by Mary Frame
I nod in agreement. “That sounds good. Thanks.”
He says “home” so casually.
“Oh and I gave Paige the code for the garage so when the bus drops her off this afternoon, she’ll be able to get inside.”
“You’ve thought of everything.”
He shrugs, brushing me off.
“Where should we . . .” I look for a place to sit and open our chakras—or whatever I told him last time. All I remember is that I was totally trying to mess with him.
“How about the living room?”
When I nod, he leads me into the next room. The room has large overstuffed couches and a giant flat-screen on the wall. I sit on the larger couch and he sits next to me, angling himself in my direction.
Just like last time, he puts his hands out in front of him and I put mine over his.
It’s the same thing we did before, but this time it’s absolutely not the same.
I can’t concentrate on being Ruby. All I can think about is the warmth of his hands against my fingers and the faint pulse in his wrists.
He’s a runner and in excellent shape. I expect his heart rate to be low—under sixty beats per minute, maybe, but the pulse flickering under my fingers is decidedly faster.
His eyes are closed.
I didn’t even have to tell him this time.
I watch him for a few long seconds, his heart beating through my fingers. I run my gaze over the angle of his jaw, the sharp curve of his cheek.
Am I making him nervous? Excited?
Staring in silence probably isn’t the wisest course of action. He opens his eyes and catches me watching him.
His pulse goes a little faster.
A brow rises. “Are you getting anything?”
“No. Maybe it’s the space.” As good an excuse as any.
“Oh.” He frowns slightly.
“Let’s keep trying. Shut your eyes.”
He complies and I continue staring at him, mind blanking. “I see . . .” I swallow. “Keys.”
“Keys?” His eyes are still closed, and there’s a crease between his brows.
Okay, a total shot in the dark on my part, but someone must have a way to get into these houses without having to break in. There’s never a sign of forced entry, only the door left hanging open. And picks would leave scratches cops would recognize in a heartbeat. I’m making things up at this point. It’s like Occam’s Razor: the simplest explanation is likely the correct one and someone is probably using a key to get in.
“Lots of keys. Does that mean anything to you?”
“No.”
“Hmmm . . . I also see white hair.”
Not really rocket science. More than half the town has white hair.
A brow lifts even though his eyes remain closed. “That doesn’t really narrow down our targets.”
“Someone has the keys,” I intone.
“Who? Someone with white hair?”
I pause, pretending to think about it. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
We’re silent again for a few long moments and then I sigh and give up.
“I’m not getting anything else.”
He squeezes my fingers lightly and then pulls back. “It was worth a shot. Well, let’s go talk to some people. Maybe something will come to you.”
“Absolutely.” I slap a confident smile on my face.
Ugh.
~*~
Mr. Godfrey is our first stop. The same man who came to the shop, looking to get rid of the ghosts and the little people. He lives in senior housing, which basically looks like a normal apartment complex except they have a communal dining room and a nursing staff and they go on weekly excursions.
“I’ve already told you, it was the little people. They sneak into houses at night for their sugar and babies.” Mr. Godfrey booms so loudly I bet the neighbors can hear everything he’s saying. He didn’t invite us in. We’re standing in his doorway while he recounts his information.
“Were you missing any sugar?” Jared asks.
He considers my question. “I don’t think so.”
“What about babies?” I can’t help but add.
Jared coughs and turns away for a second.
“I don’t have any babies,” Mr. Godfrey bellows. “But ever since I bought your sorcery and witchcraft items, I haven’t had any issues.” He nods at me, his expression both satisfied and suspicious.
“Did you notice anything moved or missing?” I ask.
The moustache twitches. “My dishes were washed.”
“Someone broke into your house . . . and cleaned your dishes?” I glance over at Jared, but he’s making notes in his little book.
“That’s right.”
Why they couldn’t do some of my household chores when they broke in? This trespasser is weird.
“Did you have any flowers or roses left around?” Jared asks.
“Roses?” Mr. Godfrey thunders. “Why would there be roses?”
“Why would there be babies?” I keep my voice low.
Jared clears his throat, trying to hide his chuckle. “I had to ask because there’ve been other break-ins since yours, and we’re trying to find any correlations between the crimes. Will you go over again what happened the night of your incident?”
“Well, I was at the party at the senior center until nine. Then I came home and was in bed by ten. I was sleeping and then . . .” He pauses and rubs one side of the impressively long white moustache. “Then the whole building shook.”
Jared and I exchange a glance. The building shook?
“It woke me up. When I came out of my bedroom, the door was wide open, banging against the doorframe. My dishes were done.” Mr. Godfrey’s loud voice is laced with distress. “I called the authorities. Then you guys came,” he nods toward Jared, “and looked around for prints and things, but everything was clean. Even the counters.”
We take the faded-white sidewalk back to the car, walking between pristinely mowed lawns and passing the occasional burst of spring flowers. “Anytime anyone wants to break in and clean my house, I would be okay with it.”
“It is a bit creepy though.”
“Maybe it’s a Good Samaritan, trying to help people out,” I suggest.
“But they didn’t clean everyone’s house. In fact, at Eleanor’s they made quite a mess. It doesn’t really add up.”
“Maybe there are multiple trespassers.”
He shrugs. “Possible, but seems unlikely. Multiple intruders, same basic MO? And such a weird one at that.”
Our next stop is Eleanor’s. She lives in a small duplex near the center of town. It’s a quaint building, yellow with white trim and a neat garden.
She invites us in, coughing, and then apologizes. “I’m getting over a cold.” She has a napkin clenched in her hand and her nose is slightly pink.
“Tell us what happened,” Jared says once we’re in her living room.
Eleanor only has one small sofa in her living room so Jared stands while I sit on the couch next to Eleanor. Her house looks like her. Everything is dainty and organized. Her bookshelf is arranged by book height and color. One of her shelves has knickknacks, all in a row and shiny. There’s not so much as a dust bunny in sight.
Our place isn’t nearly as neat. Ruby’s shop is clean, but cluttered, and Paige and I tend to live on the messy side. There’s always a dirty cup or three scattered around, Paige’s shoes in the middle of the living room, and extra blankets on the couch for when we’re watching movies.
I glance over at Jared for his reaction to her place. Is he comfortable here? Has he been here before? I can’t really tell, and I can’t stare too long because he asks her to tell us about the break-in.
Her hands are in her lap, one clenching the other. She’s wearing a short-sleeved blouse buttoned up to the neck.
“I woke up last Friday morning and everything was a mess,” she says.
“Did you see any roses, or was there a rose lying around anywhere?” I ask.
/> Her cheeks turn a bit pink. “No. There were some dried leaves and honeysuckle flowers on the floor by the front door, and on the counter.”
Why did she blush at the mention of roses?
“Anything else?” Jared asks.
“The couch cushions were on the floor, there were spoons all over the counter in the kitchen, and my wall clock was in the sink.” She gestures to the wall where a round clock with a black cat hangs, the eyes and curled tail clicking back and forth, marking the seconds as they pass.
My eyes are drawn to a small crystal dish on the counter below it. It’s full of what appear to be individual-sized ketchup packets. Just like the one Troy had in his pocket.
I direct my attention back to Eleanor, my suspicions rising. The other night at trivia, it was Troy’s idea to take Eleanor home. In fact, now that I think about it, he was planning on driving her home and then offered to drop me off first, even though she lives a bit farther out than I do and he would have had to backtrack to take her home last and then go to his house.
She’s getting over a cold, and he just got a cold. Hmmm.
“You saw the damage the next morning?” I ask. “None of the noises woke you up?”
Her cheeks get redder. “I’m a heavy sleeper.”
“You must be a really heavy sleeper if someone came in and moved all this stuff around and you didn’t hear anything.”
She nods and gives me a weak smile, not meeting my eyes. “I already talked to Officer Reynolds about all of this, you can ask him.”
Right. I bet he knows all about it.
I glance over at Jared to see his take on this. It couldn’t be more obvious. But his expression is blank.
I can’t help but glance back over at the ketchup on the counter and the tissue in her hand. Did the mention of roses make her blush because of Troy?
“Right. Thank you for your time.”
Once we’re outside, I turn to Jared. “She’s lying.”
“Why would she be lying?”
I watch him carefully. I’m pretty sure there’s never been anything serious between Jared and Eleanor, even though Mrs. Olsen has been trying to hook them up for years, according to Tabby. But he did show up at the bar with her the other night, and even though I still don’t think it meant anything, I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news if he is emotionally invested, even a little bit. The thought of him having any kind of emotion for Eleanor makes my stomach twist in ways I don’t want to examine too closely.
“I think we will get more answers from Troy,” I say vaguely. “Let’s go see the patient.”
Jared’s heated stare warms my face as he starts the car, but I avoid making direct eye contact.
Troy’s house isn’t too far from Eleanor’s, and it’s larger than her little duplex. It’s a two-story house with dormer windows and green shutters.
When we knock on the door, Tabby lets us in. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, her clothes are stained, and her eyes are wild. “Thank god you’re here. He’s driving me insane.” She steps back to let us into the house and then calls down the hallway, “Jared and Ruby are here. I’m taking a break.” And then she leaves, slamming the door behind her.
“She didn’t even have shoes on,” Jared says.
“I don’t think she cares.”
The sound of coughing followed by a groan filters down the hallway.
I expected Troy’s house to be more of a bachelor pad with sports paraphernalia, old beer cans, and manly dark wood walls.
Instead, it’s homey. The ceiling is vaulted, and the walls are cream colored and decorated with a few carefully placed pictures of his parents and Tabby. We pass by an open doorway to a quaint kitchen with dishes stacked in the sink, and there’s a curving staircase that must lead up to bedrooms.
I follow Jared down the hallway into the living room, where Troy is laid out on the couch under a thick blanket littered with crumpled tissues. His nose is red and his eyes are puffy.
Hm. I thought Tabby was exaggerating his illness to get away from us. Maybe I was wrong.
“You look like shit,” Jared says.
“Thanks a lot.” Troy’s voice is raspy. “Where’s Tabby?”
“She saw blue sky and bailed,” I tell him.
Troy nods and then coughs again.
Jared and I exchange a glance.
With a half shrug, he sits in a chair next to the couch.
“We wanted to ask you about Eleanor.” Jared glances up at me for confirmation.
I nod.
Troy coughs again, but this time the sound is forced. “What about her?”
Jared looks over at me, brows raised.
I sit on the arm of the couch next to Troy. “Where was she really the night of the break-in at her house?” I keep my gaze fixed on Troy, not sure if I want to see Jared’s expression when he pieces together what I figured out at Eleanor’s.
Troy sniffs. “How should I know?”
Jared is quiet, staring at Troy, his face as blank as ever. I look from one to the other, wondering if Troy wants to keep it secret because he’s afraid to upset his friend.
“Troy.” I use my mean-mom voice, which has some effect on Paige. “I know you’re hiding something.”
“This is the result of all your psychic prowess? It led you to me, the most honorable, decent, and honest man in this town? I think your Ouija board is off.”
“Even sick, you got jokes.” I pat his foot. “But it’s time to come clean.”
His eyes flick over at Jared and then he winces.
Jared’s eyes widen. “You and Eleanor?”
“It’s not like that,” Troy says quickly. “We’re just . . . you know, having fun,” he mutters.
“Was she at your house the night of the break-in at her place?” Jared asks.
Troy nods, the movement quick and brief.
“That’s why she was lying,” I say. “Wait, that doesn’t really explain why she was lying.” Unless she’s trying to protect Jared, too?
Troy frowns. “She’s private. She doesn’t want anyone to know we were together.”
“And you were going to tell me about this when?” Jared asks.
“I wasn’t sure how you would react.”
“You would lie during an ongoing investigation to protect her privacy?”
“It wasn’t that.” He stops and runs a hand through his already-rumpled hair. “I didn’t— I wasn’t sure if you had feelings for her.”
There’s a heated pause and then Jared laughs. He just throws his head back and roars, exposing his strong throat and white teeth. “You thought I wanted her?”
“Well, Mrs. Olsen has been trying to hook you guys up forever. I wasn’t sure how you felt about the matter, but I thought for sure Eleanor was into you. The whole thing came as a surprise to me.”
Jared laughs again, quieter this time, and shakes his head. “I’ve never wanted her. If I did, I would have done something about it.”
I can’t help but stare at him. The words make my heart clench in my chest. If he wanted me, he would have done something by now, too. Well, we did make out that one time. And I was the one to push him away, but still. He’s probably over me. Too bad I wish he were under me.
Ugh, my brain. What is wrong with me?
Troy’s quiet for a moment. “She doesn’t want everyone to know.” He looks at Jared, then over at me.
“I won’t say anything,” I promise.
Jared shakes his head. “I wouldn’t share that information either, you know that.”
“I know, but if she put it in her report, more than just you and I would have access to the information. You know how Anderson is. The man loves gossip almost as much as he loves cheese. So I promised not to say anything. To anyone. I’m sorry, man. I should have told you, even if it was left out of the report.”
“Fine.” Jared nods.
The radio on his belt chirps and a voice cackles over the line. “Is anyone near Dr. Allen’s office on South
Birch Street? The Newsomes are in there again.”
My brows lift. The doctor’s office?
Jared sighs and stands, heading outside to respond to the call.
When I look back at Troy, he’s pursing his lips at me. “Did your psychic senses tell you about me and Eleanor?”
“Absolutely,” I say quickly. “By the way, what’s with the ketchup packets?” I may be blowing my secrets, but I really am curious.
He smiles slowly. “It tastes better from the little packets than it does from the regular bottle. Eleanor always goes over to Roseburg to purchase new books for the library. They have a McDonald’s and she always stops there to bring me back the ketchup.”
“You are so weird.”
“You know, you’re pretty observant.” He tilts his head and watches me, his eyes assessing despite the redness from his illness.
Time to change the subject. “When are you going to let Tabby leave so we can move back in with her?”
“You really want to leave Chateau de Jared? That place is like Disneyland for adults. Speaking of, how’s that going? Have you guys boned yet?”
I give him my most unimpressed look. “Seriously?”
“Sorry. If I didn’t ask while I had you alone, Tabby would kill me.”
“I don’t know why she’s so hell-bent on hooking us up.”
“You really have no idea?” Troy asks me before grabbing a tissue from the box next to the couch and blowing his nose, the trumpeting delaying my response.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. The guy has it bad.”
“Has what bad?” My voice escalates into a squeak.
His brows lift and he rolls his eyes at me. “You’re staying in his house. No one ever stays there.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “Only because Tabby”—me—“forced the issue.”
He glances over at the doorway. “He’s not the same.” He keeps his voice low.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean . . . I’ve known Jared for nearly my whole life. For the last few years, Jared’s been different. More serious. He sort of lost himself after his parents died, you know? And I really never thought he would snap out of it. But lately he’s been so much more— And that’s why I think the duckbill platypus is the greatest of all the platypi.”