Page 35 of Mountain Man’s Mystic Touch

His expression changes. “You a cop?”

“Private security.”

“Then you can’t search my phone.”

“That’s correct. I asked for your cooperation.”

“I don’t have to give it.”

“No.”

He puts the phone into his pocket. “Then I’m leaving.”

“You’re free to.”

I step aside.

He walks toward the southern exit without stopping at another booth. I memorize his clothing, approximate height, gait, and the small geometric tattoo behind his left ear. Then I radio my team with the description and request a review of the entrance footage.

The man has not committed a crime. Photographing a booth is not illegal. Refusing to show me his phone proves nothing. But Loralee was right about one thing. Observation is not exclusive to security specialists. Sometimes a collection of ordinary details creates an answer before evidence can prove it.

I pass Booth 37 shortly before noon. Loralee is helping two women compare candles. Her color is better today, and a bottle of water sits within reach. She looks up as I approach, her attention finding me through the crowd with the same unsettling certainty she displayed the first afternoon.

“Problem?” she asks.

“Possibly. Nothing you need to act on.”

Her attention sharpens. “That is a very carefully constructed answer.”

“I’ll speak with you later.”

One of the women hides a smile behind an amber candle jar. I leave before Loralee reads anything else from my face.

By midafternoon, my team has tracked the man through the security footage. He entered with no visible companion. He spent thirty-six minutes inside the grounds, stopping only at booths selling jewelry, handcrafted knives, and higher-priced artwork. He purchased nothing.

We circulate his image among security personnel and increase coverage near vendor storage areas. Without evidence of an actual offense, there is nothing more to do.

I return to Loralee’s booth at four twenty. She sits alone behind the counter, writing in a leather-bound notebook. The small rose quartz she offered me yesterday rests beside her hand.

“You were right,” I say.

She looks up. “About?”

“Ordinary observations becoming something more.”

“That could refer to many things.”

“There was a man photographing locks and cash-handling procedures.”

Her eyes lose their warmth. “Is he still here?”

“No. We’re watching for him.”

“Do you believe he intends to steal something?”

“I believe his behavior warrants attention.”

She closes the notebook. “That sounds carefully phrased.”