Tomorrow gave me a little time to come up with the appropriate bouquet for a witch. I didn’t want to accidentally offend her, even if she claimed she didn’t have a temper.
“Will do. And Geoff? I’m really sorry about the way I acted earlier. You know, with the cat, with Clarence.” She smiled, making her beautiful in a way that runny mascara and red eyes simply couldn’t diminish. “I’m glad I called you and not the police.”
“I’m honored to have been of service.” I poked Clarence in the ribs with my toe.
“Yeah, what he said. Happy to help.” Then Clarence muttered, “Even if you can’t remember my name.”
As I buckled Clarence into his carrier, he said peevishly, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was a redhead.”
“What’s your issue with Lilac? Just because she calls you ‘cat,’ you have a problem with her?” I didn’t comment on the fact that, given her green hair, she certainly could be a redhead. And with her pale skin, deep blue eyes, and the faint dash of faded freckles across her nose and cheeks, I’d say odds were almost even on blonde or redhead. But best not to taint Clarence any further against Lilac. She’d done a smashing job in a difficult situation, something that Clarence would surely recognize—at some point.
The entire ride home, I had to listen to Clarence moan about the evils of redheads. Even as we turned onto our street, he still wasn’t done.
It wasn’t until he caught sight of the flashing red and blue lights in front of Sylvie’s house that he stopped complaining.
18
“Slow down!” Clarence wailed from the backseat. “I can’t see anything. I always miss all the best stuff.”
“If you don’t hush, I am going to do something—I don’t know what, but something—that you will not like. Put aside your obsessive need to be entertained for two seconds and think about Sylvie.” I whipped into my drive and jammed the gear shift into park.
“I’m sorry, boss. I’ll wait in the car while you check on her.” His tone was contrite enough for me to pause for a split second before I slammed my car door shut and consider if he might actually be experiencing remorse.
As I jogged across the street, I made up my mind: I was buying a cell phone tomorrow.
A police officer parked at the curb stepped out of his vehicle.
Since he looked like he was going to stop me, I preempted him. “I had a date this evening with Sylvie Baker, the homeowner. Can you tell me if she’s all right?”
“She didn’t call you?” He took out a small pad and pen from his pocket.
Ignoring the implication that she would have if she wanted me here, I gave him a chagrined look and said, “I don’t have a cell phone.” As his eyebrows rose, I lied, “On me. Just lost it.”
The officer clicked his pen. “Your name?” He glanced at his watch and scrawled the time on the pad.
“Geoff Todd.” I even spelled it for him.
Once he’d written down my name, address, and landline number—since I’d “lost” my cell phone—he escorted me to the front door. “Hey, Ernie,” he called inside. “I’ve got a Geoff Todd here.”
Ernie must have given me the stamp of approval, because the officer waved me through and then returned to his parked cruiser.
Sylvie and a tired-looking plainclothes cop who didn’t look nearly old enough to be out of a uniform were sitting in the living room.
“Geoff, I’m so sorry about this evening.” Sylvie stood up, and I couldn’t help an appreciative look. Her dress wrapped around her neck—called a halter dress, if I remembered correctly—and cut into a deep V in the front. It was a pattern of blues and reds that I was sure would normally flatter her skin, but she was pale as a ghost.
I hadn’t a clue if she’d smack me or thank me, but I closed the gap between us and pulled her close.
She leaned into me, wrapping her arms around my back and pressing her cheek to my chest. The delicate scents of vanilla and cinnamon tickled my nose. I rubbed her back, wishing that whatever the hell had happened to upset her hadn’t.
She took a deep breath and then stepped away. She had a little more color in her cheeks. “Thank you.”
For coming over when I saw the police? For comforting a distressed woman? That was just what one did, when—Ah, just the thing to do. I cleared my throat. “What happened?”
Sylvie’s gaze drifted to the detective.
“Ms. Baker interrupted a burglary.”
My blood pressure shot through the roof. I felt the tips of Sylvie’s fingers on my arm. If I didn’t want to give the impression of being a hothead—and I wasn’t one—I needed to offer a reasonable response.
While I worked on that, Ernie gave me the basics: “Ms. Baker did exactly the right thing. She avoided confrontation and immediately called the police.” He turned to Sylvie and said, “You kept yourself safe, which is really smart thinking.”
“I don’t think he knew I was here,” Sylvie said. “I usually park in the drive, but I decided just today to start parking in the garage.” She rolled her eyes. “Like that turned out to be safer.”
“Did you see him?” I asked. When she shook her head, I added, “But you’re sure it was a man?”
A wrinkle appeared between her eyes. “No, I just assumed. I got the briefest glimpse of his—or her—back and just focused on getting out of the house. I left through the back door, went around the opposite side of the house, and over to your place, actually.”
“But I wasn’t there,” I said
