"The answer's still no, Sammy."

The swipe machine was ready, so I turned it for his signature. His hand covered mine before I could blink.

"Am I just imagining something between us?" His voice was low, his fingers warmly persuasive. He wore heavy silver rings, a thumb ring and two others. "I'd like to get to know you better, Nicki." He squeezed my hand, not letting me pull away. "I'd like to make love to you."

My body throbbed, bringing a surge of guilt along with a surge of juices. What was it about this guy that made him so sexy? The old Nicki would've jumped his bones in a heartbeat, and worried about guilt and explanations later.

Those blue eyes were incredible, and he smelled like forbidden fruit-juicy, and just within reach. I could stretch out my hand...

"Joe would never know," Sammy murmured.

Joe would never know.

I snatched away my hand and took a step back.

Sammy straightened, giving me the rueful grin of a thwarted rock-'n'-roll god. "Okay, okay. I get the message. You're a good girl and I'm a bad boy." He sighed. "Problem is, you don't look like a good girl. I'm sorry. I'll keep my hands to myself."

He signed on the dotted line while I bagged the last of his clothes, which I handed over with a rueful grin of my own.

"I'm not normally this good," I said, "and I can't deny I find you... attractive." Sammy's eyebrow arched hopefully. I hardened my heart and locked my knees. "But I love my boyfriend. I'm flattered, really. But I wanna give this monogamy thing a try."

"Damn," he said softly. There was a wicked glint in his eye, of lust and regret and appreciation. "So Satan, whom repulse met ever, and to shameful silence brought, yet gives not o'er though desperate of success."

I frowned. It was strange how this guy started quoting the classics whenever he got shot down in flames. "Milton, again? English, please."

Sammy laughed, and I was struck anew by how dangerously gorgeous he was-how sexy... how clever... how cool. Why wasn't this man on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine?

"It means you can resist the Devil, but he never gives up. It's better to make a bargain with him while you still have a chance."

My stomach turned to ice. The last person to urge me to make a deal with the Devil had been Psycho Barbie, and I wasn't fond of the memory.

He shook his blond head before turning to go. "Ah, women. Why are the good ones always taken?"

"Are you comparing yourself to the Devil?"

Sammy paused, one shoulder holding open the shop door. That killer grin had never been more blinding. He winked, and said. "I'm not comparing myself to anyone, sweetheart. If there were any comparisons to be made, I'd be comparing you to your sister. Twins, aren't you?"

I froze, never having mentioned I even had a sister.

"Guilt seems to run in your family, doesn't it? Too bad Kelly can't seem to get past that nasty little car accident. Maybe she might be a bit more receptive to a guy who just wants to show her a good time."

I opened my mouth to ask how he knew Kelly, but he cut me off with a jaunty wave of the hand. "See you around." And he was gone.

I'm not ashamed to say I now had a serious case of the creeps. I wanted answers, but I didn't want to call him back; it was best if he left, and I didn't want to encourage him. Still, I couldn't help myself-I went to the window to watch him walk away. He got into an old Mustang convertible and drove off down Moreland, his rock-star looks drawing plenty of second glances.

Who was he?

Psycho Barbie claimed that "they'd be watching." Was Sammy sent by the Devil to tempt my newfound morals, or was he just a case of incredibly bad timing? And that comment about Kelly-it had almost sounded like a threat. Was I a total paranoid, or just your average nutcase? Who knew?

I sure as hell didn't.

"So, do you need to change your panties now?" Evan popped his head into the room. "Or should I break out the bubble bath so you can enjoy the afterglow?"

I blew out a breath, shaking my head. Anything I might have said was interrupted by the jingle of the bell as the front door opened again.

"Oh my God, did you meet him?" It was Angela, the performance artist from Findley Square. "What's his name? Is he married?"

I heard Evan mutter, "Oh, Lord."

Angela hadn't applied her silver body paint yet. It was almost strange to see her without it. She was tiny and athletic, brown hair in a tight bun.

"Can you believe a guy like that will be right across the street?"

"What?" Evan and I spoke at the same time.

Angela nodded her head. "He bought Indigo, didn't you hear?" Clearly pleased by our stunned expressions, Angela kept talking. "Somebody said he's turning it into a music store, vinyls and CDs."

Indigo was the Jamaican grocery store that used to belong to my friend Caprice. It was the site of some bad mojo, in more ways than one. Caprice had died there, for starters. The touristy little market had been just a cover for Caprice's real line of work-she'd been a powerful "mambo," a voodoo priestess-a fact I unfortunately didn't learn until after she was dead. There was a scary, hidden "voodoo room" in the back of the store.

"Divinyls, I think he's calling it." Angela was full of information today. Maybe she was the one who'd told Sammy I had a twin sister. "Isn't that a cool name for a music store?"

The phone rang, and I answered it automatically, though my attention was on the bombshell Angela had just dropped. "Handbags and Gladrags, this is Nicki."

"Nicki, it's Kelly. I just called Bijou's number in Savannah and spoke to a man named Leonard. He said Bijou's been sick. He invited us to come. In fact, he urged us to come. Bijou was sleeping, but I told Leonard to let her know we were coming."

"Kelly, I-"

"She's an old woman, Nicki, and we're all the family she has left. I'll go without you if I need to, but I sure wish you'd go with me." She hesitated, then added, "I'm sorry I was so bitchy to you this morning. I was a little freaked out."

That made two of us.

"It's okay," I said. "Don't worry about it." I looked out the window again, staring at the familiar front porch of Indigo, and the steps where Caprice had been murdered.

Once the scene of a tragedy, those steps were now to be a source of daily unease. Dead people, guilt, weird family obligations-I never meant to look for trouble, yet trouble kept finding me. Why was nothing easy anymore?

"And whether you believe it or not, I didn't trash the kitchen. I wasn't sleepwalking, either. I think Peaches is trying to communicate with me, and I need to know why."

"Okay, Kelly." Destiny called, I suppose, and I decided it might be a good idea to take Kelly out of harm's way, at least temporarily. "You win. We'll go to Savannah."

CHAPTER 9.

Wrought iron, like black lace, framing glimpses of gardens and courtyards. Brick streets, oak-shaded and wide, houses gleaming with trim and sentried with shutters. Savannah dripped with Southern charm and Spanish moss, particularly in the historic district.

"Beautiful town," Joe said. He'd insisted on coming with us, claiming he needed some time off anyway. I knew he'd done it because he was worried about what kind of trouble I'd get myself into without him, but that was okay with me. A night or two with my boyfriend at a cozy bed and breakfast sounded pretty good, even if Kelly was part of the deal. She'd have her own room. "I've always heard Savannah was worth a visit."

"Me, too," I said. "Aren't these old houses great? Look at those brownstones-they must date to the 1800s."

Savannah was a city of squares. Literally. The center of each square was marked by either a fountain or a statue, green space all around. People sunned themselves on benches or hung out on the grass, the atmosphere lazy and unhurried. Even the tourists took their time, strolling in and out of quaint little shops and historic mansions.

It was cool-in a vintage kind of way.

"There's a big fountain in that park over there," Kelly said, pointing. "Let's stop and get a couple of pictures."

"Sounds good to me," Joe said. "I wouldn't mind a chance to stretch my legs." After a four hour drive through a boring stretch of grassy Georgia low country, I didn't blame him. We found a parking meter with some time left on it near a sign that said FORSYTH PARK and left the car.

"Wow, look at the size of that." Kelly was admiring the two-tiered fountain. It was white stone, high and graceful, capped with the stone figure of a woman. Marble sea nymphs splashed at her feet.

A little touristy, but gorgeous.

"I'm glad you guys decided to come." Kelly smiled at me, taking a seat on a bench near the fountain. "And I'm so glad to be out of that wheelchair."

She was hobbling around pretty well without her crutches. Joe had pronounced one ankle almost healed and the other ready for a walking cast.

"I'm glad you didn't mind driving instead of flying," I said. "Those little commuter planes make me nervous."

Joe gave a snort. "Wimp."

I pretended I was gonna smack him, but he just grinned and grabbed my hand instead. I let him keep it.

"I've always wanted to come here," Kelly said as we took a seat on the bench beside her. She looked relaxed and happy, soaking in the day.

Somewhere in the background I could hear band music-the old-fashioned, energetic kind-lots of horns and tubas. Judging by the flags and streamers in one corner of the park, and the cluster of tourists in that area, there was a festival of some kind going on.

"We have to have some fun while we're here, check out the nightclub scene," I said to Kelly. "I hear it gets pretty wild down on River Street. Can't have your memories of Savannah be anything less than spectacular."

She laughed. "I don't know if I'm up to 'spectacular.' I'll be happy with 'great' or 'interesting' or something like that."

I sighed. "You need to wave your freak flag higher, Kelly."

"My what?"

"Your freak flag-you know, whatever it is about you that makes you unique, makes you you!" I glanced over, only half teasing. "You should let loose once in a while."

She looked away, staring toward the fountain. "I guess I should. It's just been a long time since I have."

I watched a woman in period costume stroll past a man with a big dog on a leash. The man was ignoring the woman's severe hairstyle and wide hoop skirt, chatting it up with two babes in jeans and tight T-shirts, each with a dog of their own. The dogs wagged their tails and checked out each other's butts while their owners did the same, only more discreetly.

"Let's throw a coin in the fountain," Kelly said.

"You go ahead." I was fine just where I was. The afternoon sun was warm, though the air was cool. I loved fall in Georgia. "Don't forget to make a wish."

Kelly got up and went toward the fountain, digging in her purse for change.

"I'd like to make a wish, too," Joe said, rising from the bench. He was smiling.

I gave him my archest look. "Really? What are you going to wish for?"

"If I tell you, it won't come true." He winked at me as he moved toward the fountain, diving one hand into his pocket. "And I can't have that."

I watched him walk away, enjoying the view. The man knew how to wear a pair of jeans.

"Have you seen any of the men from Fort McAllister?" The woman in Civil War costume was walking quickly toward me, skirts rustling.

"Excuse me?" Some people really get into these re-enactments.

"The garrison," the woman said. "Major Anderson's men-Sherman's taken the fort. Have any of the men returned?"

I had to hand it to her-this woman was in character. I'd seen people like her before. They loved festivals, and usually belonged to some anachronistic society with a weird name, like the Society for Creative Underpants.

"I'm sure you can find them wherever the beer booth is," I said, smiling only enough to avoid out-and-out rudeness.

"You're dressed strangely." The woman looked at me suspiciously. "I thought you were a boy."

"I'm dressed strangely?" Mentally, I compared the woman's drab gray dress with my favorite flat-front khakis, worn with a beaded belt and cute blue corduroy jacket. "Move along, Miss Harriet Beecher Stowe-or whoever you are."

The woman was plain and wore no makeup. With her dark hair in a severe part, clubbed in a low bun, she bordered on homely.

"Elizabeth," she said. "My name is Elizabeth."

And that's when I knew. She wasn't pretending. She wasn't a member of any society.

She was dead.

"They say that Sherman will burn Savannah to the ground," Elizabeth said, looking around with worried expression, "that we should pack up and run while we have the chance, but I can't go without William. Have you seen him? William Coleman?" * Poor woman. The only thing I could do to ease her mind was tell her the truth.

"Savannah won't burn, Elizabeth." I remembered that much from my history lessons. "And William is at peace now."

She looked stricken, raising a hand to touch the white cotton collar of her dress.

"He's not here anymore, Elizabeth." At least I hoped not. "But you can see him again-anytime you want to. You just have to be willing to leave this place behind."

"But... but Savannah is my home." Elizabeth spoke the words simply, like a child. "Where would I go? What would I do?"

I shook my head at her. "Don't worry. Don't be afraid. Just open your eyes and look-really look-around you."

Elizabeth's face was pale. I'm not sure how Southern women used to breathe in such tight-waisted gowns-hers was banded and cinched with layers of ribbon.

She met my eyes a moment more, then did as I'd suggested, looking around at the tourists in their shorts and tennis shoes, wielding their cameras. At the dogs on their leashes, and the people who walked them. At the cars parked along the streets that bordered the square.

I watched her face, seeing her expression go from guarded to puzzled, from puzzled to accepting.

"I don't belong here," she said.