Manfred grimaced in distaste. His grandmother had gotten some. That was a very bad memory. The viciousness of them, the cowardice of people who wouldn’t reveal their names, had nauseated him.

Of course, if he sent one, it wouldn’t contain an accusation. It would be a statement. “The jewelry of Mrs. Goldthorpe is in the globe in her husband’s study in her house.” Something simple and declarative like that, with lots of nouns. But still . . . that was a last resort.

Magdalena said very reluctantly, “I have a client. The police say he sells illegal drugs. I say they haven’t proved it. But he told me there’s an app on his phone that can turn it into a burner. It’s legal. He might show me how that works.”

Manfred let out a gust of breath. “So, you’ll call them soon?”

“He has an appointment this afternoon,” she said. “If he keeps it, I just may ask him to show it to me.”

Manfred had never appreciated how much more difficult sneaking around had gotten. Surveillance cameras, cell phone records that showed where you were when you made a call, advances in lab testing . . . but he wondered how much of the available technology (which must be expensive, both the investment in equipment and in technicians who understood how to use it) the average law enforcement department could actually finance and employ. Would this poor county have access to forensic labs that could tell you what ream of paper a sheet of computer paper had come from, and where it was sold? Would they view hours of surveillance footage to determine who’d bought that paper? Manfred was skeptical. He’d watched plenty of television shows where police departments not only could unearth this very specific information but could do it instantly. He didn’t believe that could be the truth. So maybe this would be the right way to go: having his lawyer make a sneaky phone call. Simple enough.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s do that. I’m ready to be rid of this situation and get back to work. Especially now that I owe my lawyer more money.” He smiled, though he was pretty sure it wasn’t a happy smile.

Olivia said, “So that’s it? After all the trouble we went to, that’s the end?”

“What else do you want to do, honey?” Magdalena asked, genuinely interested. “You want to break Lewis’s neck?”

Olivia looked at Magdalena with an expression that chilled Manfred. “That would be a start,” Olivia said.

“No need,” Manfred said, though there’d been moments when he could have throttled Lewis himself. This had turned into a personal mission for Olivia, though he wasn’t sure how or why. “We’ve got a plan, and if Magdalena will make the phone call, we should be seeing the result soon.”

“We have a deal,” the lawyer said, standing up. “I’m sending you my mother’s phone number today, and you’re honor-bound to call her and set up an appointment to meet in person.”

“Honor-bound,” Manfred agreed. He didn’t believe he’d ever heard anyone say that out loud.

Without another word, Magdalena left.

“She didn’t even let her car air out,” Olivia observed. “Iron woman.”

She began prowling around restlessly. “Did you ever get a chance to talk to Barry? After we started back yesterday?”

“No, but it looks like I will now. Here he comes.”

Barry knocked on the door before Manfred could swing it open. “Hey, man,” he said. “Listen, I was just going to tell you about yesterday.”

“Please. Olivia was telling me you had some things to share. And I’ve got to pay you.”

“It’s really cool to tell stuff to someone who’ll believe it.” Barry stretched and yawned. “My grandfather came into my room to wake me up last night. He kept wanting to go home.”

“Where to?” Olivia asked.

“That’s the thing, he’s lived about twenty different places. Texas. Nevada. California. Longest in Vegas, where he was a blackjack dealer at one of the casinos. Till Eva Culhane snatched him up and brought him here.”

“I wonder why? It’s like Tommy and your grandfather and the ladies are just camouflage for something.”

“Those are good things to wonder about, but let me get this stuff off my chest first.” Barry made a sweep with his hand, indicating he was ready to unload.

“Okay, man, go ahead.”

“This is what I learned yesterday on our little trip to Bonnet Park. First, the maid, Bertha, is scared to death of Lewis, right? She thinks he’s going to kill her one of these days. He’s getting increasingly off the rails mentally and emotionally, and he’s getting more and more specific. Like, he wants his tea in a certain glass with a certain type of straw and a sprig of mint with three leaves on it. Shit like that. So she’s scared, and she’s glad he’s sleeping out in the pool house so she doesn’t have to see him all day, every day. She thinks he’s unworthy to inherit so much from his folks. She thinks her own son is far superior.”

“So she’s got no loyalty to Lewis,” Olivia said.

“On the contrary. Bertha can’t stand him. But she’s also determined to stay with the job as long as she can, because she wants to know what Lewis is up to. Somehow, when Mr. Goldthorpe died, her son didn’t get what she thought he would. She thought he’d get enough to start up his own landscaping business, buy a couple of trucks and mowers, and hire people. But instead, everything went to the wife. Rachel. There’s some test that has everything hanging in the balance.” Barry had closed his eyes while he related all of this, as if it would help him remember Bertha’s thought better.

“So Bertha was expecting a legacy she hasn’t received,” Manfred said. “Anything more pertinent?”

“Here’s the really good stuff. When we went into the study and Lewis was so upset, he was thinking about his mother and how scared he’d been that she would say something about Bertha to the psychic—you, Manfred. And he was wondering if Rachel’s will was going to mention Bertha.”

“Why would it?” Manfred sat for a minute. “What’s the connection? Has Bertha’s son been romancing one of Rachel’s daughters? But they’re both married women.”

“And they’re at least fifteen years older than him, going by appearances,” Olivia said. “I guess the son and Lewis could be having a thing, though I can’t imagine anyone being genuinely interested in Lewis sexually.”

Barry snickered. “I can’t, either.”

“You can hear people’s deepest secrets,” Olivia said. “Manfred can talk to dead people. I feel very plain compared to your skill set.”

“What I do has its weak points,” Barry said. “People don’t always think in an orderly way, with background. They know all the background. So you’re left with lots of gaps. You have to be careful not to fill them in yourself.”

Olivia said, “Your life must be one long trail of disillusionment.”

He nodded. “You’re about right. That’s a good way to put it.”

Manfred was trying to think of something positive to say when Barry stood up. “Okay,” he said. “I think that’s it. I just wanted to tell you that and collect my money. I got to get back to Shorty. He’s not having a good day. I think moving him from Vegas was a mistake. Mrs. Whitefield says he’s seemed mentally fuzzy ever since he arrived. When I’d call him in Vegas, he wasn’t that off base.”

Manfred got out his wallet (stocking up on cash was another thing he’d done in Davy) and handed Barry the agreed amount. As soon as the door closed behind the telepath, Olivia said, “What’s really interesting is what they’ll decide to do with Shorty once they’ve found he actually has to go into some kind of home and they can’t really keep him in the hotel any longer. If all the old people are just window dressing, what’s going to keep them from dumping them out in the desert? What could be the purpose of this?”

Manfred nodded. “I could swear Lenore Whitefield isn’t a villain. She really believes she’s there to keep her guests happy until they move on to their final destination. Ah . . . that sounds way more gruesome than I intended. What I’m trying to say is, she doesn’t have any designs on them.”