Grave Memory: An Alex Craft Novel (25 page)

“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.