The screen lit up again, the magnified eye looming. I wondered why he bothered with a two-way monitor. Maybe just to demonstrate to the outside world that he was alive and capable in case someone called Social Services on him. Or maybe he just thought it was nifty. If the stories were true, he’d been some sort of inventor before he became acutely agoraphobic. While I was pondering, he spat out a name. “Cavannaughs!”

“Excuse me?” Cody said.

“Cavannaughs!” Clancy Brannigan repeated with disgust. “You want to find your grave robber, look for a Cavannaugh. You won’t find the body, though. Bet they’ve chopped it to bits and thrown it in the river. They’re afraid of the curse.”

“What curse?”

“Ask the Cavannaughs. I don’t believe in curses. I’m a man of science.” The screen went dark again. “Good day, Officer,” his disembodied voice said over the intercom.

Ohhh-kay, then.

Cody made a few more attempts at communicating with him, then gave up. “I guess we’ve done our duty,” he said dubiously.

“I guess.” If you ask me, some of the freakiest people in town are the ordinary human beings. “So what now?”

“I guess we talk to one of the Cavannaughs,” he said. Oh, great. The nearest descendants of the Cavannaugh family I knew of were Pemkowet Visitors Bureau ballbuster Amanda Brooks and her daughter, Stacey. And by the amused look on Cody’s face, that’s exactly who he had in mind. “You’ll live. It’s probably for the best that we give Amanda a heads-up anyway.”

Once we were back in the truck, the awkwardness returned in the form of silence. Apparently, violently intense sexual encounters aren’t entirely conducive to a professional working relationship. Who knew? The silence made me fidgety, and fidgeting rekindled that pleasant tingling. Talk about your vicious circle.

“So . . . Clancy Brannigan was supposed to be some kind of inventor, right?” It seemed like a safe topic. “What did he invent?”

Cody answered without taking his eyes off the road. “I think it was the Flowbee.”

“What? The vacuum-cleaner haircut thing? Seriously?” I asked. Cody shot me a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth twitching. I laughed and cuffed him on the shoulder. “Jerk!”

“I don’t know for sure,” he admitted. “I don’t think he invented something that’s a household name. More like he’s the guy who figured out how to make a better widget.”

I was suspicious. “Is there really such a thing as a widget?”

He smiled again. “No. It’s just shorthand for a mechanical I-don’t-know-what. Sounds better than thingamabob.”

I contemplated his profile. “You know, we’re pretty good together, you and I.” I hadn’t meant to say it; it was one of those things that just slips out. Like after a violently intense sexual encounter with someone you’ve had a crush on for ages.