“So, Detective,” he said, “you were explaining your special talent to me on the road earlier. Tell me, does it only work on spooky creatures, or can you read people, too?”
Jackaby raised an eyebrow. “The categories spooky creatures and people are not as separate as you might imagine. I can read people. The truth is I can’t not. Your aura, for instance, is a burnt orange.”
“Huh. How does that work, then?” Brisbee said. A spark of intrigue lit his eyes. “Can I change my own aura? Make it lighter or something?”
“Not exactly. Auras are complex manifestations of intangible factors. It’s not something you can adjust like a knob on a gas lamp.”
“All right. What else do you see?”
“I’m not sure that is a good idea,” Charlie interjected. “Mr. Jackaby’s ability is not a parlor trick.”
“It’s fine,” said Jackaby. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed the farmer, taking a silent inventory. “You are tethered,” he announced. “Bound from somewhere deep inside of you. You resent your bonds, and yet you cling to them. You are proud and you are willful, but most of all,” he said, his head cocked to one side as he spoke, “you are profoundly and wretchedly lonely.”
Brisbee’s expression sank gradually and unevenly. “Huh,” he said. “I suppose that’s . . .” He cleared his throat. The eager light in his eyes had dimmed, and he suddenly looked tired and embarrassed. “That’s true.”
“Of course it is,” my employer said, casually scooping a large helping of mashed potatoes onto his plate. His voice was still obliviously earnest.
“We built this farm from nothing,” Brisbee continued. “Maddie drove more than a few of the nails in this very room. Our boys grew up here, too. There was a time you could barely take a step without one of them underfoot. This place was supposed to be their inheritance—it’s all I have. I always thought that they would . . . but Johnny left for the city first chance he could, and then Percy made it into university. I don’t blame them. We were both so proud, we didn’t even mind when it was just the two of us again. But now . . .” He trailed off and pushed a bit of broccoli around with his fork.
“There’s something I can see as well, Mr. Brisbee,” I said.
“Hmm?” Brisbee looked up from his plate. Jackaby eyed me curiously.
“I can see that you’re not alone. Not tonight,” I said.
Brisbee glanced around the table at the four of us. Charlie looked reassuring and affable, but I believe it was Horner’s broad, goofy grin that did the trick. The smile tiptoed back up into the farmer’s cheeks.
“Ah, now I see it,” said Jackaby. “Perhaps I was wrong, Mr. Brisbee. You do look a little brighter.”
Silverware clinked, and the conversation around the dinner table grew boisterous and optimistic as the night wore on. Horner ruminated dreamily about what he was going to name his dinosaur, and Brisbee could scarcely wait to hear back from the reporter at the Chronicle. Jackaby, Charlie, and I finally bade good night to the others and headed down the road to Charlie’s cabin.
The night was cloudless, and the moon and stars cast more than enough light to illuminate the path. With murder and mystery still hanging in the air, I might have found the walk intolerably eerie—but the happy energy of the evening hung around us.
“You would have been very proud to see Miss Rook at the site today, sir,” Charlie told Jackaby as we trod along. He gave me an admiring smile, and I felt the heady warmth of a day’s successes spread through my chest.
“You were no slouch yourself,” I said. “You were very clever to spot those flints so quickly.”
“Charlie helped with the dig as well?” Jackaby said.
Charlie nodded.