“Alas, our lack of diversity is one of the few shortcomings of our fair community, at least in terms of ordinary mortal culture and ethnicity.” He regarded me with an owlish look, or the way I imagine an owl might look if it were wise and slightly drunk. “And although you most pointedly did not ask, I will say that I am wholly unaware of any connection between mythological spider lore and drowned young men. If I were you, I’d be looking for a naiad.” His voice deepened, taking on an oratorical resonance. “Think ye of Hylas, the noble companion of bold Heracles—charming Hylas, whose hair hung down in curls!”

I smiled. “Thank you, I will. I appreciate it.”

Mr. Leary saw me to the door. “You’re welcome to visit anytime. In the meanwhile, may you continue to be well, Daisy.” He hoisted his glass to me. “Indeed, given your particular ontological dilemma, may you continue to be good.”

That one, I think I got. Stretching on tiptoes, I kissed his cheek. “I’ll do my best.”

Chapter Twenty

Twenty

Outside Mr. Leary’s cottage, I checked my phone. No messages, and it was only a bit after four thirty in the afternoon.

Okay, so spider deities were a probable no-go. Mom had said her reading was likely to be pretty literal.

Mr. Leary’s writing spider might be a little too literal, but we had a literal bottle, and a definitely involved bartender with a literal spider depicted on his literal shoulder. We had missing but implicated ghouls, and according to the cards, we were still looking for a pair of crossed arrows and the elusive mermaid La Sirena, an alluring woman in distress.

Right now, none of it added up.

And speaking of ghouls . . .

I was in serious need of some girl talk. I really, really wanted to talk to Jen. If I could get her to accept my apology, at least it would be a start. I thumbed my keypad, composed a message, then changed my mind and deleted it.

Instead, I called her mother. “Oh, hey! Hi, Mrs. Cassopolis. It’s Daisy.” I cradled the phone under my ear. “Is Jen still at work? Can you tell me where she’s working today? I need to talk to her, and she’s not picking up.”

Bless her heart, she did.

I drove over to the summer home on the lakeshore where Jen was working alone, banging on the door until she answered. Her expression was sullen. “I don’t want to talk to you right now, Daise.”

“Hear me out?” I pleaded.

She hesitated, then tossed a rag at me. “I’m running behind. The family’s due back any minute. Help and I’ll listen.”

“Deal.”