Chapter 19

I stopped in the doorway of the Tongues for the Dead office, the morning sunlight streaming in behind me and reflecting off the burnished wood of a large executive desk. A desk that hadn’t been there when Caleb and Holly had picked me up at midnight.

Okay, either I’m dreaming or the desk fairy came overnight.

I blinked, waiting to wake up. I didn’t and the desk was still there. Desk fairy it is.

And the desk wasn’t the only new item. A large leather chair sat primly behind it, a blotter, a phone—which was even more a mystery as we didn’t have a landline—and a computer were placed neatly on the desk’s surface. Against the other wall, the threadbare seat had been replaced with a leather and wood love seat and two matching chairs. And on the wall opposite the main door? A grandfather clock taller than me.

I stepped back out the threshold, closed the door, and stared at the words Tongues for the Dead stenciled on the window, Rianna’s and my name under it. Yes, this was our office.

I opened the door again, expecting the ragtag collection of furnishings we’d had since opening a week ago to have reappeared. No, the expensive lobby decor still filled the lobby.

“Hello?” I said, not expecting an answer. If Rianna had been here—and she never beat me because of the erratic nature of the Bloom’s door—she would have left the door unlocked. Which meant I was alone with an office suite worth more than half a year’s rent.

Or at least I thought I was alone, until the door to my personal office swung open.

I dropped to a crouch, my hand moving to the hilt of my dagger. It was silly really. What did I expect? Burglars? Their MO was to take stuff, not replace junk with better stuff. Or maybe the office was the prop of a serial killer with an executive fetish.

From where I was squatting, the large desk blocked the bottom half of my door, but I expected to see the torso of whoever had opened it. I didn’t. The chair squealed, twisting slightly, and then a thud sounded as small bare feet landed on the top of the desk.

I straightened at the sight of the brownie, who stood maybe two and a half feet tall and nearly as wide. Her long, quill-like green hair trailed behind her, hanging over the back side of the large desk. Her small fists rounded and she pressed them against her hips.

“Ms. B?”

“You’re late,” she said, coal-colored eyes hard as she pointed to the large grandfather clock. The larger hand currently pointed at the three. “I expect you here on time tomorrow.”

“On time?” I repeated like a parrot. It was my business. How could I be late? Of course, I did have the hours posted on the door, and according to them I was, in fact, fifteen minutes late.

I almost asked her how she’d gotten into the locked and warded office, but I knew better. She bypassed the locks and wards on the house just as easily. I took another look around the room. There were even paintings on the walls.

“Is all of this glamour?”

“Of course not. That would never do,” she said, and the way she cocked her head implied she was questioning my general intelligence. She looked about to say more when the phone—the one that shouldn’t have had a live connection—rang. “Tongues for the Dead,” Ms. B said in her gruff voice. She’d never be a phone sex operator, but she did sound surprisingly professional. “Yes, bring them in, we’re ready.” She set the phone back on the receiver and turned to me. “You planning on catching pixies in that trap?”

I blinked, then realized my jaw was hanging loose. I snapped my mouth shut.

The chime on the door sounded and Rianna said, “Oh hello.” But she didn’t step inside and she wasn’t talking to me. Two large trolls ducked under the doorway, not that they could stop ducking after they were inside—the ceiling had only an eight-foot clearance. The first carried four chairs, two with blue velvet seats and silver accents and the other two with green and brass.

“Blue this way,” Ms. B said, and turning jumped from the desk. Her hair rustled as she padded across the floor, which I noticed with more than a little shock was now a deep cherry hardwood instead of the ratty carpet. The small brownie headed into my office, and the troll with the chairs, Rianna and I followed.

My office’s transformation wasn’t quite as drastic as the lobby’s, but then there wasn’t much room to be drastic. My mismatched client chairs were gone, but were quickly replaced by the blue ones the troll was carrying. My chair, which had already been fairly nice, was still there, but I had to do a double take to realize the desk was the same as it had been stripped and refinished.

“I managed to salvage it,” Ms. B said, a note of pride in her voice.

The troll set the chairs down haphazardly. As Ms. B positioned them to her satisfaction, I looked at the other changes. I now owned a filing cabinet stained the same color as the desk and chairs, the broken blinds on my window had been replaced and blue curtains hung around them, and best yet, a mini fridge with a microwave and coffeepot on top sat in the farthest corner.

“Okay, I’m impressed.”

Ms. B clucked appreciatively and then turned toward Rianna. “Your turn, girl.”

She scampered out of my office and across the lobby to Rianna’s. Both trolls followed this time, one setting a new desk in the center of the room and the other placing the final two chairs. Rianna’s room was decorated with the same dark wood as mine, but where my accents were blue and silver, all of hers were green and brass. Desmond even had an oversized green velvet dog bed, which he immediately investigated.

Rianna and I looked at each other, sharing an approving nod.

“The small one goes in the little room,” Ms. B told the troll who still carried one desk, the size a pupil might use in school.

She got a desk for Roy? If he weren’t already dead, I guessed the ghost would keel over from joy. I couldn’t wait until he saw it. But one nagging worry scratched at the edge of my mind.

“Ms. B, how did you pay for all this?”

“From your treasury of course.”

My treasury? I made a mental whimper that I managed not to allow to escape any farther than my thoughts. “So, Faerie money?” I gave a despairing glance at all the beautiful things—which we were going to have to return. Faerie money didn’t remain money long; it turned back into leaves or rocks or whatever it was made from after a few hours, which meant everything was technically stolen.

“Not Faerie money,” the brownie said. Her expression was hard to read because of her very inhuman, coal-colored eyes and lack of a real nose, but she sounded offended.

Rianna elbowed me in the side and whispered. “Coleman made good money as governor. Of course, he also knew how to spend it, but he left quite a bit when he died.”

“I have a vault of money?” My voice sounded far away as I imagined what I could do with an entire vault of money.

“Not anymore.” Ms. B walked back into the lobby.

My shoulders sagged, just a little. “Oh.” Well, at least the office looks presentable, I guess. Though a bit of savings to invest back into the business wouldn’t have been amiss. I bet even Nina Kingly can’t find fault in this setup.

As if my thoughts summoned a client, the door chimed. I turned.

A mousy-looking woman with short cropped brown hair stood just inside the door, her eyes wide as she took in the now lavish lobby.

Ms. B hopped onto her desk. “Welcome to Tongues for the Dead, where not even death can keep secrets.”

That so wasn’t our tagline. Besides, Death was more than capable of keeping secrets. I should know.

The woman looked toward the desk, and her shoulders jumped as her gaze landed on the brownie. “Oh, uh. Hello?”

I stepped forward. “Hi, I’m Alex Craft,” I said, holding out my hand.

The woman gave me a relieved smile. “Kelly.” She took my hand and pumped it a little too vigorously. “Kelly Kirkwood.”

Crap. With everything that had happened with the collectors and then the surprise of Ms. B’s redecorating, I’d forgotten Kirkwood’s widow was supposed to stop by this morning. The collectors’ vague warning unnerved me, but I’d told Kelly that I’d work her case and I would stand by my word. After all, I had a business to get off the ground and dropping my first two cases wouldn’t be the best start.

My hand tingled both from Kelly’s warmth and her grip by the time I reclaimed it. Rianna hovered in her doorway and I motioned her over. “Mrs. Kirkwood, this is my associate, Rianna McBride. We’ll be working your husband’s case together.” That got an eyebrow lift from Rianna, but if Kelly noticed Rianna’s reaction, it didn’t stop her from giving Rianna as enthusiastic a handshake as she’d given me.

Introductions complete, I moved on to the more important matter. “Did you bring the items we discussed?”

“Right here.” She held up a thin manila folder.

“Perfect. Let’s have a seat in my office.”

With any luck, we’d find a pattern we could use to track the rider.

An hour and a half later, Kelly had signed the required paperwork, paid our retainer fee, and then, after I’d promised to keep her up-to-date, she’d left to plan her husband’s funeral. Since then Rianna and I had poured over Kirkwood’s purchases for the three days he’d been possessed. We’d expected the five-star restaurant charges, and as Rianna had noted with Kingly’s cuisine choices, they were in alphabetical order—this time Jeniveve, La Belle, and Le Rouge, which, on a list of Nekros’s five-star restaurants, were directly before the ones he’d eaten at while in Kingly’s body.

“It’s been what, thirteen days since Kingly died? What restaurant is thirteen spaces below Pandora’s Delight—that was the last place Kingly ate, right?” I asked. We were hours from lunchtime, but if we knew where the rider was going, finding him would be a hell of a lot easier.

But do I want to find him? I couldn’t help thinking about the collectors’ visit last night and their warning to let someone else handle the case. But I’d called John after Death had left, and he’d insisted I lacked enough physical evidence to open a homicide case.

Which leaves us to find the rider. That didn’t mean we had to engage him, just find him and then call in the big guns. I glanced at Rianna, waiting for her to check on the restaurant.

She pulled out her phone and in a few clicks, had the search results she’d used the day before. “Problem,” she said, frowning. “There are only nine more five-star restaurants listed.”

Damn. That meant he could be anywhere. Would he start back at the beginning? Or return to favorites? I had no way of knowing.

The rest of Kirkwood’s charges weren’t terribly enlightening. The hotel he’d stayed at was also a five-star establishment, but he’d stayed there both of the nights before he’d doused himself with gas and we didn’t know where Kingly had stayed. The rider had also hired escorts, which I hadn’t even realized Nekros had until I looked up what the—rather outrageous—charges on the card were.

“Why did he go to a ballet?” Rianna asked, pointing to one of the final charges on the card.

I shook my head. “He also attended four movies and went to an art gallery.” I stared at the charges. “What is it doing? I mean, it’s pretty obvious that it’s eating good food, staying in luxurious places, indulging its libido, and all around living the highlife on its victim’s dime before sucking the body dry and jumping to a new one, but why? What’s its point?”

Rianna shrugged. “Does it have to have one? Maybe that’s the extent of it.”

Supernatural identity theft? Yes, but this ended in death, not a battle with creditors.

“There has to be some sort of plan though, right? You don’t just kill people to—” I didn’t finish the sentence because at that moment an excited ghost popped through the door.

“I have a desk! A real desk,” Roy said, his opaque glasses sliding down his nose as he bounced on his toes like a child who’d been promised all the ice cream he could eat.

“I wish I could take credit, but it was all Ms. B.”

“Ms. B? You mean the…?” He pointed toward the lobby.

“Brownie. And yes. She apparently decided we needed new office furniture.” And hadn’t consulted anyone first, which I wasn’t exactly complaining about, we looked a hell of a lot more professional, but she’d appointed herself office manager and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

Rianna gave me a quizzical look. “The ghost?”

I nodded. “He’s excited about his desk,” I said and a moment later lights lit behind Rianna’s eyes as she tapped the grave so she could see and hear Roy. He ignored her, though I knew from what Roy had told me in the past that she’d just lit up like a torch in the land of the dead.

Well, ignoring is better than fighting.

I glanced at the paper in front of me. We needed something to compare Kirkwood’s experiences to. I knew the rider had slept with Allison in Daniel’s body and that while riding both Kirkwood and Kingly it had dined well, but what about the rest? Did the host’s personality have any influence?

“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.”