"What was that?"
She groped mentally, but the elusive knowledge was gone. "I don't know." Surprised at herself, she shook her head. "That was weird. I usually don't get much of anything without tea leaves or cards in front of me." She was just about to add that his spiritual energy must be especially strong to spark hers like that, when she saw him glance past her. Without turning her head or even thinking about it, she knew he had spotted Miranda Knight — and in a sudden flash understood much that had been murky to her before.
Bishop's attention returned to her face. Politely, he said, "Thank you very much for your help, Miss Hallowell. If I have any more questions, I'll be in touch."
Liz dropped the stub of her cigarette to the sidewalk and ground it out beneath her foot. "And I'll be here, Agent Bishop. Right here, usually."
Without actually planning to do it, Liz found herself shaking hands with the agent. She wanted to warn him to be careful, but the certainty that interference usually backfired kept her silent. What would be would be.
She was about to return to her store when Bishop said, "I will, Miss Hallowell."
"You will what?" she asked blankly.
He smiled. "I'll be careful."
Liz stared after him, murmured, "Wow," under her breath, and went very thoughtfully back to work.
"Grandstanding?" Miranda asked. She stood only a few yards away, close enough to hear, waiting on the sidewalk beside her Jeep.
Instead of denying it, Bishop merely said, "I wanted her to know I was someone who would be open to information no matter how it was come by. If something else occurs to her, she might be more willing to contact me."
Miranda put her hands in the pockets of her jacket and leaned back against the door of the Jeep. "Maybe she will. So you could read her?"
"Only partly. No deeper than surface consciousness. She was thinking I needed to be careful, that's all I got."
"An interesting place for a shield, isn't it? Just beneath the surface."
"You read her the same way?"
Miranda nodded. "I don't think she's any more conscious of her shield than she is of her innate abilities. Liz doesn't think of herself as being psychic, just the granddaughter of a gypsy. She has The Sight and her grandmother taught her how to read signs. Tell her she's telepathic and precognitive, and she probably wouldn't believe you. She's into crystals and talismans, omens and portents, crystal balls and tarot cards — and tea leaves.
She only reads for friends, doesn't do it very often, and as far as I can tell, she's about seventy-five-percent accurate. So maybe you'd better be careful."
Her voice was perfectly cool and professional, without an ounce of personal concern, and since she'd been speaking to him with the same detachment all day, Bishop was hardly surprised. Which was why it did surprise him when Miranda added, "Sometimes I worry about Liz."
"Oh? Why?"
"Because she doesn't understand the power she has. I mean, she doesn't understand that knowing things about other people, sometimes secret things, can be dangerous."
Bishop chose not to take that personally. "She's spoken of very highly by everyone I've talked to, described as a kind, unfailingly helpful lady — with mildly interesting pagan beliefs nobody else really takes seriously but nobody is particularly offended by. From the sound of it, she has no enemies, no one likely to even listen closely to what she says, much less see her as a threat."
"So far," Miranda said soberly. "But what happens if she says the wrong thing to the wrong person? We're all agreed the killer is one of the supposedly good citizens of Gladstone, and I doubt he has horns or a tail to give away the evil in his soul."
"True."
Miranda glanced at Liz's shop. "I'd like to warn her, but what do I say? Stay away from the tea leaves for the duration?"
"I doubt she'd obey, not with all this going on. It's human nature to try and solve puzzles."
"Yeah, I guess. Anyway, did she tell you anything we didn't already know?"
Bishop had promised himself that he would match Miranda's aloof professionalism, and he intended to keep that promise. At least for the moment. "She said the killer took Steve Penman to distract us from something he didn't want us to notice about one of the other victims, and because he was afraid of something Steve knew."
"Do you think she could be right?"
"Maybe."
"If she is, do you think we've noticed whatever it is he doesn't want us to see?"
"If we have," Bishop said, "it isn't ringing any bells off their hooks, is it? It could be something about the Ramsay boy's bones, but Sharon hasn't been able to tell us anything definitive yet. It could be the fact that Lynet Grainger tempted him, or that she was a mistake all the way across the board — I just don't know. Not yet."
Miranda gazed at Liz's shop again, this time frowning. "Something Steve Penman knew. It's an avenue to explore, I guess. Though finding out what someone might have known about an unknown subject when he isn't here to even tell us the right questions to ask ..."
"Yeah, it isn't much of a lead. I saw the dogs out earlier — any luck there?"
"No, same as last night. They track him around the side of the drugstore and to the alley behind — then nothing. Perfect place to have a car waiting, and the angle would have made it all but impossible for anyone to have seen what happened once he was lured — we assume — back there."
"I guess Tony told you neither of us could pick up anything from the area."
Miranda nodded. "And Sharon went by there about an hour ago, but said she didn't get so much as a whisper of anything new."
"Did you try?" Bishop asked bluntly.
"No."
"Miranda—"
"In case you've forgotten, my abilities don't work that way, Bishop. I pick up knowledge if I touch someone I can read — which works out to no more than about forty percent of the people around me. I pick up knowledge if I just happen to catch a glimpse into the future — an occurrence that is extremely rare these days and over which I have absolutely no control. And I pick up knowledge in a very limited and defensive way through my version of your spider-sense — which means that sometimes my sight and hearing are a little better than the average and I can feel it if someone is trying to sneak up on me, if I'm being watched or potentially threatened." She paused, then added dryly, "For instance, I can tell you that most of the people in town today are watching us right now. But you already knew that, so it's fairly useless information."
Bishop did know and it was useless, but he was mildly curious about the reason for the attention. Because he was a stranger and an FBI agent? Or because he was talking to Miranda?
"So the bottom line," she said, "is that it wouldn't do any good if I tried to use my psychic abilities to pick up knowledge from the area where Steve Penman disappeared. I wish I could pick up something, believe me. I don't enjoy just waiting around to find another dead teenager."
Bishop wanted to say that they could still find Penman alive, but the words would ring hollow. They had no evidence pointing to who had abducted Penman or where he was being held. Unless their luck changed in a major way, that boy was, as Liz Hallowell had said, lost.
"Sheriff!"
Bishop saw Miranda wince, then brace herself before she turned and greeted the man striding toward them.
"Hello, Justin. Selena."
Bishop had almost missed the woman moving literally in her husband's shadow.
Miranda said, "Have you met Agent Bishop?"
"We were introduced this morning," Justin Marsh said impatiently. "Sheriff, I would like to address the town council."
"The next council meeting is in two weeks, I believe," Miranda said. "You know the protocol, Justin."