“Roy, you up for your first assignment?”
The ghost beamed at me. “Just say the word.”
“I need you to convince James Kingly to come to the office.”
Roy’s expression fell. “The ghost?”
“No, his dead body. Yes, of course the ghost,” I said, but he looked so crestfallen that I added, “I know you don’t like dealing with other ghosts, but if you run into any trouble of the energy stealing sort, I’ll give you a full recharge when you get back, okay?”
He nodded, but he looked far from thrilled. He didn’t object though, so that was a plus. I got Kingly’s address from the paperwork Nina had signed and read it off to him. Roy’s wave was anything but enthusiastic as he retreated farther into the land of the dead where he could travel faster.
Once he was gone, I looked at Rianna who was watching me with an amused expression, her eyes once again back to normal. “They’re always real to you, aren’t they?”
“Ghosts?”
She nodded.
I shrugged. “Sometimes I’m afraid that one day I won’t be able to tell the difference between who and what is real versus what is slipping through from another plane.” I pushed away from my desk and stretched. I’d been sitting still too long.
Walking over to the coffeepot, I discovered Ms. B had stocked a very nice dark roast bean. I started to prepare enough coffee for two before I remembered that Rianna couldn’t actually drink it and paused, scoop hovering over the filter.
“Do you mind if I?” I nodded at the coffeepot. Rianna just shrugged and a lump of guilt tugged at me. When we’d been at the academy she’d needed her morning cup of coffee just as much as I had. It was downright rude to make it in front of her.
“Oh don’t look like that, Al. And don’t give me that startled face either. I’ve known you too long not to know how you think. Drink your coffee. I listen to your stomach rumble while you watch me eat at the Bloom all the time. I can brave the scent of coffee.” She winked at me and said, “I’ll enjoy it vicariously through you. Though I will take some water if you have it.”
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.”
“Right,” I said, only I was suddenly imagining the shaggy fae in a paisley sweater vest and it was all I could do to keep a straight face.
Once the guard waved the spellchecker over Rianna, he motioned us through the metal detectors, which didn’t make a peep. The fact we were both carrying enchanted daggers that neither the spellchecker nor the metal detector caught was both a relief—because I was armed—and worrisome, as that meant other people could be as well. Once we checked in and clipped on our visitor passes, we headed to the basement.
Falin met us outside the double doors of the morgue. He didn’t smile as we approached, or even say hello. He just nodded with a sort of grunt.
It reminded me of when we first met.
“So, are you going to tell us anything about the body?” I asked as he held open the door.
“I believe you’re the one who is supposed to tell me what happened.”
“Well, first we have some paperwork,” Rianna said, pulling a folder out of her bag.
Falin frowned at her before turning to me and cocking an eyebrow.
“I think this one is pro bono,” I whispered, relieving her of the folder. At her incredulous look, I whispered, “We raise the shade, and if it proves to be connected to our case, we get help from the FIB.”
“Yeah, because the FIB are known for working well with others.”
I glanced over my shoulder at Falin, but his hard expression gave away nothing. I assumed he’d called because now that a fae might be involved, he could legitimately offer assistance on the case while remaining within the bounds of the queen’s edict. But Rianna was right. If we raised this victim’s shade and it traced back to the rider, the FIB might very well try to crowd us out of the case. While I wanted to hand it over to the officials, the FIB wasn’t the group I’d pick. I needed to be able to report results to my clients, and fae involvement could tie my hands—and tongue. Which meant we needed rules before the ritual. Fae loved their damn rules.
I turned and walked over to Falin. “We’re willing to trade our services.”
“And what are you asking in exchange for the ritual?” he asked, not a note of caution in his voice, and an amused glint in his eye as if I was doing exactly what he hoped. Unfortunately that glint could have meant he wanted me to circumvent the queen’s compulsion or that I was playing into a plan far less beneficial to me.
I wanted to believe he held my best interests in mind, so I charged ahead. “That the agent in charge personally assist us in the case we’re currently working.” I added no stipulation that the ritual had to grant him the information he wanted or that it prove to be connected to the case. He should have added those conditions to the agreement, it was standard protocol for fae to try to secure the better deal in any trade, but his lips just twitched to flash a lopsided grin.
“Deal.” And then the grin was gone, the cold, chilly wall erected by the queen’s edict between us again.
Without a word he stepped around me, and headed toward the cold room. I sighed, overly aware of his silence. I might be working with him, but this wasn’t much better than our awkward encounters during those damned raids. I’d hoped that if we shared a case we’d at least manage a civil conversation, but clearly that wasn’t going to happen.
The disappointment hit the bottom of my stomach, making me feel hollow. Not that I could do anything about it. Though I wished he’d try a little harder. Surely he could find more wiggle room in the queen’s command?
With a second sigh, I glanced around. Rianna, Falin, and I were the only ones in the morgue. That never happened.
“Where’s Tamara?”
“On break,” he said as the seal on the cold room door broke with a slurping sound. “This is fae business.”
He vanished into the room and then returned a moment later pushing a gurney. The figure covered under the white sheet was small, no more than four feet.
“He’s not a child is he?” I could normally get a sense of age off corpses, but I’d encountered very few fae corpses and while I could feel that he was definitely male, his age felt undef
inable.
“No, he’s a duergar. They’re a small people. Nasty temperaments, but they are one of the best metalsmiths. I’d gamble the dagger you carry was made by a duergar.”
I had no response to that, so I said nothing as Rianna drew her circle. Falin frowned as she dragged her tube of waxed calk around the gurney.
“You’re not performing the ritual?”
“We have other leads to follow today and I need my eyes.”
The frown didn’t change, if anything, it etched itself deeper. “Can she raise a fae shade?”
Rianna, who had finished her circle and moved to the center, sent a cutting glance in Falin’s direction.
“She’s a very capable grave witch,” I said, but in truth, I had no idea. I could feel grave essence lifting from the duergar, but it felt different from the grave essence that leaked from human corpses.
“I’m going to start now,” Rianna said, and I nodded.
Her circle, a thick purple barrier, sprang into being faster than I could have summoned one, but when she turned toward the small body, nothing happened. I held my breath, willing her the ability to raise the shade. I should have gone in the circle with her. She was by far the better witchy witch, but my grave magic was stronger.
Wind whipped around her, making her red hair fly in all directions. Desmond paced the outskirts of her circle, each step broadcasting his apprehension.
Come on, you can do this.
All at once, the circle stilled, the wind dying down to a light breeze. An almost transparent shade sat up through the sheet. It was a weak shade, but it was a shade.
Rianna sagged as she let out a breath, and the already thin shade wavered, but it didn’t fade.
“Okay,” she said, her voice a strained whisper. “You can question him now.”
Falin glanced at me and I almost told him that his face was going to get stuck in that frown if he didn’t stop soon, but the seriousness in his eyes didn’t leave room for jokes. In fact, it didn’t leave room for me, which hurt even though I knew the queen’s compulsion was behind his frosty demeanor.
Grave Memory: An Alex Craft Novel Page 19
