She'd replaced the garrote with a noose.

  I rolled my eyes. "Much better. Now tell me what it is."

  "Isn't it obvious? It's a website. I included a link to his email account, so he's easy to contact."

  "He doesn't have an email account," I said. "There is no he."

  "There is now," she said. "Look, he's got a website and everything." She looked past me to the stove. "Is my sandwich ready yet? I'm starving."

  I plated her sandwich and handed it over with a bag of chips and a bottle of water. "I think we're getting in too deep with this Sherlock Holmes thing."

  "There's no such thing as too deep." She took a bite of her sandwich. "Besides, how is Watson supposed to have a cyber chat with him if Holmes isn't online?"

  I couldn't argue with that logic.

  "When you think about it," Irene said, "it's a miracle he hasn't searched online for Holmes already."

  "Don't I know it." I added more butter to the pan along with two more slices of bread. "Thankfully he's a busy man."

  "Not too busy to go to Chinatown to look for monkshood," she pointed out. "For you."

  "It wasn't for me." I was pretty sure he'd gone to satisfy his own curiosity and assuage his guilt about having overlooked it in the first place. He probably did that sort of thing all the time. If I hadn't run into him, I wouldn't have even known he'd done it. Which was another nice character trait: he wasn't a braggart.

  "Speaking of which," Irene added, "I've been thinking."

  That was never a good sign. "About?"

  "About the ginger lily under your aunt's fingernails. Didn't you say it was also used as incense?"

  I shrugged. "And?"

  "And, well, let's just suppose for a minute that maybe Watson is right and maybe Albert Fong might not have killed Kate."

  I shot her a look.

  "You know, for argument's sake," she added.

  "Okay, I'll play along. What if Albert didn't murder my aunt?"

  "Well, what if the ginger lily found under her nails wasn't from tea but incense. Maybe used during yoga and in meditation? Possibly by elderly but unnaturally strong yogis who practice in parks."

  I forgot all about my sandwich. "Sunshine Moonbeam."

  "If there's another elderly yogi in the park," she said, "I haven't seen her."

  I thought about it. "She was awfully quick to point the finger at Albert Fong, don't you think?"

  "And he makes a great scapegoat," Irene agreed.

  "The thing is, what reason could she have had to want Kate dead? I can't see Kate complaining about noise from a yoga class, unless they breathed too loudly."

  Irene shrugged. "It could have been just about anything, given Kate's knack for finding problems." She hesitated. "Sorry."

  I waved off the apology. She wasn't wrong.

  "Let's see if we can find out a little more about Ms. Moonbeam." Irene went back to work on the computer while I went back to the stove to rescue my sandwich from being incinerated. It was a little too late, but I scraped off the charred parts and took it to the table anyway. Then I decided it was more than a little too late, so I pushed it aside in favor of the potato chips, which were what I'd really wanted in the first place.

  "Huh," Irene said a few minutes later.

  I looked up. "Did you find something?"

  "No. That's the problem." She tapped away for another minute or so. "There's next to nothing about her, beyond the fact that she owns a yoga studio. We already knew that."

  "Well, she's a senior citizen," I pointed out. "Some of them aren't comfortable using computers." I thought about Sunshine wiggling her toes into the dirt. She certainly seemed like the type who could have an aversion to technology.

  "Maybe that's it," Irene said, but I could hear doubt in her voice.

  We sat there eating potato chips for a few minutes.

  Then I had an idea. "There's one way to find out if Sunshine has ginger lily incense. But I don't think you're going to like it."

  Her eyes brightened. "Get out of my head, Mar. If it's what I think, you're wrong. I like it a lot."

  * * *

  "I don't like this," Irene's disembodied voice said. "I can't see a thing." She had her arms out in front of her zombie-style and was shuffling along inch by inch without actually lifting her feet off the floor. I knew that because I could hear the soles of her shoes dragging along and because she'd poked me in the back three times already.

  I switched on my flashlight just long enough to get a sense of the layout. It wasn't complicated. The yoga studio was mostly narrow, open space with pendant lighting above and hardwood flooring below. Ceiling fans with blades shaped like giant leaves. A doorway off to the left that I guessed was office space. Along the wall to the right, a half dozen low, square ottoman-type seats covered in pale green upholstery.

  I shut off the light. No sense advertising our presence, even though I'd had the forethought to rubber band a piece of gauze to the lens to diffuse the glare. I had to admit, I was feeling pretty genuine PI about that.

  "Thanks a lot," Irene snapped. "Now all I can see are flashes of color."

  "Would you rather walk into something in the dark?" I asked her. "Stay in the center, away from the wall."

  She snorted. "Don't worry. I'm not going to walk into any—ow!"

  I heard the sound of a low, square ottoman-type seat rolling across the floor.

  "I warned you," I said.

  "I think I broke my toe," Irene said. "And my pancreas hasn't even healed yet."

  I put my finger to my lips to shush her, only she couldn't see me either. I could barely see me, and I knew where I was. We were both wearing head-to-toe black, down to matching black ski caps and thin black gloves. My heart was beating in triple time in the vicinity of my throat.

  "Not so loud," I whispered. "Someone might be here."

  "It's midnight," Irene said. "The witching hour. And it's pitch black. Who's going to be here besides Dracula? Oh." I heard her gulp. "I wish I hadn't just said that."

  So did I. It was spooky enough stumbling around in the dark in an unfamiliar place at the witching hour. I didn't need to be thinking about vampires and other things that might be stumbling around in the dark with us. Very little to no ambient light filtered in through the studio's smallish front window. Still, I was afraid to keep using the flashlight, for fear it might draw someone's attention. Like the police.

  Or Sunshine Moonbeam. The midnight hour wouldn't bother her. According to Sunshine, time was irrelevant. I wondered where she lived and hoped it was on the other side of the city. And that she was a heavy sleeper.

  "I don't think this was such a good idea," I whispered. "What were we thinking, breaking into someone's business like a couple of thieves?"

  "We were thinking that Sunshine Moonbeam might have ginger lily stashed someplace," Irene said. "Remember? It's not like we could find out doing yoga in the park."

  True. But we could have found out by visiting the studio in the daylight, like law-abiding citizens. Of course, then we'd have probably had to sign up for yoga class, and I didn't have the money for that. I didn't have the money for bail either, but I didn't plan to get caught.

  Oh boy. I was already thinking like a criminal.

  Irene sneezed. "This place stinks. What is that anyway?"

  "Eucalyptus." From the smell of it, a lot of eucalyptus. It was almost cloying.

  "That's a weird scent for incense."

  I had to agree. Patchouli seemed more up Sunshine's alley. But what did I know?

  "It's getting stronger," she said after a few seconds. I didn't know how she could tell. "We must be getting close to it."

  "It's got to be at that counter on the back wall," I said.

  She sneezed and poked me in the back.

  I stumbled forward and crashed into a stack of yoga blocks. They went tumbling to the floor in every direction. Quietly, because they were yoga blocks.

  Then silence.

  "What was that?" Irene asked. "You walked into something, didn't you?"

  "You pushed me into something," I told her. "Yoga blocks. And there are a lot of them. Watch your step."

  Irene sneezed again.

  I shot her a frown in the dark. "Will you quit that?"

  "I can't help it. It's the eucalyptus." She sniffed. "I must be allergic to it."

  The deeper we went into the studio, the less I could see. And I hadn't been able to see very much to begin with. I switched on the flashlight and swept its beam across the floor ahead of us toward a display case full of crystals, instructional DVDs, and New Age music CDs.

  And incense. Lots of incense.

  "See that?" I asked.

  Irene sneezed and jabbed me in the back.

  "Oh, for pete's sake, will you please stop doing that?"

  "Fine." She sounded a little huffy. "I'll just walk over here, so I'll be sure not to—"

  I heard a muffled sort of thump.

  "Uh-oh," Irene said.

  I switched on the flashlight to see her standing in the middle of a pool of yoga mats that had once been rolled up and stacked in a pile but were now unfurled on the floor like colorful rubber flags.

  She looked over at me. "I didn't think it would be this hard."

  I hadn't thought so either. It was only walking, after all. Well, breaking and entering, and then walking. It wasn't like we were stealing precious gems from a display case rigged with a security system or—

  I froze. "A security system."

  "Huh?" Irene waded through the sea of mats.

  I had to tighten my grip on the flashlight to keep from dropping it. "Do you think Sunshine's got one of those silent alarms that goes straight to the police station?" It had been easy enough to pick the lock on the front door—thanks to my brief stint sitting in on a locksmith training seminar after accidentally locking myself out of my apartment for the third time. It had been a pretty basic model. Nothing terribly sophisticated. But that didn't mean she hadn't done some upgrades inside the studio.

  "I doubt it. She hasn't got anything worth stealing." Irene sneezed and sniffled. "Besides, the universe will protect her."

  "Be serious," I snapped. "I can't be arrested. I can't have a record."

  "Calm down, Marty. Look around. Do you see any tiny little lights?"

  I looked around. I didn't see anything but the edge of the abyss.

  "No sensors, no alarm," Irene said. "Sunshine is old school. I bet she doesn't even lock her car door at night. She probably doesn't even have a car. She just flies around on her magic carpet."

  "Don't underestimate her," I said. "She may be putting on a front."

  "I don't think so," Irene said. "Working in the middle of this stench will kill brain cells. I feel dumber just setting foot in this place." She sneezed.

  I didn't know about dumber, but I definitely felt a sense of urgency to finish our business and get out of there. If I did any investigating in the future, it would be from behind a computer. I wasn't built for this. I wasn't the type to pick locks and poke around in someone else's private space and worry about security systems and—

  "Irene, look!" My flashlight's beam had been scanning the shelf in front of us. Jars of different incense were labeled. Cedarwood, jasmine, lotus. And the one my beam currently had cornered…ginger lily.

  "What do you—" Irene held a finger under her nose to stave off a sneeze. "—know," she finished. "Take some."

  I stared at her. "That's stealing."

  "Okay, then take one."

  I looked at the jar, uncertain.

  Irene blew out a sigh. "Don't you want Watson to see it?"

  Right. He should see it. He should analyze it along with the tea. I reached out to pull a stick from the jar.

  And heard the jingle of keys at the door.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "Tell me I didn't just hear that," Irene whispered.

  "I didn't hear it either," I whispered back. I switched off the flashlight.

  Another jingle of keys and the squeak of a door opening.

  We might or might not have stared at each other for a millisecond—it was too dark to tell—before we scrambled behind the display case and curled up on the floor in two tight little balls. I could feel Irene pressed against me. She was shaking slightly. I was shaking too. I'd had a feeling the night might end like this. Not hiding behind a counter, but cowering in a jail cell. It was inevitable now. The lights would come on, and Sunshine would see us and call the police to haul us away. We'd have to post bail, and we'd probably wind up on the news.

  Lots of luck explaining that to Dr. Watson.

  I still had the incense stick in my left hand and the flashlight in my right. But I didn't have to see to know it had to be Sunshine Moonbeam. So she wasn't a heavy sleeper after all. She could have at least had the decency to be afraid of the dark. Or allergic to night air. Anything to keep her from traipsing around the city in the middle of the night.

  Was it still the middle of the night when you paid no attention to time? That random thought seemed a little too the chicken or the egg at the moment, so I pushed it aside and focused on Sunshine. I could hear her footsteps on the other side of the studio, but she hadn't turned on the lights yet. Maybe she paid no attention to electricity either. That would be fine with me. That would give us a chance to sneak out while her back was turned, maybe avoid that jail cell. All we had to do was wait for her to go into her office and stay there long enough for us to crawl out from behind the counter, feel our way across the entire length of the studio without running into the mine field of yoga blocks or mats or ottomans or each other, get the door open without making any noise, and put this train wreck of an idea behind us.

  No problem.

  Very dim strains of New Age–type music floated across the studio to us.

  Irene lifted her head. She was pinching her nose shut with two fingers to stifle another sneeze. Her voice was a nasal whisper. "What's she doing?"

  I listened for a moment. The music wasn't bad if you were into granola and tie-dye. Since the only thing I was into was escaping without a criminal record, it was the last thing I wanted to hear. Well, after You have the right to remain silent.

  "I don't know," I whispered back. "Meditating?"

  "Take a look," she urged.

  "I'm not taking a look. You take a look."

  "This was your idea. You should look."

  "You knocked half the studio apart," I whispered. "It'll be your fault if she finds us."

  I was quite the team player.

  Irene sighed. "Okay, we should both look."

  I gave a slight nod of assent, which she probably didn't see, so I whispered, "Okay."

  She counted to three, and we raised our heads just far enough to peek through the display case.

  No Sunshine. A dim light flickered and danced from inside her office.

  "Is that candlelight?" Irene asked. "Why's she burning a candle when she could flip a light switch?"

  Why question serendipity? If she flipped a light switch, she'd see the mess we'd left in her studio. I was pretty sure that even Sunshine wouldn't believe in the spontaneous animation of yoga blocks.

  "Who cares?" I said. "Maybe she's got a hot date, and she's setting the mood."

  "For what? A nap? I'm getting sleepy already." I felt her shudder. "Come on. Let's get out of here. I don't want to be around to see whatever she's got planned." She unpinched her nose and stood, staying low.

  I started to get up and hesitated. "Maybe we should wait until she leaves."

  "For all we know, she might sleep here," Irene said. "I know I could. We have to go now, while she's in there and my eyes are still open."

  I couldn't imagine why anyone would give up a perfectly good bed to sleep in a yoga studio, but this was Sunshine Moonbeam we were talking about. Common sense wasn't part of the equation.

  I got to my feet and followed Irene around the end of the display case. So far, so good. Even the smell of eucalyptus seemed to have lifted, probably because we'd grown so accustomed to it. I followed on her heels, still clutching the incense and the flashlight. It was like trying to navigate an obstacle course in the dark. A few times I brushed against an ottoman, or my foot hit the edge of a yoga block. I was so focused on Sunshine's office that I barely noticed.

  Irene had a better avoidance technique than I did. She was feeling her way along, doing a weird kind of hunched-over ape walk across the floor. Another day and time, that would have been funny, maybe even YouTube worthy.

  If it hadn't been happening during the commission of a crime.

  Finally, we made it to the door without sneezing or rearranging the furniture again. I took a sideways glance into Sunshine's office. She was standing on the far side of the small office, her back turned to the doorway, preoccupied with something I couldn't see in front of her. And it wasn't a candle throwing off the flickering light. It was a lava lamp. Which seemed about right for Sunshine.

  Irene had worked the door open with only a tiny squeak, and she jerked her thumb toward the sidewalk. She didn't have to tell me twice. I rushed out behind her into the night. Or morning. Depending on your perception of time, if you had one.

  But I froze as soon as we hit the cool, night air.

  Irene grabbed me by the arm, tugging. "Come on."

  "Look!" I pointed toward the curb. At this time of night, the street was filled with parked cars. And right in front of the studio was an old VW Bug that hadn't been there when we'd entered.

  Irene shrugged. "So?"

  I gingerly put my hand on the hood. It was still warm. No doubt about it, it was Sunshine's car.

  "Come on," Irene repeated. "Let's get out of here."

  I agreed, letting her lead me down the street as I told her about the car Lucy Chu had seen parked across from Kate's house on the night she'd died.

  "You think it was Sunshine's?" Irene asked as we turned the corner.

  I shrugged, looking down at the incense in my hand. "I think I need to get this to Dr. Watson as soon as possible."

  * * *

  An hour later, I was lying in Kate's guest bed in Kate's house, listening to the wind shiver the eaves and rattle the windows, wishing I'd gone back to my apartment. No one had ever tried to break in to my apartment. Even thieves had better things to do with their time than that. But my personal foray into crime had left me exhausted, and it had seemed easier to crash at the house a few blocks from the studio than to drive all the way home.