Page 53 of Jon's Helter Skelter Cold Case

“Please? I know those are pretty busy days for you, but not everyone can take off work.”

Sammi wasn’t the least bit miffed. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Hmm, I have two birthday parties that month, but September 25this free.”

“Perfect.” That was actually the date I’d wanted in the beginning. “Lock that in. And we can come in Friday evening to decorate some?”

“Sure.”

He was being so kind and flexible, I felt like hugging the man. Probably would have if it wouldn’t kill his phone.

Amelia came back with paperwork—fortunately, it was an actual paper form, not a tablet or something—and I promptly filled that sucker out, signed it, and gestured for Donovan. “Babe, card. Let’s get a deposit down. A thousand work for you guys?”

Sammi had no issue with the amount, and Amelia dragged Donovan to the cash register so he could use the card. I felt absolutely beside myself. Finally we had a venue and a date locked in! That had been much, much harder than it should have been. Ridiculously so. I now completely understood the need for wedding planners.

With paperwork signed, a deposit down, and a date set, we felt ready to actually go to work now. I gave Amelia and Sammi an air hug, as they were hugging-type people, which made them laugh. Then both put their phones further away on a table before giving me a hug for real, which was sweet of them. I was as excited about the upcoming party as they were.

I really wanted to dive into planning now, but it wasn’t feasible. I had an interview this morning with one of the very few Materializers in the area. They were barely even in the state—they were up in Clarksville. Gonzalez had asked me to do all the interviews within driving distance, and I’d agreed, helping tosplit up the workload. Even if it did mean a lot of driving in our future.

Clarksville wasn’t much of a drive, relatively speaking. About an hour and a half in traffic. Donovan was a good travel buddy, so we were chatting, him taking notes on decoration ideas and texting the moms about our score. Date and venue, booyah!

It felt like we were on the road five minutes when we hit the Clarksville city limits. Donovan navigated me off the freeway and into more of a city outskirts area.

Francesca Harlington was our interviewee this morning. She worked at a veterinary hospital that specialized in rehabilitating amputee animals. It was also a wildlife sanctuary, so I got quite the fun view as we drove up the long, winding driveway, as the cages lining both sides were filled with animals. Birds of prey of all feathers, a zorse, and whoa— “Is that a tiger?”

Donovan peered in the same direction. “It sure is. With a bright pink peg leg. Huh.”

Folks, I have officially seen everything.

I finally got to the end of the driveway, which dead-ended at a very large, blocky, red-brick building. It looked new to me, maybe two years old at most, so this place hadn’t been here long.

We hopped out of the Power Wagon, and Donovan gave Francesca a call. All said and done, I did not like going into hospitals. Too many delicate pieces of equipment I didn’t want to replace. There was an array of benches outside the front doors, so I settled there, as we’d arranged to talk outside.

The woman of the hour waltzed out not two minutes later. She was in a lab coat, her braids pulled in a thick ponytail, wearing sensible shoes and jeans. I took one look at her and knew she wasn’t the culprit. This woman wasn’t even the type to hit someone when she lost her temper.

Donovan stood up and ran interference for me. “Hi, Francesca? Donovan Havili, thanks for meeting us. Just as aprecaution, do not let Jon anywhere near your phone, watch, or any other electronics.”

She shook hands with him, smiling and at ease. “No worries, I left them all on my desk inside, just in case. I took your initial warning to heart. Hi, Jonathan Bane?”

“That’s me.” I stood and shook hands with her too, before gesturing for her to sit next to me. “Sit, please, I need to pick your brain.”

“Sure. Donovan said over the phone that there was a case with a Materializer involved?”

“Yup.” I judged it smart in this case to just be upfront with her. She might think of something I didn’t know to question. “Do you remember the case about a year ago where a psychic was accused of murdering his anchor, who was also his sister?”

Surprise flitted through her lines. “Oh shit! Yes, I remember the case. Wait, I didn’t think the guy was a Materializer.”

“He’s not.” I felt a dry, dark sense of humor bubbling up in me. “He’s innocent of the crime. We’re the firm he hired to clear his name.”

“Oh.” She packed about twenty pounds of innuendo into a single syllable. “Well hot damn, tell me how I can help.”

“So we’ve recently discovered the weapon, evidence, and even the blood splatter were all materialized. But honestly, we barely knew enough to figure that out. Please, tell me how your ability works.”

Donovan interrupted. “Also, do you mind if I record this interview? Just so we don’t forget something later.”

“That’s fine,” Francesca assured him before focusing back on me. “All right, to answer, materializing depends solely on how powerful of a psychic you are and how well you can mentally picture something. Say you’re a weaker psychic—you might be able to do something simple, like materialize a pencil, or something with up to four layers.”

“What do you mean by layers?”

“It means the amount of material in something. So, like that pencil—there’s the wood on the outside, the eraser on the end, the metal holding the eraser, and the lead inside, right? So there’s four layers.”

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