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None of this was making a whole lot of sense.

Because he didn’t think he’d get to the bottom of the whole mess by standing there and brooding, he instead busied himself with putting the leftover pizza — not that there was much, only two pieces, which he planned to eat for breakfast — in the fridge and then clearing away the plates and glasses and loading them in the dishwasher.

The modest amount of cleanup didn’t take very long, however, so soon enough, he found himself standing in the living room, wondering if he should try to watch some TV, maybe the reruns of the poker championships he’d stored on his DVR. That didn’t feel right, though…especially since he planned to make one last run at the casinos tomorrow afternoon while Delia was holding her open house…so instead he headed upstairs and returned to some of the websites he’d bookmarked during his initial research into his poker competitors.

Ty Carter’s face stared at him from the DragonRidge Country Club site, handsome, smiling, but with eyes that still seemed to hold a lot of secrets.

Or maybe that was just Caleb’s imagination. He had to admit something about the guy rubbed him the wrong way, but he supposed he was mostly irritated about the way Ty had made Delia meet him at that haunted house just so he could awaken her latent psychic powers.

If that was even what had happened at all. As he’d already pointed out, Caleb thought it just as likely that those gifts had begun to awaken because Delia had been spending time around him. With a regular person, it wouldn’t matter how long they spent in the company of a partial demon…or angel, he supposed. But because she already had her own psychic power, the one that allowed her to communicate with ghosts, it hadn’t taken too much to get other parts of her brain to begin to wake up.

She’d certainly heard him earlier tonight when he’d coaxed her to try listening to his thoughts. Just a small bit of what had been going through his mind, true, but it still proved she would probably be able to develop her talent further now that she understood how much it might be capable of.

But if Ty was much more than he’d pretended to be, why was it that Jim Whitaker hadn’t been able to find anything inconsistent about his background? There seemed to be clear evidence that Paul Reeves wasn’t the simple carpet cleaner he pretended to be, and yet that didn’t seem to be the case with Ty Carter. Was it simply that the side of the angels was a lot better at hacking government databases and employee records?

Caleb didn’t have the answer to any of those questions. Not for the first time, he thought that his sheltered upbringing in Greencastle hadn’t prepared him for any of this kind of stuff. He’d gotten a very small taste of the real world when he’d gone to California to look for the missing Project Demon Hunters footage, but even though he’d had to lie through his teeth the whole time about who he really was and where he’d come from, it wasn’t as if he’d been tasked with figuring out whether the people he’d been dealing with were who they pretended to be.

Also, back then, he’d been the bad guy. He probably wouldn’t have thought of the situation in those terms, but he’d been doing his father’s bidding, following along with Daniel Lockwood’s wishes because that was what he’d always done.

And his father had never been on the side of the angels.

In a way, the demon hunters had done him a huge favor by banishing the whole Greencastle gang to Hell. At the time, he’d been furious and despairing, thinking there was no way he’d ever be able to free himself from that godforsaken place.

But because he’d been able to escape and the rest of them hadn’t, he could now say he was finally free of his father and his terrible edicts.

Caleb ran a hand through his hair, then closed his laptop. He still didn’t have a lot of answers, but for the moment, he seemed safe enough, and so did Delia.

For now, he’d have to be content with that.

Getting ready for open houses was always kind of crazy. Sure, this wasn’t Delia’s first rodeo…or even her fiftieth…but still, there were so many little things that needed to be handled, from making sure all the signs were placed on the right street corners to ensure the most visibility to deciding which treats would tempt buyers the best, from arriving early to do any last-minute tidying up to reminding herself for what felt like the hundredth time not to forget the flyers she’d picked up from the printer just the day before.

Of course, she didn’t have to worry too much about straightening up the place, just because it was empty and there hadn’t been anyone around to drop crumbs on the shining floors or leave their mail on the table near the entryway. All the same, she found herself roaming around the house, adjusting a picture here or plumping a pillow there, just so the place would look as perfect as possible when the buyers started to arrive.

If anyone came at all. She’d had a few open houses like that, awful wastes of time while she stood there in her uncomfortable stilettos and wondered if events such as those were outmoded in an era of video walk-throughs and 3D models, which were included on most online listings these days.

But Delia reassured herself that the market was very different now, and although inventory was up slightly from its lows of more than a year ago, there were still more interested buyers than there were houses available. That didn’t mean people would snap things up sight unseen, and yet she had a feeling Caleb’s former home wouldn’t be up for sale for too much longer.

That inner pep talk seemed to be just what she needed, especially since several cars pulled up in front of the house and parked just as the hour ticked over to four-thirty, telling her they’d probably been waiting somewhere else to avoid arriving too early.

From then on, she had a steady stream of people coming and going. She handed out refreshments and answered questions, including the ones where people asked if there were any offers on the house. Of course she had to respond, “Not yet, but there’s been a lot of interest,” which seemed to be sufficient to let everyone know that they shouldn’t sit on this one indefinitely.

At six o’clock, Evan Matthews walked in, just as the last of the browsers was leaving.

Because Delia hadn’t heard a single word from the man since she’d shown him the house the week before, to say she was startled was probably an understatement. However, she recovered her composure as quickly as she could and offered him a smile she hoped looked genuine.

“Mr. Matthews,” she said. “I could have given you another private showing if you needed a second look at the house.”

He returned her smile, although something about it didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes. “Well, when I saw you were having an open house, I thought I’d just drop by rather than take up more of your time by making another appointment.”

She wasn’t sufficiently annoyed by his unexpected — and late — arrival to point out that she’d been just about to start closing up the house, and therefore he was intruding on her time almost as much as he would have been if he’d come here for a real showing.

“That’s fine,” she said, glad that years of experience in the industry had taught her how to put on a friendly public face no matter what she might be thinking. “I was just about to tidy up in the kitchen, but feel free to take a look around.”

He nodded. “This won’t take very long.”

Then why come by at all? she wanted to ask, but instead she only inclined her head toward him. “Of course. Just let me know if you need anything.”

“I will.”