I was betting preserved. In wax it looked like. Which meant I knew what this was—the Hand of Glory. Years ago, one had been planted at our house ... right after a black mass had been staged, complete with dead cats. That had been the work of a half-demon hired by my father, who’d been trying to get custody of me by spooking Paige with the threat of exposure.

I touched the severed hand. Cold, as I expected. Oddly smooth, too, even for wax. I lifted it, wrapped in cloth. From the severed end protruded a bone. A bone that looked ... silver.

I squinted in the dim light. Not a bone, but a metal rod. And the severing cut? Perfectly even.

I was holding a mannequin’s hand.

I grabbed the black cloth and shook it out. Definitely a cape. Under it was more clothing. A shapeless white shirt. A red velvet bustier. And, at the bottom of the pile, more mannequin parts—the other hand and the head. The “stumps” of both had been painted red.

“Props,” I muttered. “They’re props.”

Someone had staged a fake black mass here, complete with fake body parts, probably designed to scare the crap out of someone. Maybe someone supernatural.

I took photos of the props, then put them back the way I’d found them, gave the room one last look, then got out of there.

I WAS HALFWAY to my bike when my phone rang. “People Are Strange.” My ring tone for anyone I don’t know.

“Savannah Levine,” I said.

“Hello, it’s Michael Kennedy. We met earlier?”

“Detective Kennedy. How’s it going? Solve the case yet?”

A small noise that could have been a laugh. “No. I just ... I wanted to apologize for being a jerk at Bruyn’s office.”

“Okay.”

Silence. I let it tick to ten seconds, then said, “If you’re expecting me to say you weren’t a jerk, this will be a very short call. I could point out that you’d already achieved jerk status before the chief’s office, but that would be rude. Apology accepted.”

This time I was sure he laughed. “Well, at least you’re honest.”

“I am nothing if not honest, Detective Kennedy. Now, if you’ll excuse—”

“Do you have plans for dinner?”

Now it was my turn to hesitate. “It was the hot-guy comment, wasn’t it?”

A chuckle. “Could be.”

Liar, liar. I knew what drove this sudden interest.

“Sure,” I said. “Pick me up at the Rose Haven Motel at seven. There doesn’t seem to be anything decent in this town, so we’ll have to go elsewhere. I like Italian and American.”

“A woman who knows what she wants.”

“Always. See you at seven.”

ten

ten

I was getting on my bike when “People Are Strange” played again.

It was Jesse.

“Looking for an update?” I asked.