Chapter Thirty

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Several hours later . . .

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If she hadn't had such a great morning earlier, Shamira would be miserable. Even with her advanced recovery, she really needed more than a few hours of sleep before starting the day.

But Clara's cell phone had erupted (to Warren Zevon's "Werewolves of London" as a ring tone, no less) with Clyde informing them that he had located the medium who had been dealing with Shamira's sister.

They didn't ask how he had found out so fast, but they did show up at a little trailer-style business on the outskirts of town. Just as Shamira had thought, it was on the far side of town from where her sister lived and worked.

Inside was a nervous young woman who had all the trappings of a stereotyped gypsy woman. The trailer-trash-blond was sitting next to Clyde, fidgeting and rubbing her hands.

"I'm so sorry," she was saying as Clara and Shamira walked in. "I wasn't trying to expose anyone. It's just that