“I wanted to announce today,” Manfred said clearly, “that I am innocent of the charges leveled against me by Lewis Goldthorpe. These charges relate to the disappearance of some jewelry of his mother’s. Also, I understand that Lewis Goldthorpe has been hinting to his media connections that I am guilty of some kind of wrongdoing in the death of his mother, my friend Rachel Goldthorpe. The very idea of such a thing is repugnant to me, and I suggest that if Lewis keeps spreading this kind of terrible rumor, I will see him in court with my lawyer, Magdalena Orta Powell.” Manfred felt relieved at getting through this statement, especially “repugnant,” and he added, “Magdalena Powell can kick Lewis’s butt legally.”

There was some actual laughter, and Magdalena, who wanted to punch him, instead smiled in an arctic way. Manfred was relieved she didn’t shove him off Fiji’s porch.

“Magdalena,” called the man who’d almost stepped on Mr. Snuggly’s tail, “how are you gonna kick Jess Barnwell’s butt?”

“Barnwell’s a fine lawyer,” Magdalena said seriously. “But he’s got an unreliable client.”

“As opposed to a phone psychic?”

“Ouch,” said Manfred, smiling. “But I’ve heard much worse.” He thought, Barry, get out now! Now!

He didn’t know if Barry could pick up on Manfred’s particular thought pattern, but he did sense that Barry was on the move, and he saw a car pull out of the alley running behind the hotel. It turned left to drive west on Witch Light Road. That would take him to the nearest highway north, which would get him into Oklahoma in a few hours.

Manfred turned his attention back to the here and now. “I may be a phone psychic, among other things, but I don’t make false accusations against people to the police or the media,” he said.

“You’re saying Lewis Goldthorpe has slandered you?”

“I’m saying that he should remember that he lives in a glass house,” Manfred said, and he thought Magdalena was going to blow a fuse. “It may be in Bonnet Park, and I may live in Midnight.” He swept his hand around theatrically to indicate his surroundings. “He may be the son of a millionaire, and I may be the grandson of a great psychic.” (He owed his grandmother Xylda that, he figured.) “But when he makes statements that besmirch the memory of his mother, he has forfeited his right to my respect and consideration.”

That got their attention, and there was a lively back-and-forth between Manfred and “the media” until Magdalena shut it down with a graceful statement thanking them all for coming today. The little crowd dispersed, the fangbangers gathering to engage in a low-voiced conference, the reporters to straggle back to their vehicles and depart.

“That was a good idea,” Magdalena said. “I think. What made you so determined to do it?” He’d only been able to get her to agree to show up by telling her he’d do it without her. Instead of dropping him as a client, she’d figured being on television was not so bad.

“It was a diversion, plus I wanted to get up in Lewis’s face,” he said. “He’s tried to say I’m a thief. Well, maybe he’s a murderer. He needs to be worried about himself.”

“You baffle me,” she said, looking at her client with frustration all over her face. “And if you think I did this for free . . .”

“That never crossed my mind,” said Manfred honestly. “I expect your bill in the mail. Listen, as long as you’re here, would you like to have an early dinner at Home Cookin?”

The lawyer’s face was a picture of startled. She hesitated. “A regular gathering?” She was gauging the social texture of the meal. Manfred didn’t blame her.

“It’s almost always just us Midnight people,” he said. “But I’m giving Arthur a call.”

That decided her, as he had suspected it would. She looked at her watch. “I am through for the day,” she said. “All right. As long as you know we’re just . . . lawyer and client.”

Magdalena was attractive, but he’d rather date a barracuda. “Of course,” he said, hoping he sounded just a little regretful.

Fiji came out of her house, where she’d been secluded in the back during the press conference. He could tell she was feeling pretty today, though she always seemed pretty to him.

“Fiji, you coming with us?” he asked.

She smiled. “I guess so. I don’t feel like cooking and making my kitchen hot, you know?” Her smile brightened when Bobo emerged from the pawnshop. He crossed the road to walk with them. “Hola, Magdalena,” he called.

Manfred was not at all surprised to find that Bobo knew his lawyer.

“Hey, Feej, are you going to charge Manfred? Since he used your garden as a backdrop for his press thing?”

“Nah,” she said. “The shop sign was probably in the photos.”

Mr. Snuggly rubbed against Manfred’s denim-covered leg before vanishing into the backyard in his mysterious cat way. They passed the closed chapel with its sign, and none of them said anything, though Magdalena gave it a curious look. Manfred, who’d been texting, grinned. “Arthur’s showing up in a few minutes,” he said.

“Cool,” Bobo said. “I haven’t had a talk with him in months.”

“Okay,” Fiji said. “I kind of like him.” She sounded faintly surprised, as if she were not in the habit of liking law enforcement officers.