“Seriously? Then who was that old lady?”

After a loud and lengthy sigh, she started for the exit again and spoke over her shoulder. “Probably your real mother, because we cannot possibly be related.”

I smiled and trotted after her. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

Chapter Thirteen

DON’T GO BUYING TROUBLE.

IT’S FREE AND IT KNOWS WHERE YOU LIVE.

—T-SHIRT

The next morning, I slept until nine, which was understandable since I didn’t go to bed until well past five. My mental state was still leaning toward fluffy when I searched out the coffeepot.

“Morning, Mr. Wong,” I said, my gravelly voice sounding as sleep-deprived as I felt. As I was reaching for the coffee can, I noticed a note lying on Mr. Coffee. He was so romantic. I paused to open the first fold.

What do you call a PI who doesn’t give up?

Hmmm. Several options came to mind. Aggressive. Dependable. Stalwart. Somehow I doubted any of those would be the answer they were looking for. I opened the last fold of the note.

Dead.

Dang. I should have stuck with monosyllabic guesses. Criminals weren’t keen on big words.

As enlightening as that was, I had work to do—so many lives to destroy, so little time—and new locks to buy. Having approximately three minutes to spare after I turned the pot on to brew, I decided to pee. But as I walked past my front door, someone knocked. I stopped, looked around, waited. After a moment, another round of raps echoed in my apartment.

I tiptoed toward the door, vowing that if they were already there to kill me, I was going to be really pissed. I peered out the peephole. Two women stood there, Bibles in hand. Please. That was such a bad disguise. They were probably expert assassins, sent to put two in my head before noon.

But there was only one way to find out. I slid the chain on my door into place and cracked it open. The older woman smiled and started in right away. “Good morning, ma’am. Have you noticed how the world is plagued with bad health right now?”

“Um—”

“That disease and illness have spread to every corner of God’s green earth?”

“Well—”

“We’re here to tell you that it is not always going to be that way.” She opened her Bible and thumbed through it, giving me an opportunity to speak.

“So, you’re not here to kill me?”

She paused, crinkled her thin brows at me, then glanced at her friend before saying, “Excuse me? I don’t think I understand.”

“You know, to kill me. To assassinate me. To put a gun to my head—”

“I think you have us confused with—”

“Wait! Don’t leave.” I closed the door to unchain it. When I swung it open, they took a wary step back. “So, you’re not assassins?”

They both shook their heads.

“You’re Jehovah’s Witnesses?”

They nodded.

This could be a good thing. Maybe they knew something I didn’t. “Perfect. Let me ask you,” I said as the younger one in back let her gaze wander over my attire, which consisted of a Blue Oyster Cult T-shirt that advised people not to fear the reaper and a pair of plaid boxers, “as Jehovah’s Witnesses, what exactly have you witnessed?”

“Well, if you’ll take a look…” The older one was rifling through her Bible again. “As a witness, it is our obligation to separate ourselves from wrongdoers, to purge evil persons from among us, and—”

“Right, right, that’s great.” I interrupted her with a wave of my hand. “But what I really need to know is, can you see, or witness,” I said, adding air quotes for effect, “demons?”

They glanced at each other. The younger one spoke this time, her shoulders straightening in confidence. “Well, demons are simply fallen angels who sided with Satan, the ruler of the world in these end times. It is our responsibility to remain chaste and faithful—”

“But have you ever seen one?” I said, interrupting again. At this rate, I would never get invited to a service.

“Seen one?” the older woman asked hesitantly.

“Yes. You know, in person?”

They shook their heads. “Not physically, no. But if you’ll look at this passage—”

Man, she liked that Bible. I’d read it and could definitely understand its appeal, but I didn’t have time for this. My three minutes were probably up as it was. “No offense, but—and I mean this in the most respectful of ways—you’re not helping.” I closed the door, a little saddened by the confusion on their faces. I just thought that maybe they had happened upon a demon or two on their treks through the city. If I was alone in this, if Reyes was really gone, I needed a way to detect them. But surely Reyes wasn’t gone. He couldn’t be.

I continued my trek to the outhouse and realized the old saying was right: Denial really wasn’t just a river in Egypt.

* * *

After dragging my boneless body into the office an hour later, I stood studying Cookie’s attire. She was wearing a purple sweater with a red scarf thrown around her neck. I tried not to worry.

She looked up from her computer. “Okay, I got a hold of Janelle York’s sister. She was on her way home, but she was kind enough to answer a few of my questions.”

Cool. “And?” I asked, pouring myself a cup. Because sometimes three just isn’t enough.

“She said that Janelle got heavily into drugs after Mimi moved to Albuquerque. Her parents thought it was because they’d had a falling out, but when I asked about Hana Insinga, the sister said she’d tried to talk to Janelle about the disappearance when Hana went missing. Janelle, Mimi, and Hana were in the same grade. But Janelle was outraged when she asked, told her never to mention Hana’s name again.”