Back home Rachel called Carrie while I started looking online for Marlowe.
Jaye told us that Annabelle had met Marlowe at a party. Apparently these people threw lots of parties. Anyway, Jaye insisted on tagging along to tutoring sessions when Annabelle told her what she was learning. “She was kind of pissed at me,” Jaye laughed. “But I really wanted to learn about mind reading, like Silver. The portal stuff was just extra cool.”
They’d met at Annabelle’s house, so Jaye had no idea where Marlowe lived. Or his first, last, or real name.
“What did you pick up?” I asked Rachel in the car.
“From Jaye? She’s got some mojo. Also she really doesn’t like Annabelle too much.” She chuckled. “But the world in the mirror? It was . . . they were fighting a war. The castle was like the Death Star. I wonder what happened.”
“Maybe we can schedule a viewing.” I turned left. “Let’s check Marlowe out when we get back.”
Carrie knew Marlowe, slightly. No idea where he lived, but she’d ask around. I didn’t have enough information to do an internet search. So we quit for the night and argued over what to watch on TV until Rachel won and we settled in for some Real Housewives.
The next morning I drank coffee while looking again. Jaye had told us that the party she met Marlowe at was at an apartment where a woman named Taylor lived. “Taylor Foote. In Bucktown.” She didn’t know her number, but I found her on the internet and sent her an email. Nikolai said he’d met him once, not at a party but once at her house when he came over to set up a new computer. “He was just in the kitchen, drinking coffee with his laptop. I heard noises from the computer, but Anna told me to ignore it. He didn’t talk to me.”
I’d sent Adam an email last night, but he’d never heard of Marlowe. Not surprising, but it never hurts to ask. When Rachel came in to start her job at nine o’clock—she does web design, among other things—she had a message from Carrie, who said she’d heard of Marlowe but also didn’t know where to find him.
I had other cases to work on, including a cheating spouse case that I was pretty sure I could wrap up without having to actually tail the guy to a motel. Credit card records can be as damning as photos, if you know what to look for. So I worked on that for an hour or so, and then my phone buzzed. “Tom Jurgen speaking.”
“Mr. Jurgen? It’s Megan Barnes. The dog walker? At Annabelle Silvestri’s house yesterday? I’m calling you because—well, there’s something weird happening in the house. I talked to Haley, next door? And she said I should call you.”
“What’s going on?”
“Well . . . maybe you should come out and see it?”
I looked at the time. “I can be there in about an hour. Does that work?”
“I’ve got a few more dogs to walk. But I’ll be there.”
I hung up and turned to Rachel. “Want to go out to Elmhurst to look at Annabelle’s house? The dog walker says something weird’s going on there.”
Rachel sighed. “The thrill never ends with you, does it?” She shoved her chair back.
“Someday I’ll take you to Disneyworld.”
“Promises, promises.”
Megan Barnes was sitting outside on the porch, looking at her phone. I introduced Rachel, and she unlocked the front door.
“Usually Pearl comes running, but today I had to go in and look for her.” She led us through the living room, which smelled like wine and incense, through a kitchen and to a hallway door.
Pearl the pug sat on the carpet, whining.
The door was open. Annabelle Silvestri sat inside. In a forest.
Thicker than the one I’d seen Morris Rosen in. Dark trees surrounded her as she sat in a wrought-iron chair, fingers folded in her lap, staring outward. Twenty yards away, half-facing the doorway.
Pearl barked. She didn’t hear her. The dog nuzzled Megan’s jeans, as if imploring her to get Annabelle free.
“W-what is that?” Megan looked at me. Then at Rachel. Then back at me.
“We don’t know yet.” I took a step forward. But Rachel grabbed at me and shook her head.
I wasn’t eager to encounter the same fog that had attacked me in Rosen’s basement, so I stayed back. “I told you that her son was trying to contact her. It’s because his father is trapped the same way.”
Megan’s eyes got wide. “Oh-kay. You guys are, what? Ghostbusters?”
“Not exactly.” For one thing, we’re definitely afraid of ghosts. “Is this the first day Pearl didn’t meet you at the door?”
“Well, no. But usually I call her and she comes. I never had to look for her.”
Rachel knelt. She can’t actually talk to animals, but she can pick up feelings from them. Just like with people. She patted Pearl’s head, and Pearl responded by butting her—his?—head against Rachel’s knee.
Rachel stood. “She’s scared. She likes you, Megan, but she misses the lady. That’s what she calls Annabelle. Sort of.”
“So you’re a real dog whisperer?” Megan folded her arms. “What’s going on?”
“We thought Annabella was behind trapping her ex-husband in a similar spot.” I looked through the doorway at Annabelle. “Looks like something else.”
“Is it safe for me to come back here?”
Rachel glanced up and down the hall, then nodded. “Yeah. I don’t think the place is hexed. Just stay away from this door.”
“Right.” She took one last look. “Okay, see you later, Pearl.”
We left.
In the car I called Adam. “Wow.” His voice was still hoarse. “I didn’t—who—what does it mean?”
“I don’t know.” I was tired of saying that. “Can you think of anyone with a grudge against your parents? Both of them?”
“I can’t—I don’t think so.” He coughed. “I’ll think about it.”
“Okay. We’ll call you back when we learn something.” Which might be a long time at this rate. At least Annabelle seemed safe—for the moment.
I looked at Rachel. “What do you think?”
“You’re the detective. I’m just the hot assistant with psychic powers. And great legs.” She yawned. “Let’s get coffee.”
Back in the office I worked on the cheating spouse case for a while and then went on to background checks for a different client, still thinking about Rosen. And Annabelle. Both trapped in another universe. By who? Why?
Annabelle had called Morris asking for something. “I’ll be over tomorrow for the thing.” What thing? Did she ever show up? We’d been assuming that she put Morris in the other realm. Was it someone else?
Questions and more questions. The only way to get answers was to talk to people. So I started calling and emailing everybody again.
Malcolm had never heard of Marlowe, and didn’t know anything about other realms, aside from visiting them after doing some mushrooms. Nikolai was annoyed that I was bothering him again, and hadn’t thought of anything more about Marlowe. His friend Lincoln had never heard of Marlowe. I sent another email to Taylor Foote—and she called about five minutes later, while I was researching Bettina Roishe, the world Rachel and I had looked at in the mirror last night with Jaye.
“Hi! Sorry I didn’t call you back yet.” She sounded out of breath. “I was out of town. My mom’s kind of psycho. Anyway, Marlowe? That’s what you wanted to know about?”
“That’s right.” I explained again who I was, leaving out all the details about why I was interested in him. Thought I figured she’d probably understand. “Do you know how to get hold of him?”
“Yeah, I, uh . . .” She hesitated. “Would it be okay if I told him you wanted to talk to him?
“Sure.” People are cautious these days. “Just tell him it’s about, uh, Annabelle Silvestri. He should know her.”
“Annabelle . . . got it.” She hung up.
I waited, trying not to drum my fingers on my desk—that makes Rachel crazy. I went back to looking for Bettina Roishe. Maybe I could find out how the war ended.
My phone buzzed 20 minutes later. “Jurgen? This is Marlowe. Marlowe Addison. You’re looking for me?”
“Thanks for calling me.” I waved Rachel over and put him on speaker. “I’ve got my associate here with me. It’s about Annabelle Silvestri—”
“Silver. Yes.”
“And her ex-husband, Morris Rosen. Their son was concerned about not being in contact with him, and it looks like—” I hesitated, but Marlowe should know all about this right? “That they’re both, uh, imprisoned in another universe. Inside their house. You know something about other realms. Jaye told us you gave her a book—”
“Yeah, that was mine. I lent it to her.” He paused. “Her son?”
“He’s in Toronto. He had COVID, and he can’t travel home yet.”
“Oh, I see.” Another pause. “Could I see her?”
I glanced at Rachel. She shook her head. Don’t trust him, she mouthed.
I nodded. “I don’t have access to her house. I do have a key to Morris’.”
“All right. Let’s meet there. I’ll see what I can do.”
I gave him the address.
Rachel punched me as soon as I hung up. “I told you not to trust him!”
“Ow.” I rubbed my arm. “I don’t. You’ll wait close by. You can come in with your pepper spray and taser if anything goes wrong.”
She grimaced. “I’ll use it on you.”
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