A flicker of anger stirred in me. I tried to tamp it down and failed, a faint scent of ozone creeping into the air around me. “No one’s trying to cover up anything, sir. We’re trying to get at the truth. And you’re not helping.”

He stared at me in disbelief.

In the shocked silence, their younger son, Benjamin, took a seat at the piano and began playing a single, halting musical phrase over and over, his head bowed. It helped me regain my focus.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “That was uncalled-for.”

“Miss Johanssen is upset by your son’s death,” Cody said. “As we all are. I apologize for her behavior.”

The younger Vanderhei boy kept playing.

“Benjamin!” His mother’s voice rose again, cracking and breaking on a shrill note. “Stop it. Stop it this instant!”

He stopped.

“I’d like you to leave now, Officer.” In contrast to his wife’s voice, Jim Vanderhei’s was flat and controlled. “You can tell Chief Bryant that either he can give us our son and let us mourn in peace, or he can give us answers and stop protecting whoever or whatever unholy conspiracy he’s trying to hide. Until he does, I will continue to bring the full scrutiny of the press down upon him. I’ll have his badge and his resignation before this is done. And that’s just a beginning.”

I opened my mouth.

Cody’s hand settled on my shoulder. “Duly noted, sir. I assure you, there’s no conspiracy. We’re just trying to do our job. One last question. Is there a bottle of scotch missing from your bar?”

“No,” he said automatically.

“You’re sure?”

Jim Vanderhei strode over to the bar, pulling out the stopper on the crystal decanter marked SCOTCH. He took a sniff. “Present and accounted for, Officer. Would you like to try it for yourself?”

Cody glanced around the room. “Do you keep additional bottles in store?”

“We do not.” His voice was stony. “This isn’t Pemkowet, Officer. Temperance and moderation are virtues.”

I gritted my teeth.

Cody’s hand tightened on my shoulder. “Understood,” he said. “Once again, I apologize for troubling you.”

Jim Vanderhei gave him a brusque nod. “I want my son back. Tell your chief he’s on borrowed time. Ben, please show our guests out.”

Without a word, the boy rose from the piano bench. We followed him back through the marble foyer. Beneath my lightweight skirt, my tail was lashing uneasily. “What was that you were playing?” I asked. “I liked it.”

“Ravel.” Benjamin glanced at me with his shadow-smudged eyes. “‘Pavane pour une infante défunte.’”

I blinked.

“Pavane for a dead princess,” he clarified. “Not exactly gender-appropriate, but . . .” He shrugged. “It gets the point across.” He opened the door. “Thad was part of a secret society. You should look into it.”