“South side,” he said. “Along Big Pine Bay. Cuypers and Sons. It’s on the outermost limits, but it’s in range.”

I sighed. “I’ll go. But I didn’t, um, exactly make a good impression on the family.” I picked up the copy of the Appeldoorn Guardian still sitting on the table. “And we’re not exactly their favorite people.”

“That makes it more important than ever to keep up appearances,” the chief said. “Pay our respects.”

“And intrude on their grief,” I said morosely.

He wasn’t cutting me any slack on this one. “No one ever said this job was easy.”

“Right.” Tim Wilkes closed his notebook and stood. “All right, I’ve got enough to get started on here. I’ll be in touch. Meanwhile, keep me in the loop.”

“Will do,” Chief Bryant promised.

Once the detective had gone, Cody rose, too. “Chief, if it’s all right with you, I’ve got a couple more possible leads to run down. Known associates of Ray D that I didn’t get to yesterday. Probably no point, but . . .” He shrugged. “No stone left unturned, right? Daisy, I think it’s best if you lie low until we get word from Ludovic that Al’s off the streets. Stay here, maybe catch up on some filing.”

“Wait.” The chief raised one meaty hand. “Back up a minute. Al?”

At his insistence, we filled him in on the attack of Al the ravening ghoul and its aftermath. I left out the part where Cody got a little furry and toothy in the process, and Cody tactfully avoided mentioning Lurine’s presence. It warmed my heart a little to see him honoring the unspoken eldritch code, which in turn made me think of Jen with a guilty pang. I checked my phone surreptitiously.

Nope, no messages.

Chief Bryant agreed with Cody that I should lie low. “No point in taking unnecessary risks,” he said pragmatically, lumbering to his feet and heading for the conference room door. “And Patty could use a hand in the front office. With everything going on, she’s backed up.”

I sighed again.

Daisy Johanssen, part-time file clerk. Last week I wouldn’t have minded a bit. Now it felt like a bit of a letdown.

Cody grinned at me, his gold-flecked topaz eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s for your own good, Pixy Stix. Don’t worry; it’s only temporary.”

“Hang on.” I caught him before he left, remembering Jerry the bartender’s tattoo. “There’s something I wanted to tell you.”

He listened, looking skeptical. “It doesn’t prove anything, Daise.”

“It fits the reading,” I said. “So did the bottle. That’s the one solid piece of evidence we have that the kids were lying.”