“Guide?”
“Yes, my guide. I am speaking English, not Croatian, Agent Stone. All of us have guides, all of us. But some of us are too unaware to even recognize that they’re there. I happen to have a good dozen of them, all for different matters, you see. One knows finance, one speaks beautiful Hindi, one has perfect pitch, is very proud of that and is often telling me what he’s listening to at the moment, and the key that’s being played—but he’s not much use, as you can imagine. There’s this one guide, all he can talk about is Egypt, about all the time he spent in the library at Alexandria.
“My best guide is a real schmoozer, can chat up those who have passed over, tell me what’s in their hearts.”
“Do your guides have names?”
Bevlin frowned. “Do you know,” he said slowly, bending those dark eyes on Cheney’s face, “I’ve never thought to ask and they’ve never offered. They’re all very individual, really. I never had need of names to speak with them.”
Julia said, “Bevlin, you said yesterday you knew August had been there, but he’d had to leave. But you spoke to him last night?”
“Of course.”
Cheney asked, “When you spoke to him, was it through a guide?”
“Ah, August is different. He isn’t like other people who’ve passed. He already knew how things work, how to get through to me.”
“I’ve never heard about guides before,” Cheney said. “I mean, are they dead people who volunteer for this duty?”
“That’s a novel thought, Agent Stone. They’re simply—there,” Bevlin said. “Simply there, like when I first realized I could see things other kids couldn’t, a guide told me what was happening. He’s still with me. Sometimes he wakes me up when I oversleep and a client’s coming.”
Cheney said, “Can you talk to one right now?”
Bevlin Wagner eased down into a big red beanbag and closed his eyes. He sat perfectly still.
Cheney felt like he’d wandered into Disneyland Croatia.
Bevlin’s eyes slowly opened. They looked dreamy and vague. Odd how that could change so quickly. “I spoke to my first guide. He told me I had the gift but I have to continue to grow before I can truly become what I was meant to be. He said I had to work on being more grounded, and listen to those who know more than I do. He knows I can reach my potential, and he’s doing his best to help me.”
“But why did he come to you specifically and not someone else?”
Bevlin cocked his head at Cheney. “This might take a while. Please go into the kitchen, have some coffee. I made it this morning.”
Then he closed his eyes. For a moment, Cheney was convinced he’d stopped breathing. He took a step forward.
“No, it’s okay,” Julia said. “Let’s go to the kitchen. You really don’t want to try his coffee. He has bottled water.”
“Yeah, sure.” Still, Cheney kept looking back over his shoulder at the man sitting as still as a tree stump on a red beanbag.
CHAPTER 30
The kitchen was down the hall to the right. It was small and filled with light, a round scoop-out at the end holding a small table and two chairs, done in country French.
Cheney said thoughtfully, “He said he had a financial guide. Wouldn’t that mean he knew how to play the stock market? I wonder why Bevlin isn’t living in a mansion.”
Julia opened the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of water, handed one to him. “August used to say that everyone would believe in psychics if one of them won the lottery. Who knows? I certainly don’t. Look out back, no yard to speak of, it just goes straight up to the next house. I think there are two more houses above this one. This place isn’t bad, if you ask me.”
“He is very weird, Julia.”
“Different, Cheney. He’s merely different.”
“Well, then, look at this situation. There’s this guy out there sitting on a red beanbag, looking dead, and he’s talking to a spirit guide. Do you think I’m dangerous?”
“Yes.”
He spewed out some water. His left eyebrow shot up.
“Like recognizes like. You see, I’ve discovered I’m dangerous too.” Her voice sounded low and mean. At this point in time, he thought, she was right. She said, “Thing is, I’m wondering why August would tell Bevlin you were dangerous. I think you’re right, Bevlin might be projecting his own feelings a little.”
Cheney grinned, clicked his water bottle against hers. “There you go. Maybe Bevlin’s guide doesn’t like me, or maybe he or she is lying.”