How to do that? But just with the question, her mind clicked into planning.

She’d confront her fears, confront ghosts. There were plenty of ghosts in Denver, and time enough today to do that. She wouldn’t wait for night. She’d need a good map. Would there be a map of persistent haunts in Denver? The library might have one.

When she did research in the library for a map of where known and active ghosts could be found, she’d pay special attention to anything downtown in easy walking distance. She didn’t dare go in a car; too dangerous.

The sooner she did this, the better, and driving to the library could be iffy in terms of safety, too.

Anticipating the courtesy from Mrs. Magee and Mrs. Flinton that Clare could leave her car here, she called a cab to come pick her up, then walked back into the house, ready to get on with her life and face the future.

Enzo greeted her as soon as she went through the door. His tongue was dangling. For the first time since he’d shown up, she stared at him. Definitely Great-Aunt Sandra’s Lab, with a little something extra in the eyes. “Hello, Enzo, I’m going to meet my fate.”

He gamboled around her. You believe in ME, in US, in ghosts. In your GIFT!

Perhaps.

This is right, you will see. Mrs. Flinton can help you like I do, too. It’s good we all met.

Clare thought of Zach and her heart twinged. There had been . . . more than a possibility for a good relationship with him. She stopped a sigh and straightened her back.

Mrs. Flinton entered the hallway, smiling, no doubt in response to Enzo’s barks. Clare nodded to her.

“I am a logical person, Mrs. Flinton.”

“I know that this is difficult for you, dear.”

Almost, almost, she sounded like Great-Aunt Sandra, able to answer questions Aunt Sandra . . . no, nothing about the family gift, and that was very important. Perhaps Mrs. Flinton might know about “gifts” in general. But Clare wouldn’t ask right now.

She forced a smile, though it twisted on her. “I’ve decided that I must decide on which flavor of craziness to embrace—the fact that I’m cold and dying and insane, or that I can see ghosts.”

“Oh, my dear.” Mrs. Flinton hurried to her and leaned over her walker to embrace Clare. “You aren’t going crazy.”

Enzo barked. No you are not going crazy, you just have a gift!

“I am. I can feel my mind—” Clare stopped and sucked in a sharp breath. When she got her voice under control, she said. “I’ve decided to confront my fears, to confront the ghosts. I’ll find a map and figure out where the worst ones might be and go there to see them. Either they are real or I am beyond sanity and should admit myself to a mental health clinic, rest home, something, and wait for death.”

Mrs. Flinton looked startled, held Clare tighter with her thin and fragile arms. Then she stepped back and shook her head. “No, dear, I don’t think it’s good to go on your own to confront ghosts. I don’t think that’s a good idea at all.”

Clare lifted her chin. “Nevertheless, that’s my plan.”

“Let me get Zach to accompany you. You know, he has a gift, too. He has a touch of the sight.”

Almost, that statement distracted Clare. “No. I should do this myself.” No matter how quivery her insides were.

SHE WILL HAVE ME! Enzo yelled.

“I don’t think that will be sufficient, dear doggie,” Mrs. Flinton said.

“We’ll be fine,” Clare said. “I’ve called a cab to take me to the library. They must have books on ghosts of Denver.”

“I daresay,” Mrs. Flinton said, frowning.

“May I leave my car here? I’ll pick it up tomorrow.” She knew her smile now held a touch of wildness or craziness and didn’t care. “If I can.”

“Of course you can leave your car here,” Mrs. Flinton said. “But I heartily advise against—”

Mrs. Magee appeared. “There is a taxi outside for Miss Cermak.”

Clare said, “Thank you, Mrs. Magee. Thank you, Mrs. Flinton, for all you have done. I’ll . . . I’ll see you later.”

“Wait! Clare, can you call me when you’re leaving the library before you go to . . . on your mission?” Mrs. Flinton called. Clare pulled open the heavy door but looked over her shoulder at the two concerned women.

She swallowed. “All right.” Then she exited, paying no attention to the irritated—worried?—conversation she left behind.

During the cab ride Clare organized her purse to make sure pen, pencil, and paper were at hand to whisk out when needed . . . and a quarter for a locker if she had to use a special room for research. But surely books on ghosts were more popular and less rare than the materials she’d looked through on her quest to learn about Jack Slade.

If she was efficient, and she prided herself on that, she could get in and out of the library quickly, before happy hour really got rolling, and be home before downtown locked in rush hour. That was the best timeline, best-case scenario, and now that she’d determined what to do and had a plan, optimism suffused her.

She logged on to the library’s catalog with her phone and flicked through it, noting with a smile that several of the more than a dozen ghost/hauntings books were in the Western History room. She recalled that Aunt Sandra had mentioned a couple of books on ghosts and psychic medium gifts on her video while Clare had been in shock, but she didn’t remember enough of their titles to look them up. Odd titles she’d cringe to be seen with.

When the taxi pulled up, she gave the cabbie a twenty and didn’t ask for change. Enzo informed her that he would play in the park. He sounded optimistic, too.

But as she pulled open the library door, her spirits deflated a little. The place was so cold! Perhaps not to most people, but the air-conditioning reminded her all too vividly of how her health had been declining. How it would continue to decay unless something was done.

Well, she was doing it. Right. Now. She pulled her sweater around her and buttoned it up, wishing it were heavy wool, no matter how odd that would have looked.

She took the escalators up to the pretty reading room that soothed her, went straight to her usual table, filled out a couple of call slips for noncirculating reference books, and handed them to the usual librarian who helped her.

The woman greeted her, smiled, took the slips, and handed them off to a volunteer docent to retrieve the volumes. Clare headed to the stacks, gathered another two books, and took them to “her” table.

She passed Ted Mather, who seemed focused on his laptop, transcribing notes from a dusty book, though she’d seen how his shoulders had stiffened when he’d caught sight of her, his darting glance to her, and maybe even felt his irritation with her. So she didn’t bother to greet him. Like Mrs. Flinton had said, Clare was on a mission.

Flipping through the books, she saw accounts of ghosts of Capitol Hill and Cheesman Park. The ones on Capitol Hill were on the far side of the governmental buildings, and not close in distance.

There were no good maps, and the circuit she traced quickly would take hours to walk, and the way things were, she still didn’t want to drive.

The docent delivered her books and made a couple of comments about Clare’s area of study changing from legends of the West to ghosts of the West. Clare’s reply felt strained.

Again she scanned the contents of the fattest book. No maps at all, more of a history of Denver than a lot of ghost stories. She made a note of it, then set it aside.

When she opened the second book to a flyleaf that had a map of LoDo, she whispered, “I’ve struck gold!”

She really should have anticipated that LoDo would have a lot of ghosts, since it was logical that Denver’s earliest settlements—Auraria and Denver—would have the most ghosts or hauntings or supernatural activity or whatever in the city, just for being around so long.