The flickering slowed just a bit. “Like a vision?”
“No.” As the flickering picked up, I quickly said, “But sort of. A vision without the visuals.” Sure, why not? That sounded close enough to the truth. I stepped again to my left, hoping that if I moved far enough, the ladies—witch inclusive, because even shady witches could be ladies—wouldn’t be in the line of fire.
The flickering stopped, and Ginny giggled. “A vision without the visuals. You’re funny, Geoff.”
I took one more step to my left, relatively confident that I’d changed the angles enough to now be the singular target. So long as she kept her attention on me. “Do you think you can help me find Clarence? I truly believe he’s in danger.” When she still hesitated, I added, “But you’re right about the food. I’ll try to find something tastier for him.”
Preferably something that wouldn’t give him noxious gas on par with the chemical warfare of my generation. But she didn’t need the details.
“Okay,” she said in a cheerful tone. And I immediately felt like I’d been out-negotiated by a master. “He’s with Nicky.”
Not knowing what Ginny gained from this deal made me itchy. But there were bigger, more immediate problems than Ginny’s unpredictable mood swings. For instance . . . “Who’s Nicky?” And had he been on our suspect list? But Ginny would hardly know that answer.
“The Gonzalez house,” Sylvie called. “Mrs. Gonzalez’s nephew.”
“Mrs. G? Are you sure, Ginny?” But I regretted my questions immediately.
Clive came tumbling at me with remarkable speed.
25
I flinched. I yelled—probably profanity, but I was uncertain of the exact words. Generally, I looked like a bumbling idiot.
What I didn’t do was duck.
Wild-eyed, I stared as Clive tumbled ass over teakettle directly toward my head. The world had slowed, and each rotation was distinct: round rump, then grinning face, then pointy hat, then round rump . . . Slow enough to see in great detail, but still speeding faster than I could dodge.
Beaned by a gnome—of all the undignified ways to die. And me having just retired back to mortality only a few weeks ago.
And then, no more than a hand’s width from my eyes, he smacked into a wall. An invisible wall. A wall that couldn’t be there. But a wall solid enough to produce a resounding thud when Clive made contact.
Clive looked up at me from the ground with his cheerful expression and his pipe clenched firmly between his teeth. And I said the most inane thing, the first thing that popped into my head: “Thank you, Clive.”
Maybe he did bash me in the head after all, because I’d swear Clive winked at me.
“I’ll take that thanks.” Tamara leaned down to retrieve Clive. She lifted the statue like it weighed nothing and handed him to Sylvie. “You might like to put him back where he belongs. He’s fond of his spot.”
The subtext to her comments was too much for my almost-bashed-in head to process, so I ignored it. “Wait, Ginny?” I looked around the garden and found no signs of her.
“Gone,” Lilac said. “Too bad they don’t make mood stabilizers for ghosts. Or maybe she needs therapy? There seems to be a lot of anger going on there. Girl also has some highly conflicted emotions rolling around inside her. Toward you.” She raised her eyebrows. “Toward Sylvie.”
“Yes.” I winced. Talking about Ginny with Clarence was one thing; this was different. Lilac didn’t know her, and Ginny didn’t trust strangers. Striving for vagueness but not wanting to leave Lilac with a bad impression, I said, “I’m sure she has very good reasons for the way she feels.”
“I’m sure you’re right. Also, I’m sorry.” She gave me sheepish look. “I get why you were looking for a ghost repellant before. I’m sorry about what I said, you know, judging you for wanting them to go away. I only ever have the sense they’re around. I’ve never seen or spoken to one before. And none of them have tried to bean me. Not yet.”
“Apology accepted,” I said.
Sylvie returned without Clive, her mission accomplished. “Why was it we could see and hear Ginny, but not Bobby?”
“She’s much stronger than your Bobby,” Tamara said, swinging her bag over her shoulder. “Hop to, folks. No telling how close of an eye Mrs. G has on this place. Mrs. G.” Tamara shook her head. “I never would have thought . . .”
“Well, maybe it’s her nephew,” Sylvie said as she opened the gate for us. “Although I don’t suppose it could be one without the other.”
“What time is it?” I had notes at the house on the Gonzalezes. If only we had time to have a look at them.
“We’ve got an hour and a half,” Tamara replied without checking a watch or cell phone. “Not much time for planning. Your house, Geoff?”
“My house,” I agreed. “I want to have a look at Nicky Gonzalez’s family tree. We were interrupted before, but I think it’s time to find that family connection we’ve been suspecting.”
“I’ve met Mrs. G, and if she’s got magic, she’s hiding it deeper than I can see.” Tamara’s bright green eyes met mine. Those eyes didn’t miss anything.
“Or hiding it in a tree out back,” Sylvie said. “That’s what my grandmother used to say.”
Tamara stopped. We were just crossing the street, so I offered her my arm in hopes she’d continue on. She patted it and said, “I’m not so old as that,” then continued across the street.
Once we were safely tucked inside my house, Tamara asked
