Unfortunately, the only other person I could think of calling was Lurine, who I figured was still engaged in a marathon shag-fest with a horny satyr. On the other hand, I really did need to talk to her, since she was probably the best person to ask about preventing another satyr-funk incident.

Maybe they took breaks. I gave her a try, but no such luck. So I left a message asking her to call me when she had the chance, then spent the remaining twenty-four minutes tidying my apartment.

The Pemkowet Visitors Bureau, in a charming little shingle-sided building on the riverfront near the main entrance into the town, is adorned with sleek, modern furniture, glossy magazines, and Stacey Brooks’s haughty-faced presence behind the desk since her mother gave her a receptionist’s job there. She was usually yammering into the fancy Bluetooth earpiece of the office phone—why the hands-free option was so important I don’t know, since it’s not like she did anything but answer calls—but not today.

“Daisy.” She greeted me in a snide tone. “My mother’s meeting is running a little late. Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” Determined not to be baited, I sat.

“So I hear there was a big gay orgy out at Rainbow’s End last night.” Stacey arched her perfectly plucked ash-brown eyebrows at me. “I hear you were there.”

“I was.” I fished my Pemkowet Police Department ID out of my bag and showed it to her. “On official business.”

“Oh, please!” She sniffed. “Everyone knows you’re just a file clerk.”

I shrugged.

Stacey let the silence stretch for a moment, but she wasn’t the type to handle silence well. “So what was it?” she asked. “Kevin McTeague heard it was a bad batch of ecstasy, but Jane Drummond heard it was witchcraft.” Lowering her voice, she gave me a significant look. “Was it a succubus thing? A gay succubus thing? Is that why you were there, Daisy?”

Oh, for crying out loud. Despite my resolve, my temper stirred. “I’m not a succubus!”

She smirked at me. “Oh, so it’s just a gay thing?”

Yeah, I know. In this day and age, that shouldn’t be a viable taunt. Especially in a town that prides itself on welcoming diversity, especially coming from the freaking receptionist of the tourist bureau of said town. But there you have it. High school bully tactics never change. I shouldn’t have let Stacey know she’d gotten to me with the succubus thing. Now she’d just keep pushing gay, gay, gay until I couldn’t stand it and issued a denial I knew was (a) perfectly unnecessary, (b) beneath me, and (c) exactly what Stacey wanted.