“And why doesn’t Megan Blair think you’re fine? She should know. She’s a doctor, isn’t she?”
Eve nodded. “ER. But she’s not practicing right now.”
“Too busy with this voodoo stuff?”
Voodoo. Yes, that was what Eve had thought when she had first met Megan. She had believed all psychic powers were crap and everyone who claimed to have them charlatans. But she had seen too much in that swamp while they were chasing that killer, Henry Kistle, to discount anything that Megan told her.
Except that last facilitator revelation. Eve still couldn’t quite accept that possibility as reality. It was too bizarre, as Megan had said.
“I guess you could call it voodoo. But Megan isn’t . . . I respect her, Jane.”
“Then I apologize for being flip. Heaven knows, I realize that there’s more out there than we can see or touch. It’s just that someone like Megan Blair is outside my realm of experience. Where’s your car parked?”
“Short-term lot.” She started across the street. “I brought the Jeep. I was expecting more luggage, or maybe a canvas or two.”
“No, I left everything in Paris. I’ll go back, or they can send it to me.” Jane’s brow was furrowed. “Why did Megan think I should hold your hand? You told me Kistle was dead. There’s no threat from him, right?”
“Right.” Jane wasn’t going to let it go, Eve thought. She was in protective mode, or she wouldn’t have flown here from Paris just to be with Eve. “And there’s no threat, period. Megan is just having second thoughts about something.”
“What?”
Tell her, but keep it light. “She thinks I may go off my rocker.” Eve made a face. “Or become a voodoo priestess myself.”
“Not likely.”
“That’s what I told her.”
“Why would she say something like that?”
Okay, just explain and then drop it. “I told you that Megan has certain . . . talents.”
Jane nodded. “She can hear the dead under certain circumstances or, at least, echoes of what happened to them. Pretty creepy.” She paused. “And hard for me to believe. Though I can see that you might be open to it.”
Because Jane knew that the memory of Bonnie was still a major part of Eve’s life. “It was difficult for me too. I thought Megan was like one of those psychic phonies who victimized me right after Bonnie disappeared all those years ago. It took a lot for me to admit to myself that Megan was the real thing. But I was with her when she located the grave of a little boy in the woods in Illinois. I saw her go into deep shock in the swamp here in Georgia trying to help us find Kistle and those children he’d killed.”
Jane’s lips quirked. “I imagine ‘real’ is rather an ambivalent term in cases like this. And did Megan’s dead friends tell her that you had to be looked after?”
“No.” She made a face. “It seems Megan has another talent. She said that she releases . . .” She shrugged. “She said that she’s sort of a facilitator, that if she touches someone while she’s in an emotionally charged state, it could trigger the release of latent psychic powers in the person she touches. According to her, some people can’t accept that release. They go bonkers.”
“Now that’s bizarre.”
“ ‘Bizarre’ seems to be the word for the night,” Eve said as she unlocked the Jeep. “Megan used it, I used it. Now you, Jane. Megan said that she understood how I’d fight accepting this facilitator effect. She’s absolutely right.” She slipped into the driver’s seat. “Particularly since I seem to be a candidate for it, and I’m not feeling in the least bonkers. Nor am I sensing any splendid new mental powers.”
“You don’t need any more mental powers,” Jane said as she got into the passenger seat. “You’re probably the foremost forensic sculptor in the world. And you’re the smartest woman I know.”
“I’m not bad in the IQ department, but I can’t say the same for my emotional acumen. I don’t seem to learn from my mistakes.”
“You’re smart enough to hold on to Joe,” Jane said. “That strikes me as positively brilliant.”
“I’ve been lucky . . . so far.” Her smile faded. “I have you, and I have Joe. And neither one of you is inclined to kick me out of your lives. That’s pretty wonderful.”
Jane was silent for a moment. “How are you and Joe getting along?”
She had known that question would be asked. “As well as can be expected considering that I have an obsession that dominates our lives.” She looked away from Jane. “We really needed that Henry Kistle be Bonnie’s murderer as well as the killer of all those other children on the island. Joe is . . . tired of it all. Who can blame him? Certainly not I.” She smiled determinedly as she backed out of the parking place. “But he’ll be glad to see you. You’re like a fresh breeze every time you whisk into our lives.”
“And how is your work going?”
“I just finished up a forensic sculpting job a few days ago. Joe said I may have to work on the skulls of one or two of the children we found buried on the island in the Okefenokee Swamp if we can’t get an ID. I’ll do whatever it takes to bring them home.”
Jane nodded. “Since you couldn’t bring your Bonnie home.”
“I still have hope. In fact, I have two more names that may pan out. Paul Black. Kevin Jelak. I’ll have to follow up as soon as I learn more about them.” She could see Jane gazing at her in wonder, and she smiled crookedly. “Yes, I know that I just got through dealing with Henry Kistle. But he wasn’t the right one. He couldn’t help me bring my Bonnie home. So I have to go on. You see? I am obsessed.”
