Flame in the Dark (Soulwood #3)(83)

I set the coffee up on the hood of my truck and people began to meander over, as if they were psychic to the presence of fresh coffee. A dark-skinned woman in a jacket and pants, her hair cropped close, got to me first and I held up my ID at the same time I handed her a steaming cup. She barely glanced at the ID and drank the scalding brew like her life depended on it. When she was rescued, she blew out a breath and said, “You must be my telepathic new best friend.” I nearly flinched until I identified her amused tone. “Special Agent Margot Racer, FBI. Coffee addict, going on a four-hour withdrawal.”

“Special Agent Nell Ingram, PsyLED, probie and all-around coffee gofer.”

She offered her hand and I was surprised when she shook mine. Not all feds were willing to treat well with other agencies, especially the “magic wands and broomsticks” agency. Two ALT uniformed guards reached the truck and I passed out cups and offered sweeteners and creamers and the banana bread. They each put money in the banana bread box, paying their way, which was nice. I nodded to P. Simon, Peter, the security man from the Holloways’ and Justin Tolliver’s house. Simon gave me a quizzical look before he seemed to recognize me. He lifted a hand and turned away. Margot tossed in a five and took a piece of the bread.

I felt an unusual something approach and somehow knew it was my cousin. Chadworth Sanders Hamilton strode up, an expression of dissatisfaction on his face. He took a cup and tossed a dollar at me. I caught the fluttering bill even as he spun on a heel and walked away.

“Charming,” Margot muttered.

Before I could ask her about my cousin, the others gathered around. Two sheriff’s deputies and two more people in suits took cups and food, said their thanks, and returned to their quadrant. Everyone tossed a dollar or two into the box to offset expenses. I was quickly alone with Margot, who poured herself a second cup and leaned against my old truck. The weather had warmed, and she didn’t look chilled, her jacket enough for the temps.

I thought about asking after Hamilton, but decided against it. “Anything interesting tonight?” I asked.

“Not a thing. Nothing’s biting.”

It was a fishing metaphor and I said, “Maybe we’re using the wrong bait.”

Margot laughed, her eyes moving across the dark, taking in where every flashlight was, as if counting them off. I had served seven people and I saw only three lights, so some were likely using low-light lenses. “Politicians,” she said, “so, yeah. Bait might be a problem, for better or worse.”

“I have a psy-meter 2.0,” I said. “I was sent to take readings. You mind?”

“Fine by me. You mind if I watch? I’ve heard about them, but never have seen one in action.”

That meant she would be watching me read the earth too, and I wondered if I could hide my communing. I shrugged, uncomfortable at the thought. “It’s pretty boring, but sure.” I finished off a cup of coffee and carried my gear to the far front edge of the property. I spread the blanket and sat on it, opened my cell to take notes. Turned on the psy-meter and took basic readings to the north, east, south, and west. “Mind if I read you?” I asked. “I need a human standard.”

“What makes you think I’m human?”

“Oh. I’m so sorry. That was rude.”

Margot shrugged. “Mama’s mama was a witch. Mama’s got some knacks, small gifts. She can tell if the weather’s going to turn. If a woman is pregnant and what sex the baby is, with about a ninety percent success. She called the night I was nearly shot and told me to be careful, to wear my vest on my entire shift, even when I was at my desk, and not turn my back on anyone. Saved my life.”

“Really?” I thought about Sam, and his ability to tell exactly what the weather was going to do and what cows were going to have trouble calving and when to plant and when to hold off. “Someone shot you at your desk?”

“Elevator, actually. No idea how she got a weapon inside, through security.”

“Inside help?” I asked.

“Had to be. Never figured out who. But I will. I have a feeling about it.”

“So can I measure you?” I asked, frowning, trying to put her statement together with her family narrative.

“As long as this doesn’t go on the record. I haven’t disclosed my family history to HR, and no one was looking, back when I was hired. Then Gramma died and . . . evidence died with her.”

“I’m sorry. Losing people you love hurts. And I promise to keep my mouth shut and all readings off the record.”

“So what do I do?”

“Just stand there and drink your coffee?”

“Totally doable.”

I reset the compass readings and then turned the rod to Margot. She read a low positive at two and three, but level one rose higher. I shrugged up at her. “You’re human, but yeah, you got some energy. You told me what your mama can do. What about you?”

Margot looked back out over the lawn. “Small things. I know when someone is thinking about breaking the law, working it through, building up the nerve. Usually I can stop them. I know when someone’s lying.” She was watching Hamilton as she said the last words.

“What’s he lying about?” I asked.

“More than one thing, fewer than five. Can you read him?”

“When I get over there. I’m too far away now.”