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“Anyone associated with her that it might belong to?”

Hardy shook his head. “She has one sibling, a younger sister called Thalia. No friends or cousins or acquaintances that the Colliers knew of whose name began with A.”

Electra’s fingers itched. “May I hold it, Sergeant?”

Hardy eyed her curiously.

“Miss Poole,” Gideon said, “is a psychic and has been asked by Director Vincent to assist me with the Delacourt investigation.”

“Unofficially,” Electra added with a side-eye at Gideon.

Hardy’s brows lifted. “That…is unusual.”

“It is,” Gideon admitted, “but she is gifted. Let her hold the pendant.”

Hardy handed it over carefully, settling it into the cup of Electra’s palm.

“Don’t be concerned if I close my eyes,” she told the detective.

“And we should remain quiet,” added Gideon.

Electra closed her eyes, closing her fingers around the pendant in her hand. She fixed her thoughts on Miss Calliope Collier, the young woman she’d seen in her mind while at the Delacourt townhouse. Blonde hair, bright eyes. She willed the necklace to tell her what had happened to the young woman.

Her body shuddered and flashing images came in a sequence so fast that she could not fix on any of them. Ladies’ faces. Youthful. Blonde.

Then one scene filled her mind. Two ladies sitting at a table in a restaurant or perhaps a tea shop. As the images sharpened, she recognized the tea shop. It was the same one where they’d spoken to Abraham Seaton, and the ladies were sitting at a front-window table. They laughed as they talked and sipped at cups of tea. One blonde, one brown-haired lady. Calliope Collier and a lady who looked so much like Violet Delacourt that Electra knew it was her twin, Iris.

But who was watching them? The viewer was at some distance, far away from them.

Miss Delacourt scanned her gaze around the tea shop, and the person whose memory she was observing jerked back, away from her view.

The watcher did not wish to be seen.

A moment later, they shifted to watch the ladies again. Iris Delacourt had returned her attention to Miss Collier.

Electra’s skin began to crawl as if ants were skittering across her skin. Her stomach twisted and she resisted the urge to open her eyes, desperate to see more, what might happen next.

But the distraction was enough to cause the scene to fade.

No! She had seen Miss Delacourt. Where had she gone? Who was this person who’d watched her so furtively?

She clasped the pendant tighter, drawing in deep breaths and letting them out slowly.

An image arose like smoke clearing from her vision. A shop interior. A few feet away, a young lady stood behind a counter. The person whose memory she was seeing moved toward the young woman, who looked up sharply, then offered a polite smile. Blonde hair. Freckled skin. Vibrant green eyes.

She spoke but Electra heard nothing. The person who’d approached her seemed to be conversing with her. The young woman paused to listen, then spoke again, her gaze taking on an interested gleam.

Then she looked down as a card was passed to her. A man’s hand held the card out.

She was seeing a man’s memories.

The shopgirl took the card and examined it, and her mouth seemed to shape the words “thank you.” Then she dug in her skirt pocket and extracted a silver case, pulling out what seemed to be a calling card.

The young woman offered it to the man, whose gaze dipped to read the cream-colored paper upon which the name Aurora Fretwell was printed in neat capital letters.

He retreated, and the girl began speaking to a woman. Another customer, perhaps.

But the man did not depart. He watched from a distance, and that feeling rose in Electra again. A dark emotion that made her stomach twist and her flesh pebble with goosebumps.