Absolutely, Positively

are not crazy. I've told you that.”

    “What are you? Some kind of authority?”

    Molly did not flinch beneath the storm. “Harry, if you do have some sort of paranormal ability, you'd better acknowledge it and deal with it. It's a part of you, whatever it is.”

    “You're the one who's nuts if you think I'm going to go around claiming that I've got extrasensory perception. People who believe they've got paranormal powers end up on serious medication.” Harry closed his eyes. Visions of psychiatric asylums danced in his fevered brain. “Or worse.”

    “You don't have to admit the truth to anyone except yourself.” Molly smiled bleakly. “And to me, of course. You can't hide it from me.”

    “There's nothing to admit.”

    “Listen to me, Harry. I've got a feeling that if you don't accept the reality of your abilities, whatever it is, you'll never figure out how to control them. You can't repress them forever.”

    “I can't repress what doesn't exist.”

    “You're a man who deals in truth. Admit the truth to yourself. Think of this sixth sense, or whatever it is, the same way you do your excellent reflexes. Just a natural, inborn ability. A talent.”

    “Natural? You call that paranormal crap natural? Molly, you're starting to sound nuttier than Olivia thinks I am.”

    “That's not fair to Olivia. She doesn't think you're nuts. She believes that you're suffering from posttraumatic stress disorder and maybe some periodic depression.”

    “Trust me, she thinks I'm ready for the psycho ward.”

    “But, Harry—”

    He took a step toward her, his hands clenched at his sides. The wind picked up once more. The sky darkened. “I swear to God, Molly, I don't want to hear another word about this psychic stuff. Do you understand me? Not another damned word.”

    She put her hand on his shoulder. “Listen to me.”

    “We will not discuss this matter again,” Harry said through his teeth. Her fingers were warm. He could feel them through the fabric of his shirt. The anger seeped slowly out of him, leaving a great weariness.

    “Hey, am I interruptin' something here or what?” Chuck Maltrose heaved into Harry's field of vision.

    Harry drew a deep, steadying breath and switched his attention to the owner of the wrecking yard. “We were discussing a private matter.”

    “Sure. No problem.” Maltrose held up one hand, palm out. “I'm not one to get into the middle of a private squabble. Just wondered if you were finished with your look-see.”

    “I believe Harry's finished here, Mr. Maltrose,” Molly said crisply.

    Harry watched her give Maltrose one of her brilliant smiles.

    Chuck Maltrose was not so sanguine. He shot Harry a covert, wary look.

    Harry wondered if the crazy stuff actually showed in his eyes, or if Maltrose was merely reacting to the remnants of anger that were undoubtedly still evident. He just needed a few more seconds to pull himself together, Harry thought. He would be fine in a minute.

    Fortunately Molly took immediate charge of Chuck Maltrose. Harry listened as she chatted with him about the impending storm. By the time they had concluded that the rain would hit fairly soon, Harry had himself back under control.

    “So now we know there's another blue Ford out there somewhere,” Molly said as she slid into the passenger seat of the rental car. “What do we do next, Sherlock?”

    “I'll stop at a pay phone and put in a call to Fergus Rice.” Harry turned the key in the ignition. “He can notify the cops.”

    “There must be a zillion blue Fords.”

    “Yes, but with any luck, there won't be that many with a dented right front fender.”

    “Still, it seems like a long shot.” Molly flopped back against the seat. “This thing just doesn't make sense any more. The motive doesn't seem logical.”

    “I've been thinking about that. There may be another motive.” Harry frowned as he pulled out onto the road. “One we haven't considered.”

    “There are only so many motives in the world. Revenge, passion, and greed sum up almost the entire list.”

    “So far we've been concentrating on revenge,” Harry noted.

    “I find it hard to believe that I'm the target of two disgruntled inventors,” Molly said flatly. “One, maybe. But two? And we can forget about passion. My life simply has not been that exciting until recently.”

    “That leaves us with greed.”

    Molly wrinkled her nose. “Killing me isn't a real good way of getting the foundation to