For a Few Demons More(78)

Reassured, Jenks glanced into the garden, the sun glinting on his shock of bright yellow hair. “I still say you should’ve let the guys fix the walls,” he said. “What did you save? A hundred bucks? Tink’s knickers, that’s nothing.”

I set the broom aside and shook the trash down in the bag, looking for a twist tie. “I’ll have a big chunk after Trent’s wedding. Unless nothing happens, but what are the chances of that?”

Jenks snickered. “With your luck, nothing will.”

I scanned the living room and tried to decide how to pick up the bag of trash without getting poked by a stray nail or jagged sliver. Though the space was empty and echoing, the walls were back together and the newly uncovered floor was clean. A quick trip to the store for a new piece of baseboard and we could move everything back. Actually, there was no reason to wait for the baseboard. I could move everything back in now, and finish it later. If I hustled, I could get it back before Ivy returned. It might be easier to do it myself than our doing it together.

“Phone’s going to ring,” Jenks said from atop the broom’s handle, and I froze, jumping when it did.

“God, Jenks, that’s creepy,” I muttered as I dropped the bag and went to the hearth. I knew he probably heard the electronics click over, but it was still unnerving.

He was grinning as I plucked up the receiver. “Vampiric Charms,” I said, adopting my most professional voice. I stuck my tongue out at Jenks, and he merrily flipped me off. “This is Morgan. We can help. Day or night, dead or alive.” Where are the freaking pen and paper?

“Rachel? It’s Glenn.”

My breath puffed out, and I relaxed. “Hi, Glenn,” I said, looking for something to sit on and finally moving to the kitchen. “What’s up? You got another job for me? Maybe want to arrest another one of my friends?”

“I didn’t arrest Mr. Hue, and it’s the same job.”

He sounded tense, and since the chance to get money out of the FIB didn’t come very often, I dropped into my chair at the table. My gaze flicked to Jenks, the pixy having followed me in and clearly listening to both ends of the conversation.

“There’s been another Were murder made up to look like a suicide,” Glenn said around the noise of FIB scanners and birds, and I wondered if he was on site. “I’d like you and Jenks to give me your Inderlander opinion before they move the body. How soon can you get here?”

I glanced at my construction-dusty jeans and T-shirt, wondering just what he thought I could do that he couldn’t. I wasn’t a detective. I was a hired spell caster/bounty hunter. Jenks took to the air, darting out the pixy hole in the kitchen screen. “Ah,” I hedged, “can’t I just come to the morgue and look at the body?”

“You have something better to do?”

I thought about the living room and how I wanted our stuff back in it before Ivy got back. “Well, actually…”

“They’re going to try to jerk it out from under me again,” Glenn said, drawing my attention back to him, “and I want you to see it before the I.S. has a chance to doctor the body. Rachel…” His voice took on a hard edge. “It’s Mrs. Sarong’s accountant. You know…the Howlers? He was high in the pack, and no one is happy.”

My eyebrows rose. Mrs. Sarong was the owner of Cincinnati’s all-Inderland baseball team, the Howlers. It was their fish I had tried to recover from Mr. Ray—the same Mr. Ray whose secretary was already in the morgue. I had forced the woman to pay me for my time, actually meeting her in the process. That there had been two “suicides” from two of Cincinnati’s most prominent packs in as many days was not good.

It was obvious someone knew that the focus was in Cincinnati and was trying to find out who had it. I had to get rid of it. The chaos would be astounding if an entire pack could turn humans. Vampires would start culling them. My fingers started to tap the table. Maybe that’s what was already happening? Piscary was in jail, but that wouldn’t stop him.

The sound of wings was a relief, and Jenks came back in dressed for work, a sword and belt in one hand, a red bandanna in the other. “The murdered Were is Mrs. Sarong’s accountant,” I said to him as I stood and looked for my shoulder bag.

“Oh.” Jenks dropped several inches, a guilty look coming over him. “A-a-a-ah, that might explain the message on the machine.”

I covered the phone receiver, unable to hide my exasperation. “Jenks…”

He made a face, leaking silver sparkles. “I forgot, okay?”

“Rachel?” came Glenn’s tiny voice, pulling me back to him.