Thank you again to everyone who has been following and/or commenting on this! I never realized how important this kind of feedback and support is until I began writing stories myself. (I've been a "ghost reader" on this site for only a little while, but I almost feel like I should go back and review every piece I've ever read here- show my appreciation for all you talented writers out there!)

Chapter 3

"It's a nice little set-up you've got here, Patrick," Samantha Barsocky commented approvingly as she set down her shopping bag and surveyed the sunlit room. Jane was in the corner with rolled up shirtsleeves and a small paintbrush in hand, finishing touchups of the taupe-y gray paint he was using to cover up the blinding white that had previously adorned the walls of his new shop. He looked over at her and grinned.

"Thanks, it's coming along. Certainly looks much less like a hospital waiting room than it did two days ago."

In the time since Jane had picked up the keys from his landlord just a few days earlier, he had quickly transformed the small shop from a bare, stark-looking space into one that was homey and inviting. He had decided to forgo the over-the-top theatrical trimmings that had once adorned his "Psychic Boy Wonder" tent during his carnival days (not a caftan scarf or red velvet curtain in sight). Instead, he had adopted a more simple, New Age-y aesthetic with clean, simple lines, contemporary furnishings, and plenty of earth tones. There was a small cream-colored settee and chair by the front door; a Zen rock water fountain that trickled softly in the corner; and gauzy curtains on the windows that filtered light through them, creating a soft, hazy glow in the room.

Sam began emptying the contents of her bag onto the desk. "I picked up those business cards you ordered," she said, holding up the small box in her hand. "Along with a few other things at the office supply store."

"Thanks, Sam, these are perfect," he said, as he took the box from her and inspected the sample card stapled to the front. "And tell Pete thanks again for dropping off the furniture this morning. Just a few more things to finish up and I'll be ready to open in a few days, maybe even by the weekend."

"Can I give you a lift home, or are you going to be here for a while?"

"You go on ahead. I've got a little painting left to do, and then I thought I'd take a walk around. I've been so busy the past few days I haven't even met my new neighbors yet." Jane tilted his head in the direction of the bookstore that shared a wall with his shop.

"Well, alright. Don't you be too late, though. Pete's smoking salmon for supper tonight." She gave him a gentle pat on the arm and flashed a warm smile as she left, which Patrick returned in full force.

A sweet, almost wistful expression settled on his face as he watched her leave and close the door behind her. Spending the last few days with Sam and Pete had reminded Jane just how much he had missed their camaraderie and friendship these last several years. He rarely found himself missing the carnie life, but he had missed them. And the way he figured it, he probably wouldn't be in Cannon River for long- through the summer and perhaps into the fall at the latest. He wanted to appreciate this time with them for as long as it lasted.

Jane didn't consider the storefront psychic routine a scam, per se. It was just a short-term job he liked to do from time to time to refresh and recharge between his more elaborate, high-stakes cons. There was a certain beauty in its simplicity. He would move to a small town where the rent was low but the foot traffic was high. (Places with a decent-sized tourist trade, like Cannon River, worked especially well.) He'd drum up business amongst the townies and tourists through word of mouth. (Considering the fact that Kristina Frye was able to make a living here meant this would certainly be doable.)

And then he would watch and wait, keeping his eyes open for that Big Fish client that would inevitably emerge from the crowd. This wouldn't be some run-of-the-mill customer coming in for a twenty dollar tarot card reading or looking to have their palms read. No, this particular mark had to be one with the means and gullibility to make the big payout he was looking for; someone willing to hand over thousands of dollars to contact their dearly departed grandmother or communicate with their dead cat Fluffy. Finding this person, baiting them properly, then patiently reeling them in was a process at which Jane had grown increasingly adept over the years, and for him the thrill of the hunt was almost as satisfying as the monetary reward at the end of it.

After he had finished his work and carefully washed out the brush in the sink in the backroom office, he grabbed his gray woolen suit coat off the back of his chair and exited the shop. As he locked the door, he could overhear a conversation drifting out of the open doorway of the bookstore just a few feet away:

"Nope. Not that one," came a cool, no-nonsense voice.

"What are trying to say, huh? That I'm not smart enough to read this book?"

Jane peered around the doorframe to see a tall, dark-haired man in a firefighter's uniform holding up a copy of Crime and Punishment, directing his question and exasperated expression towards the shopkeeper standing nearby.

"It has nothing to do with intelligence. Dostoyevsky requires a level of commitment and fortitude that, based on what I know of your limited attention span, you don't have." The other man's tone was clipped and even, but not altogether unfriendly.

"Oh, I see. Well then, based on your expert knowledge of my reading habits, what would you recommend instead?" The question was asked in an amused, sarcastic tone; it was clear to Jane that the two men were friends giving each other a good ribbing.

The man behind the counter paused before offering his monotone response. "Well, I just got in a copy of the latest Captain Underpants book. Every eight year old I've talked to has been raving about it."

"Oh, you are asking for it buddy!" The firefighter smirked and reared the book back as if he were about to chuck it across the room like a football. Only then did his friend crack a miniscule smile. Almost simultaneously the two of them noticed Jane standing there and turned towards him.

The taller man greeted him almost sheepishly as he tucked the book back onto the shelf. "Hey there, how's it going?"

"Fine, thank you," Jane replied cheerfully as he stepped inside. He scanned the bright room that was lined with teak bookshelves. It was a tiny shop but meticulously organized and tidy-looking. Every book was lined up evenly against the edges of the shelves, and there were neat, hand-written labels at the tops of the bookcases indicating the different sections- biographies, mysteries, classics, etc. Jane eyed a nearby shelf filled with Shakespeare's sonnets and plays appreciatively.

"This is a great place you've got here, a wonderful selection, Mr…?"

"Cho, Kimball Cho," the man behind the counter replied simply.

"Pleasure meeting you. I'm Patrick Jane, your new neighbor next door." He grinned widely at the man who remained straight-faced, only nodding slightly in response to the introduction. Instantly recognizing that his usual charm wasn't going to work so readily on the stoic shopkeeper, Jane turned his attention to the friend and extended his hand forward.

"Patrick Jane. Nice to meet you."

"Hi. Wayne Rigsby. Good to meet you, too, man," he replied, shaking Jane's hand enthusiastically. "So, uh, what kind of business are you in?"

Patrick reached into his jacket pocket, removed one of his recently procured business cards and handed it to him. "I'm a psychic," he proclaimed solemnly before launching into his usual spiel, "Offering a wide variety of services including private readings, communication sessions with those who have passed to the great beyond, as well as offering spiritual guidance to those in need." He stepped forward and began to offer one of the cards to Cho, but quickly retracted it seeing the man's rigid, fixed stance, his arms crossed firmly across his chest.

Rigsby, on the other hand, seemed intrigued by Jane's little pitch and regarded the card in his hand with wide, curious eyes.

"Wow. So, if you're a psychic… does that mean you can read minds? Like, can you tell what I'm thinking right now?" His voice was filled with an almost child-like wonder tempered with just a dash of uncertainty.

Jane gave a light laugh. "Sure, I could tell you what you're thinking right now." He leaned in and whispered semi-seriously, "But I wouldn't want to embarrass you in front of your friend here."

His little deflection had the predictable effect. Rigby laughed nervously and thrust the card into his pants pocket and swiftly changed the subject. "So, I'm just getting off work and Cho's about to close up shop for the day. We're going down to the fire station to shoot some pool, and you're welcome to come along if you like. Being new in town, you might not have met many people yet…"

Jane was about to accept the invitation, genuinely struck by the kindness of the gesture. There certainly was something to be said for small town hospitality. However, at that exact moment he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. Glancing out the picture window, he saw Teresa and Grace closing up the café across the street and jogging across the road. He turned back to the two men in front of him.

"Well, I would love to join you fellas, but there is someplace I need to be at the moment. Some other time perhaps?" he replied brightly before popping out the door and walking hurriedly down the sidewalk in the direction of the two women.

Based on the direction they were headed, he quickly deduced they were probably on their way to the pub located on the side street overlooking the bay, and he made the impulsive decision to follow them there. Since their initial meeting a few days earlier, Jane had returned to the café several times, but unfortunately the timing had never been quite right. On each occasion Teresa had either been too busy with her work or slammed with waiting customers to engage in anything beyond brief, somewhat curt small talk, which he found incredibly frustrating. But now here was a golden opportunity to talk to her again, get to know her a little better and begin to convince her that he wasn't the shady character she probably assumed him to be. (Although the fact that he was practically stalking her at the moment didn't exactly help his case in this regard.)

He watched as the two women arrived at the pub and seated themselves on the sun-drenched patio. Thinking it would be a little too obvious if he went up to them right away, he ducked into the dimly lit bar, where he decided to bide his time for a few minutes, order himself a drink, then make his way out to the deck where he could bump into them "spontaneously".

He approached the bartender who was polishing wine glasses and carefully placing them on the brass rack above her. Her eyes smoldered when she saw him coming towards her, and she slowly brushed a lock of her short dark hair away from her forehead as he got closer. It was a completely superfluous action seeing as there wasn't a single strand out of place on her perfectly-coifed head.

"What can I get for you?" she asked, her eyes darkening.

"I'd like a pint of whatever IPA you have on tap, please," Patrick replied as he took out his wallet and laid a few bills on the shiny mahogany surface of the bar.

She filled a glass, placed it on a cardboard coaster and slid it towards him. "There you are, Mr. Jane."

He smiled with faint amusement. "Well, now there's a neat trick. How do you know my name?"

She paused before answering, arching one of her meticulously manicured brows. "Your landlord, Bret Stiles- he's a regular here. He mentioned the other day that he had a new tenant, 'A dapper young man in an impeccable three-piece suit.' He told me to keep an eye out for you."

"Oh, really? And why would you want to keep an eye out for me?" Jane responded coyly. This woman clearly wanted to engage in a little shameless flirting, and he was more than willing to indulge her for a moment or two. Making her acquaintance might prove to be useful.

"Well, Bret knows what I like. He found you… interesting and probably figured I'd feel the same way. My name's Erica. Erica Flynn."

"Lovely to meet you, Erica." Jane shook her hand and took a sip of his beer. "Well, I certainly have been making my share of introductions lately in this friendly little town of yours. I just met a couple of guys over at the bookstore down the street… and I think I know those two ladies out there on your patio." Jane nodded towards the doorway leading outside where he could see Teresa and Grace chatting with the waitress taking their order. "Aren't those the two women who run the bakery?"

"Minelli's place? Yep, that's them." Erica's response was brusque as she picked up another glass and resumed her polishing.

It was obvious to Jane that there was more she wanted to say and it wouldn't take much prodding to get her to say it. "I take it you're not friends," he said simply.

"Oh, it's not that. Grace? She's a real sweetheart," Erica began in a vaguely condescending tone. "Lived here all her life, as nice as she can be. But that friend of hers? Different story altogether."

"What makes you say that?"

Erica set down her glass and leaned forward. "She's lived in Cannon River for months and has hardly said two words to me in all the times she's been in here. Kind of a stuck-up sort, if you ask me."

"Hmm.. perhaps she's just naturally reserved," Jane countered.

"Or perhaps she's just self-conscious. Maybe she knows what people in this town have been saying about her ever since she arrived here."

Damn, Jane thought. This woman was more eager to share dirt than any gossip he had ever met in his life. But he knew that as the small town barkeep Erica had a wealth of information at her disposal, and her willingness to disclose it would no doubt come in handy to him in the future. So he decided to play along.

"Don't be shy. Let's hear it." He leaned in closer.

"Well, I just think it's a little odd. Virgil Minelli decides to take this trip around the world and instead of closing up his shop or hiring someone in town to take over, he brings in this Teresa Lisbon person. A woman half his age who nobody knows is suddenly in charge of the place. And she's living in his house while he's away. Now I ask you, does that sound like a strictly professional relationship to you?"

"No, it does not." Jane tapped his forefinger to lips thoughtfully. Despite what Erica was suggesting, however, he had difficulty jumping to the same conclusion she had regarding any supposed romantic relationship between Teresa and the absent Minelli. Nothing about Teresa screamed kept woman and the way she had spoken of him the other day gave Jane the impression that this Minelli was more of a paternal figure in her life than anything else.

Yet at the same time he was genuinely intrigued. What was her story? How had she ended up in this small town where she didn't know a single person and what life had she left behind in doing so? It was time for him to try and find out.

Jane picked his drink up off the bar and stood upright. "Well, I thank you for the beer, Erica, and the enlightening conversation."

"My pleasure, Patrick. I hope to see you again soon."

Jane flashed his most dazzling, game show host smile, nodded, and strolled out onto the patio.

Time to renew his acquaintance with Ms. Teresa Lisbon.

A/N Sorry for the lack of actual Lisbon/Jane interactions in this chapter. I intended to put it in here at the end but couldn't quite make it work. Next chapter, I promise!