Marlene had muttered a few choice words about Mr. Charles and the expense of keeping all his girlfriends, and they hadn’t sounded like jealousy. They’d sounded a whole lot like they needed to be looking into the old man.
Twenty-two
“New glasses!”Loretta demanded Friday morning, bouncing on the breakfast banquette so her new shoulder-length hair swung freely. She wore her thick bangs clipped to either side, presumably until they grew out to Hermione length. “Larraine says I need square, black frames.”
“I’ve made an appointment at the eye doctor for Monday. I’m thinking the lens are more important than frames.” Evie accepted the fashion designer’s wisdom on frame types, although she would have argued for crystal blue cat-eyes to match her Indigo ward’s aura and eyes. But she liked color and Loretta liked dramatic black. Each to their own.
It was hard not to be judgmental when that was essentially her profession. Happy colors felt good. Black did not. How could she not judge a person on that basis?
Evie was still pondering the impossible when Reuben arrived bearing printouts of spread sheets and photos. He dropped them on the counter while he investigated the contents of the refrigerator. “Are we or are we not working for the Gumps? I’m gonna quit putting in time if we’re not getting paid. I’ve got a raccoon to roost out of an attic and an inquiry about ghosts in a Charleston townhouse I should check out.”
“You’ll just leave a murderer out there and thieves stealing identities and emptying bank accounts? Shame on you.” Evie handed Loretta oatmeal with a raisin funny face and a cinnamon beard, with apple slices for hair.
“And that’s how you stay poor.” Reuben produced cheese, eggs, and bagels and set them on the counter with his papers. “How you plan on paying for that car out there?”
“With my good looks.” Evie fluttered her lashes and settled on a stool to eat her oatmeal. She was having second and third doubts about the car. It was a boring sedan. It had gone zero to sixty well enough. At least, it hadn’t rattled. But it wasn’t a Miata by any means.
And if she gave up ghost sleuthing, she really didn’t need a car. Or to worry about whether it would work in a stake-out.
She just hated, with every ounce of energy in her—and she had alot—to give up on those old people.
“You got a car?” Loretta was out of her seat in a flash, racing for the back door. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Just borrowed it,” Evie called after her.
The screen door slammed on her reply. Evie picked up the papers Reuben had left for her perusal. “You think all of Denmark is rotten?” As far as she could tell, these were profiles on all of Sunshine’s board of directors. She picked up the one on Bill Bibb simply because she already knew he was rotten to the core. And there she went, judging by color.
“I’m thinking it’s not just the employees living under stolen IDs. We need fingerprints or facial recognition or something, but the whole board of directors smells like dried and freeze-packed shit.” Reuben fried his own egg and toasted the bagel.
“Wow, and they all look so pretty, too.” The photos were all white males except for Ursula. Interesting. How did she get in the mix? Where was Lucy? Was she new? “So everyone on the board also holds a position in the company? Like, they actually work for a living?”
“Closely-held corporation. They’re officers, directors, employees, and stockholders, possibly promoted through the ranks, just like any good mafia.”
Looking as if he’d just walked off the pages of a male model magazine, their guest emerged from the back bedroom. The Italian was too tall and slick for Evie’s tastes, and along with his streak of annoying Ives’ aura, there was another questionable streak of red—just like Jax’s. She’d learned enough about Jax to know his anger was at himself and maybe at the world’s injustice, but she didn’t know Dante Rossi. So there, she wasn’t actually judging him. Yet.
“Good morning, Mr. Rossi. Breakfast is informal. If you can fix your own, please help yourself to what you need. Otherwise, I can whip up simple requests.” Evie spied on his aura while she ate her oatmeal. She ought to feel guilty for studying people without their knowledge. She didn’t.
“Dante, or Don, please. I learned to cook for myself or I’d starve on a dig.” He peered into the refrigerator. “I sincerely appreciate your hospitality. I don’t often have the chance to make myself at home.”
“You don’t have a place of your own?” Reuben assembled his concoction.
“An apartment I barely sleep in and an old villa I never visit.” He juggled an egg, a loaf of bread, and the butter. “Miss Broadhurst says there is a cemetery on something called Witch Hill with a family graveyard that I might find interesting?”
“The stones are deliberately concealed in herbs and flowering weeds, but they’re there if you look carefully. They date back to the 1600s. Do your Malcolms have a genealogist like Jax’s family?” Evie washed her bowl in the sink.
“Several. It’s rather essential given their eccentricities and need to consult with each other on the best use of their various talents. I can put you in touch with them, if you like. Miss Broadhurst has asked if I might work with a phone bank to bring down miscreants. She’s a bit...”
“Intense?” Evie offered helpfully. “Don’t let her put her mental voodoo on you.”
Dante looked up from buttering his bread and raised an elegant eyebrow. “Interesting. But if I can be useful while I’m here, I’d like to try.”
“Pris said I could help too.” Loretta slammed back into the kitchen. “Can we go for a ride in the new car? I like the blue.”
“I may take it back,” Evie warned.
Unconcerned, Loretta scooted back on the vinyl bench to empty her bowl. “Pris says we’re meeting at City Hall tomorrow, ’cause it’s closed to the public on Saturday.”
Jax walked in on that explanation. He frowned but kissed Evie’s cheek.