That was an interesting question. I ran mentally through the girls I’d known and the relationships I’d had, remembering Thomas’ letter. “They are fascinated by love.” It took too long for me to answer, and there was a sad smile on Rohana’s face.

“Never, E?” she asked. “Nevermind. You’re a guy – the three words cause anaphylactic shock in some of the lesser specimens.”

“Hey!” I retorted intelligently.

“I’m not saying now. A night of hot monkey-love does not a relationship make, although I do expect you to declare everlasting adoration once you taste the icing.”

“How many times?” I asked, and it sounded sympathetic.

“How many roads must a man walk down? How many times have I been hurt by a relationship? How many exits left on the highway before I turn right?” She shrugged. “You’re the one who brought up the L word. The other one,” she added with a grin.

“Ah, spring, when a young man’s fancy turns to lesbians. And poisoning pigeons.”

“Or maybe a squirrel or two. Yes, yes, I’m a geek!” She laughed, hitting the steering wheel with the palm of a hand.

“I was just going to compare parks,” I said, grinning.

We bantered along the way, and she drove up to my place.

I heard the sirens first, but I lived near Colfax and hadn’t really been too concerned. As we got closer and I saw the fire trucks I started to get a little more worried. As I saw the two police cars, and the ambulance in the parking lot, I was past dreading and into the first stages of total freak out.

“I think that’s Tom,” Rohana said. “I’ll find out what’s happening.”

She drove up and popped out of the car. I smelled the smoke first, and then realized the haze in the air was coming from… yeah, from the direction of the rental car.

I should have paid for the extra insurance.

Rohana was joking with a guy who was closing off the hydrant. She did a little twirl in her skirt which I appreciated. I was interrupted from my adoration by the police officer who came up in that “you’re not supposed to be here” kind of walk. A keen observer of the Ministry of Silly Walks, I could recognize an entire array of methodologies from the stroll, the skip, and from my retail employ, the casual shoplifter.

Hey, everyone has a hobby.

“I live here,” I explained before she could say anything. I pulled my wallet out of my back pocket to show my ID and the address. There were a couple of people standing on the way up to my door so I didn’t see any point in trying to go anywhere.

She didn’t say anything, but took my wallet and examined the ID. She turned and said something I missed in a fast radio bleep, and then looked back at me. “Stay here,” she said.

I nodded mutely. Rohana stopped and put her hand up to her mouth as if hearing something terrible. I felt it in my gut.

She was subtle, I’ll give her that. She didn’t quite break off and run towards me, but she started drifting back this way until her conversational partner was called to take the hose back to the truck.

“It’s Sylvie,” she said.

“Wait, what?”

“She had her school ID on her.”

“She’s here?”

Rohana’s eyes moved towards where the two fire trucks blocked our view. The ambulance’s lights came on, but not the siren, and then they turned off as it headed back onto the street.

That was not a good sign.

“I’m so sorry, E,” she said.

“What happened?” I asked. I started moving towards the truck, and then stopped short as Rohana grabbed my arm.

“You’d better wait for the police.”

“What do you mean?”

She gave a knowing look over her shoulder. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Me, too, Princess, me too.”

“Why didn’t you think I was quoting Han?”

“Aren’t you a little too short to be a stormtrooper?” I said, but it was half-hearted at best. I kept looking around to try to figure out what was happening. There were a bunch of people not really moving but all involved in something, the normal scene of an accident. Or highway construction.

She smiled. “Who are you, Master Yoda?”

“There are times in one’s life that one is afraid they’re actually the role of Jar-Jar Binks, in someone else’s saga,” I said as if it were a truism. Maybe it was. The police officer was returning with another and they were not looking happy.

“Mr.,” she butchered my last name, “could you come speak with us for a moment?”

I knew better than to ask if there was a problem, or something stupid like that. I just shrugged. “Call me E. It’s easier.”

“E, then,” the officer I had been speaking with nodded. The other flipped open a small computer of some sort and started taking notes. He had large, dark fingers, but he was very fast on the netbook or whatever it was.

“Can you tell us where you were tonight?” she asked.

I shrugged and gave them the story, the time I left, the place we went, the name of our waiter (actually, Rohana had it on her receipt) and what I had done all day.

“How do you know Sylvia,” and they gave her last name. I had remembered seeing it on some school work, but I don’t think I had ever said it aloud.

“Well, it’s kind of complicated. She and my ex-girlfriend… shared a hobby.” Because, you know, witchcraft was kind of like a sewing circle, right? “She and I were going to go out on a date last night,” I didn’t look at Rohana, “but it didn’t work out.”

The officer with the keyboard didn’t smile at Rohana, but did glance over with a hint of disapproval.

“Did you offer Ms.,” and she used the last name again, “any violence for not wanting to date you?”