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“Sorry your shoes got stuck to the floor, Boss. I figured you’d notice it was still…” Dean’s voice faded out in shocked disbelief as he watched Claire fling a fistful of purple powder into the air.

The powder hung for a heartbeat, a swirling purple cloud with added vitamin C, then it settled into a confused jumble of foot and handprints leading from the front door into the office and back to the door again. A fair bit of the powder settled around the flower stems.

“What a mess,” Claire sighed. “This tells me nothing except that he was in here and I knew that already.”

“Who?”

“The flower deliveryman. I was trying to find out what he was up to.”

“With…” Dean rubbed a bit of the residue onto the end of a finger and sniffed it. “…grape Koolaid?”

“Actually, it’s generic. Why waste name brands if you’re just going to throw it around?”

“Okay.” He pulled a folded tissue from his pocket and carefully wiped his finger. “I’ll start cleaning this up.”

“Great. I need coffee.”

“The floor…”

“I know.” A careful two inches above the purple, she floated down the hall.

Unfortunately, the flavor crystals had been presweetened. It took Dean the rest of the morning to clean up the mess, and when he finished, he still wasn’t certain he’d got it all.

He was right. Although he glanced inside when he cleaned the purple prints off the key cabinet, he didn’t notice the small smudge that marked the end of the one empty hook.

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“Look, why don’t you guys come over to the pub tonight and if this bozo’s there, you can point him out to me. I’m always eager to meet my fans.”

Dean looked doubtful.“What if he’s dangerous?”

“If he is, you’ll be there to help.” The musician smiled languorously up at him. “Won’t you?”

“Sure.” Ears red, Dean stepped sideways until he stood behind the masking foliage of a fake rubber plant that filled the southeast corner of Augustus Smythe’s sitting room. Until this moment he’d thought he’d gotten past those awkward, mortifying years of spontaneous reaction.

“What do you mean when you saysure?” Claire demanded from the other side of the room.

As far as he could tell, she had no idea why he’d moved. He glanced down at Sasha Moore, and his ears grew so hot they itched.

“Dean!”

Twisting one of the plastic leaves right off the plant, he dragged himself out of the warm, dark, inviting depths of the musician’s eyes. “I mean, uh, that is…uh, Ms. Moore, could you please look somewhere else. Thank you.” He took a deep breath and slowly released it. “I mean, that since we’ll be there, if anything happens, we’ll help.”

“You’ve decided we’re going to be there?”

“Sure. I mean, no.” He shot a helpless look at Claire. “I mean, you don’thave to go. I could always go without you.”

“He’s right, Claire, you don’thave to go. He could stay late and help load the van.” A pink tongue flicked out to moisten crimson lips. “I could give him a ride home.”

“I’ll go.”

“Good, then, it’s settled.” Twisting lithely in the chair, Sasha stood and made her way through the bric-a-brac to the door. “I’m going out for a bite. I’ll see you both at the pub.”

As the door closed behind her, Jacques materialized, eyebrows lifted toward Dean.“Showing off?” He laughed at the panicked embarrassment in Dean’s eyes, turned to face Claire, and said with patently false dismay, “He is so strong, no? He tore a leaf off your rubber plant.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she snorted dismissively. “It’s plastic. I’m more concerned about this pub thing.”

“What pub thing?” Austin asked, coming out of the bedroom and stretching. When Claire explained, he jumped up onto her lap. “Go,” he told her, butting his head against the bottom of her chin. “Take advantage of the fact you’re not actually sealing the site. If anything comes up, I’ll contact you.”

“What would happen if you were actually sealing the site,” Jacques wondered.

“I wouldn’t be able to leave the building.”

“Just like me.”

“Except he’s dead,” Austin pointed out. “Since you’re not, why don’t you prove it.”

“By going out?”

The cat sighed.“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. Go out. Have fun. Aren’t you the one who keeps saying you’re not planning to be stuck here?”

“I didn’t mean I should be going out to pubs,” Claire protested indignantly.

“Why not?”

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“I never get to go anywhere,” Jacques said mournfully an hour later as he and Austin stood in the front window watching Claire and Dean walk toward King Street.

“Look at the bright side,” Austin observed as Mrs. Abrams hurried down her front path too late to corner them. “It can be a dangerous world out there.”

“What does she look at?”

One hand shading eyes squinted nearly shut, Mrs. Abrams stared up toward the window.

The cat stretched.“She’s probably wondering if I’m the same cat who got Baby to hog-tie himself with his own chain.”

“Are you?”

“Of course.” He jumped down off the windowsill. “Come on, it’s Friday night, let’s go watch TV.”

With a last curious look at Mrs. Abrams, Jacques turned and followed.“TV? Is it like radio?”

“You know radio?”