"Sitting up?"

A chill danced along his nape. "Yes."

She studied the layout of the cards, her dark hair swinging forward along her neck. He did his best not to follow the movement but the dark, silky strands against the paleness of her skin fascinated him.

"She was performing a reading for someone."

"No, I don't think so." He jerked his chin toward the opposite side of the table. "The other chair was pushed up. The carpet was unmarked. There would have been indentations had anyone been sitting in the chair and moved it back. She, your aunt, hadn't been gone very long when she was found."

Maris lifted her head, gazing toward the far side of the room. "How long?"

"I'm not a medical professional, but I'd wager a few hours only."

Maris closed her eyes, tipped back her head, her neck slender, long, and graceful. He pictured his mouth against it and looked away. Fantasies like these could land him in deep trouble. He didn't even know the woman. He hadn't known the woman in the bar either, yet off he'd run to the station imagining she'd come looking for him. Imagining a good deal more than that. He needed a grip on reality.

"There's a card missing."

Dan started guiltily. "Is there?" The Priestess flashed into his mind's eye in her blue garment, dark hair long and curling. He mentally shoved it away, apprehensive that she would see it, too. An absurd notion he couldn't shake.

"Right here. From the formation." She pointed at the empty s.p.a.ce on the cloth. "Of course, she might have been in the process of laying them out when she died." She turned and looked at him directly, her eyes almond-shaped, long-lashed, and so very pale. There was no denying the familial relationship between her and Alva Mabry. Strange how much they looked alike. He couldn't imagine a generation lay between them based on the photo.

Scanning the table again, Maris's gaze flickered over the surface, then seemed to linger on the empty place among the Tarot cards. He had a feeling she knew exactly where the missing card had ended up. The sensation of her knowledge troubled him more than if she had accused him outright, called him out on a mistake, a momentary lapse of awareness. But to pull the stupid thing from his pocket now would make him look like an a.s.s. Dishonest even. And yet he wanted to. Wanted to ask her to tell him what the card meant, explain its significance. As if he'd ever really given a c.r.a.p about something like that.

"Detective."

He released a breath. "What?"

"Someone was here. Aunt Alva was not alone when she died. She's telling me that."

"No."

"What?"

"No. In no way am I going to believe your deceased aunt is giving you information from beyond." And yet he'd known others who'd experienced the unexplained-people with whom he shared more than the acquaintance of a mere half an hour. G.o.d, he'd seen things himself that sometimes caused him to wake out of a sound sleep soaked in sweat and reaching for the light. The vanishing figure behind his car tonight paled in comparison. Had strangeness become so commonplace that he rejected and mocked it?

"Believe what you want. As her only surviving blood relative, I am asking you to check. Do not dismiss my aunt's death so easily. I don't care how old she was. I think she deserves a few hours of your time. I'm not denying her death was natural, but whoever was here with her might be able to tell me something about her last moments."

"Ms. Granger..."

"Maris. Call me Maris, will you? Calling me Ms' anything isn't going to make a difference in what you feel about everything I've said."

Dan scratched his head, observing Maris across the room as she tucked her hair behind her ear. Multiple earrings glittered in the light, a feather dangling from her lobe drifting in the current of air created by her hand. How had he missed that? She was...outlandish, not his type at all. And yet...and yet nothing. "I think it's time for me to bring you back to your car. You can get on to wherever it is you're staying for the night, and we can discuss this further tomorrow after I've had a few more hours of sleep."

"May I go upstairs first?"

"No."

"I'd really like-"

"No."

She c.o.c.ked a hip. In another woman, there might have been something s.e.xy about it. In her, the movement looked like an issued challenge. He shrugged. "Tomorrow. Take it or leave it. I want sleep and the opportunity to think about what you're saying. I mean, look at the place. Nothing disturbed, no signs of anything amiss. Your aunt was ninety-three, Maris. She lived a good long life." He moved toward the light switch. "Let's go."

Maris hesitated. "Someone was here with her when she died. Maybe it was natural causes, maybe not. But someone was here."

With a sigh, Dan snapped off the light, plunging the room into darkness. Only the porch fixture shining through gla.s.s cast a dim illumination over Maris's features. Dan indicated the front door with a jerk of his head.

"Then why doesn't she just tell you who the h.e.l.l it was and save me the trouble?"

Maris strode past him and yanked open the door. "It doesn't work that way. I wish to G.o.d it did."

Dan followed. "You wouldn't happen to have a key?"

"Of course not."

Dan pulled the door shut after locking it in order to secure the house overnight. Tomorrow they'd have to get a locksmith out here to make a key. "Give me your number. I'll call. We'll take it from there."

With a nod, she strode to his car, walking with a provocative but baffling elemental grace. He hit the key fob to unlock the door. She'd gotten into his vehicle and yanked the seat belt into place before he'd reached the driver's side.

They rode in silence back in the direction of the station. He tried to think of something to say. An apology worked its way to his lips as he tapped the steering wheel in indecision. Finally, he bit the words back. What the h.e.l.l did he need to apologize for? What he needed to do was double-check Maris's claims of estrangement, her whereabouts for the evening. Without all the mumbo jumbo she had thrown at him, her knowledge of her aunt's demise was suspicious. Maybe the woman really hadn't died of natural causes and her supposed grandniece was merely trying to throw him off.

"I'm not guilty of anything but responding to a call for help."

Dan snorted. "Is my face that easy to read?"

"Everyone's is."

"So you admit that's how you and others like your aunt fool people?"

"Having no idea what others do, I don't admit to anything."

"That's not an answer."

"Yes, it is." She reached into the console and drew out a pen in order to write on a narrow slip of paper, a receipt maybe. "Here's my number."

He tucked the paper into his breast pocket, a small shock running through his body when he felt the surface of the Tarot card beneath his fingertips. Driving the rest of the way in silence, he only spoke again when he'd pulled into the department lot beside a car with out-of-state plates. "This yours?"

"Yep." Before he'd put his own car in park, she flung open the door and climbed out with a nod. "We'll talk later?"

"Yeah. Later."

Through the rearview mirror, he watched her pull out of the lot and turn left. He'd gotten most of the numbers from her plate, but not all. He was curious if the registered address would match up to her license. h.e.l.l, he was curious about anything related to Maris Granger. She intrigued him. That wasn't an easy thing to do.

It also felt distinctly dangerous.

Chapter 5.

She'd lied. Then again, so had he. Did that make them well-matched? She doubted it. Survival. Preservation. These alone made liars and hypocrites of most men and women in this world. Dan Stauffer had his own secrets to protect, and she had hers. So be it.

Even so, the key lay heavy on her palm with the weight of another untruth. She flipped it around in her fingers until it faced the correct way for insertion into the k.n.o.b. With a glance over her shoulder in both directions, Maris pushed the key into the lock and turned it, the sound of grinding tumblers loud in the predawn hour. When she'd rushed from her home, she'd made no plan, had no place to stay. All these years, the key tucked away safe in her diary now opened a refuge from the chill September night.

Inside, she leaned her back against the door until she felt the plunger catch. She turned the latch on the k.n.o.b and waited in the darkness until her eyes had grown accustomed, lingering still longer as she listened to the not-quite silence. People always referred to an empty house as silent, but it wasn't. It couldn't be. Fluctuations in temperature made floors creak, wind against loosened frames rattled gla.s.s. A clock's second hand ticked quietly, shifting papers whispered in a draft, even the stubborn drop of water clinging on a faucet's lip might suddenly succ.u.mb to gravity to splatter in a sink. She'd been living alone for far too long to jump at every little sound. But then there were the others, from a world beyond her own. It was those she listened for now, breath held, eyes wide and staring into a blackness growing ever brighter as her vision adjusted.

Nothing.

Surprised, she made her way across the foyer and through the parlor, skirting Aunt Alva's table. She climbed the stairs to the second floor and paused outside the room she remembered as being her Aunt Alva's bedroom. She studied the dim shapes of the bed with its ruffled coverlet, the curtains, the curved edges of the ornate, period furnishings. Not antiques to Aunt Alva, of course. To Aunt Alva this was all she'd ever known, as familiar and comfortable as a pair of well-worn shoes. Standing in the doorway, Maris drew a long, slow breath through her nose. She closed her eyes. After all these years, the smell of the room was exactly the same. Memory rushed in on the mingled scents of lavender and the oil of some sweet and resinous fruitwood.

She took a single step over the threshold and brought her other foot to rest beside the first as she contemplated the shadows. Empty, the shadows. Nothing waited for her here.

"Aunt Alva, where have you gone? I thought to find you here still."

Maris's voice echoed along the smooth, polished surfaces, across the walls covered in watered silk paper. Age undisturbed held a special magic all its own. Barriers to the past were thin indeed.

The carefully made bed looked soft and comfortable. Alva had been the type of woman to make her bed every morning. The fact she had continued to do so, climbing up and down the stairs daily at her venerable age, amazed Maris. A s.p.u.n.ky lady, Alva Mabry. Maris remembered that much, too.

Of course, Alva might have had paid help at this point, or a kind and conscientious neighbor stopping by to lend a hand. Maris knew nothing of her great-aunt's life since the schism twenty years ago. She herself had been entering p.u.b.erty at that time, an important period for a girl with her heritage, a time of change and growing power, a transformation from the spa.r.s.e gifts of youth.

You will know your art soon, Maris. You have only to listen to what is inside of you.

But she'd never gotten the chance. At least not with the guidance Alva had promised her. Maris's mother, fearful of the gifts of the women in her husband's family, had insisted he take a job far away. G.o.d, what a battle had ensued. The family had scattered and stayed apart. All of them.

Yet, she'd gotten the impression tonight from Dan Stauffer that Alva was considered something of a quack these days. Women like her often were by those who didn't believe or who had interacted with a charlatan and judged all by that experience. However, the sign out front was evidence, at least, of a successful business, no matter what Dan had said.

Understanding she had waited too long to renew her relationship with her elderly aunt pained her, and the strange energy she felt from Dan Stauffer still clung to her like the perfume to his shirt and caused a churning in her stomach. That man definitely had secrets. They circled around him like half-seen vultures awaiting a meal. For someone like that to so adamantly deny the otherness in this world confounded her. But he wasn't her problem. He couldn't be. Not a problem, not an interest, but a means to an end. Alva had pointed her in his direction for a reason. Maris hoped for more than warmth and rest in her aunt's home. She hoped to find out why.

Abandoning Alva's bedroom, Maris continued down the hall. Years ago, the two rooms on the opposite side of the corridor had been used for sewing and for guests, respectively. That guest had usually been Maris, in a room made special for her. No one else caught on to the fact that Alva had created the s.p.a.ce to celebrate Maris's gifts, but Maris and Alva knew. Most likely the room had been given over to storage as time went by. It didn't seem probable that Alva had many guests come to visit, and certainly not family.

Guilt cut through Maris like a knife to the soul. How could she have let this happen? In the beginning, Maris had written letters to Alva, but one day Alva had written back to her No more. The woman may as well have cut out her heart. After that, Maris had nearly hated her aunt for abandoning her with a skill that seared her like fire.

Popping into the bathroom, Maris took a moment to wash her face and rinse her mouth using her cell phone for illumination. Morning would come soon enough, and she would need to be out of the house before Dan returned. No time for sleep, really. She hadn't been looking to rest, anyway, only a few minutes of meditation to open herself up to whatever was meant to come to her.

Maris dried her face on her sleeve, not wishing to dampen Alva's towels. Twofold, that caution. The first reason was out of a sense of respect, and the second had to do with a certain police officer noticing the wet condition of a towel that should have been long dried since its owner's use. She crossed the hall to the former guestroom and turned the handle. Maris sucked in a breath and held it as the first glimmer of day revealed a room that looked the same as it had in her childhood. A room designed to educate and comfort, but had ended up a prison. The woman who had created this so-called sanctuary for her was gone forever now, as was the child who had spent so many days and nights there alone.

Dan sat upright, a series of profanities rolling off his tongue. The sunlight made him squint. He tossed himself out of bed and toward the desk where his gun lay holstered and hanging from the back of the chair.

"Who the f.u.c.k is that?" he demanded and then stopped, his heart hammering in his chest. He listened hard for the noise that had awakened him. Knocking. He'd heard knocking on the door to his room. Or had that merely been a dream?

Disgusted for even entertaining the thought someone would break into his house and then politely knock at the bedroom door, Dan removed the gun from the holster anyway and strode quietly across the carpeted floor. Weapon raised, he paused to listen before turning the k.n.o.b. The sunshine through the window revealed an empty hall. He hadn't expected anything else. Still, he went through the house from top to bottom, a.s.suring himself his residence was secure. No one had a key, and if one of the guys from work wanted him, they knew his number.

The hour was barely past nine according to the clock on the kitchen wall. He normally didn't sleep past six whether working or not, but last night's lack of shut-eye had pretty much knocked him out. Deciding he might squeeze in a couple more hours before starting his day, Dan headed back up the stairs. Outside the bedroom door, he stopped and stared at the thick carpet in front of his bare feet. How the h.e.l.l did that get there?

With a snort, Dan bent and picked up the Priestess card from the floor. No doubt he had knocked it out of his shirt pocket when he grabbed the gun and kicked it out the door without noticing as he hurried across the room. Today he would return the card to Alva's residence. It would be a good idea to meet Maris there later with the locksmith so he could accompany her around the house while she looked for some kind of contact list or address book in order to start arrangements. Hopefully she could locate the name of her aunt's attorney in order to ascertain the woman's final wishes since he'd gotten the impression from Maris there wasn't any other family left to ask. Still, should he take her word for that? For any of it? Of course not.

He tossed the Tarot card onto the desk and re-holstered his gun, wondering when he had decided definitively to ignore Maris's drivel and treat the incident like any other. He hadn't. Not really. G.o.d, his mind kept jumping back and forth between suspicion and acceptance. But unless he received word of something irregular from Rankin regarding Alva Mabry's death, he would give the all clear to Maris and hopefully see her on her way soon.

Rolling himself in the blankets until he faced the wall, Dan shut his eyes against the glare of daylight. And what seemed only a moment later, he opened them again. Flailing himself free of the covers, he managed to turn around, staring wide-eyed into the room. Nothing. No one calling his name, no one knocking at the door, nothing but a disruption of his slumber caused by his consumption of alcohol and interrupted sleep the night before.

"And if not, just go the h.e.l.l away. I'm not dealing with that c.r.a.p ever again, you understand?" He thought of the silhouette behind his car and pushed the image away. "Kiss my a.s.s. This is the real world." And in the real world, cops who talked to themselves ended up spending time away from duty warming up a psych's couch.

With a groan, Dan got back out of bed and headed for the shower. No point in wasting time seeking oblivion. Another freaking day had begun.

An hour later, Dan dialed Maris's number. "I'll come pick you up now if you're ready," he said without preamble.

"I a.s.sume this is Dan."

"Oh, yes. Sorry."

"I'm standing out front."

Dan hurried to the door and peered out the sidelight, turning to view the steps and the street in both directions. "How the h.e.l.l do you know where I live? Wait, I don't see you."

"I'm in front of my aunt's house. Alva's place. Why would I be at your door?"

Dan straightened. "What are you doing there?"

"Waiting for you."

"How did you know-"

"Lucky guess. Besides, didn't you say we would discuss this further?"

"Did I say at the house?"

"I don't know. Did you?"

He honestly didn't recall, and the lack of recollection bothered him. She might tell him she'd known in advance through some hocus-pocus manner-that she had a vision of meeting him there or some such nonsense. If she did, he'd probably lose his patience once and for all.

"Feel like getting a cup of coffee or something?"

That stopped him dead. He stared a moment at a slow-moving vehicle making its way up the street. "Sure."

"Pick me up here then." She rang off.

Ordering him around like he was some kind of errand boy. He hastened to put on his shoes and slip into a sweatshirt. But he would drive slowly. Yep, he would do that.

Maris sat on the step with eyes closed, her face turned to the sun. The light was red through the skin of her lids. Warm, too, and on her cheeks a delicious contrast to the cool, gentle breeze that ruffled her hair.