We took a long moment, just staring at each other. Drinking in the sight of each other. Then he started talking.
According to Sailor, he had been practicing a new psychic technique in his apartment when the cops came a-knocking. He had been alone since about four in the afternoon, and all evening. There was no more to the story.
“I’m surprised you didn’t sense the police were on their way.”
“I was in a trance state. And I had no reason to be on guard.”
“That’s it? You didn’t go anywhere near Dupree? You weren’t at the Hotel Marais at all?”
He shook his head. “No, I was in the East Bay working with Aunt Renna until a little before four, then walked the labyrinth up at Sibley Park. After that, I went straight home. I was nowhere near Dupree’s hotel, Lily.”
“So Renna can vouch for you?” I asked, feeling hopeful.
“Only until four. The police seem to think I would have had enough time to get back to the hotel. I guess they haven’t sat in traffic on the Bay Bridge lately—even on the bike it’s a challenge. But in any case, Renna’s a known Rom fortune-teller. The DA will make the case that she’s unreliable, and that she’s lying to protect me. Doubtful anyone will believe her.”
“That’s awfully cynical,” I said, disappointed.
“And this surprises you?” Sailor’s words were sarcastic, but his tone was gentle.
“Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything at all that might help? Have you been able to see anything?”
“Not much. The only thing . . .”
“What is it?”
“It doesn’t make much sense. As I’ve told you, I ‘see’ things in symbols, usually. And I keep seeing my dad’s old watch.”
“What would a watch symbolize?”
He shrugged. “Running out of time, maybe? It’s unusual for me; usually I see things in the language of flowers. I did also see aspen trees. . . .”
“In my tradition, aspen leaves are used in antitheft charms.”
He nodded. “It’s unclear what it means. But I had an inkling that someone had been in my apartment yesterday. You didn’t go by there, did you?”
“No, I was at the shop all day. I haven’t been to your place in a while.”
“That’s what I thought. I didn’t find anything disturbed; it was just a sense I had. I also had a vision of a symbol of some sort. Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to fully make it out. I was seeing it in the trance just before I was arrested, as a matter of fact, and tried sketching it, but it still made no sense.”
“The man—the fellow who seems to have killed Tristan—stopped to look at a watch.”
“Interesting. Still not sure what that tells us, though.”
“Hervé met me at the hotel last night,” I said, “and was able to make contact with Tristan’s spirit. But he couldn’t tell me much. He did mention cupcakes, so I suppose Renee’s involved in whatever’s going on.”
“You’re suggesting the cupcake lady beat up Tristan?” he asked in a sardonic tone.
“No, of course not. But she has people working for her.”
“What motive would she have?”
“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “Tristan shouted about the bēag again, and I still don’t know what he was after, much less why. But . . . when I asked him who killed him, he was very clear. He said it was you.”
“He and everyone else at the hotel, apparently.”
“Why would they think that?”
He shrugged.
“Sailor, remember the other day, when Maya said she saw you, or someone who looked just like you, in an herb shop in Chinatown . . . ?”
He held my gaze but didn’t help me to finish the phrase.
“I had the sense you weren’t being entirely forthright.”
“Forthright?” The corner of his mouth kicked up in a slight smile.
“All right, let’s put our cards on the table,” I said, annoyed. I’d been up all night worrying about Sailor and trying to figure out how to prove his innocence—and here he was, being Mr. Cranky Pants? “I had the sense you were . . . lying.” When he still didn’t respond, I asked: “Were you?”
He glanced around, then leaned forward slightly. “I’ve been working on projection.”
“I’m going to assume you don’t mean in a psychological sense, accusing others of the things you are guilty of?”
He shook his head. “No. Actual projection. Psychic projection, which is sometimes called astral projection.”
“What does that entail, exactly?”
“It’s hard to explain.” He glanced at a sheriff’s deputy standing, attentive, nearby. “Essentially it means I can project my thoughts to wander elsewhere. I can pick up sensory data: I can see, hear, smell someplace even though my body’s not present.”
“Could your thoughts go rogue and kill someone?”
“Of course not. It’s a spirit projection. It has no impact on the world around it. It’s sort of like being a fly on the wall, but it makes even less of a physical impact than a fly would. And even if it did, I wouldn’t have. I didn’t like Dupree bothering you, and I wouldn’t have pulled a punch if he showed up at the shop again. I’m no saint, but to kill a man? I’d need a damn good reason. You seriously think I could have done this?”
Our eyes held for a long moment. I shook my head. He seemed to relax, ever so slightly.
I sneezed. I felt bone tired. I hadn’t slept much last night, but usually that wasn’t a problem for me. Maybe I was just getting older and finding it hard to bounce back from things like casting all night.
“Are you okay?” Sailor asked. “You look tired.”
“Thanks.”
“Beautiful, of course. Have I mentioned that? But are you feeling all right?”
His deep voice relaxed me, and I could feel his aura wrapping around me like a psychic hug. I missed him, my Sailor. Cranky pants and all. I wanted nothing more than to throw myself into his arms, have him tell me that everything was going to be all right.
But it was up to me to find a way to make it right.
“I’m okay.”
“You were probably up all night trying to find a way to get me out.”
I smiled. “You promised not to try to read my mind.”
“I’m not. I just know you.”
Our eyes held for a long, warm moment.
“Sailor, why didn’t you call me when you were arrested?”
“I tried—you weren’t at home or in the shop. I was able to get in touch with Maya because she has a cell phone. My last phone call was to a lawyer: Henry Petulengro, who’s married to a Rom cousin. He’s good. I told him you might be calling, so he can fill you in. I don’t have his number on me; you’ll have to look it up.”
I jotted the lawyer’s name on the little pad I always kept in my bag.
“Oh, by the way, Lucille sends her love and an offer to do anything she can to help, as does Maya. And Hervé. And Oscar, of course. So, what do we do now?”
“I’m afraid my contributions will be limited, given my circumstances. I can try to use projection to snoop around a bit, but I have to be careful.”
“Of what?”
He shrugged. “If it’s not done right, the soul can get trapped in the spirit world. The body is left torpid, can’t be roused.”
“That sounds . . . ridiculously dangerous.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“You’d better be. I’m supposed to be getting married in two weeks, and that will be decidedly more difficult if the groom’s trapped in some random spirit dimension.”
“Not to mention in jail.”
“That, too. It won’t happen. We’ll figure this out.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sailor gazed at me with such intensity I swear his look could have started a fire.
My mind was racing, trying to think of something else to ask him, anything that could help. I didn’t know what my next steps should be, or how to go about proving that Sailor wasn’t where the police said he was, despite all evidence to the contrary. How could I find out who else might have had motive to kill Tristan Dupree, even though he was new to town?
“I’m hoping Carlos and Aidan may be of some help,” I said finally.
“I know I don’t have to remind you of this, but I’m not Aidan’s favorite person these days. Or Carlos’s, for that matter.”
“Carlos went over your case with me last night, and for your information, he thinks it’s hinky.”