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“Yes,” the woman replied, her pale blue eyes narrowing a bit, as if she was wondering why I’d be knocking on the door if I didn’t even know who lived there. “Said she was going into Mesa to run some errands.”
Well, damn. The very thing I’d been worried about. “Do you know when she’ll be back?” I asked, trying not to sound too desperate.
The woman looked me up and down. I’d never seen her before, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know who I was. Luckily, I thought I looked fairly respectable in my embroidered shirt and jeans and black flats, and not like someone who was going to bust out with some woo-woo at a moment’s notice.
“No,” the woman said. “But a lot of the time when she heads out that way, she’s gone until the shops close.”
Which would be hours and hours from now. Sure, even in Mesa, the stores probably closed earlier on a Sunday than they otherwise would, but that still didn’t help me too much. If they were open until six, then Corinne wouldn’t be back home until seven or seven-thirty.
It looked like it was time for me to move on to my next prospect.
“Thanks,” I said, letting the word dangle awkwardly since I didn’t know the woman’s name. “I guess I’ll swing by tomorrow.”
“You do that,” the woman replied, then shut her door.
Well, that seemed to be that. Trying not to feel too dejected, I headed back to my car and got in, and drove the few blocks to Kline Street, where Jennifer Espinoza’s house was located. It turned out to be a tidy little Craftsman, smaller than Josie’s place but equally adorable, with pansies blooming in the flowerbeds and fuchsias all bright and happy in baskets hanging from the eaves. In a few more weeks, those flowers would have closed up shop for the winter, but right now, they looked cheerful and welcoming.
All in all, the house didn’t seem much like the sort of place where a cold-blooded murderer would live. But, as I’d learned on more than one occasion, appearances could be deceiving.
I still hadn’t quite come up with a plausible reason for why I was here. If Chief Lewis caught wind that I was once again indulging in some amateur sleuthing, I could only imagine what his reaction would be.
But I’d promised Danny that I would do my best to find out who’d killed him, and so I knew I had to make myself march up that front walk, even though butterflies fluttered around in my stomach and I really, really wished I was someplace else.
Well, with any luck, maybe Jennifer would be out shopping, too.
Unlike Corinne’s duplex, Jennifer’s home had a doorbell. I pressed my finger to the button and waited.
A moment later, the door opened. Jennifer Espinoza stared out at me, expression a mixture of confusion and astonishment. “Selena Marx?” she inquired in incredulous tones.
“Yes,” I said, even as I noted that Jennifer’s big brown eyes seemed a little red and puffy, although her glossy dark hair lay in perfect waves over her shoulders, and she looked pretty and casual at the same time in her flowered shirt and jeans and flats. Had she been crying over Danny’s death? Not exactly the behavior of a killer…possibly. People were walking bundles of contradictions, after all. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Um…sure,” she replied, still looking bewildered. However, she stepped out of the way so I could come in.
The inside of the house was just as darling as the exterior, furnished in a thoughtful combination of antiques that didn’t exactly match but which worked beautifully together. Plants perched on marble-topped stands, and the picture window on the opposite side of the living room let in a gorgeous view of a backyard just as carefully tended as the front.
“Would you like a glass of water?” she asked. “Some iced tea?”
“Water would be great,” I said.
“I’ll go get some. You can go ahead and sit down on the couch.”
She made her way down a short hall toward what I presumed was the kitchen, and I went and seated myself on the plump couch, covered in friendly pale yellow linen and accented with pillows in shades of green and coral and brown. It was as comfortable as it looked, although I couldn’t say I was feeling exactly comfortable right then.
Watercolors of cheerful gardens covered the walls, and I noticed a group of what appeared to be family pictures on the mantel, what looked like Jennifer and her family — brothers and sisters, parents, nieces and nephews. She seemed to be the only one who wasn’t married.
No wonder she’d come into the store to get herself that love candle.
She returned a moment later, a hobnail glass filled with water in either hand. After giving one of the glasses to me, she sat down in the floral-patterned armchair to my right and sent me an expectant look.
“I’m sorry to drop in like this,” I said. “But I needed to talk to you.”
“Is it about Danny?” she asked at once, now looking almost hopeful. “Have you spoken with him?”
About all I could do was blink at her. “Why would you think I’d talked to him?”
“Because that’s what you do, isn’t it?” she returned without hesitation. “Talk to ghosts, I mean.”
Obviously, word had been getting around town. I wondered if I should even attempt to explain the finer points of mediumship and then decided it probably wasn’t necessary.
