Nearly Departed, Max Schlienger [the gingerbread man read aloud txt] 📗

went to this UFO convention in the city.”

“What, you hunt aliens, too?” interrupted Bobo.

“There doesn’t seem to be a lot of distinction,” Dennis answered. “Not at those gatherings, anyway. Everyone has their own little booth with whatever junk they’re trying to sell, and there’s all these seminars that are hosted by so-called experts on one thing or another. They all claim to have been abducted or haunted or talked to by the devil or something, so it’s a pretty bizarre experience.”

“I should look into it,” Bobo murmured. “I bet I could sell a ton of merchandise. A proper ton.”

“And then some,” agreed Dennis. “I was there for research, though, and trying to get my character right. That was when I met this guy named... I don’t know. Francois something. He said he was an exorcist. I think he had me pegged as a mark, because he kept asking me all of these leading questions.”

“What’s the punch line, here?”

“The guy was a con artist,” Dennis replied. “A damned sleazy one, too. He’d find people whose relatives had recently died, and then feed them this bullshit about how there were still ghosts hanging around. For a fee, he’d offer to send them on their way.”

“Sleazy, sure,” said Bobo. “Pot calling the kettle black, September?”

“Hey,” Dennis protested. “It’s completely different. I never took anyone’s money, for one.”

“Yeah, you left that to the shrink, so you’re sleazy and stupid.” He smiled to show he was joking. “Still, I guess you never used the obituaries as a help wanted section.”

Something about that sentence struck a chord with Dennis, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. “Well, anyway, I learned something important that day.”

“How to kill demons?”

“Yes, Bobo, exactly,” Dennis replied sarcastically. “I learned to keep quiet. Most of these guys, or at least the ones that I met, have a bit of a self-aggrandizing streak. They like to brag about the things that they’ve seen, and it comes across as being kind of unbelievable. The ones who are most successful are always the folks who don’t say anything until someone asks. Then they start bragging.” A familiar street loomed into view, and Dennis turned to head back towards the highway. Bobo made a noise like he was considering something, and then turned to face Dennis.

“So, does that mean that I should ask you what happened earlier?”

Dennis arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” he asked. The car let out an irritated growl as the gears shifted, and the sound soon mirrored his own mood as Bobo continued to question.

“I mean you come back from the petrol station with a look like someone killed your mum. Plus, you were gone for bloody ages.”

“Uh huh,” Dennis responded. Bobo paused, presumably waiting for a more descriptive answer.

“Well?” he prompted.

“Well what?” asked Dennis. It suddenly occurred to him that they might be under surveillance, and his eyes scanned the road for any sign of Spinner’s blue sedan. Although the thoughts had been mercifully absent from his mind since leaving Elspeth’s house – until now, at least – he had been increasingly worried about how the investigator had found him in the first place.

“Is someone following us?” Bobo asked.

“Where?” Dennis yelped. He jerked his gaze up to the rearview mirror, and then out each of the windows. “Where?” he asked again.

“That’s a yes, then,” said Bobo, nodding. “Stop messing about, you’re liable to hit something.”

“Who’s following us?” Dennis demanded.

“Nobody, far as I can tell,” replied Bobo. He turned around in his seat and stared out the car’s rear window. “Not now, anyway. I take it someone was before, though?”

Dennis hesitated for several seconds. Finally, he replied with an almost imperceptible nod. “Yeah, something like that,” he admitted. “A private investigator named Malcolm Spinner.”

“What’s he want, then?” If Bobo was at all concerned, it didn’t show in either his voice or mannerisms. “Look, there’s the petrol station,” he said, pointing. “I knew it wasn’t too far off.”

“It wasn’t,” Dennis sighed. “Look, remember all that stuff I told you about my September character?”

“You mean the nutter convention, or telling old ladies to go and see a shrink?”

“The latter, I guess,” replied Dennis. “Well, the guy who pays me is in some kind of trouble. I don’t really know what it is, but I get the idea that he must be in pretty deep.” He briefly described his earlier encounter with Spinner, and then recounted his experience with meeting the man at Harding’s office. Bobo listened with a thoughtful expression until the story was done.

“Inappropriate, eh?” he asked. “What could a shrink be doing that an ex-copper would see as inappropriate?”

“I’m not sure that Spinner actually is an ‘ex-copper,’” Dennis replied. He shifted in his seat to pull out the wrinkled business card, which he passed to Bobo. “See? According to that, he’s a private investigator.”

“Actually, I’ve heard that most PIs start out in the Old Bill,” said Bobo. He peered at the card. “What’d he give you this for, then?”

“In case I changed my mind and decided to talk to him.”

Bobo turned the card over a few times in his hands. “What about?”

“I –” Dennis began. He considered the question. “Actually, I don’t know.” He tried to remember Spinner’s exact words in the car. “He said that my buddy and I were just small-time crooks, and that if I really wanted to help Elspeth, I would stay away from her.”

“That’s me, right?” asked Bobo. “Your buddy?”

“I don’t see who else it could be,” Dennis answered. “Unless he meant Sam. That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, though.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing,” Dennis said, gesturing with a finger, “I haven’t told Sam about Elspeth yet.”

“Or Evy,” added Bobo.

“Especially not about Evy,” said Dennis with a mirthless laugh. “God, can you imagine how that would go over? This guy is a shrink who specializes in dealing with people who think that they see ghosts. What do you think would happen if I told him that I was planning to go on a