Cody and I delivered the news of Mary’s death to Emma Sudbury, who wept tears of mingled grief and release. I talked to Mom’s friend Sandra Sweddon about the senior center’s community outreach program, and she promised to pay Emma a visit.

Sinclair Palmer’s paranormal tour proved a great hit. Under orders from the Oak King, the pretty, sparkly fairies made regularly scheduled appearances, smiling with their mouths closed. Locals got used to waving to Sinclair’s brightly painted tour bus while he charmed the tourists with his semi-faux-Jamaican patois.

Lurine utilized her contacts with ruthless efficiency. The day after my kidnapping, a team of marine mammal experts from the Shedd Aquarium in Chicago descended on the Locksley residence, monitoring the pH balance and other chemicals in the water, examining the rusalka to the best of their abilities, once they’d recovered from their initial bout of disbelief and giddy astonishment. In exchange for the unprecedented experience, they had agreed to legally binding terms of secrecy.

I would have thought getting the rusalka back to Puget Sound would be a considerable undertaking, but it’s pretty amazing what can be accomplished when money isn’t an issue. Lurine footed the bill for the whole thing. A day later, I was there to watch as the Shedd staffers lifted her out of the tank in a stretcher they used for transporting dolphins and transferred her into a specialized water-filled shipping container in the back of the cargo truck that would carry her to O’Hare airport.

“When we had to move our dolphins and belugas during the renovation, we had someone they know and trust ride along with them every step of the way,” one of the staffers said to Lurine, looking starstruck and vaguely perplexed by Lurine Hollister’s involvement in the entire thing. He was probably dying to tell someone about it. “I don’t know how you feel about it, but the, ah, rusalka seems to trust you. . . .”

“Sure.” She stepped out of her high-heeled pumps and handed them to him. “Put these somewhere safe, will you? They’re Louboutins.”

“Okay.” Holding her shoes, he stared as Lurine hopped up to perch on the container’s ledge, her legs dangling in the water. “Don’t you, um, want a wet suit?”

“I’ll be fine.” She looked amused. “Are you sure you don’t want to come along, Daisy? My treat. No sense letting space on a chartered flight go unused.”

“Yeah,” I said reluctantly. “I’d love to, but I really need to be here for this conference with the families.”

“Okay, cupcake.” She smiled at me. “Try to stay out of trouble while I’m gone, will you?”

“I’ll try.” I leaned over the container.

The rusalka surfaced. Already her skin—if that was what you called it—looked healthier, more greenish than gray. Her nictitating eyelids opened, her lucent emerald gaze meeting mine. “Thank you.”