The broken energy shapes stirred and drew together, making a sketch of the man that was fast unraveling. The ghost floated toward me slowly, as if weighted. I stretched myself harder against the wall, panting against the pain and pushing my hand toward him until I could feel the agonizing slash and stab of his remaining energy against my fingertips. I scrabbled in the mist, half-blind from the tears that welled over my lower eyelids, until I could hook my fingers into the waning coil of his life.
Held to shape by my touch, he firmed up a little and I had to swallow hard to keep from crying out or throwing up. He wasn’t going to last; I could feel the energy slipping like sand from my grasp.
“What happened to you?” I gasped.
“Don’t know,” he said on a sigh.
“And you don’t know who?”
“The list . . . recent . . . residents . . .” Then he fell apart, and the burning strands of energy tore out of my grip, leaving my palm feeling burned and raw.
I tumbled back onto the floor of the new room, gasping as even the sensation of recent, violent death yanked away and vanished. I dragged myself up onto the bed and hunched into a miserable huddle. My body didn’t hurt as badly as it had a moment ago, but my mind was a startled mess.
Strother might have known who killed him or he might not have, but he’d tried to give me information he thought was more important. The list was the key to the murder of Steven Leung and it didn’t matter whether I or Strother had been the intended victim; the killer’s name had to be on that list.
I straightened myself out, trying to breathe deeply and slowly, pulling myself back together before I staggered to the door and opened it, looking for the nearest cop. I must have looked appalling if the guy’s reaction was any indication; he stared and then jumped away from the wall where he’d been leaning to rush to me.
“Are you all right?”
I was shaking a little and my voice came out unsteadily. “I—I think I know why Strother was here. He was making a list . . . of the year-round residents at the lakes. The ones who moved in about the time Steven Leung went missing. Does he have it? I mean, with him?”
The cop glanced back toward the open door of the other room, and then back at me. “Why are you interested in this list?”
“We were going to discuss it. Strother and I. See if any of the residents knew anything about that time.”
The cop gave me a narrow-eyed once-over, then pulled me with him to the edge of the other doorframe. “Hey, Faith, you guys find a list of any kind?”
A husky man with mussed hair turned away from his observation of the corpse to stand in the doorway and block the view. “So far, nothing like that. Why?”
“Strother told me he was making a list of the year-round residents—the people who might have been around when Steven Leung went missing,” I explained again. “I’m working for the family on this and Strother was going to discuss the list with me. I think that’s why he came here. He should have it with him. If he doesn’t . . .”
“You think his killer took it?” Faith asked, rubbing the side of his head and revealing a glimpse of a long scar under his messy locks.
I nodded, feeling my knees wobble from adrenaline burnout. I wondered for a moment where he’d gotten the scar. He didn’t strike me as a scrapper or a bad boy. He had a calm blue energy currently streaked with red that made me think he was the sort of solid, quiet guy everyone liked, until they were on the wrong end of his resolve.
“Why would they take the list?”
“Because his or her name’s on it?” I suggested.
“Just one of many. Why would he or we make a connection?”
“I don’t know. Strother must have had notes.... Maybe he knew something else that fit one of the names. This is a local problem, so I’d assume local knowledge is the key.”
Faith nodded thoughtfully. “Could be. We’ll look into it. You know, you can go now, if you like.”
“I can? I thought you wanted to hold me. . . .” I knew I sounded like an idiot, but I’d assumed they suspected me—it was my hotel room, after all.
“Nah, you’re clear. Doc says the time of death was about when you were up on the mountain with Tripp. I suppose if you were some clever criminal from one of those cop shows, you might have figured out how to make a phone call from the Log Cabin Resort while you were lying in wait for Alan, but this ain’t a cop show and you couldn’t have been sitting in Tripp’s car at the same time you were knocking Alan’s head in. You’re free to go.”
I blinked at him.
“Really. No bull,” he added. “I’ve got your numbers. I’ll call you to answer some questions, but not tonight.”
“Oh. Well, then . . . could I have my suitcase?”
He thought about it, then had one of the guys in the room bring it to the door. He let me take a change of clothes out of the bag, watching the whole time and making a note of what I took. It was a little annoying, but it gave me a chance to crouch down by the door and look up into the room so I could see the desk. I was glad I’d put the laptop into the back of my truck that morning, since I wouldn’t have to wait for it to be released from evidence, but it wasn’t the only thing that had been on the desk: The license plate from Steven Leung’s Subaru that I’d found in the spell circle beside his house had been there, too. Now it was gone. I didn’t think Housekeeping had tidied it up, so unless the cops found it in Strother’s coat, I would bet the murderer had it now.
I didn’t mention the missing license plate. I didn’t want to explain how I’d gotten it in the first place, and I thought it might be just what the sheriff’s office would need when the time came to play pin the tail on the killer.
Do I need to say mine wasn’t a restful sleep that night? Even after finding another hotel, I’d slept badly because I’d known I couldn’t sleep anywhere near the activity—paranormal and otherwise—of a violent crime scene. I wondered what connection Strother had made, if any, that had brought the killer down on him and why he or she hadn’t resorted to magic this time. Lack of preparation? Too far from the lake? Whatever it was, it looked to me as if the killer had panicked and acted on impulse, not with the care used in Leung’s case. Strother or I had done something to frighten someone.
I also couldn’t help wondering if Willow was involved in Strother’s death. She’d known his first name and seemed surprised or frightened to hear he was outside the greenhouse. Could she have sent Jin, not to help me, but to make sure I stayed out of the way while she went after Strother? What would she have wanted to kill Strother over now rather than days or years ago? Of course, there was also her sister, Jewel, and her overly protective husband to consider, as well as everyone else whose name might turn up on Strother’s list.
Was the list the key? Maybe the killer had just taken it on general principle. Maybe it was the license plate he or she had been after and Strother’s appearance at the scene had just been a coincidence. Maybe Strother had caught the killer stealing the plate . . . but no . . . the ghost would have said so. Strother’s lingering spirit hadn’t known what had happened and he’d been hit from behind, so I’d have to believe Strother hadn’t seen death coming. That, at least, was something to be grateful for.
I’d liked Strother and I felt angry at whoever had smashed in his skull. It looked as if the killer had the power to hide a car after the fact but couldn’t kill victims from a distance. He or she had to—or liked to—kill up close. Or maybe both the murders had been impulsive, without time to plan ahead and cast a spell. Could someone actually cast a spell that would kill someone else at a distance? Would the killer have cleaned up after the death of Strother if there’d been more time? I didn’t know, but the questions tumbled around in my head all night and left me sandy-eyed and tired in the morning.
I had to waste a portion of my morning buying some clothes, since I was pretty sure I wouldn’t get my suitcase back soon, and shop for something to placate a greedy demon, too. Luckily, be it off-season or not, Port Angeles is a tourist town and I was able to find a couple of high-end shops near the ferry dock and the fancier hotels that had a few trinkets I thought might please him. I did wonder if a demon really needed a Swiss watch, but perhaps it would dazzle him into flatout telling me who’d killed Strother. Much as I thought it necessary to solve the bigger problem of the lake eventually, at the moment, I was still angry enough to put that aside if I had
