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this morning? Was she after something? Had he interrupted her before she got what she came for? He swung by the house, stopped and checked the doors and windows. No sign of forced entry. No movement inside. It didn’t appear as if she’d been back. Maybe he was being paranoid, but she wasn’t being honest about something. He was sure of it.
    He returned to his car and located the Chartres address. The apartment manager lived on the first floor. Brandt served the search warrant, and the manager accompanied him to the third floor with the keys.
    “Looks like it’s already unlocked.” The bald man seemed unconcerned.
    Brandt pushed him out of the way and drew his gun. “Stay here.”
    “Naw. I got things to do. This has got nothing to do with me.” The manager flipped a dismissive hand and turned away.
    Ignoring him, Brandt opened the door, staying off to one side. “Police. Anybody in here?”
     
    * * *
     
     
    Maggie jerked her head up when she heard voices in the hallway. She’d nearly finished a search of Hurst’s apartment, and the only thing she’d found was a small notebook. There’d been no sign of the ghostly figure that led her there, so if she was supposed to find something, she’d been left on her own to do it. If the guy weren’t already dead, she’d strangle him for that.
    She stuffed the book in her pocket and darted from the bedroom. As soon as the apartment door rattled and she heard Brandt’s sharp order to “stay here,” she climbed out the living room window onto the fire escape, scrambled down the steps, and jumped the last fifteen feet. She took off running. At the end of the alley, she glanced back. No one in sight. Had Brandt seen her? Was he circling the building to cut her off? Thank God she’d parked two blocks away. She zigzagged a few blocks. Still no pursuer. She returned to her car, checked to make sure no one was watching, then slid into the driver’s seat and pulled away from the curb.
    She was sweating, breathing hard, and finally stopped the car near Jackson Square and got out. Close call. If Detective Brandt had caught her trespassing again, tampering with evidence this time, he probably would have arrested her. She headed for the riverbank, seeking a cool breeze, and turned to stroll along the walk that followed the curve of the Mississippi. Seagulls called overhead, sunlight glistened off the placid waves, but Maggie’s thoughts were too jumbled to appreciate the scene.
    She’d have to be more careful in the future. Not underestimate Brandt. He’d found Hurst’s apartment quickly and without the dubious benefit of the spirit being she’d followed. If she hadn’t opened the window to air out the stifling heat… She pictured the awful scene if she’d been hauled into the station in cuffs. The disbelief, followed by unwelcome sympathy and averted gazes. She sank onto a deserted wooden bench and covered her face with both hands. After a moment, she dropped her hands from her flushed face and stared stonily out at the water.
    “We need to talk.”
    Maggie started, whipping her head around to lock eyes with Brandt. “How’d you find me?” She swallowed the rest of the questions that might be more incriminating. Instead, she asked, “What do you want now, Brandt?”
    His jaw tightened, but the words were casual. “Why don’t I buy you a cup of coffee?”
    “Just say what you came to say.”
    He looked at her a moment, his gray-blue eyes hooded, then despite her cold reception, he sat on the bench beside her. “You need to give me space to maneuver.”
    His statement caught her unaware. “Did I miss something? What’s that mean?”
    Brandt leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs, and stared at the river. “You’re crowding me. If I’m going to solve this case, you have to back off.”
    “You saw me?”
    “The red hair is hard to miss.”
    She stole a look at his profile, sculptured cheekbones, firm jaw. She wished she could see his eyes. “What