Glass Eye: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective

Chapter 10

It's not a high-speed chase by any means. The van follows the speed limit, drives as sober as a judge and pulls safely onto I-39 headed north. Which is exactly what someone trying to keep a low profile would do, Zandra tells Charlie.

"Just focus on writing down the license plate number, please," Charlie says. She keeps her car a couple vehicles behind the van. "Hand me my cell phone."

"I thought people weren't supposed to talk on cell phones and drive," Zandra says.

"Cell phone, please," Charlie says, her right palm outstretched.

Zandra digs the phone out of a console and hands it over. Charlie dials a number and repeats the plate number Zandra reads aloud.

"The owner, but not necessarily the driver, is one Elliot Dunstan," Charlie says. "No warrants, no nothing. And definitely no reason for us to harass this particular van."

The van signals to pull onto an exit ramp for a rural county road. Charlie closes the distance to follow. It's the first good look Zandra gets of the van. No bumper stickers. In good running condition. Cardboard boxes block much of the view in the rear window. Hard to see much inside. Zandra's intuition is at a loss. There's nothing remarkable at all about the van.

"I'll follow for a little bit, but we'll be able to pull Mr. Dunstan's home address anyway," Charlie says. She guides the car behind the van down the county road flanked by leering pines and rusty mailboxes.

Zandra rubs her palms together, pantomiming the "psychic" in the James Randi video. It helps her think. Her hands travel down to the deep pockets in her gown. She feels for one of her props. Not the crystals or the tarot cards. Something else.

"No," Zandra says.

"Excuse me?" Charlie says and turns the heat on in the car. The first cold of fall sneaks its way into the cab.

"Follow the van," Zandra says.

"Is this one of your little tricks?" Charlie says.

Zandra places a hand in the air. Shows the scars in her palm to Charlie.

"Follow the van," Zandra says.

Charlie obliges, but not without protesting one more time.

"You do know there's not much I can do with this. Can't pull him over. Doubt I'd get a warrant for anything. At best we follow unnoticed. At worst, he's tipped off. You're sure, right?" Charlie says.

Zandra finds what she's been looking for in her pocket. Gives it a good squeeze. "I'm sure," she says.

They follow for another mile or so until the van turns into a driveway. It's a long one, a two-track kept dark by the pines in the afternoon sun. It goes up and over a hill, obscuring any peek at where it terminates. Zandra notices the lack of a mailbox at the beginning of the driveway.

"Keep driving. Drop me off at the next curve in the road," Zandra says. It's only a few seconds away.

"Mind telling me what you've got planned?" Charlie says as she turns the car onto the shoulder.

"Stay here. Wait for my phone call," Zandra says. She hobbles out the door and starts walking.