan scared him so bad he wet himself.”
“He’s not useless after all.”
Singe glowered. She wasn’t ready to concede that. And Penny . . .
Aha! The kitchen boy’s interest hadn’t been his employer’s idea.
Come here. All of you.
The Dead Man can tease out memories you don’t know you have. He’ll put his several minds to work sniffing along several distinct trails and tie everything together in startling ways.
There is nothing beyond the obvious. Our victim, Recide Skedrin, interested at least two parties enough to involve them in murder. It is likely that he was a red herring himself.
How did he know all that, suddenly?
Penny, please stand in for Dean while he recovers. Garrett and Singe will assist where necessary.
Someone had forgotten who was senior executive.
Go open the door, Garrett.
THE MAN ON THE STOOP WAS SHORT, FLABBY, AND NERVOUS. HE HAD LARGE, wet, brown doggie eyes. He felt like a guy who had lived a life of sorrow. His clothing was threadbare and dated, twenty-years-ago chic. My appearance startled him.
He had been trying to decide whether to knock. He squeaked, “Who are you?” He had a lazy, girly voice and an accent so heavy you needed a machete to cut through it.
To Singe’s office, please.
The newbie did not know about the Dead Man, who reeked of wicked glee. This twitch must be an easy read.
“How come you’re camped on my stoop, little fellow?”
“Uh . . .”
He would be the source of the Dead Man’s unexpected knowledge.
He invested a few seconds in wondering if he should go with the lies he had rehearsed. While he strategized, Singe arranged papers so she could take notes. She was amused.
I don’t care if they lie. The Dead Man can burgle their minds while they’re exercising their capacity for invention.
Our visitor asked, “With whom am I speaking?”
He came without knowing? “Name’s Garrett. The most handsome blueeyed ex-Marine you’re ever likely to meet. This is my place. You sure you got the right one?”
He is, in the sense that he believes this is where he may find the object of his quest.
“Mr. Garrett, I represent the Council of Ryzna.” He spoke Karentine like he had a mouth full of pudding and acorns. Lucky me, I had a partner who could pass on not only what the man wanted me to know but also what he was thinking.
He realized recently that he is mostly under his own supervision. He has developed personal ambitions as a consequence.
Little man clicked his heels and bowed slightly, a habit they have in his part of the world. “Rock Truck, Rose Purple, at your command, sir,” is what I heard. I shrugged. I’d heard stranger names. He made sure I knew his father was a player back in the old country. His family had been exploiting the masses for centuries.
I listened. If the silence lasted long enough he might fill it with something interesting.
