I didn’t understand what had just happened, except that I’d caught Ben doing something he knew was wrong, and he’d lashed out. I walked back to the hotel slowly, chewing on that.

“Ms. Thraxton says you can go up when you like,” the concierge told me. She had the same bright smile, as if nothing were amiss. Truly, she belonged in the movies.

“Thanks,” I murmured, heading to the private elevator. The trip up took a few seconds. The doors opened, and I stepped into a mirror-covered black-and-white parlor that was like an Art Deco fever dream. At least four Juliets were waiting for me, all wearing black wraparound dresses and satin mules.

“Come into my parlor, Deirdre,” she drawled.

“That makes you the spider and me the fly.”

“Seems right, doesn’t it?”

I moved forward slowly, toward what I hoped was the real Juliet.

“Just so you know, I have a pet python,” she said. “He slithers around, but he’s on the old and slow side, so don’t step on him.”

“Cromwell,” I said, remembering the name. Caro had mentioned reptilian roommates as one of her sister-in-law’s many eccentricities. “Why do you have a python?”

Juliet turned and gave me that funny half-smile of hers. “My father is terrified of snakes. My brother is afraid of large animals, period. Cromwell keeps them out of my space. Now, what brings you to my den of iniquity today?”

“What was Ben Northcutt doing here?”

Juliet raised an eyebrow. “You know him?”

“He’s a journalist. I met him a couple days ago.”

“Digging up dirt on my family, no doubt,” she said. “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing. I didn’t like him.”

“Most people don’t like us either. We’re not very endearing,” Juliet said. “Do you want a drink?”

She didn’t wait for me to answer as she headed into a large room. I followed, stepping gingerly. My boots were made to kick ass, but pythons didn’t exactly have butts.

“I was going to order some champagne,” Juliet said. “But you seem more like the beer type. No offense.”

“I don’t drink alcohol.” I was staring at the large stone statue of an Egyptian deity at the center of the room. It was a man with the head of a jackal. Anubis, I remembered. I’d always loved Egyptian mythology. Anubis had been the god of the dead before Osiris was killed.

“Really?” Juliet looked me over. “You don’t need to be on a diet.”

“I’m not. I just don’t drink.”

She blinked at me, for once without insults. “Okay. Take a seat.”

“You didn’t say why Ben Northcutt was here,” I said, sitting down. “I know he’s writing about you. Why would you talk to him?”