Free Last Chants by Lia Matera

experience?”
    Arthur had told me the name of the program. Was it Cyber-Guru? No: “TechnoShaman.”
    That got a reaction out of Louis. “How did you find out about that? Did Billy tell you?”
    â€œKind of.” I felt sleazy, to say the least. “I came up here to interview him. I was told I could find him through you guys.”
    Louis’s eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you ask for him when you came in?”
    Because I’m not that quick-witted, alas. “Actually, if you’d had any kind of job available, I’d have jumped at it.”
    â€œFrankly, Ms. Young,” Galen turned, standing very straight now, “I don’t believe you came here to talk to Billy. Who sent you?”
    I could see I’d walked into some sort of mine field. “No one. I’m freelancing. And I was told about this, um, being a power spot, that’s all. I thought I could pay for the trip here with an article.”
    Louis shook his head. “If you’d like to be contacted by our attorneys, fine. Lie to us some more.”
    â€œThis is really bullshit.” Galen nodded without pause, noddingand nodding. “Damn you people! Who sent you?”
    You people? Who could he mean?
    â€œI’m not with anybody. If I can’t get work in the field, I thought I’d freelance. Billy Seawuit was supposed to be here teaching about power spots, so I came. I know this area got cast up out of the ocean millennia ago, and that . . . ” I ran out of steam. It’s exhausting—and creepy—to lie so elaborately.
    Louis said to Galen, “That does sound like Seawuit.”
    â€œCan we see some ID, please?” Galen remained unconvinced I wasn’t one of “you people.”
    â€œI’m sorry I bothered you. Obviously I’ve done something gauche here, which I didn’t mean to do. Could you just let me know where to find Billy Seawuit?” I was desperately uncomfortable, more than ready to leave. Earlier, I’d referred to Seawuit in the past tense; had they noticed?
    They all watched me. In silence.
    I’d come for information. I had to try. “He’s supposed to be staying with someone here?”
    â€œIs this a sincere question?” Louis asked.
    Had they seen me reading the morning paper out in front of the drugstore earlier?
    I felt thoroughly ashamed of myself, embarrassed by my insensitive gambits. The need to confide my perfidy almost overwhelmed me.
    But I said, “Yes.”
    Galen sat down with a sigh. “He was killed sometime Saturday. He was found on Sunday.”
    â€œWhat happened to him?” They’d expect me to ask. “How did he die?”
    â€œHe was stabbed.”
    â€œStabbed?” This time my surprise was genuine. We’d heard he’d been shot. I assumed I’d thrown away the murder weapon. I’d fretted incessantly over whether I’d wiped away every trace of fingerprints. “Stabbed? With a knife?”
    Galen nodded. “Presumably. They didn’t actually find the weapon. But he was . . . ” He stared into the middle distance.
    â€œHe was slashed,” Louis said quietly. “Practically disemboweled.”
    I guess the last two days got the better of me. I started crying. Ihadn’t even met Billy Seawuit, but his manner of death suddenly became the last straw.
    I got up and walked out.
    I hadn’t made it half a block down the street before Toni Nelson ran up behind me, taking my arm and stopping me in my tracks.
    I was overloaded, didn’t want to deal with her now. I wanted to go back to Edward’s cabin, take a hot shower, and pretend I’d had a lobotomy.
    Toni said, “Your nose looks better. I didn’t mean to hit you.”
    I was still carrying the bloody paper towels. I stared down at them. I’d forgotten about my nose.
    She linked her arm—now in a fisherman sweater—through mine. She