throat. “How do they get paid?”
Garcia glanced back at him. He looked faintly pissed at being interrupted again, and Evan wondered just how far he could push his luck before he ran the risk of being flattened.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Just wondered if Ms. DuBois had picked up her paycheck. We heard she did a séance for you recently.” Evan gave Garcia a professional smile.
Nothing to worry about here, big guy.
Garcia was unimpressed. “I don’t know you, Delwin. What makes you think I’d tell you about how I pay my contract help?”
“You do know me, Augie.” Rose’s voice was like warm milk and honey all of a sudden. Evan found himself thinking of balmy summer nights, the swish of air from a ceiling fan grazing across bare skin. For a moment he thought he smelled night-blooming jasmine.
He blinked. Rose sat watching Garcia with a bright smile, like she was getting ready to read him
The Cat in the Hat
at the library
.
Evan felt a quick jolt of exasperation. He was getting really tired of being blindsided by a freaking librarian every time he turned around.
Garcia chuckled with a sound like tectonic plates shifting. “Yeah, Rosie, I know you. You want to know how I pay my help?”
“If you don’t mind, Augie.” She picked up her glass of soda and took a small, ladylike sip.
“They work on commission, so much a head. The guests pay me, then I pay the help—the medium and the woman that cleans the building and sets things up for the night.”
“And did Alana DuBois pick up her last paycheck?” Rose widened her eyes to peer at Garcia across the rim of her glass.
His brows moved together slowly. “No, as a matter of fact. She was supposed to come by the next day, but she never showed.”
“So you haven’t seen her since that night?” Evan leaned into Garcia’s line of sight again.
“Nope. Called her about the check, but she didn’t answer.”
Evan felt a slight prickling across the back of his neck. He didn’t know any medium who’d leave a check behind.
“Could we have her number?” Rose said in her Cat in the Hat voice. “I mean, I’ve got one, but I don’t think it’s working.”
Garcia shrugged. “Sure, I’ll give you what I got. Come on into the office.”
Evan got to his feet to follow her, but Garcia gave him a long look. “Sit down and finish your beer, Delwin. I’ll give Rosie the number.”
The bartender moved to the opposite end of the bar as Garcia ushered Rose back through the door. The next five minutes would have passed in complete silence if one of the men at the back of the room hadn’t come up to pay his tab. Finally, Rose and Garcia reemerged.
“Thanks, Augie.” Rose dimpled. “I appreciate this.”
“Any time, Rosie,” Garcia rumbled. “Come back and talk to me later, okay?”
She smiled. Evan pushed up the corners of his mouth into something in the general smile family, then headed toward the door, telling himself it really wasn’t any of his business why Garcia would want Rose Ramos to come back later.
Outside on the street, he blinked in the sudden onslaught of sunshine after the dimness of Nightmare on Novalis. “Friendly little place.”
Rose shrugged. “You’re a stranger. I told you they wouldn’t say anything to you.” She opened her purse and pulled out an eight-by-ten-inch glossy. “I got this from Augie. Alana DuBois. Maybe ten or fifteen years ago judging from the hairstyle.”
Evan studied the print. Alana DuBois had slightly brassy hair with the kind of permanent that left it in clouds of frizz around her face. He really hoped that style represented a ten-year-old fashion decision and not her current taste. He flipped the print over. The back side was stamped with the name and address of a Dallas photographer.
Rose peered over his shoulder. “Not local.”
“Con artists tend to move around.” He flipped Alana DuBois’s picture back over. “Looks like she’s in her thirties here. Wonder how old she is
Garcia glanced back at him. He looked faintly pissed at being interrupted again, and Evan wondered just how far he could push his luck before he ran the risk of being flattened.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Just wondered if Ms. DuBois had picked up her paycheck. We heard she did a séance for you recently.” Evan gave Garcia a professional smile.
Nothing to worry about here, big guy.
Garcia was unimpressed. “I don’t know you, Delwin. What makes you think I’d tell you about how I pay my contract help?”
“You do know me, Augie.” Rose’s voice was like warm milk and honey all of a sudden. Evan found himself thinking of balmy summer nights, the swish of air from a ceiling fan grazing across bare skin. For a moment he thought he smelled night-blooming jasmine.
He blinked. Rose sat watching Garcia with a bright smile, like she was getting ready to read him
The Cat in the Hat
at the library
.
Evan felt a quick jolt of exasperation. He was getting really tired of being blindsided by a freaking librarian every time he turned around.
Garcia chuckled with a sound like tectonic plates shifting. “Yeah, Rosie, I know you. You want to know how I pay my help?”
“If you don’t mind, Augie.” She picked up her glass of soda and took a small, ladylike sip.
“They work on commission, so much a head. The guests pay me, then I pay the help—the medium and the woman that cleans the building and sets things up for the night.”
“And did Alana DuBois pick up her last paycheck?” Rose widened her eyes to peer at Garcia across the rim of her glass.
His brows moved together slowly. “No, as a matter of fact. She was supposed to come by the next day, but she never showed.”
“So you haven’t seen her since that night?” Evan leaned into Garcia’s line of sight again.
“Nope. Called her about the check, but she didn’t answer.”
Evan felt a slight prickling across the back of his neck. He didn’t know any medium who’d leave a check behind.
“Could we have her number?” Rose said in her Cat in the Hat voice. “I mean, I’ve got one, but I don’t think it’s working.”
Garcia shrugged. “Sure, I’ll give you what I got. Come on into the office.”
Evan got to his feet to follow her, but Garcia gave him a long look. “Sit down and finish your beer, Delwin. I’ll give Rosie the number.”
The bartender moved to the opposite end of the bar as Garcia ushered Rose back through the door. The next five minutes would have passed in complete silence if one of the men at the back of the room hadn’t come up to pay his tab. Finally, Rose and Garcia reemerged.
“Thanks, Augie.” Rose dimpled. “I appreciate this.”
“Any time, Rosie,” Garcia rumbled. “Come back and talk to me later, okay?”
She smiled. Evan pushed up the corners of his mouth into something in the general smile family, then headed toward the door, telling himself it really wasn’t any of his business why Garcia would want Rose Ramos to come back later.
Outside on the street, he blinked in the sudden onslaught of sunshine after the dimness of Nightmare on Novalis. “Friendly little place.”
Rose shrugged. “You’re a stranger. I told you they wouldn’t say anything to you.” She opened her purse and pulled out an eight-by-ten-inch glossy. “I got this from Augie. Alana DuBois. Maybe ten or fifteen years ago judging from the hairstyle.”
Evan studied the print. Alana DuBois had slightly brassy hair with the kind of permanent that left it in clouds of frizz around her face. He really hoped that style represented a ten-year-old fashion decision and not her current taste. He flipped the print over. The back side was stamped with the name and address of a Dallas photographer.
Rose peered over his shoulder. “Not local.”
“Con artists tend to move around.” He flipped Alana DuBois’s picture back over. “Looks like she’s in her thirties here. Wonder how old she is
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