“I’m David,” David said as he shifted his briefcase and shook her hand. “David Hue. And this is Ray, my assistant. We’re from Were Insurance.”

Ray? As in a little drop of sunshine? I gave him a dry look. I wasn’t incognito, here.

“Ms. Morgan,” I said, extending my hand, and the woman took it briefly with a noncommittal smile. A wave of redwood spilled from her, telling me she was a witch rather than a warlock, and she’d been spelling heavily lately. I wasn’t buying the housewife image—she could probably slam me against the wall. Better be polite.

“I’m Betty,” she said, stepping back and giving her dog another shove. It skittered sideways and parked its little yappy butt in the archway to the dining room. “Come on in.”

David gestured for me to precede him, so eyeing the panting but silent dog happily staring at me, I went in. Betty’s skirt swayed as she set a cordless phone on the table by the door between the huge bowl of wrapped candy and the plate of frosted sugar cookies. Orange pumpkins and black cats. By golly, she bakes, too.

“I understand you have some water damage?” David prompted when the door shut.

A shiver passed through me as it clicked smartly closed. Everything was clean and bright, lit by a high window. The hall was spacious, and clearly the woman was wealthy. The fact that her husband had just died of a heart attack was nowhere on her face or house. Nothing.

Heels clacking, the woman started down the hall. “In the basement,” she said over her shoulder. “This way. I have to say I’m surprised you’re working on Halloween.”

Her tone was slightly sour, and I imagined Betty only offered to be available today as she thought we wouldn’t work on Halloween. No one else did.

David cleared his throat. “We like to settle claims fast. Get your life back to normal.”

Catch you in a lie, I added, looking at the décor. It was all angles and stark colors that made me uncomfortable. It smelled like hard-boiled eggs. On a long table was a big flower arrangement of lilies and black roses. Okay, so someone had cared.

The rapid patter of the dog’s nails at my ankle pulled my gaze down, and the little dog panted happily up at me as if I were his best friend. “Go away,” I muttered, motioning with my foot, and he yapped playfully, dancing around my toes.

Betty halted at an unadorned door painted white, and she turned, frowning at him. “Beat it, Sampson,” she said roughly, and the cheerful little dog sat at my feet, his banner tail sweeping the tiled floor like mad.