Glass Eye: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective

Chapter 9

"This is quite a stretch, Zandra. You're taking little bits and pieces and molding them into a theory that you don't know isn't a product of your imagination. That's what you psychics do. And conspiracy theorists," Charlie says.

"And detectives, lawyers, juries, scientists, everyone," Zandra says. "Same shit, different bucket."

They sit inside Charlie's unmarked Sunfire in the Target parking lot. Zandra rolls down the window and lights a cigarette.

"I'd thank you to not do that," Charlie says.

Zandra puts the cigarette out on the floor mat. She points at the still of the young man. "Look here, child. He's buying peanut butter, duct tape and a pair of those pink shoes. They're not even in a shoebox, they're the cheap kind," she says.

Charlie shakes her head. "I feel like we're wasting our time," she says. "For all we know he has a daughter at home in need of shoes, uses duct tape around the house and is out of peanut butter."

"Or maybe he's replacing Elle's shoes, restraining her with the tape and keeps her fed with an efficient food like peanut butter," Zandra says.

"Maybe you're just seeing what you want to believe," Charlie says.

"Maybe you don't like getting upstaged by one of those supposed psychics," Zandra says. Her foot grinds the cigarette into the floor mat. "You need to find one maroon Pontiac Montana and one hairy driver. I'll take it from there."

Zandra's request is fulfilled on the spot. A maroon Pontiac Montana pulls out of a parking space across the lot and pulls onto the service road leading away from Target.

"Done," Charlie says and drives.