Page 71 of The Aura Answer
“Shh, I don’t think we’re supposed to know about him owning the town. I bet he’s hunting for the drawing that would expose his evil schemes. He’s talking to Turlock Sr., the guy wearing the gray sweater over a shirt and tie. I’d scowl, too, if Turd got too close.”
The late mayor’s lawyer left the scowling gazillionaire and crossed over to talk to an older man in a faded blue suitcoat and no tie.
“Hank, chair of the town council, once former Mayor Block’s good buddy,” Gracie murmured.
Nick recognized the hardware store owner but hadn’t made the connection. He’d seen Layman in the store complaining about zoning laws. Interesting. “I see Verity, our art gallery hostess, has disappeared. She doesn’t want her mother’s sugar daddy to see her?”
Gracie shrugged. “She’s scared for some reason.”
“Which one is Tobias Block? Is he here?”
“Long-haired surfer dude leaning against the wall, watching the world go by. Or listening to Evie talk to ghosts, since he seems a trifle bewildered.” Gracie munched her cookie. In between bites, she pointed out the various town council members who appeared to be nattering more than studying the artwork.
The sheriff had positioned himself inconspicuously in a niche behind the easels and was talking into his phone. Nick hoped he was lining up reinforcements and had a battery charger, if reports of ghostly energy draining phones were reliable.
If ghosts existed, they’d better be good guys, because he was thinking the bad guys had them outnumbered.
Gracie coughed and nearly spit out her cookie as two muscular, pot-bellied men entered, smelling of manure and skunk.
“Shepherd twins?” Nick surmised. He recognized the stench of pot.
She nodded and gulped the chocolate.
“Now all we need is Teddy Turlock Jr., right?” He didn’t think anyone here looked like the man who stopped by the garage hunting for Bertie’s sketches... and offering him a job.
“He was here a minute ago. I suspect he called the Shepherds. They’re not married and don’t have kids and never come to these things. Look at Iddy’s raven.”
Nick turned to watch the bird flapping its wings and bobbing its head menacingly. “Is it preparing to peck out eyes?”
Gracie glanced at the ceiling and Nick followed her thoughts. The canister lights were all in place. The hole had been plastered over. No gun aimed at them. That wasn’t the reason the bird was upset.
OK, now he was believing in birds as security guards.
A brisk wind swept through the hall, catching the larger sketches. They toppled, taking the easel with them—revealing Teddy Jr. talking to his father. The raven screamed and returned to its perch on an old light fixture. The Turlocks looked startled.
“I think Bertie has something to say to you, Teddy.” Evie called gleefully from near the janitor’s closet. “He’s remembering who invited him to a party he never got to attend.”
“Here we go,” Gracie whispered in horror.
Had the slightly dodgy sporting goods store owner killed Bertie?Why?
Twenty-Seven
“You’re nuts!”Teddy Jr. predictably shouted, heading toward the stairs, wearing one of his store’s designer nylon jackets in blood red.
Easels mysteriously toppled with every step the lawyer’s drug-dealing son took. He tried to walk around the flying canvases—while everyone in the rotunda gaped.
Evie mentally cheered Bertie’s spirit for finally gathering the gumption to act out.
“Bertie’s mad,” she called after Teddy. “He wanted to party and ended up dead. How did that happen?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Jr. cried, leaping backward as an easel just missed smacking him on the hip of his saggy jeans. “Druggies are delusional.”
Evie grinned. He was talking as if Bertie were really here—which he was, in spirit.
Looking good in black, Nick helpfully returned the easels and sketches to upright, placing himself between Evie and Teddy.
She watched the angry wisp of Bertie’s gray spirit attempt to swing a skinny fist at the sporting-goods store owner. The artist had never been much of a fighter when alive, but his energysucceeded in making his victim shiver in his nylon jacket and spin around, searching for another way out.
