“We certainly do,” I agreed. “And I assure you, what happened on Halloween will never happen again.”

“Well, I should hope not,” the first shopper said in a tart voice. “If you ask me, it was irresponsible of the city to use all those dreadful ghostly appearances to promote itself in the first place. It’s exploiting the dead, may they rest in peace, and putting the living in jeopardy.”

I raised my hands. “You’re preaching to the choir, ma’am.”

That appeared to mollify her. “I’m glad to hear it.”

I watched them make their exit, purchase secured. “Have you been hearing a lot of that, Cas?”

“More than I’d like, Miss Daisy.” He tidied his counter. “What can I do for you today? Has the Night Hag struck again?”

“No, all’s quiet on the Night Hag front. I’m here about something else.” I gave him the background and showed him my sketch, which, by the way, looked like a capital letter C with a cross added to it.

Casimir studied it with a frown, pursing his carmine lips. “It looks familiar, but I can’t place it. It’s not one we use in the practice. Are you sure it’s not a compound glyph? It could be the crescent of Islam combined with a Christian cross.”

“I’m not sure of anything,” I said. “Though I’m guessing he’s probably not a Jihadist for Jesus.”

“Here.” The Fabulous Casimir emerged from behind the counter to peruse a shelf of books. “You can borrow this,” he said, handing me a thick tome titled Dictionary of Symbols. “It’s got everything from alchemical notation to hobo signs. Just be careful not to break the spine.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

As long as I was in the vicinity, I took the book over to the Daily Grind next door to get myself a mocha latte while I skimmed through it. With all the tedious investigation I’d been doing, I figured I deserved a treat.

I started out trying to actually read the thing, but it was pretty dense going, although I did learn that a cat chalked on a residence was a hobo sign indicating that a kind lady lived there. Go figure. I guess that was before the crazy-cat-lady stereotype was born. Or maybe crazy cat ladies were kind to hobos back in the day. Halfway through my latte, I gave up and just started flipping pages, looking for anything that resembled the symbol in my sketch.

Amazingly enough, I found it within ten minutes. “Gotcha,” I murmured with satisfaction, flattening the page. “So what do we have here?”

I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t Hades; and to further confuse matters, the symbol didn’t refer to the Greek deity. It referred to some hypothetical planet that probably didn’t exist.

“Huh.” I sat and thought about that while I finished my mocha latte. Okay, I didn’t know any astrologers, but I did know someone with firsthand knowledge of Greek deities, so I opted to pursue that angle.

“Hey, cupcake!” Lurine answered her phone when I called. “You must have read my mind.”

“I did?”

“I’m over at your mom’s. We’re talking about my spring wardrobe and looking at some gorgeous fabric. Can you get away to join us?”

In case I haven’t mentioned it, my mom’s a seamstress. She started sewing when I was a baby, altering my onesies—and probably diapers, too, come to think of it—because I couldn’t stand to have my tail confined. It turned out she had a real flair for it, and years later, she managed to turn it into a full-time business.

“Sure,” I said. “Can I pick your brain while we’re at it?”

“Absolutely.”

After returning Casimir’s book, I drove over to Sedgewick Estate. It’s a little mobile home community, which is a lot nicer than it sounds by virtue of being located right on the Kalamazoo River. I’d grown up there, and it was a pretty cool place to spend your childhood.

“Hey, Daisy baby!” Mom greeted me at the door of her double-wide with an effusive hug, then held me at arm’s length to give me the maternal once-over. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I smiled at her. “It’s good to see you.”

“You, too.” She patted my hand. “Come on in and see the embarrassment of riches that Lurine brought.”

Mom wasn’t kidding. The entire place was strewn with bolts and lengths of fabric. That wasn’t unusual when she was in the middle of a commission, but this time the array was staggering.

“What did you do?” I asked Lurine. “Buy out the entire stock of Mood?” Mood, by the way, is a fabric store in New York where Tim Gunn always takes the contestants on Project Runway to shop. Unsurprisingly, that’s one of Mom’s and my favorite TV shows, right up there with Gilmore Girls.

“Oh, I just ordered a few things.” Lurine set a glass of champagne on our old Formica dinette and picked up a bolt of midnight blue silk shantung, beckoning to me. “C’mere, cupcake.”

I let her drape a length of it over my shoulder. It had the subtle sheen and texture of a very, very expensive fabric.

“See?” Lurine cocked her head at my mom.

Mom did the make-a-picture-frame thing with her fingers. “Cocktail dress? Maybe a 1950s silhouette?”

“Exactly.”

“You can’t do that!” I protested. “You bought this stuff for your spring wardrobe!”

“Oh, just indulge me.” Lurine tweaked a lock of my hair. “I ordered a lot of fabric that caught my eye for one reason or another. I must have had you in the back of my mind. This isn’t a color for spring, anyway.”