“No. I hope you don’t mind, but I waited in your backyard until the police arrived and retrieved me.”
Ernie piped up. “We searched the entire house before Ms. Baker returned home. And you still don’t think, Ms. Baker, that anything is missing?”
Sylvie shook her head. “Not that I can tell, but I’ll have a closer look and let you know.” She saw Ernie and I share a concerned look and rolled her eyes. “Tomorrow. I’ll have a closer look tomorrow. I’m spending the night at a friend’s house, per your recommendation, Detective Nelson. Though I really don’t think that’s necessary.” She looked around the room and seemed angry for the first time since I’d arrived. “This is my home.”
Ernie flipped his notepad shut and said his goodbyes. I didn’t get the impression he had much hope of catching the intruder, not unless someone in the neighborhood had seen more than Sylvie and could provide a description of a car or the burglar.
Once he was gone, I tried to gauge her state of mind. The woman who’d wrapped her arms around me looking for support seemed to be gone. It was just as well, since I had some troubling information for her. I would have loved an excuse to wait—she’d only just learned about Bobby—but the events of the evening seemed likely to be related. Superficially, perhaps not, but this many crimes in such a short time, all happening to a small group of people—it simply couldn’t all be coincidence.
She looked down at her red and blue outfit. “All dressed up and nowhere to go.” Shaking her head, she turned to the kitchen. “Whiskey?”
“Ah, sure. I thought you didn’t drink much whiskey. Or tequila. I distinctly remember you warning me that those particular beverages do not agree with you.”
She stretched up on her tiptoes and pulled down a half-full bottle of whiskey from the back of a kitchen cupboard. “Desperate times.” She lifted the bottle in a sort of toast.
She retrieved two glasses, poured us each a stout measure, and then sat down at the kitchen table. Gesturing to the seat next to her, she said, “Now, Geoff, why is it I get the impression you have something you need to tell me? I thought I was the one with the adventurous day.”
I hesitated, stalled by taking a sip of her excellent whiskey, and then set the glass down. I took another sip and swirled the liquid around in my mouth. It was possible, though not probable, that the events at Lilac’s store were unrelated. I hated that the greatest connection between the events, besides timing, was me.
She placed both forearms on the table and leaned toward me. “Spit it out.”
My breath stopped. She was gorgeous, with her determined expression, her daringly beautiful dress, and a glass of whiskey in her hand. She could have asked me just about anything, and I’d have told her. “It could be completely unrelated. Probably is unrelated.”
She tilted her head, waiting.
“Right. I just came from Lilac’s shop. Ah, Lilac is a medium whose help I’ve been seeking to resolve some problems.”
She quirked an eyebrow.
“I have a ghost spying on me, and I don’t know when she’s around. It’s disconcerting.” My face warmed.
“She?” Sylvie’s eyes crinkled, and she took a sip of whiskey. “Go on.”
“That’s not the important part.”
“Oh? But it is interesting.” She grinned, her dimple making its first appearance of the evening. “You’re blushing.”
I leaned back in my chair. “Okay. She might have had a certain fascination with some of my daily routines. That’s all I’m saying. I asked Lilac to help with a detection system and, if possible, some kind of ghost repellant to keep them away entirely.”
She nodded. “That seems a reasonable enough request.”
Maybe she and Lilac needed to meet, because I wasn’t sure Lilac would agree even after the events of the evening. Something she’d said about spiders and bugs had me doubting she’d shifted her position.
“Tonight, right before a meeting I had scheduled with Lilac, someone attacked her.” I watched Sylvie’s face closely. “Something attacked her.”
Concern clouded her face. “She’s all right?”
“She is. But the . . . man who attacked her was looking for an item.”
Sylvie tapped her finger against the table. “You think there might be a connection between the explosion in my backyard, the burglary tonight, and this attack on your friend.”
“No, not necessarily. There’s no real connection other than their proximity in time.”
“And you.”
I winced. “Yes, and me.”
She swallowed some whiskey then licked her lips. “So, what was Lilac’s attacker looking for?”
“A stone, if you can believe it.”
Not even a glimmer of recognition crossed her face. “Hm. Like a diamond?”
“I have no idea. It wasn’t very forthcoming.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What exactly was it? And what else are you not telling me?” She pinned me with her beautiful brown gaze. “I’ve had a rough day, so don’t even try to pull the wool over my eyes. I am not in the mood.”
I crossed my arms. “You’re sure you want everything? I don’t know if that’s a great idea, especially since you have had an especially rough day.”
She thumped her empty glass on the table. “Geoff Todd, spill.”
So I did. Everything. The construct, Clarence, my former profession. I even told her about Tamara, her friendly (I hoped) neighborhood witch. And all the while she listened silently, not asking questions, making accusations, or voicing doubts.
Given how poorly my recent revelation with Lilac and Clarence had gone, I was on edge when I was done. I had just enough time to remind myself that Sylvie was no Lilac before a knock on the door interrupted us.
And that was that. I got no response from Sylvie about my various earth-shattering disclosures, just a gentle shove out the door.
19
Wednesday morning
A text. That was what I got from Sylvie the next day.
The modern world had its foibles, and texting was certainly one of them.
After enduring a night of Clarence’s complaints (did I know how stuffy that car
