“There’s more to it than that,” I said.
I stood there awkwardly, the hiss of the espresso machine filling the silence like a low-flying plane. I wasn’t sure what to say to correct the situation, but it was Mrs. Teasley who jumped in with a different awkward matter altogether.
“Not having any of your usual troubles with this one?” she asked me sweetly.
I cocked my head at her.
“Well, Simon,” she said. I could see the matter-of-factness in her eyes. She dabbed her fingers in the wet pile on her table. “The coffee grounds never lie. They’ve told me that your trysting has never met with much success.” She looked unexpectedly tired just then. “I suspect it’s the same story for all of us with such talents.”
She fell silent and scritched at her cat.
I gave what she said a moment to sink in: Was I having my usual trouble with Jane? Maybe Mrs. Teasley was on to something with her question. Perhaps it was time to cut her some slack. She was proving far more observant and asking the right kinds of questions. Ihadn’t picked up a single vibe from Jane or anything I had touched of hers.
I didn’t know why she was exempt from my powers. Maybe I was actually learning to control them. If so, I had Connor to thank for that.
As if just the mere thought of Connor was enough to summon him, he appeared from between the curtains that separated the coffeehouse from the movie theater. He stiffened at the sight of Jane sitting with Mrs. Teasley, but I shot him a look that saidDon’t start. I felt a moment of triumph as he softened, even if ever so slightly, and then he focused on me once again.
“How’s your head today?” he asked. By the time we had left Eccentric Circles, we were both experiencing trouble walking.
“You don’t need to shout!” I said as I grabbed my head and pretended to reel. Any hints of tension seemed to dissipate as he laughed.
“Sorry,” he said in a mock whisper. “You want to go over what I’ve discovered out back or you want me to hit it with you right here?”
I self-consciously put a hand on Jane’s shoulder and squeezed it. “Right here is fine. If it’s got anything to do with her former employer, I think she needs to be in on it. They’re practically hunting her anyway.”
“Fine,” he said, but his tension from yesterday came back immediately. I knew he wasn’t happy to have Jane involved, but I think he also knew I wasn’t going to back down this time.
“Lay it on us,” I said, and sat down next to Jane.
Connor threw himself on the sofa sitting kitty-corner to us. “You know, having the delivery address for that wooden fish certainly came in handy when I talked to some of the recently living this morning.”
“Was it Irene? Did you talk to her?” I asked, tensing at the thought. At the mention of Irene’s name, Connor looked briefly at Jane and sighed before turning back to me.
“I have cases on my plate other than your little…client,” he said. “Anyway, no, I didn’t have contact with Irene. I’ve been communing with a few other spirits crossing over the past few days and I was able to glean a little other side info from it all.”
He reached in his coat and brought out his Palm Pilot.
“Fancy,” I said. “We in a new budget cycle or did you get a raise?”
“I wish,” he said, looking up. “It’s a loaner.”
He stylused down the screen until he found what he was looking for. “Here we go! We’ve been noticing a lot more restless souls than usual processing through the Department lately, and most of them are familiar with the address on the manifest. Thing is, kid, they’re all experiencing the same type of memory loss and displacement. They’re either like that ghost in the alley or like Irene.”
Connor scrolled farther along. I would have bet money he was feeling all Six Degrees of Lieutenant Columbo right now.
“So what’s the address for?” I asked
“Hold your damn horses, kid.” He slowed his pace, scrolled back a few screens, and stopped. “Ah, here it is! I had to piece it together from what several of the spirits said, but they thought it belonged to a group called the Salvador Breton Foundation although none of them could remember anything clearer than that. That name mean anything to either of you?”
Jane shook her head. Mrs. Teasley did so as well, even though she wasn’t really a part of our conversation.
“Don’t ask me,” she chimed in. “Heavens, it’s rare that I ever deal in specifics anyway, isn’t it, boys?”
“You, Simon?” Connor asked, ignoring her.
“The only foundations I’m familiar with are antique houses and artists’ trusts, but this group does sound vaguely familiar.”
Connor grabbed my by the shoulder and sat me down. “Close your eyes, kid. We’re gonna figure this out my way.”
“Is this gonna hurt?” I asked, only half joking.
“Only if you make me slap you,” he said, and covered my eyes with his right hand cupped over them. “I want you to relax. Now listen to the words again. The Salvador Breton Foundation. I want you to visualize them, twirling and spinning, trying to fit into place like jigsaw pieces…”
I felt silly letting myself be guided through a creative visualization, but if it somehow tied into Irene’s death and our pursuit of her killers, I would give it my best shot.
“Think about the details so far, kid. The oracle on the subway, Cyrus Mandalay’s shop, the Ghostsniffing operation…”
“Nothing,” I said, moving to push Connor’s hand away from my eyes, but he held it there still.
“Now think larger, kid, like the wheels of the cosmos are just churning away, things clicking into place for reasons that are becoming increasingly clear.”
“This isn’t going to work,” I said. “I’ve tried to fit myself into this puzzle. Why me? Why am I in the midst of it all?”
“You don’t need to know why,” Connor said, “just accept that you are.”
I gave in to Connor’s demand, stopped questioning, and gave over to simply thinking free form. I never used to take into account such concepts as “the grand scheme of things.” Working in my current environment and having this power, however, it had become more and more obvious that the grander scheme was something I needed to figure into both my own life and my work.
A grand scheme meant some sort of planner and that brought to mind the larger question of theology. Was I experiencing, through my power, a direct relation to God or several gods for that matter? Did the divine even factor into it? Was I predestined to be a lowly thief and con artist all those years to put me on the road toward fighting for Good? My criminal past didn’t seem to jibe with living the life of the righteous and good.
My mind was going off on tangents piecing details together, but I needed to get back to basics in my head, and my thoughts drifted to Irene. I contemplated all the points where our lives intersected, the commonality between us, and like a divine spark, it hit me.
“I have it!” I said. The three of them turned to me expectantly. “Well, at least I think I know the significance of the name ‘Salvador Breton’ anyway.”
“Please,” said Connor as he poised his stylus over his Palm. “Enlighten us.”
“This may not have to do with anything,” I said, “but if any of the finer points of this case are connected, I think that foundation has something to do with the Surrealist movement.”
Blank stares from all around. Finally, Connor said, “Go on.”
“You know I have a somewhat shady background in art history so bear with me for a moment if I get all lecturey. When you have my ability, you take an interest in the art world. But Surrealism wasn’t just an art movement; it was a serious way of life for people. To that point, there was a huge blowup, in the thirties I believe, between two of the leading fathers of the movement, Salvador Dalн and Andrй Breton.”