I was sugar and spice—in the kitchen—and everything occult.
“Depends on how well the cleaners did their jobs.” I exhaled. “So far, I’ve got nothing.”
Maybe we would get lucky when we looped around to examine the alcove where the blood was found.
A buzz in my pocket had me stepping away to answer my cell. “Hollis.”
“You sound so official,” Camber teased. “Are you wearing a suit right now?”
“I’m allergic to good tailoring.” I relaxed into her voice. “I wear a bag over my head to hide my shame.”
Arden chimed in, alerting me I was on speaker. “Then shouldn’t you be wearing a bag over your outfit?”
“It’s a symbolic gesture.” I fell into our familiar banter. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your mocking?”
“A man came in about ten minutes ago,” Camber explained. “He asked to speak to you.”
Had he been a local, they would have said so. His being a stranger made me anxious. “Did he say why?”
“Only that he wanted to speak to you.” She made a thoughtful sound. “He was…odd.”
“He wore a black suit,” Arden contributed, taking over for Camber. “It was old-fashioned.”
“The way he spoke was kind of British but not?” Camber snapped her fingers. “I got it. It’s like that made-up accent they used in Hollywood in the forties. What was it called?”
“Mid-Atlantic,” Arden supplied. “A mix of American and British English someone invented for funsies.”
“I know you didn’t go with us to the midnight showing of It’s a Wonderful Life,” Camber rattled on, “but it’s that accent. Listen to Donna Reed’s lines, and you’ll get it.”
That showing had been an attempt to socialize Aedan that had resulted in him making two friends aside from the girls. I hadn’t gone, because I hadn’t been invited. Selective memory was a marvelous thing.
Perhaps I ought to invoke it to forget I was too old and uncool to rate a ticket. “Anything else?”
“No.” Camber paused to confer with Arden. “I don’t think so.”
“We thought you should know,” Arden finished for her. “Just in case.”
“Thanks for the update.” I forced myself to play it cool. “How’s everything else?”
“Business as usual,” she assured me. “Actually, we should go. A customer just walked in.”
“Let me know if Mid-Atlantic Man comes by again.” I backed away from the railing. “Talk to you later.”
The phone rang again almost as soon as the previous conversation ended.
“He was a black witch.” Aedan kept his voice low. “The way he dressed? It was Black Hat, but vintage.”
“Vintage?” I mulled that over. “Do you think he’s old, or is it an affectation?”
“Between the accent and the outfit, he could have walked out of a black-and-white movie.”
Life on the road would be so much easier if I owned a satellite in orbit above Samford.
Now that we knew Mayor Tate’s dirty little secret, that the security cameras mounted throughout downtown were dummies, I had to think Clay was on to something when he jokingly suggested we begin methodically wiring in real ones.
There might come a time, and soon, when I required the ability to watch over the town when I left it.
On a less extravagant budget than, say, outer space.