Cheney asked, “Where is August buried?”

“In Connecticut, outside of Hartford. That’s where he was born and grew up, where his elderly mother still resides. He wanted to be cremated, he even wrote it in his will, and so I had it done here. His mother hasn’t spoken to me since then because she’d wanted to bury him next to his brother and sister, and his father.”

Cheney fell silent for a moment. Then he reached out and took her hand again. “Julia, let me say this fiat out. I know you didn’t kill your husband, so don’t ever wonder about that, all right?”

There was that surge of gratitude toward him again. She smiled at him, leaned close—”You wanna guess Wallace Tammerlane’s real name?”

“Bernie Swartz?”

“Worse.”

He grinned at her vivid face. “I give.”

“Actis Hollyrod.”

“Come on, Julia. Actis? What kind of a name is that?”

“His parents must have been spaced out on drugs when he was born, don’t you think?”

“Something for sure. Actis. What a thing to do to a kid.”

“Another thing, Cheney. Wallace likes young girls.”

“So do a lot of older men. Wait, don’t tell me he’s a pedophile.”

“Oh no, certainly not, but he appears very partial to females who haven’t quite yet reached voting age.”

“Do you know this for certain? Or are these rumors in the psychic world? Or did his colleagues simply read his mind and see visions of what he was doing?”

She cocked her head to one side, sending her hair falling beside her face. “Do I hear a bit of snark in your tone?”

“I’m trying to be open about all of it. When did Wallace start preferring younger women?”

“I’m not sure. I hope it was after his wife died. August found it funny. He’d say that even though I was way over-the-hill for Wallace, he, August, still appreciated me.”

Cheney noticed her eyes then, maybe because of the way she’d angled her head toward him. Her eyes, a quite nice light green, were bright today. He thought of the woman he’d saved the previous week—pale, hunched down, drawn in on herself. She’d changed, and the change had begun when she’d saved herself. She still looked thin, but not fragile, leached-out thin—she looked sleek and strong. She looked ready to vibrate, she was so solidly in the present, focused and involved. Yes, involved, that was it, no longer a victim, no longer helpless.

Cheney realized he liked her, realized he really didn’t want her to die by an assassin’s hand.

She snapped her fingers under his nose. “Earth to Cheney, you there?”

“Yes. Now, are these all rumors about Wallace’s young groupies?”

“Nope. Actually I saw one of his girls coming out of his house. He obviously didn’t think anyone was around because he fondled her on the top step. Then he saw me, saw that I’d seen what he was doing, and he looked bilious. When he realized I didn’t condemn him or anything, and never made any smart-mouth cracks, he was as he’d always been toward me, kind and charming. Like I already told you, Wallace asked me out, but before that, he’d call simply to see how I was, to hear the sound of my voice, send me the occasional flowers. I remember telling him once I was far too old for him. He only laughed.

“I only went to dinner with him occasionally since the police were still looking hard at me, probably even had me followed.”

“Nah, they don’t have the manpower.”

“No, really, I just bet they reasoned that since I’d already married one older man, why not another? I could be following a pattern, no?”

“What did Bevlin think of Wallace’s wooing you?”

“He’s young, he sees Wallace as old. I don’t think he was worried, or even cared. The psychic community is small and very incestuous. There aren’t many secrets.”

“Well, naturally not—they read each other’s minds, right?”

“More snark. To be honest, I don’t hear much about mind reading, but it would be really scary if some of them could do that.”

Cheney turned on the ignition. “Okay, let’s go see if we can catch Tammerlane fondling another teenager. Filbert, right?”

“Right, fourth house from the corner on the left.”

“A mansion like yours?”

“It’s very different from ours—mine. You’ll see. How odd. I’ve never thought of my house as a mansion. It’s just my house, where I live, where Freddy sometimes visits and sheds all over the sofas.”