Midnight Crossroad (Midnight, Texas #1) by Charlaine Harris

told you that they’re Aubrey Hamilton’s parents?”
    “Not at all,” Manfred said, and closed the door.
    She hadn’t expected that, either, and he could hear her say, “What the hell?” She didn’t leave right away—no heel
thock!
against the rock of the porch—so he leaned against the door, half expecting the force of her exasperation to blow it open. After almost a minute, he heard her walking off. He stepped over to the window to watch Shoshanna Whitlock march across the road to Fiji’s cottage.
    Perhaps the detective didn’t notice that Fiji’s place was a business, since Fiji’s yard sign was so modest. Ms. Whitlock knocked at the door. Fiji answered it very quickly and stepped out of the door with her purse on her shoulder. Manfred could see her headful of curls bob from side to side as she shook her head. Fiji was saying “no” to something, that was for sure.
    The detective kept talking, trying to wear Fiji down, but Fiji was locking the door of her cottage behind her and marching over to her car, parked on the driveway. The older woman stepped briskly after her, her tailored pantsuit, sleek leather purse, and neat shoes a sharp contrast to the permanently disheveled Fiji.
    Manfred wondered if he should pop out to run interference. Fiji seemed so flustered . . .
    And then the detective got very close to Fiji, who was trying to get into her car. Though Manfred couldn’t see his neighbor’s expression clearly, he saw that her body went rigid with irritation. Fiji’s hand reached out to Whitlock and gripped her shoulder.
    The detective froze in place. Her mouth was open, one foot in front of the other to take a forward step. But Whitlock couldn’t take that step; she couldn’t move at all.
    Manfred realized his mouth was hanging open, just like Shoshanna Whitlock’s.
    Fiji popped into her car and backed out of her driveway, leaving the detective standing in her awkward pose. Manfred was sure Fiji didn’t even glance at the frozen woman again.
    “Damn,” said Manfred quietly.
    He waited, checking his watch from time to time. For the next five minutes, pigeons could have landed on Shoshanna Whitlock’s head and she would not have been able to do a thing about it. After the five minutes had passed, Whitlock whipped her head from side to side and staggered a little. Then for a while she stood still, obviously unsteady, patting herself as if to make sure all her parts were there and functional. She looked up and down Witch Light Road, clearly at a loss as to how her target had disappeared. Manfred almost smiled as he watched Mr. Snuggly stroll up to give the detective a long stare. Whitlock looked down at the cat and flinched.
    Manfred would have given a lot to know what she was seeing.
    Maybe Whitlock would be frightened enough to leave Midnight? But no, the detective was made of sterner (or more foolish) stuff. After a minute or two, she regrouped and resumed her march. This time she went to the chapel, which was open, as always. She went inside without knocking. By now nothing would have startled Manfred, so he merely nodded to himself when she ran from the chapel as if a tiger were on her trail.
    That proved to be the end of Manfred’s free entertainment. After Shoshanna Whitlock got into her car (parked in front of the pawnshop, Manfred noted), she drove away without looking back. And ten or fifteen minutes later, Fiji returned. She climbed out of her old car, looking around her—presumably to make sure Whitlock was gone—before she walked to the front door, where Mr. Snuggly was waiting for her. The witch and the cat went into the house together.
    Though he sat in his office chair and prepared to work, Manfred sat for some time, lost in thought. Until Shoshanna Whitlock’s visit, it had never occurred to him that there was any mystery about Aubrey’s leaving Bobo. In Manfred’s eyes, the only odd thing about it was why any woman would leave a handsome, affable guy like his landlord.