He arched that eyebrow. “You are what you are, Daisy. In and of itself, passion is no sin. It is deeds that matter in the end.”

“What deed did you commit?” I asked him. “For heaven and hell alike to reject you?”

He was silent.

Behind him, his lieutenants shifted from foot to foot, glancing uneasily at each other with waxing-and-waning eyes.

I winced. “Sorry. We don’t know each other well enough to ask that, do we?”

“No.” Stefan Ludovic accorded me a courtly little bow. “But it was I who overstepped the bounds of propriety first. It’s just . . .” His nostrils flared and his pupils dilated, then shrank to highly controlled pinpoints. “Forgive me?”

I nodded.

He bowed again. “My thanks.”

With that, the trio of ghouls took their leave, lieutenants Rafe and Johnny falling in behind their commander. I waited, listening for the inevitable shrieks of the tourists followed by the coughing roar of three Harley-Davidson motorcycles being kicked to life, throttles open, chugging out of town.

“Damn!” Behind the front desk, Patty Rogan fanned herself. “What have you gotten yourself into, Daisy Jo?”

“Trouble,” I said briefly. “Okay if I clock out for the day, Patty? I’ve got some research to do.”

She made a face. “Go ahead.”

I called Detective Wilkes and left a voice-mail message for him with Ray D’s purported phone number.

I studied the autopsy report, and confirmed that the tox screen of Thad Vanderhei’s blood didn’t turn up anything but alcohol. No methamphetamines, no drugs of any kind.

Okay, so maybe they didn’t score. Or maybe if Jerry the bartender was lying, he was lying about the meth, too. The Tritons had a reputation as a hard-partying fraternity, but crystal meth wasn’t exactly a common collegiate drug, especially at a conservative place like Van Buren College.

But if they weren’t looking for Ray D to score drugs, what the hell were they looking for?

I had a feeling Detective Wilkes was right: We needed to look into this Masters of the Universe angle. I also had enough sense to know better than to tackle it on my own, which is why I decided to look into spider mythology instead. Maybe Jerry’s tattoo symbolized a connection.

For that, I had two choices. I could take my chances at the library with the Sphinx. Depending on her mood, she would either direct me toward the appropriate research materials or pose me an indecipherable riddle. Or I could ask Mr. Leary. Depending on his level of sobriety, he would either treat me to a long series of rambling anecdotes or give me a succinct answer in a lot less time than it would take to do the research. All things considered, I decided on the latter option.