I winced when Cody held it up on the end of a stick, remembering that I’d seen a member of the coven with a to-go cup of coffee last night. “Yeah . . . I think that might belong to Sheila Reston.”

“From the tattoo parlor?” he asked.

Busted. I’d been careful not to name anyone until now. “Uh-huh.”

Cody smiled wryly. “It’s okay, Daise. You know I’m the last person in Pemkowet about to call anyone out against their will.”

“I know.”

We had a little moment then, gazing at each other through the lingering rainfall, which was more like a heavy mist at this point. It occurred to me for the first time that I didn’t know how I felt about being with someone who felt the need to conceal his membership in the eldritch community. Not that we were together—I wasn’t foolish or desperate enough to attach any significance to this morning’s unexpected and impulsive hookup—but it was something I definitely hadn’t thought through. I know Cody felt he had the Fairfax clan to protect, but I had an ideal to uphold, too.

After all, I was Hel’s liaison. I was proud of it, and I damn well meant to do everything in my power to keep that title.

I cleared my throat. “Canvass the area for witnesses?”

He nodded. “Police work at its most exciting.”

No kidding.

A couple of hours and some twenty houses later, we had confirmed that no one in the vicinity had seen anything. Well, that’s not strictly true. There were a number of people who’d noticed a bunch of cars and motorcycles congregating in the cemetery around nightfall when our showdown with the Palmer ladies had occurred, but since the gathering dispersed without incident, no one had bothered to report it.

After that, nothing.

I let Cody handle the last few inquiries and took the time to check in with Sinclair.

“I heard,” he said without preamble when he answered his phone. Of course he’d heard the news. The whole town had probably heard it by now. “So what’s up? What’s going on? Do you think it’s related?”

“Other than the fact that someone stole the decayed corpse of Pemkowet’s most infamous murderer, I don’t know what’s going on.” I shifted on the passenger seat of Cody’s truck. Yep, still tingling. “Do you?”

“It was definitely . . . stolen?” Sinclair asked.

“Looks that way,” I said. “Although Hel summoned me last night to warn me that Pemkowet’s dead are restless and may rise, hopefully but not definitely in incorporeal form, and that if we don’t get your grandfather’s duppy contained by Halloween, the gate between the living and the dead may never be closed. Any thoughts?”

He drew in a sharp breath. “Daisy, I am so, so sorry.”