“It’s not Slade,” she said emphatically, and Freya rolled her eyes, not buying it.

“If you say so.”

“Trust me, it’s not Slade.”

“It’s always Slade. We should talk about him.”

“No way.” Scowling, Val skewered Freya with her best don’t-go-there glare.

“Really, you should know that—”

“We’ve been over this ground before. I don’t want to talk or think about him until I have to. In court.”

“But—”

“I’m serious, Freya. Slade’s off-limits.” She really didn’t want to discuss her ex again. Especially not tonight, when she was feeling so off-center.

Freya looked as if she was about to say something more but thought better of it. “Fine. Just remember I tried.”

“I will.”

“Did he do something I don’t know about?”

“Probably.” Val lifted a shoulder. “Who knows and who cares?”

Freya opened her mouth, but before she could bring up Slade’s name again, Val said, “It’s Cammie, okay? I haven’t heard from her in over a week.” The old timbers of the house creaked overhead, and for a second, Val thought she heard footsteps. The ghost again, she supposed. Freya thought the house was haunted; she didn’t.

“Hear that?” Freya asked. Unlike Val, Freya was a believer in all things supernatural.

“The house settling.”

“It settled two hundred years ago.”

Val rolled her eyes.

Freya got the message. “Okay, okay. You’re worried ’cause Cammie’s incommunicado. So what? I don’t hear from Sarah for weeks, and she’s my twin. If you believe all the twin literature, we’re supposed to be on the same wavelength and have some special”—she made air quotes—“spiritual connection.” She rolled her eyes and took another sip. “They say we formed a psychic bond from our time together in the womb. Somehow, Sarah never got the message.”

Val ran her thumb over the chipped ridge of her mug. “But Cammie is different.”

“Cammie is probably just busy. You know, doing what nuns do. Praying, doing penance, good deeds, whatever.” Freya wiggled the fingers of her free hand as if to indicate there were a myriad of things keeping Cammie from communicating. “Maybe she’s taken one of those vows of silence.”

“Cammie?” Val questioned. Gregarious, outgoing, flirty, over-the-top Camille Renard? “You do remember her. Right?”

“Oh, yeah.” Freya bit her lip. “Always in trouble.”

“That hasn’t changed,” Val admitted, the uneasy feeling returning.

“I know, that’s really the problem, isn’t it? Cammie just doesn’t seem cut out to be a nun.” Another sip. “Just like you weren’t cut out to be a cop.”