The chief shrugged. “Start calling local Realtors. As far as summer homes go, other than the local grapevine, not much way to tell as long as they’re paying their property taxes. Maybe try the township clerk, see if anyone’s delinquent. That could be an indicator.”

“Okay. Okay.” Cody ran a hand over his bronze-stubbled chin. “What about the Vanderhei kid’s friends? At this point, we’ve got more than enough evidence to subpoena them.”

“We do.” The chief nodded. “But time’s not on our side. I’ll put a call in to Sheriff Barnard and let him know exactly what we’re dealing with here.” His expression was somber. “I don’t think any of the families involved will be interested in seeing this play out in the public eye once they know what their sons have been up to.”

Cody shuddered. “No, I wouldn’t think so. How the hell did this even happen? How did a bunch of frat boys from Van Buren end up here?”

“According to Matthew Mollenkamp, there was a website,” I said.

He gave me a blank look. “A website?”

“Uh-huh.” I went to fetch the department’s laptop, opened a browser, and typed in Schtupernatural.com.

Yep, there was a website.

All three of us stared at it in fascinated revulsion. The banner at the top featured a graphic with someone’s idea of a fairy, a pretty, sparkly fairy with gossamer wings that Amanda Brooks would approve of, kneeling in ecstasy as a faceless mundane man hammered her from behind, her head thrown back, her silvery lips rounding in orgasmic pleasure. The protruding green nipples and cobweb hair were a nice touch.

The site was cross-indexed by species and locale. I clicked through a handful of links. Some of the posts were obviously fake, like the entire vampire forum. I’m sorry, but vampires simply don’t show up in photographs.

Others looked . . . real.

“That’s not right.” Cody pointed a shaking finger at a photo of a werewolf in midshift braced between the spread thighs of a mortal woman, a ridge of sprouting hair running down his spine, his snarling, distorted face pressed against her shoulder, all wrinkled muzzle and pointy teeth. “It’s not!”

“It’s all right, son,” the chief murmured. “Daisy, I think we’ve seen enough.”

I found the want ads. “I just want to check something.” I did a quick search for Pemkowet and came up empty. “Okay, the site’s been scrubbed. Dunham must have deleted his posts.”

“As Lord Stefan Muckety-Muck observed, the unfeeling have a strong sense of self-preservation.” Cody’s tone was bitter.

“Yeah.” I closed the laptop. “Someone tech-savvy could probably retrieve them if it came to it. So what now, Chief? How do you want us to proceed?”