Ginny glanced nervously at me, her image flickering. Not a good sign when dealing with an unstable ghost, because that usually meant emotions were running high.
Clarence cleared his throat, and I caught the hint. “I have no idea what he’s talking about,” I said.
The flickering stopped. “Really?”
“Not a clue. I was looking for a witness, and Clarence said he knew another ghost in the area. I had a few questions, so Clarence told me where to find you.”
The fluttering curls settled into a cloud around her oval face. She’d had a gorgeous head of thick, curly hair—back when she was alive. She was actually quite pretty when she wasn’t being psychotic.
She turned her full attention to me, waiting.
“Ah, there was an explosion across the street this morning. Bobby, the ghost haunting the house, was away before it happened and didn’t see who might have caused it.”
She rolled her eyes. “He’s not exactly all there. And he has to recharge all the time. I don’t think he’ll be around for long.”
“He might be gone faster if we could put his mind at ease.”
“Oh?” That perked her up. “How can I help?”
Wild mood swings in addition to the anger, violence, and voyeurism issues—and she liked to hang out at my house. Just great. “Did you see anyone or anything that might lead us to the person responsible for the explosion?”
“I didn’t see who set it. I was on the other end of the street.”
That was disappointing. “I see. Perhaps you have some information that might help us find the person?”
She twirled a long curl around her finger. “You have a time frame? You know, when it might have been set?”
Clarence had crept closer while she’d been distracted. He was eyeing the mess on the floor with wide eyes, so I nudged him with my toe. “Clarence thinks three days.”
He licked his lips, so I nudged him again. Finally, he grunted. “What?”
“Quit eyeing the condiments. You can’t eat any of that.” My nose couldn’t handle the resulting stomach distress that Clarence would be putting his poor bobcat body through.
He let out a disgruntled growl.
“Three days, huh?” At Clarence’s nod, she whistled. “Well, boys, it’s a neighbor.”
Clarence and I shared a look. Austin suburbia housed a bomber? Not likely. And a bomber who had Sylvie’s ex in their sights and happened to live in Sylvie’s neighborhood. What were the odds?
My skepticism must have leaked through, because Ginny crossed her arms and cocked her hip. At least the flickering had stopped. “Look, it’s like this. This is my neighborhood. I keep an eye out, and unlike loony Bobby, I don’t have to disappear every five seconds to recharge. I’m grounded in this plane and to this neighborhood. I see who comes and who goes. And except for a few delivery people”—she stabbed the air with her pointing finger—“the only people who’ve come and gone on this street for the last three days are people who live here.”
“That explains it. It must have been a delivery person.”
Arms still crossed, Ginny shook her head. “I watch the postman and the regular delivery men. I like to keep up-to-date. You’d be surprised by what some people around here get up to with their mail orders.” She shot me a knowing look.
Since she was a voyeur who enjoyed spying on me in my most private moments, I didn’t think she had much room to judge. Especially since my deliveries couldn’t be more mundane. But I was all about keeping this conversation civil—and my grocery bill from growing any larger—so I bit my tongue.
“You didn’t step away for a little while, maybe long enough for a bomb to be planted?” My question brought back the ghostly breeze.
At least still she wasn’t flickering or picking up condiment missiles.
“Geoff, she’s grounded to this plane and, like she said, to this neighborhood,” Clarence said. “That means she doesn’t disappear in the ether to charge up her ghost battery, but it also means she’s limited in her ability to travel.” His whiskers twitched—with sympathy? “What’s your limit, Gin?”
Her curls fluttered against her pale cheek. “Three blocks. My house is gone, replaced by a generic monster house, the kind that brushes up against the property lines.” Her expression turned sad. “They bulldozed my garden.”
Ouch. And I knew the house she meant. It was at the very end of the street.
“I apologize, Ginny,” I said. “I’m sure you’re right; I’m just having a hard time envisioning a scenario that involves one neighbor bombing another.” Even saying the word “bombing” in combination with neighbor made me uncomfortable.
The breeze stilled, and her hair settled around her face again. “Why? Almost half your neighbors have moved in within the last eighteen months, and then half of those within the last year. And the kind of people that land on this street . . .” She raised her eyebrows.
“Now that, Ginny, is very interesting. Can you give me a list of the most recent people, counting back, say, six months?”
She smiled warmly. “Of course.”
Now didn’t seem the ideal moment to ask her to please stop ogling me in the buff, so I just expressed my thanks.
Five minutes later, Clarence and I had a list of ten names. Sylvie was absent, because she’d moved in just over six months ago, but Mrs. Gonzalez was included, as were some other familiar names. And I’d thought Mrs. G was a fixture in the neighborhood.
Once Clarence had declared the room Ginny-free, I turned a hand to tidying. I didn’t want to give my cleaning lady any reason to think something untoward was happening in the house, even if there was. She cleaned, she washed and ironed, and she even cooked a bit. The woman was a gem, and I wasn’t losing her over some ghostly contretemps.
Clarence’s eyes were huge as he watched me sweep
