“Did you find anything interesting in Dupree’s hotel room?” I asked.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Just wondering.”
“As a matter of fact, we found a root and some unidentified powders; sent ’em to the lab. You know, I had asked a friend of mine, a beat cop, to stop by earlier in the day, after Dupree seemed to threaten you at your store. At that time Dupree said he felt sick to his stomach, and my friend said he looked pretty green around the gills.”
“And what does that tell us?”
Carlos shrugged.
“I didn’t hex Dupree, Carlos, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
“I wasn’t suggesting that, exactly, but I’m glad to hear you deny it. Is Sailor right- or left-handed?”
“Right-handed. Why?”
He nodded. “That’s what I thought. The forensics guys said the blood spatter patterns indicate that whoever attacked Dupree was left-handed. Also, on the hotel’s security footage Sailor seemed to favor his left hand: He carried a pocket watch in his left pocket and opened the door with his left hand.”
“I hate to say it, but that seems . . . a little flimsy, evidence-wise. A lot of right-handed people use their left for some things.”
“I know. It’s just another in a long line of hinky aspects. But despite the fact that we found no trace of blood on Sailor, and no discarded clothes anywhere, the eyewitnesses and the security footage place him at the scene and are probably enough to get a jury to swing guilty. Not to mention, Dupree told me himself that Sailor threatened to kill him this morning. I gotta tell you, Lily, it doesn’t look good.”
“No, Carlos, I can’t believe this. What can I do to prove Sailor’s innocent?”
“Find the killer.”
“I . . . um, okay.”
“Keep in mind that if Sailor didn’t do it, then the person who did looks a whole lot like him.”
Suddenly I recalled Maya’s story about seeing someone who looked just like Sailor in the herbal store; could that have been the person who killed Tristan Dupree? And if so, why? And . . . who was he?
“Need a refill?” Carlos asked. “It might just cure your cold.”
“No, thanks.”
“Okay, tell me everything you know about Tristan Dupree.”
“I don’t know much. I met him fifteen years ago or so, in Germany.”
Carlos nodded. “He’s a Swiss citizen, here on a standard tourist visa. We’ve made inquiries about him in Europe. How did you meet him?”
I thought back to the visions I’d had with Aidan. He was right. It was time to remember. Sailor’s life might depend upon it.
“He worked with my father.”
“That sounds like trouble.”
“You’re telling me.” Carlos had once arrested my father for a crime he didn’t commit, either . . . but still, he could tell good old Dad was bad news.
“Really, Carlos, I’ve been racking my brain ever since Dupree came to Aunt Cora’s Closet, but I barely knew him.”
“And yet he arrived on the Lufthansa flight into SFO yesterday morning, dropped his bags at the hotel, and then headed to your shop to demand you return something you’d stolen from him fifteen years ago?”
“Are you sure he came directly to Aunt Cora’s Closet?”
“We’re working on the timeline. The hotel says he left about forty minutes before I saw him at your place, so it’s possible he stopped somewhere else. I’m not sure how much it matters. Have you figured out what he wanted from you?”
“Not yet.” I thought I heard the box thump next to me. The bar was noisy, though, so it was probably my imagination.
I played with the ring on my finger. The crystals sparkled in the dim light of the bar, casting minuscule rainbows about us. Comforting me.
What bēag had Tristan been after—and what was its significance?
“Nice ring,” said Carlos. “Unusual.”
“It’s called a druzy. Sailor gave it to me for . . .” My voice caught. I cleared my throat. “It’s our engagement ring.”
He nodded slowly, holding my gaze. “I heard about that through the grapevine. Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” I was embarrassed that I hadn’t reached out to tell Carlos that Sailor and I had gotten engaged. But it had felt awkward to pick up the phone and call him to deliver the news out of the blue. After all, usually I called him about murder. Although I liked to think of Carlos as a friend, the truth was that ours was not a typical friendship. Also, although their relationship had progressed a little, he still wasn’t wild about Sailor. “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”
He nodded.
“Speaking of engagements,” I continued, “my grandmother and her friends are set to arrive any day now. I’m not sure how long they’ll stay, so we’ve sort of moved up the wedding timetable. We’re having a handfasting in two weeks, in Bolinas.”
“What’s a handfasting?”
“It’s a traditional witchy wedding, usually held outside, in a natural setting. We’re not certain if Bronwyn will get her certification to officiate in time, so we might have to do the legal ceremony later. But the handfasting will be the real ceremony, the one that counts. I would love it if you would join us.”
His mouth kicked up on one side. I imagined he was thinking, What if Sailor is still in jail? I decided to cross that bridge if and when we came to it.
“I would be honored, Lily,” said Carlos. But there was something else in his eyes, something I couldn’t put my finger on. Sailor always insisted that reading minds wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, but I thought it would make my life a lot easier if I could do it.
“All right.” Carlos finished off his Irish coffee and wiped a little cream from his lips with a cocktail napkin. “So, a man you haven’t seen or heard from in fifteen years, whom you barely knew in the first place, arrived in town yesterday, stopped by your shop and threatened you, then got dead at the hands of someone who looks like your fiancé, walks like your fiancé, and talks like your fiancé but who is not, in fact, your fiancé. Is that about the size
