The detective flipped through his book. “Since he’s dead, and therefore there’s no chance of maligning his reputation…I’ll tell you that I think I can tie him to both incidents. Right now, the man who was wounded in the head last night is still hanging on. If he makes it, I believe he’ll identify his attacker as having dark hair, because when we went through Locke’s house, we found a men’s brunet wig with fine traces of blood splattering on it. The CSIers are already running tests, and I believe that the residue is going to match one or all of our victims. We also have a shoe print from the first scene which happens to look a helluva lot like what Locke was wearing tonight.

“So, yeah, pulling this all together…” More with the flipping through, then another glance at Gretchen. “I’m thinking that Locke was targeting men you’d danced with or for at the club, and that explains those attacks. And it was a stroke of luck—or misfortune was more like it—that he happened to live in the house next to where you guys were tonight. Because he didn’t know that place was yours, right?”

Vin shook his head. “I’d been there like one other time in the last month, and before that…I can’t recall. And I don’t think he knew my name to search the real estate records. Besides, how long had he lived next door?”

“Since he was released from prison.”

“Yeah, she and I didn’t meet but…three days ago.”

De la Cruz made another note. “Okay, I’ve been candid. How about returning the favor…? You want to tell the truth about why you were there?”

Gretchen spoke up before Vin could. “Do you believe in ghosts, Detective?”

The man blinked a couple of times. “Ah…I’m not sure.”

“Vin’s parents died in that house. And he does want to do it over. The problem is…there’s a bad spirit in it. Or was. We were trying to get it out.”

Vin popped his brows. Holy crap. That was fantastic, he thought.

“Really?” the detective asked, his brown eyes going tennis-match between them.

“Really,” Vin and Gretchen said together.

“No shit,” the detective murmured.

“No shit,” Vin replied. “The salt was supposed to create a barrier or some crap, and the incense was to clean the air. Listen, I’m not going to pretend I understand all of it….” Hell, he still wasn’t clear on everything. “But I know what we did worked.”

Because he felt different. He was different. He was just himself now.

De la Cruz flipped to a fresh page and wrote something. “You know, my grandmother used to be able to predict the weather. And there was a rocker up in her attic that moved by itself. What got thrown out the window?”