Collectively, the Fairfax clan owned a big tract of property out in the countryside that bordered the county game preserve. Exactly how they divvied it up, I wasn’t sure, but Cody had his own place with a couple acres of woodland within shouting distance of his brother Caleb’s place. His mother and father’s house was a little way down the road, and beyond that, I thought there were an aunt and uncle, as well as a few cousins and their families.

“Hey, there, Pixy Stix!” Cody greeted me from the front porch as I pulled into his driveway. “C’mon up.”

Oh, crap.

He looked different in his own element, more at ease in his skin. He wore faded old blue jeans that fit him in all the right ways and an equally faded plaid flannel shirt, washed until it was paper-thin and soft, worn open over a white wifebeater tank top with Timberland boots on his feet.

In other words, a poster boy for a woodsy “Men of Pemkowet” calendar.

“Beer?” he asked as I approached the porch, dangling the neck of a bottle from one hand.

“Yeah, thanks.” I accepted it with gratitude, trying to ignore the way his damp, freshly washed bronze hair curled around his ears. I tipped the bottle and took a long drink, slaking a thirst that had plagued me since I’d visited Mr. Leary. “Any luck this afternoon?”

“No. You?”

“Yep.” I handed him the folded paper Stefan Ludovic had given me. “Jerry the bartender confessed to giving the kids Ray D’s number. No answer at the number, but that’s it. And that’s the bartender’s home address.”

Cody scanned it, his topaz eyes intent. “Did he say why?”

I nodded. “Drugs. He claims he was just looking to pass the buck and get rid of them.”

He looked up at me. “You believe it?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Neither does Stefan. That’s why he fired Jerry and gave us his address. He thought we might want to have a talk with him.”

“Oh, Stefan, is it?” Cody’s voice was light, but there was an edge to it.

I took another swig of beer, eyeing him. “Uh-huh. We’re on a first-name basis now. He came to report in person. Caused a bit of a commotion downtown.”

He ignored my comment. “What about Al?”

“Al’s in custody.”

Cody exhaled. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.” He tapped the paper. “Did you give this number to Detective Wilkes to trace?”

“I left him a message,” I said. “And I also paid a visit to Mr. Leary to run down any possible mythological spider leads. There’s nothing that fits the bill. He told me to consider Hylas and look for naiads. That we’ve already done. So I think we’re looking at Jerry Dunham and his spider tattoo, Cody.”

He frowned at the paper. “But for what?”