He sank into the chair next to mine, breathing audibly.

“Now look what you’ve done,” one of the nurse’s aides scolded. “Fred, are you all right? Rotika, get me some smelling salts.”

Rotika hurried off, returned with a small bottle, unscrewed the lid and waved it under the old man’s nose. The stuff was so strong that it revived me, as well as the intended victim, and after a shared whiff, both Fred and I were good to go.

Greer meandered out of Lillian’s room, looking dazed and, to be frank, slightly peculiar. “She’s going to be all right,” she murmured. “Lillian is going to be all right.”

“You need to go home now, the lot of you,” Rotika said. She’d put the cap back on the stink bottle, but traces of genie b.o. still lingered. “You come see Mrs. Travers in the morning. She got to rest now.”

I must have looked rebellious as I came to my feet, and Greer was still smiling that odd, befuddled smile. Jolie took each of us by the arm and said, “Rotika’s right. We’ll come back tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to leave,” I said.

“Too bad,” Jolie replied, marching Greer and me down the corridor, past the reception desk and out into the warm Phoenix night. “You’re not driving,” she told Greer, and hustled her into the back seat of the Pathfinder. Jolie’s gaze swung to me. “Get in, Mojo.”

“But, Lillian—”

“Get in,” Jolie repeated.

I glared at her.

She glared at me.

A person has to choose her battles in this life. I got into the passenger seat, though I did slam the door.

“My car,” Greer said, from the back. And then she burst into tears.

“Your car will be fine,” Jolie told her, tossing back a box of tissues as she spoke. “You can pick it up tomorrow. In the meantime, I’m taking you home. Mojo and I will spend the night with you.”

I thought of the two break-ins at Bert’s, the text message, the death threat and the poisoned chow mein. “I can’t leave Russell alone all night,” I said.

“Russell,” Greer rallied enough to say, “is a dog.”

I had an uneasy feeling, not only about Lillian, but about Russell, too. Part of the magic that is Mojo, I guess. “You can both stay at my place.”

“Right,” Greer said snippily. “Jolie and I will just share your couch.”

Under other circumstances, I might have reminded Greer that she’d slept on bus-station benches—among other unsavory places—in her time, and my couch would probably compare favorably with any of them. The problem was that Greer was obviously on the ragged edge and she needed some slack, whether I felt like cutting it or not.

“Drop me off at the apartment, then,” I said quietly.

“It’s nice to know where your loyalties lie,” Greer retorted.

“Greer,” Jolie said, “put a sock in it.”

Everybody fell silent, and that’s how we left it.