Page 50 of The Aura Answer
If she thought there were any chance a stout old man like the judge could climb into the attic, she’d suspect Satterwhite of killing Block. He had every reason in the world. Judge S was presiding over Block’s trial and knew how many people the former mayor had harmed. Block’s cronies were presumably pressuring the judge’s sainted mother. Means, motive, opportunity...
It simply didn’t fit right in her head. Or with his aura. Six of one and all that...
In her search for Bertie, she met Judge Rhodes in the upper hall. Now there was a man she’d like to consider a suspect. His aura was as dismal as his clothes—but she really needed to learn this evidence thing.Facts, Evangeline.
Bertie had sketched Rhodes taking what looked like cash from Layman. But even if anyone had seen the sketch, they wouldn’t think anything of it. Bertie “wasn’t quite right in the head” always prevailed.
And there was no other connection except age and her dislike. She didn’t think Rhodes even lived in Afterthought. As a circuit judge, he could live anywhere. She supposed he had the same opportunity as Judge S to kill Block, but why? Did he even own a gun?
Wearing a suit and not his robes, probably on his way home, Rhodes walked right past her as if she were invisible. Oh well, do or die and all that.
Given the opportunity, Evie turned and stood in his path. “Have you noticed your chambers feeling colder than usual, your honor?”
“And you are?” he asked. His eyes were flat and gray, and Evie wondered if any woman had been stupid enough to marry him. She didn’t dare open her extra sense, but what she could see of his aura wasn’t exactly charming.
“Evangeline Malcolm.” She smiled broadly while dropping her father’s name in favor of her mother’s infamy.
The supercilious idiot stared at her blankly. Oh well.
Coldly, he asked, “Are you with the company working on the heating system? I told the clerk to call them hours ago.”
Oh, nice opening... “We think some of the ducts may have been damaged in the riot. We didn’t like disturbing you in your chambers...”
He juggled the files he was carrying to reach in his pocket. “I keep the door locked. Return the keys to the clerk when you’re done. I don’t think the heat vent is working at all back there.”
Heat was fine. Block was his problem. Not explaining that.
She accepted the keys with a smile. “I appreciate that, your honor, and I’ll get right on it.”
He stalked off without any pleasantry, a busy man with so much on his mind he hadn’t even asked for her credentials. Stupid.
Did she really look like a furnace inspector? She tapped the knit hat hiding her hair and glanced down at the puffy coat she’d worn anticipating ghostly cold and shrugged. Everyone looked alike in winter. She should wear sexy sweaters like Gracie, although her lurid t-shirts worked as well. But apparently, she’d unconsciously decided to blend in today.
Figuring she’d never be given permission again, she skipped Bertie and hurried into the empty courtroom. Not too cold there. Block would avail himself of the familiar, which meant the cushiest corner—the judge’s private chamber. Wondering how far Block could wander, she unlocked Rhodes’ hideaway.
Shiver. It would be warmer if a hole was knocked in the wall to let the outside air in.
“Mayor Arthur,” she called cheerfully, spotting the aura in the judge’s desk chair. She settled on the leather couch. “Have you figured out why anyone would kill you yet?”
Opening her third eye, Evie could see the former mayor’s spirit swirling like the aurora borealis. With no way of controlling events, he was lost and starting to panic.
Nobodyhe muttered, probably unaware she could hear him in her head even if he didn’t speak loudly.
“It’s always a possibility that it could have been an accident,” she agreed. “Your son is trying to do what you wanted, but he can’t find your binder. Do you know where it is?”
Binder.Block’s colors swirled a little more cohesively.Lawyer. Turd has it all. Wants it all.
Interesting. Block couldn’t remember his lawyer’s name, but apparently epithets were emotional and lingered. She assumed he meant Turd the Senior, his lawyer. “Mr. Turlock thinks you owe him money.”
All bluster, no muscle. All that hair, rots the brain.
Block had worn a topper to conceal his balding head. Evie tried not to snort.
The aura steadied a little more and Evie had the feeling he’d finally focused on her.You hear me?
“Yeah, imagine that,” she said dryly. “Your only connection to your son is the Gypsy’s daughter. Irony, huh?” Block hadn’t the imagination to call Mavis a witch. ApparentlyGypsyhad been his euphemism fortrash.
Want to talk to him.He almost sounded like his cranky old self.
