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said, “Come in.”
    “Thanks. I won’t be here long. I just brought your plane and car rental papers.”
    “Oh.” Clare led the way to the main living area with a tall and beautiful curved window
     made of many small panes,
the
main selling point for her . . . though she’d liked the bedroom balcony, the lovely
     backyard, the remodeled kitchen. 
    Desiree, a dazzling mixed-race woman, wore sunshades and moved in that prowling way
     that Clare began to understand belonged to professional operatives. The woman went
     toward the window. She was totally aware of her body and what she could do with it.
     Clare still had trouble with her beginning yoga lessons.
    “This is wonderful. And we’ll be able to see when Tony arrives.”
    “Your husband is coming? Wait, that’s the wrong question. Mr. Rickman doesn’t know
     you’re here?”
    Desiree winked. “No. I took the papers from his receptionist-assistant.”
    Clare just stared at her. “You people have my e-mail. Don’t you think it would have
     been perfectly fine to send me the documents and I could download them to my tablet?
     Or, if necessary, print them out?”
    With a chuckle, Desiree said, “You sound like Samantha, his assistant.” Then Desiree
     sobered and the skin around her eyes tightened. “I heard there’s trouble in Creede
     with Godmama Barbara’s family.”
    As usual, Clare couldn’t figure out how much to say to Desiree. Clare didn’t even
     understand where the puzzle piece of Tony Rickman’s wife fit into the whole picture
     of Rickman Security and Investigations. “Yes, there’s trouble in Creede.”
    “I wanted to offer my help, in case you need me. Is your ghost dog around?”
    Here I am, Desiree.
Like most male beings, he fawned around her legs, but Desiree stayed focused on Clare.
    Aww, she can’t see me, or feel me,
Enzo said.
    “No, she can’t,” Clare said and decided Desiree could handle blunt. “I’m not sure
     how helpful you’d be if you can’t sense ghosts.”
    Desiree went still and hard. “Are you discounting me because I see auras?”
    A month ago Clare would dismiss anyone who hinted they had psychic powers. Today she
     simply said, “No.” After a pause she added, “I’m resentful because Enzo, my phantom
     dog, says yours is a gift of life and living.” Another pause. “And mine is a gift
     of the dead and death.”
    “Awww.” Desiree moved quickly and hugged Clare. It felt good, comforting. The woman
     released her and said, “Point me to your dog so I can try to see him again.” Clare
     just knew Desiree would persist in trying something forever. For a beautiful woman,
     she was a little goofy.
    Clare gestured to Enzo who stood, head up, tongue hanging out in his grin.
    Desiree squinted, then walked straight through him and back and shook her head. “Nope.
     No aura. No coldness. He
is
cold, isn’t he, like all the literature says?”
    “Yes. And I think your husband senses ghosts, at least he acted that way when Enzo
     and another one was in his office.”
    “Oh, that’s rich!” Desiree zoomed in with another hug. All right, maybe Clare could
     get used to this. And she
did
need friends. Most of her other friends had been from work, and those had faded when
     she’d been going back and forth to settle her great-aunt’s estate in Chicago. Then
     she’d inherited those tidy millions and decided someone else could use her good job.
     The ghost seer thing had hit . . . and she’d understood that her work friends wouldn’t
     deal with it any better than she had, would think she was crazy if she tried to explain
     her new life.
    “Thanks,” Clare mumbled, patted the smaller woman on the back. Clare was five foot
     seven inches, and she thought Desiree might be five four.
    Desiree retreated an arm’s length. “I’m so glad we’re friends.”
    “I am, too.”
    “But, Clare, honey, your aura is all squidgy.”
    “Squidgy,” Clare repeated.
    Frowning, Desiree scanned her.