Was Tiffany punishing her husband for screwing around with girls like Ginny? Maybe. But whatever Cody’s hang-ups, I bet there was a touch of the Madonna/whore complex going on. Ginny and her ilk were for wall-shaking sex and Tiffany was for making babies and adorning his arm at company dinners. Only it turned out that Tiffany liked her share of wall-shaking, too. Alastair was a safe outlet—an outsider who was unlikely to ask for any commitment while he had a houseful of young women offering the same goodies.

It was all a little too soap-opera confusing for my brain right now, so I zeroed in on the part that really piqued my interest—finding out that I wasn’t the only witch in town.

BACK AT MY bike, I called Jesse to see if he had a maiden name for Tiffany. He did. Baker. Not exactly as uncommon as I hoped. I asked him to dig a little deeper and see where she was from, maybe get some family details.

“So you’ve got one witch,” he said when I explained. “Presumably married to another supernatural if she’s been showing him rituals. You’ve also got Santeria. Sounds like there’s more to this town than it seems.

My next call was to Paige. I still wasn’t telling her about the case, of course, but she’d be my best source of background on Tiffany.

“I have a local witch,” I said. “But she’s using outdated magic.”

“Which suggests she’s from a family that has slipped outside the network. Well, whatever network still exists for witches.”

I could hear the regret in her voice. Paige works hard to get that network running again, but after the witch-hunts, most witches took a “never again” attitude and disassociated themselves from their magic.

“Maybe,” I said. “But if it’s nearly useless magic, that screams Coven.”

Paige sighed. She’d grown up a Coven witch herself. She didn’t argue, though. The Coven was the worst offender when it came to keeping witches in the Dark Ages of magic, only allowing its members to use old and simplistic spells, like the light ball.

“Her name was Baker,” I said. “Tiffany Baker. She’s a few years older than you, so even if her family left the Coven, you should remember her.”

“I don’t. I’ll check the records, though.”

If Paige didn’t recognize the name, the Bakers hadn’t been part of the Coven, so I told her not to bother. I could handle this one.

I ARRIVED AT the McDonald’s twenty minutes late for my appointment. Cutting through the parking lot, I saw Cody Radu stalking out of the restaurant, another man hurrying along at his side, trying to talk to him.

Cody’s SUV was nearby, so I cast a blur spell, zipped around it, then cast a cover one.

“Every shred of evidence was supposed to be concealed,” Cody was saying as they approached. “That’s your job, Tommy.”

“Yes, and I’ve covered it. If this PI has dug up something, then we’ve got a leak. But that’s why I’m here—to throw her off the trail.”

“Then you’d better work fast. I can handle the bitch. She’s going after Tiff, though, and I won’t take that.”

Had Tiffany told him I’d confronted her? I remembered what Cody had said about me being in town a few days. Only hours later, Tiffany had accused me of coming to her house. Was somebody stalking them? Or had Cody and Tiffany just been under Bruyn’s magnifying glass too long?

“It’ll end,” Tommy said. “As your friend, I promise you it will. As your lawyer, I strongly suggest you get your ass back in that restaurant and wait for her.”

“She’s late.”

“She’s testing you. She’s trying to make you sweat and it’s working.”

Cody snarled something I couldn’t hear.

“Christ, buddy, cool it, okay? I know you’re worried about the shipment tonight, but it’s all under control. Just go back in that restaurant, and when we’re done here, we’ll hit Lula’s place for a couple of hours.” A chuckle. “That’ll get your mind off things.”

“I’m not going back in the restaurant,” Cody said. “I do not give any smart-ass piece of pussy—”

“Hey, guys,” I said walking around the front of the SUV. “Sorry I’m late. I didn’t have a cell number to call.” I held my hand out to Tommy, whom I recognized as the frat brother who’d posted the occult ritual pics on Facebook. “Savannah Levine.”

He didn’t respond right away, too busy ogling to notice my outstretched hand. Then he took it in a firm shake. “Thompson Harris. Cody’s lawyer.”

I grinned. “So I’m already lawyer-worthy? Cool. Let’s go inside then. I’m starving.”

* * *

“HAVE YOU EVER done any modeling?” Tommy asked as I bit into my Big Mac.

It was a line I got a lot. I think every tall, thin, reasonably attractive woman does.

“Not eating like that, she doesn’t,” Cody muttered, waving a hand at my fries, burger, and milk shake.

“I eat this way because I still can,” I said. “After a certain age, my metabolism will hit the brakes and I’ll be stuck with that shit.” I waved at Cody’s salad.

Tommy laughed. “Cody was right. You are feisty.”

“Feisty wasn’t the word I heard him use. As for modeling, let’s just say not in the traditional sense.” I flashed a wicked grin. “But a girl’s gotta pay the rent somehow.”

I bullshitted like a pro, giving Tommy enough hints to send him looking for booty shots online when he should be doing a standard background check. I’m sure he’d tell himself it was business, digging up something to discredit me. Probably even bill Cody for the time he spent porn surfing.

Flirting also kept him distracted enough not to jump in with objections when I questioned Cody. Not that it helped much. Cody knew better than to incriminate himself and I didn’t have enough details yet to ask about the fight with Claire. Instead we spent the time circling, each trying to get a peek at the other’s cards.

Finally Cody got fed up and went to sulk in the bathroom. He was gone a while, doubtless hoping I’d give up and leave. I flirted some more with Tommy, which seemed to convince him I wasn’t anything more than a pretty face. Screwing potential: high. Threat potential: zilch.