Page 44 of It takes a Psychic

“The place is crammed with junk. Folks around here figure he’lleither get crushed when some of the stuff collapses on him or else the house will catch fire. Talk about a tinderbox.”

“Serious collectors tend to become obsessed,” Leona said.

“There’s obsessed and then there’s batshit crazy. My advice is to take a real close look at whatever Thacker wants to sell to you.”

“Are you saying he might attempt to defraud us?” Oliver asked, gravely disapproving now.

“It’s a lot more likely that he’s the one who got taken,” Edith said. “He’d buy an old chipped mug if you told him Vance drank a cup of coffee out of it.”

“Does he come into town often?” Oliver asked.

“I don’t think anyone has seen him outside of that creepy old house of his in years,” Edith said. “If it weren’t for Hester Harp, we’d have figured Thacker died a decade ago.”

“Who is Hester Harp?” Leona asked.

“His housekeeper. She’s the one who does his grocery shopping, picks up his mail, and pays his bills. The man would probably starve to death without her.” Edith plucked two keys out of a drawer and handed them across the counter. “Here you go, rooms two-oh-three and two-oh-four on the second floor. Take a right at the top of the stairs. Breakfast is served from seven to eight. Coffee is on all day.”

“Thanks,” Oliver said.

“Any restaurant suggestions?” Leona asked. “We haven’t had dinner.”

“Can’t do any better than the diner across the street,” Edith said. “It’s the only restaurant in town. Closes at eight.”

“Good to know,” Leona said.

Oliver picked up his suitcase and reached for hers.

“That’s all right,” she said. “I’ve got it.”

“I’ll take it,” Oliver said.

Really? They were going to argue over who carried her suitcase? Shethought about explaining that when she went into the Underworld, she always handled her own gear, but this did not seem to be the right moment for that conversation.

“Thank you,” she managed, aware that she sounded grudgingly polite.

Oliver was already heading for the stairs. “You’re welcome.”

Stifling a sigh, she scooped Roxy off the counter and hurried after Oliver. The sight of the small amber-and-steel sculpture on a nearby table stopped her. It was a beautifully realized specter-cat. The artist had captured the power and elegance of the creature. The cat’s amber eyes reminded her of Oliver—intelligent and dangerous. Everything about the predator was infused with control.

There was a small price tag attached. Curious, she picked up the cat and turned it over. The nameStarkwas engraved on the bottom.

She put the cat down. “I see this piece is for sale.”

“Yep.” Edith smiled. “Local artist. We don’t have any fancy galleries in town so I let him put some of his work on display here at the inn. I sell a few pieces for him every season.”

“I see,” Leona said. She realized Oliver was already on the second-floor landing. “I’ll take another look later.”

“No rush,” Edith said. “Not like we’re overrun with outsiders looking to buy souvenirs right now.”

“It’s not a souvenir, it’s a work of art.”

“Whatever.”

Leona abandoned the discussion and hurried up the stairs. She joined Oliver at the top and they started down the hall. The old floorboards squeaked and groaned beneath their feet.

“This inn definitely dates from Vance’s time,” she observed. “You can tell from the architecture.”

“That doesn’t mean he slept here.”

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