Molly set her laptop on Lexi's dining room table, plugged the machine in, and slapped her notepad on the table.  The sound echoed in the room, a flat smack that denoted irritation.  Ian jumped, but she wasn't actually annoyed.  Of course, having him walking on eggshells around her didn't bother her; since the dressing-down he'd gotten the last time she'd been here, he had been positively rabbit-like.  That was fine with her.  "You're still following me around," she said, glancing at him over the top of the PowerBook's screen.

"I'm just curious," he said.  "I expected you'd have all sorts of ghost-hunting equipment, not just the notepad."

She refrained from rolling her eyes.  It had taken Ian long enough to warm up to the idea of her coming to Lexi's house for a short visit at all, and she was determined to be cordial, even while she was making him twitchy.  He'd avoided her calls for weeks after she'd dressed him down about the missed meeting in Detroit, and while she was glad he was afraid of her, it made it awfully hard to get in touch with Lexi.  Lately a man who claimed to be Lexi's doctor had started answering the phone most of the time.  "Phone jack?" she asked, holding up the modem's cord.

Ian nodded and took it.  Molly carried a twenty-five foot loop of the stuff; you never knew how far it would have to stretch sometimes. 

She was at once glad Ian had let her come up, and annoyed that she felt compelled to ask his permission.  It was Lexi's house, after all.  Unfortunately, she couldn't get through to the lady of the house.  Molly wanted desperately to talk to Lexi, apart from the occasional addled late-night phone call, so she'd decided to pull some vacation time ahead and take a Christmas shift on the newsdesk to make up for it, if she had to. 

Of course it was looking like it would be for naught; when she arrived, Lexi was barely lucid, loopy on antidepressants.  Ian had introduced her briefly to Dr. Zheng, a florid little Chinese man who had assumed the mantle of live-in doctor for Lexi, and then she'd gone right to exploring the house for evidence of Lexi's ghosts.

"So what happens next?"

"It's very exciting, Ian.  I'm going to sit here and transcribe the notes I took while we walked through, while it's still fresh in my mind.  You'll be able to feel the tension in the keystrokes."

"But what are you writing about?  We didn't see any spooks," he added.  There was slightly mocking skepticism in his voice.

She ignored it.  "No, we didn't.  It doesn't matter.  I want to describe the house.  What it feels like.  What it smells like.  The way that the original wallpaper feels under your fingertips as you walk down the hallway upstairs.  The fire damage on Lexi's wall.  Every old house is different and I want to take my readers into the moment."  She typed in her dialup number and let the modem's screech change the subject.  "So, isn't the doctor expensive?" she asked. 

She had hoped that Ian would be taken by surprise, but he merely folded his hands on the table in front of him.  "It's better than having to rush to the emergency room in town, if something happens," he said.  "The funds from the auction are paying for it."

"And how's Lex taking it?"

"Taking what?"

"The cars being gone," she said, pushing her chair back.  Connection made, she clicked open her mail program, fingers dancing on the trackball.  She disliked having to ask Ian things she'd come up here to talk to Lexi about, but decided to make the effort to trust him.  He was looking out for her friend, after all.  She needed to let the Detroit thing go; he'd made an honest mistake, and it wouldn't happen again.  If she kept treating him like an asshole for it though, things certainly wouldn't get any better, and Molly wanted to be on the list of people Ian would call if he needed help or advice.  Grudges were a bad habit of hers. 

"Ah, that," Ian said.  "As well as could be expected, I suppose.  We're trying to get her to sleep less."  Neither of them really wanted to talk about Lexi--at least not to one another--so the subject faltered and died.  Molly fussed with the hair at the back of her neck, looking through her email.  Newspaper stuff, newspaper stuff…here was a note from an editor saying that no, thank you, her ghost column didn't sound like it was for them.  And an email from Glen Grant.  Molly frowned.  The name was vaguely familiar, and curiosity brushed the sting of the rejection note aside.

"So, how do you do...whatever it is you're going to do?  What other tests do you run?"

She smiled.  "There aren't any tests, Ian.  All I do is pass on the stories about the ghosts.  Kind of like modernizing folk tales."  Oh, now she remembered.  She'd met Mr. Grant at the Crane-Packard introduction, in New York, he was another car journalist, and Lexi had mentioned that she'd done an interview with him, or was going to.  It was hard to tell what was in the present or past with Lexi lately.  "I'll spend the night and keep my ears open," she told Ian, plucking at her earlobe for emphasis, "and that's about it.  I'll also contact the town hall, or whatever passes for one, and try to get the history of the house.  Maybe I'll be able to figure out who the ghost might be."

"Purported ghost," Ian corrected her.  "Lexi says she sees ghosts everywhere," he sighed, shaking his head in disbelief.

Molly nodded, dividing her attention between Ian and Glen's email.  He had gotten her contact info from the business card she'd given him, and wanted to ask her about Lexi--specifically, what kind of treatment she was getting.  He added in a postscript that it was off-the-record; he'd seen something that concerned him was all.  "Seen anything yourself?"

"I'm sure I haven't."

"No need to be shy."  Her lips curled in a teasing smile.

"No," he said, meeting her eyes but not matching her amusement.  "I haven't seen anything.  You do realize that she likes to make up stories, don't you?"

"Yes, I do."  His tendency to be condescending was one of the things Molly disliked about Ian.  It made it hard for her to remember how big a help he'd been these past few months.  While he talked she keyed a rapid response to Glen Grant:  Ask me anything. It was coquettish--she remembered Glen being moderately attractive, in a semi-bookish way--and of course she could decide whether she was going to talk about Lexi behind her back or not once she knew what he wanted to know.  She sent the email and said, "Lex does make stuff up sometimes, but we've shared experiences before, and she wouldn't have me up here on a wild goose chase."

Ian nodded, unconvinced.  "You say you've seen ghosts together?"

"More than once," Molly said.  The things that she and Lexi and Cygnet seen as teenagers flitted through her mind, and she decided not to share the details with Ian.  "More than once," she repeated.

"And then newspapers buy your stories?"

"Are you asking lots of questions because you're curious, or because you're trying not to give me the chance to ask any of my own?"  She looked from the computer to Ian and was satisfied to see a slightly guilty look on his face.  "Yes, newspapers buy them.  In fact I'm up to twelve papers a week now."  Yeah, twelve positive responses from three hundred query letters, a sarcastic voice in the back of her head droned. Molly ignored it.  "People like to hear folk tales."

"Do you make a lot of money at that?"

"I have no plans to quit my day job, if that's what you're asking."  Molly stood up and looked around the dining room, idly clicking the "Send & Receive All" icon as she did.  She stretched her back, looking at the ceiling.  There had once been a light fixture over the dining table, probably something ornate judging by the molding that remained, but it was long gone.  The ceiling and walls of the dining room were stained dark with candle-soot.

When Molly brought her head back down, she caught Ian's eyes jumping away from her breasts.  She said nothing; most men did it, and it wasn't the first time she'd seen Ian looking either.  At least he didn't talk to them.  "So what did you sense?" he asked.  The mocking tone was back.

"I told you, I'm not a medium."  There was already email; Glen had responded.  He must be at his computer.  "So tell me more about this Dr. Zheng," she asked.  "I thought Lex was off the suicide watch." 

Glen's question was startling:  Does Lexi have a history of epilepsy or other neurological problems?  She had a grand mal seizure while I was interviewing her, and Mr. Warnock seemed unaware of any long-term health problems.  She was heavily medicated and I was concerned that it might be a reaction.

"She is" Ian said.  "But I can't stay here with her all the time.  I've got to go back to work, and she's not ready to be left alone."

"I understand," Molly said.  "How has she been reacting to the anti-depressants?  You said Dr. Zheng had her on something new?"

"She's been fine," Ian said, pushing his chair back.  "No problems at all."

"I just wondered.  She used to have funny reactions to some things when we were younger."  This wasn't a complete truth, since Lexi's ability to get slightly intoxicated on massive amounts of sugar wasn't something Molly considered particularly funny.

"There hasn't been anything untoward," Ian said.  "I've got a phone call to make.  Will you be using the phone line for long?"

"Just a couple of minutes," she said.

"Oh, before it slips my mind--when Lexi wakes up, if you get a chance to talk to her, I need you to ask her about a few things."

Molly raised an eyebrow.

"I'm just tying up loose ends, and there's a lot of Crane-Packard inventory missing.  Parts, mostly.  It's been inventoried, but none of it is at the factory.  I was hoping Lexi might know if she and Warren did something silly with it."

Something about the way he said it annoyed her.  "Yes, because abject silliness was the business model that they followed."  On her computer, she typed while she talked:  I've never known Lex to have a seizure of any kind, and I. (sitting right in front of me) says she's had no adverse drug reactions.  Is he lying?  Now I have a question for you:  why is he asking me to ask L. where the inventory of C-P parts is, because it's not in the warehouse? And even if I knew--if she wouldn't tell him, why would I? She sent her response as Ian stood up, suddenly afraid he'd walk around the table and see what she was writing about him. 

"I didn't mean to be insulting, I'm sorry.  But you have to admit that they could be unorthodox."

"Indeed.  Why can't you ask her?"

"She's been playing games with me.  I can't tell if she's keeping things from me on purpose, or because of…"  Ian let the sentence hang.  "Anyway, I thought she might be more comfortable talking to you about it.  It reminds her of Ren, and you know how she gets."

Ian's excuse was lame, and she didn't believe it for a moment but pretended to.  There was something going on.  She didn't know what, but something wasn't kosher.  Molly kicked herself for sending the email to Glen.  She'd met the man once, and the last damn thing Lexi needed was another reporter intrigued by what was going on in her life.  They'd only just started to get rid of the first thousand or so.  Still, something wasn't right.  She'd have to email Glen some more and find out what he was thinking, exactly.  Maybe they could do lunch some time, and talk at length about Lexi.  Swap ideas.

The idea had more appeal than it ought to.  She wanted an excuse to talk to Glen some more, and she had no idea why.  There were better people to talk to, however--mutual friends she was more acquainted with.  She started writing an email to Ajax Jaxon.