“Oh, my,” she said, her eyes shining. “Look at you two. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like you.”

  “Two?” I repeated, frowning as I looked around myself.

  She did a little spin around me and then lifted my hand to examine Cain’s class ring. She smiled then, flashing perfect pearly whites. “Gorgeous.”

  And of all the things, that made me blush.

  “Oh, forgive me,” the lady said. “I am Calliope.”

  I took her hand, and for an awkward moment, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Kiss it? Bow over it? Finally, I just gave it a firm shake. “Darla Rowe, pleased to meet’cha.”

  “Marvelous.” She flashed her million dollar smile again. “And who is your companion, Darla?”

  Chapter Eight

  My brain screeched like someone dragging the needle across a record.

  Most people weren’t aware of Cain when he wasn’t wandering around. Once he was all bottled up inside my body, my own spirit and power shielded him from notice. The fact that Calliope had pegged us the second we came through her door was a bit worrying.

  I figured lying wasn’t going to go over well, and it wasn’t exactly a secret. Taliyah hadn’t asked us not to tell anyone, at least. So, I took a breath, and said, “Cain. Cain Morgan. Former Chief of Police of Haven Hollow.”

  Alright, I probably hadn’t needed to spill all of the beans, and Cain was definitely judging me. But Calliope just hummed and nodded like it all made sense to her.

  “You’ll have to let me paint you sometime.”

  “Uh, yeah, sure, we can do that.” I cleared my throat, trying to stop stammering. “I was kind of hoping that we, er that I, could ask you a few questions, if that’s okay?”

  Calliope’s eyes, the same color of tropical water, sharpened. “Questions? Well, I can’t promise answers, but let’s see what you want to ask.”

  Well, there didn’t seem to be much reason to beat around the bush. And if Calliope couldn’t help us, I’d rather know sooner than later, so I could try and track down another lead.

  So, with a kind of mental shrug, I just blurted out: “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about the art trade in this area? Specifically, the less than legal kind? We’re trying to track down some property for our client that was stolen.”

  “Oh, my.” Calliope’s eyes just about sparkled with interest as a smile took hold of her face. “Well, I don’t deal with that sort of business, myself. But I do hear things, of course.”

  “You do?”

  She nodded. “Sure. People like to talk to me, to tell me things. I suppose I just have one of those faces.”

  She smiled and tossed some of her hair off her shoulders.

  My eyes narrowed. I was suddenly a little suspicious about how I’d spilled my guts about Cain earlier. One of the things I’d learned about the creatures of Haven Hollow was that some of them had the ability to get you to tell them things that maybe you, yourself, weren’t planning on spilling. It wasn’t like they just high jacked your brain or anything like that. It was more that they could... encourage you to tell them what they wanted to know. And I had to wonder if I’d been encouraged to tell Calliope what I just had.

  “I’d be happy to help you,” Calliope continued breezily.

  “You would?” I felt bad being so wary, but one thing I’d learned was that if something looked too good to be true, it absolutely was.

  “Sure,” Calliope gave a languid shrug, but her eyes were bright. “Anything that’s illegal in the art world should be stopped—that’s my way of thinking. So, if you and your tagalong policeman could return something that was stolen…” She shrugged. “Well, I’m happy to help.”

  I was probably making a mistake, but if she could actually help us track down the idol before I got fired and probably got Cain evicted, then I’d have to take it. “Okay,” I said, feeling like I was screwing up. I didn’t need Cain growling in my head to tell me that. “Well, thank you kindly.”

  Calliope clapped her hands. “Marvelous!” She turned then, and started strolling through the gallery, turning her head so she could talk to us over her shoulder. “What is it you’re looking for? A painting? A photograph? A tapestry?”

  “A… statue, I guess. Small. Gold. It’s got gems in it. Old,” I added, in case that mattered.

  Calliope made a little ‘ah’ sound, like I’d answered maybe more than I’d intended to. And I had to wonder, yet again, if there was something in the air that was encouraging me to divulge every thought in my head.

  Calliope paused next to a huge painting set in a frame that was made of a golden wood that gleamed like it had been waxed. Pale blue and pink and violet made up a scene of flowers, pouring out of a white pitcher to flow across the ground, like the petals had turned into a river. Sleepy willows drooped in the background, the leaves making ripples in the flow of flowers.

  It was pretty, if a little too pastel for me. Give me sharp angles and bold colors any day.

  “Do you know why people own art, Darla?”

  I looked away from the painting almost guiltily. I hoped she hadn’t heard my opinion on it or felt it or something. It was a nice enough picture, it just wasn’t one that did anything for me. “Uh…”

  She didn’t leave me hanging, her sweet voice flowing into the spot where I’d dropped the conversation. “People own art, because it makes them feel something. Good or bad, it makes them experience emotion. Either about themselves, or the world, or perhaps it evokes memories, either good or bad. The point is: art makes people feel. It gives them an emotional moment.”

  That was a little deep for my way of thinking, but I got what she meant. I just wasn’t sure where she was going with it.

  “Well, most people,” Calliope corrected herself. “Some people want to own art, to own things, not because they appreciate them or the beauty that they bring to the world. They want to own them, just so others can’t.”

  “Why is that?”

  She shrugged. “Doing so makes them feel important—that only their eyes can look upon something. So, they hoard the art away, keep it away from the world, so they can feel superior.” Calliope’s hands fisted in the skirts of her dress for a second, before she relaxed and smoothed it out again. “The things like the statue that you’re looking for, they can go for a great deal of money to certain people.”

  “Okay,” I said, trying to follow along.

  She turned to me, and gave a smile that was less practiced and perfect than the others, and somehow all the prettier for being real. “There are people who keep an eye out for such things they know that type of person will want. There are whole businesses built around it. They find treasures, and then they auction them off to the highest bidders. That’s the most common fate for things like what you’ve described—and usually, those objects are magic. Or they’re somehow tied to magic.”

  I could practically feel Cain’s interest. She’d dangled a whole black market art ring in front of his nose, and he was all but straining towards it. I had to haul him back. The idol was the reason we were here. We weren’t coppers; we were private investigators.

  That reminded me, I really needed to look into getting a trench coat. You can’t be a real gumshoe if you don’t look the part.

  Calliope turned to gaze up at the painting for a moment, her head tipped to one side. “As it just so happens, I myself have been invited to just such an auction tomorrow night.”

  “Well, I’ll be!”

  “I never go, of course.”

  “Oh. Why not?”

  She shrugged. “The energies of those places are absolutely ghastly. They put me off for days afterward. But you, Darla, might find yourself interested in one of the items on offer.”

  My breath caught in my throat. Holy smokes, did she mean what I thought she meant?

  From the glint in her eye, and the sly curl to her lips, yes, yes, she did.

  “Like I said, I won’t be going. But I could make sure your name is on the list. Whichever name that might be.”

  She was right. I wouldn’t want to stroll into some black-market backroom using my own name. Especially since it was also Lorcan’s name, and Wanda would kill me twice if I brought trouble to her vampire’s door. As far as Lorcan was concerned? I thought he’d probably welcome it. There wasn’t much that Lorcan got in a tither about.

  “You mean it? You’ll help me like that?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I will.”

  “Thank you, Calliope.” I almost threw my arms around her, except she didn’t look like a hugger, and I was trying to at least pretend to be professional.

  “Which name shall I list you under?”

  Oh, right. “Uh, name, a name,” I said as I drummed my fingers against my chin. “How about Lillian?”

  I’d always wanted to be the next Lillian Gish. Now was my chance, at least in name.

  “Very well, and last name?”

  “Lilian…” I glanced at the tasteful bracelets decorating Calliope’s arms. “Lillian Gold.”

  That would work. At least I wasn’t likely to forget it.

  “Of course.” Calliope waved as she moved off deeper into the gallery. “Everything will be set up for you, and I’ll text you the address when they send it.”

  Why is she doing this for us? Cain suddenly asked, and I could feel his suspicion.

  “Can I ask why you’re going out of your way to help me so much?”

  Calliope smiled. “It’s what I do—help people.”

  I was too jazzed to question it further and, who knew, maybe there were people out there who did just want to help—people who didn’t expect nothing in return.

  I doubt that, Cain grumped.

  Well, I was going to give Calliope the benefit of the doubt and figure she was just a real nice lady. Then I turned my thoughts to the fact that Cain and I now had a real, honest to goodness lead. That was exactly what we needed.

  “Thank you again.”

  I was halfway back to my car, and trying to figure out what I should wear to an illegal art auction, when my phone rang.

  I fished it out of my bag and didn’t recognize the number. I answered it with a shrug.

  “Darla Rowe, how can I help you?”

  “What have you managed to find out about the idol?”

  Sophia’s voice was so cold, that even under the sun in the early days of spring, I felt like I needed to check my fingers for frostbite.

  “Oh, Ms. Erepto. Ma’am. I didn’t realize it was you.” I was reeling, trying to get my thoughts in order. I’d been feeling like the cat’s meow, since finding a lead, but now I was crashing right back to earth. And that left me a little winded.

  “Really?” The word should have left ice on my phone. “You didn’t think that I’d be calling? After you ran out of the wake without a word. You didn’t even get the picture you bothered me over.”

  I winced. “I’d gotten a description of the idol, and I felt that it was distinct enough that I would know it when I saw it. I apologize, Ma’am. I just didn’t want to bother you in these trying times.”

  She made a little huff of irritation. “Yes. They are trying. I will ask you once more: what have you found?”

  I squared my shoulders, which didn’t make a lick of sense since she couldn’t see me, but it made me feel better. “I actually just tracked down a lead. It seems that the person who stole your idol sold it, and it’s going up for auction soon.”

  “Auction?!”

  “But don’t worry, Ma’am, I’m going to get it back for you.”

  “Miss Darla, Miss Darla!”

  I shrieked and almost dropped the phone when a ghost popped into the air in front of me. It was the kid who acted like a bellhop at the Hotel. He didn’t have to act the part, since no one ever showed up with any luggage, but I thought it might be his way of being included.

  This far from the Hotel though, the kid was barely more than a smudge of mist with big dark eyes. “Miss Darla! Charlie says there’s trouble! You gotta come quick!”

  “Miss Rowe? Are you still there?” Sophia demanded.

  I fumbled the phone back up to my ear. “Yes! I’m sorry, Ma’am. I’m on the case, and you’ll have your idol back before you know it.”

  The ghost buzzed around in front of me again. “Charlie said you got to come! Something is going on! There’s a big ruckus in the parking lot! Hurry!”

  Holy smokes, this wasn’t good. Charlie wasn’t exactly the kind of guy that was easily flapped. He was dead, after all, and nothing could happen to him. For him to have sent the kid, something really had to be going down. I needed to work my gams and get over to the Hotel, pronto.

  “Where is my idol right now?” Sophia’s voice cracked like a whip. “Where will you be getting it from? What is going on?”

  “Don’t worry, Ma’am.” I waved at the ghost, trying to assure him I was hurrying and to stop yammering when I was trying to hear my client. “I’ve got it handled. I’ll have it for you real soon.”

  And then I hung up before she could speak again.

  I tapped my cell phone against my skull a few times and kissed my job goodbye. Sophia Erepto didn’t strike me as the kind of woman who got hung up on. Or tolerated it. There was no way Mr. Howard wasn’t going to hear about this.

  Well, one crisis at a time, I guessed.

  I hesitated, and then, just in case, I turned my phone off. I didn’t want to deal with Ms. Erepto calling back.

  “Alright, kid.” I slid into the driver’s seat, and the ghost blurred through the door on the other side, hovering above the passenger seat. “Let’s roll.”

  Chapter Nine

  So, the good news was, I’d found Magda Erepto.

  The bad news was that she was in the road in front of the Hotel on the back of some greaser ghost’s motorcycle, doing donuts and whooping it up.

  The pair of them were flying over the curb, up onto the carefully manicured lawn and sending other ghosts scattering for cover, Magda’s dark hair streaming loose behind them like a banner.

  Charlie was standing in the front door, his big arms crossed in front of his chest, his mustache practically bristling up like an angry cat. He wasn’t the type to put up with a lot of nonsense, which was why I was okay with leaving him in charge. Charlie might be a bit of a wet blanket, but he was a good guy.

  I watched as Magda and her fifties beau drove through one of the flower boxes beside the door with a puff of fog, and decided that all this had gone on quite long enough. I couldn’t believe I got dragged off my case for this, but at least I’d tracked down Sophia’s missing grandma.

  With a sharp gesture, I pushed my sleeves back almost to the elbows. Then I brought two fingers up, stuck them in the corners of my mouth, and let loose a whistle that would have shattered the building’s front windows, if they’d been made of glass and not whatever ghostie stuff Damon had built the joint out of.

  All the ghosts in the area whipped around to stare, including our undead Bonnie and Clyde. The motorcycle rolled to a stop in front of me; the engine silencing itself as I folded my arms, one shoe tapping against the pavement.

  “What in the world do you two bozos think you’re doing?” I demanded, real annoyed like.

  The greaser ghost guy just rolled the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other, somehow not dropping it, and whipped out a comb to smooth back his hair. Ignoring the fact that he was dead and things like the wind couldn’t ruffle him, his hair had enough product in it that I was pretty sure it could have doubled as a helmet, so combing it seemed more like a statement than anything else.

  Magda tossed her own hair over her shoulder with a practiced flip every teenager from just about any time period knows instinctively.

  “Relax,” she said, rolling her eyes at me. “Live a little.”

  It would have been cruel to snap at her that she couldn’t ‘live a little’, seeing as how she was dead, so I just sighed instead. Was this how Poppy felt all the time, back when I was haunting her house? I was starting to feel bad for the shindigs I used to throw when I was a ghost. It was just, after being alone for so long, it had been glorious to suddenly be seen by people again, to talk to them. It was like taking a double hit of the giggle water.

  I crooked my finger at Magda. “I need to talk to you.”

  She pouted, actually pouted at me. If I hadn’t seen her appear as a gray-haired bluestocking all done up and straightlaced, I would have thought I’d nabbed the wrong ghost. But no, this was definitely the right one.

  Magda had hiked the skirt of her dress up and done something so that it hung just below her knees, so she could easily kick her leg over the back of the motorcycle. I just shook my head. Then I had a small crisis because, holy smokes, I wasn’t turning into Libby, was I? My zombie ex-roommate made food that was absolutely the cat’s pajamas, but she was a complete Mrs. Grundy about any and everything fun. And the truth was: I’d rather die again than become a square like Libby. There was only so much sewing, cooking, and complaining one woman could do.

  I waved for Magda to follow me into the Hotel, but she turned her back so that she could bend over and plant a smooch on the greaser ghost’s cheek.

  “Thanks for the ride, handsome.” She giggled as she straightened up. “I’ll catch you later.”

  He gave her a smirk and gunned his silent engine before taking off into the sunset.

  I was pretty sure I was getting a headache.

  Magda finally decided to saunter after me, breezing past an unimpressed Charlie who glared as I led her into the restaurant just off the main lobby.

  It was a great spot, where you could hear the music from the ballroom, but the little round booths were cozy enough that you could still hear someone sitting across from you. There wasn’t actually any food to be served, but there were glasses and cutlery laid out. Ghosts might not eat, but they sometimes liked the little trappings of life. It made them feel like they were normal.