I squinted at him. "Are you comparing me to a dog?"
"When your hair tumbles over your eyes like that, you do look a little like an Old English sheepdog."
I swept my hair off my forehead and tried to shove it under my hat but without the pins to keep it in place, it simply fell out again. He laughed.
"This isn't funny, Jacob. We're discussing your death."
"Which we haven't got time for at the moment, not with a demon on the loose."
I couldn't argue with him since he was right. Despite the lack of time, however, I would still try, even without his help. He might not want to discover who his murderer was, but he or she had to be punished. Jacob's death could not be swept aside as if it didn't matter. It mattered.
More than I wanted to admit.
"I hope you're not mad about the dog comment," Jacob said as we turned into Druids Way. As usual the wind whipped down the street, making an even bigger mess of my hair. "If it makes you feel any better," he said, "the Old English sheepdog is one of my favorite breeds." "I hate you," I said and he laughed harder.
We reached home and he disappeared as soon as Celia met me at the door. I stared at the spot where he'd been standing until she pulled me inside.
"Goodness me, Em, look at you!" She clicked her tongue as she removed my hat and groaned when the curls spilled over my face. "We have to be at Mrs. Postlethwaite's house in fifteen minutes." She teased and tugged my hair into shape, rearranged my hat on my head, turned me around and pushed me out the door.
Exactly fifteen minutes later, we arrived at Mrs. Postlethwaite's house. The séance went well. We didn't release any demons and the ghost we summoned-Mrs. Postlethwaite's dead husband-was eager to return to the Waiting Area after his widow had finished asking him if he'd had a clandestine relationship with the next door neighbor. He hadn't, or so he said, and Mrs. Postlethwaite was content with his answer although her spinster sister sitting beside her thought it a lie. She also thought I was a fraud and tried to prove it by inspecting the objects the ghost held up as part of our routine to see if we used hidden wires or magnets. She found none of course, which only soured her temper further.
I managed to avoid her afterwards while tea was being served. Indeed, I managed to avoid all of the guests-an easy thing to do since they left me alone. To be fair, they probably didn't know what to say to me. Some might be scared, others just cautious and I didn't make it easy for them, preferring my own company. Celia was the chatty one, handing out cards to the guests and telling them stories, some true, about the ghosts we'd summoned at other séances. It was all good business, she once told me, and she enjoyed the theatre of it immensely. My sister had missed her calling-she would have been a natural on a Covent Garden stage.