“There’s nothing better in this world or any world than dating a fictional detective,” I said. “They always solve their cases. Every last one of them. So no matter what goes wrong…they can fix it. Being with Duke made me feel like no matter how bad my problems were…”
“He could solve them?”
I nodded. “Exactly.”
“There’s no way for you two to be—”
“You know the Black and Whites,” I said. “Stories are for fictional characters. The real world is for real people. My own fault for falling in love with a man made out of ink and dreams.”
Penny glanced left, then glanced right.
“You did break the rule,” she said. “However”—she leaned in and whispered—“it is a very stupid rule.”
I laughed. “Thanks. I needed that.”
We turned and started walking up the hill again.
“Have you lived here all your life?” she asked.
“I had my own apartment after college in Portland,” I said, “but moved back in with Pops when my grandmother died two years ago.”
“That was nice of you.”
I pointed my thumb to the house on the left. “It wasn’t a sacrifice.”
“Oh my,” she said as we stood at the end of the walkway that led to our porch. “How pretty!”
It is a nice house, I won’t pretend otherwise, which is why I didn’t begrudge her that last exclamation point in her voice. A three-story Victorian, one of Fort Meriwether’s famous “painted ladies.” The house itself was smoky gray, but the shutters, gingerbread, fence, and flower boxes were all painted bright colors—lilac, rose pink, and lime green. The front double-doors were oak with large stained-glass panels.
“Does it have a name?” Penny asked.
“Pilcrow House.”
“Pilcrow House?”
“You know, a pilcrow is that little backward capital P symbol, but it has two vertical lines instead of one.”
I opened my case notebook and drew one on the inside cover.
“Oh, yes, I see it now!” she said. “The ‘insert new paragraph’ symbol. I knew what it was, but I never knew it had a name!”
A drizzle began to fall, and we hurried down the pathway to take shelter on the porch. A cold wind was blowing off the Columbia. Penny was wearing a very chic double-breasted wool coat in wildly impractical white. She pulled it around Koshka, tucking him against her for more warmth.
On the porch, Penny raised her hand to trace the symbol embedded in the stained-glass panels. “Why a pilcrow?”
“When medieval monks were copying manuscripts, they used the pilcrow to indicate a new thought or new idea. A fresh start, sort of. It’s a house of new beginnings. Pops moved here when he and Grandma got married.”
“Is it only you and your grandfather then?” she said, then turned to Koshka inside her coat. “And you, of course.”
“At the moment, it’s only me and our housekeeper, Mrs. Turner. Pops went on assignment over a week ago. He hasn’t been in touch.”
“Really? I never heard about an assignment for him. And I keep the assignment books!”
“Wait…He’s not on assignment?”
“He could be,” she said. “But if he is, it’s off the books.”
Off the books? That didn’t sound like Pops at all. The man lived andbreathed paperwork. A lump filled my throat like I’d tried to swallow a rock but couldn’t get it down. If he wasn’t on an official assignment for the Coven…what was he doing? A private commission?
