didn’t go away until she jumped up from the chair and scooted into the kitchen. Only then did the creepy-crawly sensation cease.
Geez, where had that sudden paranoia come from? She bent over her window box and breathed in the mingled scents of cooking herbs. She plucked off a lavender flower and held it under her nose before rubbing it against the pulse points on her wrists. As she calmed down, that paranoid feeling lessened, until it seemed like part of a nightmare.
* * * * *
Hain had allowed Gabe to look at the actual chalice found at the kids’ crime scene and compared it to the photo of the one found at the NOLA scene. Identical, as far as he could tell. Now he just needed a chance to search Shylah’s house. Should he be straightforward and ask to see her magical tools, break in when she wasn’t home or divert her attention and try to search while she was there? Most damning would be if she had a matching bowl or other object but no chalice. He decided to take the straightforward approach; he wanted to see if it made her nervous when he asked.
Shylah opened the door at his knock, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. She seemed more stunningly beautiful than before. She looked surprised and didn’t open the door all the way.
He tried to remember the purpose of his visit. “May I come in?”
“Um, yeah, I guess.” She backed out of the way and opened the door a little wider, so he could step across the threshold. “I didn’t expect to see you.” The unspoken “ever” hung in the air.
“I’ve got a job, and I’m not so easily diverted.” His voice sounded harsher than he meant it to.
Shylah placed her hands on her hips, blocking the way from the foyer to the living room. “I hope you’re not saying I was trying to divert you with sex, since you’re the one who clearly started it.”
He forced a friendlier expression to his face. “Yes, I did start it. I probably shouldn’t have.”
“Probably not.”
They stared at each other. Gabe knew he should ask her how she felt after their night together, if she thought she could be pregnant. Even if it never happened again, he should treat her as something more than a suspect.
But it was not treating her like a suspect that had gotten them in bed together in the first place. He should stick to the investigation.
“Well, in an effort at transparency, will you let me see your altar and tools?”
“To compare with the chalice?” Again she proved knowledgeable of the crime scene.
“Both chalices, including the one at the scene of Wanda Nance’s murder.”
She looked away, her expression growing guarded. “Ah.” Without waiting for more, she turned, leading him through the living room. They wended though the small kitchen, a tiny utility room with drying herbs suspended from the ceiling, down a few stairs to a cramped mudroom packed with potatoes, home-canned veggies and various mushrooms. Dried herbs were woven into grapevine wreathes, half finished. Others were in vases and jars. There were empty vials, containers with what seemed to be olive oil and herbs smashed in a granite mortar and pestle. There were sachet bags, some filled, some empty.
“What is this place?”
“I guess it’s technically a mudroom, but I use it as my work room.”
“It’s quite chilly.”
“It keeps herbs fresher if they’re a little bit below room temperature.”
But she didn’t linger in the mudroom either. She went up a couple of steps and opened a wood door painted with a woman holding the earth in her arms. Beyond was a jungle, which they stepped into, the dense humidity making it feel like it was about to rain.
“My solarium,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s the reason I bought the house.”
“It’s pretty small for a Florida room.”
“Yeah, but they didn’t mean it for relaxation.”
“They?”
“The previous owners. They were flower buffs, particularly interested in exotic varieties. They actually took most of the flowers
Geez, where had that sudden paranoia come from? She bent over her window box and breathed in the mingled scents of cooking herbs. She plucked off a lavender flower and held it under her nose before rubbing it against the pulse points on her wrists. As she calmed down, that paranoid feeling lessened, until it seemed like part of a nightmare.
* * * * *
Hain had allowed Gabe to look at the actual chalice found at the kids’ crime scene and compared it to the photo of the one found at the NOLA scene. Identical, as far as he could tell. Now he just needed a chance to search Shylah’s house. Should he be straightforward and ask to see her magical tools, break in when she wasn’t home or divert her attention and try to search while she was there? Most damning would be if she had a matching bowl or other object but no chalice. He decided to take the straightforward approach; he wanted to see if it made her nervous when he asked.
Shylah opened the door at his knock, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. She seemed more stunningly beautiful than before. She looked surprised and didn’t open the door all the way.
He tried to remember the purpose of his visit. “May I come in?”
“Um, yeah, I guess.” She backed out of the way and opened the door a little wider, so he could step across the threshold. “I didn’t expect to see you.” The unspoken “ever” hung in the air.
“I’ve got a job, and I’m not so easily diverted.” His voice sounded harsher than he meant it to.
Shylah placed her hands on her hips, blocking the way from the foyer to the living room. “I hope you’re not saying I was trying to divert you with sex, since you’re the one who clearly started it.”
He forced a friendlier expression to his face. “Yes, I did start it. I probably shouldn’t have.”
“Probably not.”
They stared at each other. Gabe knew he should ask her how she felt after their night together, if she thought she could be pregnant. Even if it never happened again, he should treat her as something more than a suspect.
But it was not treating her like a suspect that had gotten them in bed together in the first place. He should stick to the investigation.
“Well, in an effort at transparency, will you let me see your altar and tools?”
“To compare with the chalice?” Again she proved knowledgeable of the crime scene.
“Both chalices, including the one at the scene of Wanda Nance’s murder.”
She looked away, her expression growing guarded. “Ah.” Without waiting for more, she turned, leading him through the living room. They wended though the small kitchen, a tiny utility room with drying herbs suspended from the ceiling, down a few stairs to a cramped mudroom packed with potatoes, home-canned veggies and various mushrooms. Dried herbs were woven into grapevine wreathes, half finished. Others were in vases and jars. There were empty vials, containers with what seemed to be olive oil and herbs smashed in a granite mortar and pestle. There were sachet bags, some filled, some empty.
“What is this place?”
“I guess it’s technically a mudroom, but I use it as my work room.”
“It’s quite chilly.”
“It keeps herbs fresher if they’re a little bit below room temperature.”
But she didn’t linger in the mudroom either. She went up a couple of steps and opened a wood door painted with a woman holding the earth in her arms. Beyond was a jungle, which they stepped into, the dense humidity making it feel like it was about to rain.
“My solarium,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s the reason I bought the house.”
“It’s pretty small for a Florida room.”
“Yeah, but they didn’t mean it for relaxation.”
“They?”
“The previous owners. They were flower buffs, particularly interested in exotic varieties. They actually took most of the flowers
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