TIFFANY DIDN’T LET me get away that easily. She tried to follow as fast as her short legs would carry her. I just sauntered along, letting my stride eat up the sidewalk. Then my cell rang. “Light My Fire.”

“My Jeep needs a new top,” Adam said in greeting.

“Uh-huh. I thought I mentioned this after I was rained on all the way to Seattle.”

I took a seat on a bench outside the post office. Tiffany stopped ten feet away from me, glowering over her stroller.

“I can’t afford one,” Adam said.

“Oh, right, because you had to replace the brakes two months ago, and the transmission the month before that.”

Tiffany finally moved on. I waved good-bye and turned my attention back to Adam.

“You know what you really need?” I said. “A new car, a grown-up vehicle that won’t break down every few months. Time to lose the surfer-boy-mobile.”

“Off road mobile, which I need for lugging around rock-climbing gear and spelunking gear and horseback-riding gear for a certain someone. Love to see you carrying your saddle on that motorcycle.”

“Um, you’re the one who got me into rock-climbing and spelunking because you wanted someone else to drag along. And you love horseback riding. You just hate to admit it because it’s girly. Is this really why you called? Or are you just unbelievably bored?”

“I need an excuse to phone you now? But yes, the point of this call is that I need a new top for my Jeep. I’m thinking beige this time. Easier to keep clean.”

“Uh-huh. Well, save your pennies and—”

“I’m thinking you’ll buy it for me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Payback,” he said. “For a huge favor.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Not going to ask me what it is?”

“I’m afraid to.”

“Come on.”

“Fine, but requesting the information in no way obligates me to—”

“I surrender. No more Lucas-speak. That ritual Cody was conducting in the Facebook photos? It’s a bastardized version of a very old home-security ritual. It’s complicated, and witches and sorcerers have developed better and faster spells since. It’s not something you’d learn unless your family was out of the supernatural loop, still using the old stuff.”

“It’s real magic, then?”

“Based on real magic, which means Cody Radu is a sorcerer, which is why I called you right away. Stay away from him if you can and if you can’t, dark sunglasses are a fashion must.”

“We’ve already met.”

A pause. “Face to face?”

“Eye to eye. He’s not a sorcerer.” Witches recognize sorcerers on sight, and vice-versa. “He could be a magician”—a minor form of sorcerer—“or a shaman, druid, Vodoun priest, necromancer, somethingwith magic juice, maybe learned the spell from a sorcerer buddy, remembered the basics for frat night.”

“The important thing, though—”

“—is that we’re dealing with a supernatural, which means we’re probably dealing with the killer. Damn. I hate the obvious choice.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions. Just because he’s a supernatural, doesn’t mean someone else isn’t. Oh, and that symbol on the gate? It’s Santeria. A bastardized form. I found it online at a site selling amulets. They claim they’re Santeria, but look like a mix of voodoo and Santeria, which means you probably don’t have a real practitioner.”

“Just the kind of wannabe that keeps occult shops in business.”

“Yep. So, do I get a new top?”

“Better invest in duct tape. Now, I need to run so—”

“Call me later.”

I gave an evil laugh.

“Let me rephrase that,” he said. “Call me sometime later than now, but before midnight.”

“We’ll see.”

fifteen

I still had almost two hours to kill before meeting Cody. I called Jesse to let him know I’d sent the files. He was on the other line and said he’d phone back. I wandered into the first shop I came to—the hardware store where Dorothy claimed Cody and Claire had argued. I was browsing, trying to attract the clerk’s attention so I could ask about it, when a voice behind my shoulder said, “I thought PIs were supposed to be unobtrusive.”

I turned to see Megan. The rest of her group was outside, milling about.

“Getting in a catfight with the main suspect’s wife?” she said. “On Main Street?”

“She started it.”

Megan smiled. “I don’t doubt that. Tiffany Radu is one of those women who believes it’s easier to scare away the competition than to tell her husband to respect his wedding vows. You should have seen her when we first moved here—practically hissing every time we came to town.”

“Did you ever see her facing off with Claire?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Is that the direction you’re looking? Interesting. I can’t say I did, but I’ll ask the girls. Or you can ask them yourself. We’re heading to the diner for an early lunch, if you want to join us.”

“So I’m forgiven for yesterday?”

“You were just doing your job. And I was doing mine. Protecting the business.”

I noticed she said the business, not the girls.

“I might take you up on that. And Alastair? Is he—?”

“Away today, I’m afraid. But we can set up an appointment.”

I glanced out the window. “The new girl seems nervous. Still bracing for the orgies, I bet.”

Megan laughed. “Is that all you think about?”

“I like sex. And from what I hear, so do you.” I turned to go. “Or is it power?”

A good parting line, but I didn’t get more than two steps before she said, “Power,” and I spun back to face her.

“You didn’t expect me to admit it?” she said. “Sure, the sex is a nice bonus, but sex is power, at least when you’ve got a houseful of girls and one man.”

“That’s honest.”

“I thought you’d appreciate it.”

Megan was clearly playing me, having decided I made a better ally than enemy. That was fine. I thought the same about her.