“Or not,” I muttered.
“She’s coming with me, Graves,” Hightower said bluntly, turning his attention back to Graham.
“She’s not.”
“This is my investigation.”
“Stopped being your investigation the minute my phone rang this morning and you know it.”
“I don’t need you or your boys on this.”
“Clearly you do, Detective.” Graham’s tone was biting. “You’re so out of your depth here, you don’t even realize you’re drowning.”
“The Mayor may think you shit gold bricks, the Chief may believe we need you, but I sure as fuck don’t. You’re here to consult, not to commandeer my entire case. That includes what happens with my witnesses and my sources.”
“If thinking you’re in charge helps you sleep at night, by all means…” Graham smirked. “Keep up the delusion.”
My eyes moved back and forth between the two men as their words volleyed without relent. Neither seemed willing to back down and, if this continued to escalate, I had no doubt they’d soon be trading physical blows along with verbal ones.
With self-preservation in mind, I backed slowly toward the emergency exit door. This plan backfired. The instant I moved, both men’s gazes snapped to me once more.
“I’ll just… tell my barista I’m leaving…” I gulped. “And grab my jacket before we go…”
I didn’t wait for a response, merely turned on a heel and darted across the alley, onto the stoop and into the storage room. I headed straight through, pausing only to unhook my camel brown cashmere jacket from the rack by my desk. As I crossed through the center of the shop, I noted that Madame Zelda still wasn’t in attendance, her curtain pulled wide, the round table she used for readings clear of tarot cards or whatever other tools she used to confer with the spirits.
Truth be told, I didn’t venture into her domain if it could be helped. Madame Zelda gave me the heebie-jeebies, but I kept her around because she brought in a good chunk of business. Desperate housewives seeking insight into failing marriages, giggling brides-to-be with gift certificates from their friends. Young, old. Tall, short. All ages, all sexes, all in need of spiritual guidance from a woman, it must be said, I would not trust to read my horoscope aloud from the local newspaper, let alone divine my fates from the heavens above.
Alas…
The morning rush was long gone and most of the tables at the front were empty. A handful of college students had parked themselves at the espresso bar. A couple of tourists browsed the bookshelves, flipping through a volume on ancient soothsayers. We stocked alotof books, covering a vast swathe of bizarre topics, everything from modern moon phases to dark druidism to herbal healing arts to mystical energies. Reiki. Wicca. Voodoo. Paganism. Some were recent additions, hand-selected by me, but others had been hanging around collecting spores since I started helping out behind the counter as a kid. If they printed it, we stocked it, fromAlchemy For DummiestoZombies: Mythos of the Modern Brain-Eaterand whatever weirdness fell in between. We even boasted a handful of honest-to-goddess grimoires predating the infamous Salem Witch Trials of the 1600s. (Those, we kept safe under glass.)
Hetti was wiping down the espresso machine, a bored look on her face. This wasn’t unusual. Hetti’s typical expression was one of practiced indifference. It coordinated sublimely with her black-on-black outfits and chunky, silver-studded jewelry.
I’m not sure how my own expression appeared in that moment. Probably shellshocked and pale from all that had transpired, but I hadn’t glanced in a mirror. Whatever the case, as I approached, Hetti’s heavily-lined eyes moved to me and widened. I thought I saw a flash of concern behind her mask of indifference.
“You okay, boss?”
I took her gently by the elbow and steered her to the far end of the espresso bar, away from the chit-chatting college students. I kept my voice low, speaking in a hushed tone as I gave her a brief explanation of what was going on.
“Huh,” she murmured when I trailed off, taking the news in stride. “No wonder your aura looks like that.”
“Like what?”
“Seasick. Sort of greenish gray. Like you’re about to toss your cookies.”
“My cookies, I assure you, are fine.”
She merely shrugged. “So, you’re going to the police station?”
“Apparently they have more questions and want to take my official statement or something.” I sighed. “I don’t know why they can’t do that here, without interrupting my work day, but they didn’t really seem up for a discussion about it.”
“Wow, cops acting like alpha assholes?” She rolled her eyes. “I’mshocked!”
“Will you be okay here on your own?”
She stared at me like I had three heads. “Will I be okay refilling coffee mugs for the handful of customers we’re likely to get this afternoon and ringing in the sale of maybe one, but probably zero, books before we close? Yeah, I think I’ll manage.”
“It’s almost October. Things tend to get crazier with Halloween on the horizon.”