CHAPTER 30
The kitchen was down the hall to the right. It was small and filled with light, a round scoop-out at the end holding a small table and two chairs, done in country French.
Cheney said thoughtfully, “He said he had a financial guide. Wouldn’t that mean he knew how to play the stock market? I wonder why Bevlin isn’t living in a mansion.”
Julia opened the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of water, handed one to him. “August used to say that everyone would believe in psychics if one of them won the lottery. Who knows? I certainly don’t. Look out back, no yard to speak of, it just goes straight up to the next house. I think there are two more houses above this one. This place isn’t bad, if you ask me.”
“He is very weird, Julia.”
“Different, Cheney. He’s merely different.”
“Well, then, look at this situation. There’s this guy out there sitting on a red beanbag, looking dead, and he’s talking to a spirit guide. Do you think I’m dangerous?”
“Yes.”
He spewed out some water. His left eyebrow shot up.
“Like recognizes like. You see, I’ve discovered I’m dangerous too.” Her voice sounded low and mean. At this point in time, he thought, she was right. She said, “Thing is, I’m wondering why August would tell Bevlin you were dangerous. I think you’re right, Bevlin might be projecting his own feelings a little.”
Cheney grinned, clicked his water bottle against hers. “There you go. Maybe Bevlin’s guide doesn’t like me, or maybe he or she is lying.”
Julia downed the rest of her water and grabbed another bottle from the fridge. “Let’s go see if Bevlin has connected with his guide.”
They walked back to the living room. Bevlin Wagner was lying on the floor, flat on his back, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes still closed.
“All he needs is a white lily,” Cheney said. “Or maybe black, I’m not sure just yet.”
“No, not lilies, I’m allergic to lilies.” Bevlin opened his eyes, sat up, and wrapped his arms around his knees. “My guide said one day it seemed he simply woke up and there I was, this scrawny little kid who spoke to his parents and wondered why they didn’t realize they’d already had that particular conversation.”
“Deja vu?”
“Yep. When I was little, I never thought about it, it was simply the way things were. It happened with friends sometimes too. I already knew what everyone was going to say.”
“So your guide was what—asleep—until you came along?”
Bevlin shrugged, came gracefully up to his feet. “More like he was simply there, maybe not fully aware of who he was, or what he was intended to do.”
Julia tossed him a bottle of water. He snagged it out of the air, opened it, tilted it back, and drank the entire thing straight down.
“This sort of thing would make me thirsty too,” Julia said to Cheney.
When he was finished with the bottle, Bevlin arced it toward the single wastebasket in the far corner of the room. It banked off the wall and fell neatly in, gave a small bounce, and settled.
Cheney said, “So you have no thought at all about who killed Dr. Ransom?”
“Of course I asked him when he warned me about you. I’ve also asked my other guides. Neither he nor any of the others seem to know. That, or none of them wants to tell me. I’m not sure which. Maybe they don’t think it’s my business, maybe they don’t think I can handle it. August didn’t see who it was, he told me that, just as he told Wallace.” Bevlin shuddered. “He said it all happened really fast, but he still felt the horror of it, knowing he was going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it. He said he didn’t feel all that much pain, a blessing, he supposed, thanks to the gift of cocaine.”
Julia said, “I wasn’t aware August used cocaine until the police found a stash locked in one of his desk drawers and the medical examiner found cocaine in his system. I thought I could always tell if someone was high on drugs, but he kept it a secret from me, and he did it well.”
“All his close friends knew he used cocaine,” Bevlin said. “It never occurred to me to mention it to you. In any case, he said he sort of let go and then he was on the other side and he realized his knees wouldn’t ever hurt him again. That pleased him.”
Cheney said, “Bevlin, I’ve been wondering why your guides don’t make you filthy rich.”
He scratched his armpit. “The thing is, the guides don’t know everything. When I was young I wanted to bet on a horse whose name was Second Sight—I asked my guide and he said he had no clue which horse would win, but he didn’t like the name. Too cutesy, he said. Funny thing—Second Sight won. My guide made himself scarce for a while after that.”
Cheney said, “You knew Dr. Ransom for what? Seven, eight years?”
“Yes, something like that. He was a great man. I’m hoping he’ll help me focus, help me see more than I’ve seen before.”
Cheney said, “You mean he’ll be another guide?”
“Hmm, I hadn’t thought of it like that. Perhaps so.”
“Who do you think killed him? Not what the guides think, what do you think?”
