“Thank heavens.” Clare still heard Arlene’s voice coming from the opposite end of the house, wheeling another deal on her phone, so Clare could answer Enzo aloud. “Will you ask her if she’ll be a bother? I love the house.” She rubbed the newel post carved in the form of a large stylized pine cone.

She approves of you! You haven’t looked outside yet! Come here, come here, so I can show you something!

No, she’d concentrated on the inside, didn’t care for the staged furnishings. But she had a few family antiques at her old place and a truckload of Sandra’s coming shortly.

Clare went out the back door off the kitchen, glanced at the built-in grill setup, and thought again of Zach. Following Enzo, she crossed the fancily patterned brick patio to what must have been an early garage. Opening the door, she found a very nice room, a tiny kitchen, and doors that might be to a closet and half bath.

Enzo raced in circles around the room. Look, look! A perfect consulting area!

TWENTY-TWO

SHE STIFFENED AND shuddered. “No!”

He stopped and sat in front of her with a shocked expression, the fur over his brow ridges wiggling. But you must consult.

“Must I?” she snapped. “And I will not talk about this right now. Not at all in the near future. Give me a little time, can’t you!”

The doggieness began to be replaced in his eyes, and she turned and walked away, striding across the patio and back into the house.

Arlene came toward her with a huge smile on her face, a smile that faded when she saw Clare’s expression. She swallowed and disappointment flitted across her features. “Ah, then, I’m sorry this didn’t work out—”

Clare guessed she was berating herself for not staying with the client and letting the sale go sour.

“No,” Clare said gently, yanking her emotions back on track, ignoring the silent presence of the dog when he strolled in. “I like this house very much, but the price is too high.”

“Let’s see what we can do,” Arlene said.

Clare and her real estate agent drove to a nearby restaurant and talked numbers. Since Clare wished to move in immediately, she finally decided to pay cash for the house. A huge amount of cash at a figure that caused a lump in her throat but wasn’t what the sellers were asking, so she thought she got a little deal at least. Arlene danced out of the café to push everyone around and get the closing done in three days counting today, which she thought would work. Clare figured she could get her old house ready for sale in a month.

The end of this month approached rapidly and she’d be making a trip to southern Wyoming. Maybe. Deep in the back of Clare’s mind was the niggling thought that maybe the specter of Jack Slade might not be able to find her if she moved. Particularly if it were to a place that was nothing but vacant plain when he’d lived.

On the other hand, the man had managed to set up stations across five hundred miles of open plains, so he was accustomed to the emptiness of the West.

She ate the last bit of croissant, leaving a fifteen percent tip because the place was mostly self-serve, and waited for the cab outside the restaurant. She’d like living in the area, though it would be faster to get around by bicycle than walking. They said you never forgot how to ride a bike, and maybe she would learn that firsthand. She’d like one with a good-sized basket.

As she waited, she realized she wasn’t as cold, and Enzo seemed to feel like he didn’t have to stay as close to her as he had. He hadn’t brought up the idea of consulting again.

Still, if she tried, she could feel his location in her mind, like a chill spot in a certain direction.

She’d accepted that she could see ghosts. Other people had that same gift. It had been described throughout history; she wasn’t alone.

The cab drove up and she got in. Enzo caught up and galloped into the backseat with her, grinning and panting. See, see! You are better now.

Clare had noticed that there seemed to be a lot fewer phantoms on the streets heading back into downtown.

Mostly you will see people you can help at this time, Enzo said.

Is a time element always involved? Clare asked, glad she’d also slipped one of Aunt Sandra’s journals into her briefcase so she could come up to speed on the rules of this new life of hers.

The dog nodded with no hint of that huge Otherness that sometimes spoke through him. The huge, weird, strange, awesome Otherness. She wasn’t quite sure what to call it, but did want to avoid whatever it was if at all possible.

When she left the cab at Civic Center Park, she enjoyed the simple green and yellow of the day—green trees and grass and yellow sun. All right, there was blue sky with huge white cumulus towering-castle clouds, and the gray of the flagstones, the multicolored library and the odd angles of the art museum. None of which she’d been able to appreciate much since she’d gotten onto this roller coaster of strange.

This time when she walked through the park to the library, no ghosts pressed around her. Nobody curtseyed or tipped a hat, sauntered or strolled with her. Except Enzo. He heeled like a real dog.

The ghost must also want to pass over, he said. Some are afraid. He sighed gustily, spraying droplets of vanishing, ectoplasmic goo all over. See, she was accepting this with so much grace she could make jokes. Ha. Ha.

Enzo accompanied her into the library for once, and for an instant she thought he’d abandoned his doggie ways, but he ran back and forth along the long entrance hallway barking his head off. It was interesting seeing who reacted to him. The security guard in the entryway had given him a squinty-eyed look.

Clare took the elevator to the Western History room accompanied by Enzo and nodded to the faces becoming familiar. Ted Mather smiled at her, and a bit of relief released from her. It was hard to work in a tense environment, so she was glad he’d agreed to disagree with her.

She zeroed in on finding Cold Springs, but despite her newfound skill with the materials, she couldn’t locate the place. When Arlene called to give her the appointment for closing on her new house, Clare decided to quit and went to a salad place near the library and art museum for lunch.

She was finishing up her sparkling water in the courtyard when she was approached by the ghost of a little girl. Clare choked. Feeling good for a few hours had lulled her mind into forgetting her new circumstances.

When the child, surely under ten years old, looked at Clare, her eyes were like silver fog, glints in mist.

All right. Clare could do this. She could help the little girl . . . move on. Pass over. Walk into the light, whatever.

You can DO this, enthused Enzo.

Clare sat straight and smiled at the apparition, hoping she didn’t look scary.

But the little girl bounced over to her. Not like any kind of walking. Clare swallowed. “Can I help you?” she asked softly, not moving her lips much. A lot of people had taken a break in the courtyard.

Nodding, dark curls bobbing, the girl said, Have you seen my hoop? I need my hoop before I can go.

Clare cleared her throat and thought of the one “rule” she knew about this whole strange mess. “Did you . . . um . . . die late in the summer one year?”

The girl’s eyes slid in Clare’s direction. Wasn’t she supposed to ask about death? Did that bother them? She didn’t recall that it had bothered Jack Slade, though it been a while back that she’d mentioned it.