I felt humiliated that I hadn’t ever thought of asking if Dermot minded sharing a room with Claude. Obviously, he did. Sleeping on a cot in the little sitting room . . . I’d been a bad hostess. I looked at Dermot with more attention than I’d given him before. He had sounded . . . hopeful. Maybe my new tenant was underemployed. I realized that I didn’t know exactly what Dermot did at the club. I’d taken it for granted that he’d leave with Claude when Claude went to Monroe, but I’d never been curious enough to ask what Dermot did when he got there. What if being part fairy was the only thing he had in common with the self-centered Claude?

“If you think you have the time to do the work, I’d be glad to buy the materials,” I said, not quite sure where the words came from. “In fact, if you could sand, prime, and paint the whole thing, and build the partition, I’d sure appreciate it. I’d be glad to pay you for the job. Why don’t we go to the lumberyard in Clarice on my next day off? If you could figure out how much lumber and paint we need?”

Dermot lit up like a Christmas tree. “I can try, and I know how to rent a sander,” he said. “You trust me to do this?”

“I do,” I said, not sure I really meant that. But after all, what could make the attic look worse than it did now? I began to feel enthusiastic myself. “It would be great to have this room redone. You need to tell me what you think would be a fair wage.”

“Absolutely not,” he said. “You have given me a home and the reassurance of your presence. This is the least I can do for you.”

I couldn’t argue with Dermot when he put it that way. There’s such a thing as being too determined not to accept a gift, and I assessed this as just such a situation.

This had been a morning chock-full of information and surprises. As I was washing my hands and face to get rid of the attic dust, I heard a car coming up the driveway. The Splendide logo, in Gothic lettering, filled the side of a big white van.

Brenda Hesterman and her partner climbed out. The partner was a small, compact man wearing khakis and a blue polo shirt and polished loafers. His salt-and-pepper hair was clipped short.

I went out onto the front porch.

“Hello, Sookie,” Brenda called, as if we were old friends. “This is Donald Callaway, the co-owner of the shop.”

“Mr. Callaway,” I said, nodding. “You two come on in. Can I get you all a drink?”

They both declined on their way up the steps. Once inside, they looked around the crowded room with an appreciation my fairy guests hadn’t shown.