"Do they all come true?" I'd asked.
"I have no way of knowing. I know they might come true." Xylda looked at me now, and her blue eyes really saw me. "In the time of ice, you'll be so happy," she said.
"Good," I said, having no idea what she was talking about. But that was the way of conversations with Xylda, if you could call this a conversation.
"You can't keep lying," Xylda said gently. "You have to stop doing that. It won't hurt anyone."
"I think I'm truthful," I said, surprised. Many things I could be accused of, and my accuser would be right. But not this.
"Oh, you're truthful about the things that don't matter."
"Did someone come to Memphis with you, Xylda?"
"Yes, Manfred did."
"Where is Manfred?" I wasn't completely sure who Manfred was, but learning someone had charge of Xylda was a relief.
"He's parking the car. There wasn't a space."
"Oh, good," I said, relieved to hear such a prosaic explanation. Tolliver arrived at the table with our drinks. Xylda seemed glad to get the coffee, which was redolent of vanilla and sugar, and she swirled in even more sugar with the little brown plastic stirrer. Mine was regular coffee, and Tolliver had gotten hot chocolate. "Tolliver, Xylda says Manfred is with her."
He raised his eyebrows in query, so he didn't know who that was, either. I shrugged. "She says he's out parking the car."
Tolliver stood and stared out the glass windows, then began waving vigorously to someone. "I think I spotted him." he said, sinking back into his chair. "He's coming in." Tolliver was smiling broadly.
"He's a good boy," Xylda said. She smiled at us. "Listen, I hear you found the Morgenstern girl." Suddenly, she sounded completely practical and all present and accounted for, mentally.
"Yes," I said.
"You know, they called me in."
"Yeah?"
"It wasn't the boy," Xylda said. "There was passion involved. But there was no sex with the little girl."
"Okay," I said. "Then why was she killed?"
"I don't know," Xylda said. She looked down into her coffee cup.
See what I mean about psychics being very little help?
"But I know you'll find out," Xylda said, and she looked up at me very sharply. "I won't be there to see it, but you'll find out."
"Are you going to a different city? Have you got another booking?"
"Yes," she said quite definitely. "I have another booking. You know, I'm the real thing, and people know that when they meet me."
"Yes, they do," Tolliver agreed, and then a thin young man came up to us, dressed all in black. This was Manfred, I assumed.
"I saw her surprise you," Manfred said cheerfully. "Sorry about that. Are you her friends? She said she had to meet some friends here."
Amazing. Xylda's psychic ability had led her to meet with us outside a Cineplex. Manfred was a narrow-shouldered young man in his late teens or early twenties. He had a narrow face and slicked-back peroxided hair, a matching goatee, and at least one tattoo visible on the side of his neck. He had a face decorated with many piercings and his hands were covered with silver rings.
He matched Xylda, in an odd sort of way.
"I'm Tolliver Lang and this is Harper Connelly," Tolliver said. "Are you related to Xylda?"
"This is my grandson," Xylda said proudly.
I was willing to bet that few grandmothers would be able to look at Manfred's extreme facial embellishment without wincing, much less with Xylda's simple pride. There was much to Manfred that met the eye, and quite a lot that didn't—and his grandmother was certainly psychic enough to sense that.
We told the young man we were pleased to meet him, and we explained that we crossed paths with Xylda professionally from time to time.
"She jumped up this morning, right at the breakfast table," Manfred said. "She said we had to go to Memphis. So we got in the car, and here we are." He seemed proud of having taken his grandmother so seriously, of having gotten her here on time to keep her self-appointed rendezvous.
"You know the body was found," I said to Xylda, who'd finished her coffee before the rest of us had begun to sip at ours.
"Yes, and I knew it was going to be found in a graveyard," Xylda said. "I just didn't know which one. I'm glad you found the girl. She's been dead a long time."
"Since the day she vanished?" I asked.
"No, not quite," Xylda said. "She lived a few hours. Not more than that."
I was actually relieved to hear this. "That's what I thought. Thanks for telling me," I said. I wondered if I should relay this bit of information to the police or to Tabitha's family. After a moment's consideration, I realized that was a very bad idea. If it had been hard for the police to believe me, it would be impossible for them to give Xylda any credence. If you could say anyone looked like an ex-hooker turned professional psychic, Xylda would be the picture you'd come up with. Police aren't inclined to trust either one, and Xylda reinforced that distrust with every sentence she uttered.
"I Saw it," Xylda said. I could hear the capital letter in her voice. Her grandson Manfred smiled at his grandmother, the epitome of pride. It was obvious Manfred simply didn't care that almost everyone in the shop had taken a moment or two to stare at our little group. I thought that was extraordinary, especially for a young man hardly out of his teens, if indeed he was. I realized that Manfred and Victor Morgenstern were very close in age. I wondered what the two would make of each other, and found the idea of their conversation almost unimaginable.
"Xylda, have you caught a glimpse of who took her?" Tolliver asked. He spoke very quietly, almost inaudibly, because there was no doubt people were listening.
"It was for love," Xylda said. "For love!" Xylda spoke right out.
She smiled at each of us, a distinct and separate look, and then she told Manfred it was time for her nap.
"Sure, Granny," he said. He stood and pulled her chair back for her. I hadn't seen a man do that in years. As Xylda picked up her purse and began to shuffle toward the door, the fascinated gaze of the other patrons following the progress of the enormous plaid coat, Manfred bent to take my hand. "A pleasure to see you," he said, and he suddenly sounded older than his years. "If you ever need a buddy to hang with, Harper, I'm willing to jump in there."
The look in his eyes told me that no matter how old Manfred was chronologically, biologically he was a fully developed male. Suddenly I felt very self-conscious and ridiculously flattered.
"I hear you," I said, and Manfred kissed my hand. Because of the piercings, the effect was strange. I felt a little tongue, a little brush of soft hair from the goatee, and surely a cold metallic touch from a stud in his mouth. I didn't know whether to laugh, or shriek, or pant.
"Just think of the kids we would have," Manfred said, and I opted for smiling.
"That's a step too far, there," I said. "You were doing great, up until the kids."
"I'll remember," he said, smiling back. "Next time I won't make the same mistake."
When they left, I turned to Tolliver to ask him what he'd gotten out of Xylda's tangled contribution. Tolliver was staring after Manfred with no friendly face.
"Oh, get real," I said. "Tolliver! He's years younger than me!"
"Right, maybe three," Tolliver said, and I remembered that Tolliver was three years older. "He's got balls, I'll give him that."
"Probably pierced ones," I said, and Tolliver gave me a startled look and an unwilling laugh.