“Hello,” I mumbled, trying, and failing, to keep the sleep from my voice.
“Craft, Jenson here. We’ve got another one.”
I blinked at the daylight playing over my ceiling. Another one? “A murder?”
“Yeah. Another locked room mystery—literally. And a jurisdictional nightmare. Your boyfriend’s already down here.”
“Uh . . .” I frowned. I was barely following this conversation. Maybe it was the groggy haze of being half asleep. No way could Jenson see Death, though as Jenson was a homicide detective, a collector’s presence at a crime scene wouldn’t be completely unheard-of. Still, that couldn’t be what he meant.
I glanced to where Falin had been sleeping last night. The bedding was neatly folded in a pile. I looked around. The apartment was empty, the bathroom door open, and the room beyond dark. I must have been sleeping hard. But Jenson had to mean Falin was there. He certainly wasn’t here.
“The FIB is on the scene?” I asked, feeling a little slow on the uptake. I shook my head to clear it and sat up. The move made me dizzy and I had to pause a moment before asking, “Did you want me to meet you at the morgue when they release the body?”
“Bodies, plural. And no. I’ll give you the address. We need you to get down here pronto.”
“Here as in the crime scene?” I never went to active crime scenes. Well, maybe “never” was an exaggeration, but usually I didn’t get invited officially.
“Yes, the crime scene. My boss and your boyfriend already—”
“Falin isn’t my boyfriend.”
Jenson paused, when he spoke again, I could hear the familiar sneer in his voice. “Fine. My boss and the FIB agent in charge already cleared you doing the ritual on-site. The coroner will clear the bodies in a minute so get your ass down here. Do you have something to write with?”
I scrambled for a pen and grabbed a piece of junk mail off the counter. Jenson gave me the address and I wrapped up the call. Then I stared at the address. I didn’t get called to crime scenes. I just didn’t. But I didn’t have time to wonder about it. I needed to get dressed and on the road.
• • •
The address Jenson had given me was a high-end hotel in one of the ritzy areas of town. Roy and Icelynne had walked through—literally—my front door right before I’d left, so they’d decided to accompany me to the scene. Roy because he fancied himself a PI and Icelynne, well, I think she just didn’t know what else to do with herself. At least she wasn’t crying today. Of course, with her recent trauma, taking her to a crime scene probably wasn’t the best thing, but she was an adult and it wasn’t as if I could stop her. So, the two ghosts sat in the backseat of my car, making me feel like a chauffeur to the dead.
It took me exactly forty-two minutes from the time I disconnected with Jenson to reach the hotel. I anticipated a chaotic scene; after all, Jenson had said more than one division of law enforcement was on the scene and that never led to happy times. What I didn’t expect was for both agencies to be milling about the parking lot. The officers in their blue uniforms were easy to identify, but even the plainclothes detectives were easy to distinguish from the FIB agents—most of the agents looked a little too pressed and polished. Likely because little things like weather and environment didn’t affect their perfect glamour while the wind heralding an oncoming storm whipped at the detectives’ hair and clothing.
The two groups didn’t mingle.
Parking the car in the back of the lot, I walked toward the gathered detectives. Three men broke off from the others. The wind-bedraggled shapes of John and Jenson headed over from among the sea of officer blue and Falin walked toward me from the FIB side. We met just beyond the farthest cop car.
“Hiya,” I said, because I didn’t know the protocol. I assumed since Jenson had mentioned the coroner was ready to release the body that they would roll the gurneys out to the parking lot. It was a little public for my comfort, but that wouldn’t affect my ability to perform the ritual. If an ambulance had been on scene that would have been preferable than out in the open, but I didn’t spot one.
“Alex.” John nodded in greeting. It was far from cold, but considering he’d been a father figure for most of my adult life, the recent distance between us stung. I nodded back, trying not to frown. If John was on the scene, why had Jenson called me. Because John didn’t approve of hiring me?
It was a real possibility. Someone higher up than John must have ordered me to be brought in, and he didn’t look happy about it. Or maybe the scene had been that bad. Whichever the case, his mustache was pulled down hard in a frown.