Then the little shit really went bananas, scattering more papers, throwing plants, jumping up and down on chairs and clawing up the fabric. Finally, after it finished what I guessed to be a tantrum, it ran off the screen.
Bill, the security guard, reached forward and hit the pause button. “That’s it. Nothing else happens after that.”
I chewed on my lip, wondering how I should handle this. Detective Hawke was watching me like I might sprout a pair of antennae at any moment.
“Well?” Hawke prompted, tapping his foot.
I glanced at Doc and then Cooper. Both wore frowns, the former staring at the video monitor, the steely-eyed other locked onto me.
“I think what we’re dealing with here is telekinesis.” At least I hoped that was the right word.
Doc glanced my way, nodding slightly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hawke asked.
Doc answered for me, saving me from making a bumbling mess of the situation. “Something is manipulating objects by way of extrasensory perception.”
“Like bending a spoon with your mind,” Bill whispered in awe.
“Exactly.” I took a step back from the video screen, narrowly avoiding Hawke’s foot. I thought about the bottle the imp had thrown. “Bill, did you see any evidence in the grocery store of foul play?”
He scratched his jaw. “Nope. None that I noticed.”
I looked to Hawke. “Have the police officers done a walk-through of the store?”
“Of course,” Hawke sounded as if my question offended him. “That’s the usual protocol at a crime scene.”
Yeah, but were they looking in the right place?
Doc’s gaze locked with mine, his eyes narrowing for a split second. He turned to Cooper. “Detective, would it be okay if Violet and I go take a look in the store?”
“Sure. Follow me.” Cooper led the way back out to the bank doors, holding one open for us. “What are we doing, Nyce?” he said under his breath before Hawke joined us.
“Checking out the liquor section,” I told him as I walked past. When he joined me en route, I added, “The little shit was drinking from the bottle before it chucked it at the wall.”
He snagged my arm as we passed a pallet of packaged noodles, slowing me down. “You could see it on the screen?”
Doc kept walking.
I nodded. “I take it you couldn’t.”
“I could only see the bottle moving around and then fly into the wall and explode.”
I turned to him, whispering, “I could see that and a lot more. The little sucker liked whatever he was drinking from that bottle and when it ran out, he got pissed. That’s why it threw the bottle.” I glanced ahead at Doc, who was skirting between two of the cash registers and heading for the liquor section of the store. “Come on, Cooper.”
Hurrying, I caught up to Doc. “It likes honey.”
“Right, and fermented honey is mead.” Doc glanced my way. “Remember the black bottle of mead from the crate in Mudder Brothers?”
I nodded. “A coincidence?”
“That seems like a stretch.” He looked at Cooper, who joined us in front of the boxed wines. “Look for mead or anything flavored with honey.”
The three of us searched the well-stocked shelves, searching for any signs of missing bottles while Hawke watched with a scowl on his face. Or maybe that was just his usual expression these days.
“This is a fucking waste of time, Coop. We brought Parker here to watch a video, not pick out the wine she wants to drink at her next fancy dinner party.”
When was the last time I threw a fancy dinner party? How about never? I picked up a bottle of Zinfandel to throw at the doubting doofus, but Cooper took the bottle from my hand and set it back on the shelf before I could follow through.
Doc was the one who noticed the missing bottle first. “Over here,” he called.
Cooper, Hawke, and I joined him. There was an empty spot on the shelf around knee level. The other bottles looked untouched, which surprised me. After the way the imp had wreaked havoc on the last two places in its search for honey, and over in the bank, why weren’t there other bottles smashed here?
“Haunted Hills Meadery in Custer,” Doc read on the label of the bottle that would have been next in line behind it, handing it over to me.
“Bingo,” I said, remembering how the imp had glugged it down, trying to get every last drop. Why hadn’t it taken two bottles?
Detective Hawke snatched the bottle from my hand. “So, you’re saying that a ghost came over here, grabbed a bottle like this one, carried it into the bank, and threw it against the wall?” He sounded like he’d believe my flying monkeys would be joining us next for a drink and some darts over at the Golden Sluice before he’d buy any of this.
I nodded. “Something like that.”
He snorted. “Why in the hell would a ghost take a bottle and then smash it against the wall?”
Because the imp was mad that it had run out of mead. Then again, maybe it was already half-crocked and on a bender. I couldn’t tell Hawke any of that, though, so I thought about how Doc might explain something like this, being that I was supposed to be a medium like him.
“Well,” I started, lacing my fingers together. “Some entities don’t realize that they are no longer alive. There is a chance that this particular ghost had an alcohol addiction back when he was still alive with a bad habit of robbing banks.”
Hawke was staring down at the label on the bottle, so he didn’t see Cooper roll his eyes
