Did I have water? I had no idea. Yesterday I hadn’t even had a fridge. I opened the mini fridge and discovered that not only did I have water, but it was artesian spring water in glass bottles. I laughed at the absurdity of it. At home I lived on cheap takeout and frozen dinners. Here I had water that probably cost a dollar an ounce.

“So you didn’t find anything in the obituaries?” Rianna asked after I handed her one of the bottles. When I shook my head, she pressed her lips together. “You won’t feel bad if I double-check?”

“Go for it. Maybe you’ll catch something I missed.” I’d searched for hours, but hadn’t run across a thing and Tamara hadn’t mentioned any new bodies arriving at the morgue fitting our pattern. It had been thirteen days since Kingly died, which, if the rider stuck to its schedule of keeping a body for only three days, meant we should have had four more bodies. But I’d found nothing that fit.

Rianna pointed to my laptop with a “may I?” gesture and I nodded. Once my coffee finished brewing, I walked back to my desk and pulled out the scrap of paper where I’d jotted Daniel Walters’s parents’ number. When I’d tracked down their phone number last night, it had been far too late to call. I wasn’t sure now was a better time, after all, it was midmorning on a Thursday, but it was worth a shot. I didn’t have much else to do while waiting for Roy to return with Kingly.

Daniel’s father answered on the second ring.

“Hi, I’m Alex Craft, a private investigator with Tongues for the Dead.”

“Yes?” I’d never realized so much skepticism could fit in one short syllable.

“Well, sir, during the course of one of my investigations your son’s death came to my attention and—”

“We’re not interested.”

“Wait,” I yelled into the phone, trying to catch him before he hung up. The expected click didn’t sound. “Mr. Walters?”

“I follow the news, Ms. Craft. I know who you are and what you do. I respect your right to do magic, but please leave my son and my family at peace. We’ve been through enough.”

“I respect that, sir, and I’m not trying to cause you any more grief, but the case I’m working involves identity theft followed by the apparent suicide of the victim. Did your son have any unusual activity on his bank or credit cards in the three days prior to his death?”

“My son was eighteen, Ms. Craft. He didn’t have a credit card,” the man said, the words harsh and cutting. Then he sighed. “But he did have a card in case of emergencies. The bill arrived yesterday. I haven’t opened it yet.” I heard the floor creak as he walked, then the sound of ripping paper. “Let’s see—” He gasped, and then released a string of curses, his voice thickening with each one.

“Mr. Walters? Mr. Walters.” I wasn’t yelling into the phone, not quite, but Rianna looked up from my laptop and lifted an eyebrow. It took me calling his name twice more before he quieted, and by that point his words were so heavy with emotion, I think it was the threat of breaking down more than me calling his name that made him stop. “Mr. Walters, I’m assuming by your reaction that there are unexpected charges. Are any to five-star restaurants probably”—I racked my brain for which restaurants in town would qualify and alphabetically fall just before Jeniveve—“Isabella’s and two others.”

The other side of the line was silent so long I thought he might not answer. Then he said, “Yes, there’s a charge for over two hundred dollars at a restaurant called Isabella’s. You said you are investigating identity theft and apparent suicides. You believe my son was murdered?”

“We have compelling evidence to point to that conclusion.”

Again silence. “Then why aren’t the police the ones calling me?”

That gave me pause. “I don’t have an answer for that, sir,” I said, which was a nonanswer, but the only one I could provide. “Sir, can you tell me what the other uncharacteristic charges on the card are for? I’m assuming two more restaurants and a hotel?”

He listed them off for me, including more movie tickets, an enormous bar tab at a strip joint—which led to more cursing—and tickets to a show at a community theater. “My son hated musical theater,” he said and I could almost hear his head shaking through the phone. “Have the police opened a murder case? Or a fraud case?”

“I don’t know. I’m working for private clients.”

Silence. Then he said, “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Ms. Craft. I will see that my son gets justice.” The phone clicked as he disconnected.

I felt the chasm of debt open between me and this stranger I’d never met, and it wasn’t a small one, which meant however terse his words, he truly was thankful.

I sighed and set down my phone.

“Well, you’re doing better than me,” Rianna said, turning my computer back around. “You’re right, nothing suspicious or matching the rider’s MO in the obits, and no articles on public suicides. Do you think he took the victim out of state?”

I hoped not. The likelihood we’d be able to track him went down considerably if he did, and we couldn’t strike out on our first two official cases as a newly incorporated PI firm. I started to say as much when Roy popped back into the room.

“One ghost, as requested,” he said, motioning to the middle-aged ghost who appeared behind him.

“Gold star, Roy,” I said, since I couldn’t thank him.

“Yeah, whatever. I’m going to go sit at my desk and wait for a real task in the case.” He sulked his entire way out of the room.

“Why am I here?” Kingly asked, his hands twisting in front of him as he looked around the room.

“You want to know where you were those three days you can’t remember, right?” I said and the ghost nodded. I told him about the restaurants, which currently was the extent of what we knew. His eyes didn’t bug out at the mention of Pandora’s Delight, so I assumed he had no idea what it was. Once I listed off the restaurants I said, “We assume you also stayed at a hotel, but we don’t know which one, nor do we know what else you did.”

“But how can I help? I don’t remember any of it.”

Okay, this was the dodgy bit. “We want to check your credit activity.”

The ghost’s hands clenched at his side. He not only dismissed the idea completely; he adamantly objected. It took twenty minutes of arguing, Rianna and me pointing out that since he was dead his accounts were frozen, and pushing that this could help us solve his murder before the ghost finally relented.

We found much of the same as we had with Kirkwood and Walters: first-class food, escorts, movies, shows, a gallery opening gala, first-rate hotel. Kingly fixated on only one of those.

“I hired whores?” The ghost paced, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “How could I do that? Nina, oh poor Nina, she’ll never understand.”

“One, your body hired them. From what I can gather, you weren’t in control or conscious at the time. And two, I see no reason to share that detail.”

The ghost paused midpace. “You won’t tell her?”

“Not that kind of detail.” I didn’t point out that she’d receive the bill from the credit card company. The ghost was upset enough.

“Alex,” Rianna said, her voice lifting with excitement. “The hotel is the same.” She pointed at the name on the screen and then at the one Kelly Kirkwood had brought us. She was right. Walters had stayed elsewhere, but Kirkwood and Kingly stayed at the same hotel.

So did that mean he’d found a favorite, or had it just been convenient? Could his current body be there now? I had no idea, but now we had a clear pattern of action.

I was comparing our three lists for any other overlaps, from theaters to escort services, when my phone buzzed, dancing across the surface of my desk. I picked it up absently, letting it ring twice more before I glanced at the display.

Then my heart skipped a beat. I knew that number.

Falin.

“Hello?” I said, my voice sounding thin, thready.

“I need you at the morgue,” Falin said, his voice cool and commanding. “I have an emaciated corpse who allegedly committed suicide. He’s fae.”

Chapter 20

“I should perform the ritual,” Rianna said as we passed through security at Central Precinct. “Based on the times the credit cards were typically charged, we only have an hour before the rider indulges in a five-star lunch. That’s not a lot of time, and my eyes recover faster.”

She had me there. I nodded agreement as I submitted to being scanned by a spellchecker wand. The security guard motioned me past, but when he turned toward Rianna he frowned.

“No dogs in the building, ma’am.”

Desmond curled his lips, showing massive canines and as his eyes narrowed, I swear the red ring around his pupil glinted.

Rianna threaded her fingers through his raised hackles. “He’s not a dog, he’s a barghest.”

The security guard blinked at her, and I could almost see the thought “bar guest” crossing his face.

“He’s fae,” I said, before the man actually said the thought out loud.

“A fae dog is still a dog, and we don’t allow pets.”

“But you allow working dogs, right?” I said, which made Desmond turn that glare on me. I ignored him. At the guard’s nod I said, “You saw our credentials and you know we’re headed to the morgue to raise a shade, but did you know that I’ve been blind for up to a week after using my magic?”

“Are you claiming he’s a Seeing Eye dog?”

“Folklore often portrays barghests as guardians who lead lost travelers home,” I said, not answering his question in the least, or mentioning that more often barghests were considered portents of death.

The guard frowned but after a moment’s hesitation, nodded. “Fine, but you need to get him a vest or something.”