LITMIR.BIZ

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was just squatting there. Behind Mr. Hode. Like it was resting. I know that sounds crazy, but I don’t know how else to describe it. I didn’t even see it at first, it blended with the darkness so well.”

      “You keep saying ‘it’.

      “What?” She turned to face him. They were the only two people in the room. Occasionally, a door closed down the hall or a murmur of voices intruded as someone passed by.

      “What makes you think it was a creature?” His voice was even, but his gaze challenged the idea. “You’d just come from a festival where over two dozen people were roaming around in Fiend get-ups.”

      “That’s true. But this thing was so large.” How could anything of that bulk be human? Her fingers tightened around her cup. “I know it sounds silly. It makes sense someone would try to take advantage of the anonymity of a disguise—especially with the festival going on—but it felt real.”

      “Of course it did. Dark alley. Isolated surroundings. Someone calling for help. Your take is normal, given the circumstances, but I think we can safely eliminate the subject of an urban legend.”

      She wandered back to her chair. “Robbery?”

      “Nothing was taken.”

      “What if I interrupted the attempt?”

      “Unlikely. You said the attacker was squatting behind Hode like he’d been there for a while.”

      Releasing an exasperated breath, she sank back into the chair. “I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

      “You’ve been very helpful, Ms. Sinclair.” Gregg slid her statement across the desk. “Do you want to read over this again before signing?”

      She shook her head and took the pen he offered. She’d already read it twice. “I understand from a friend that Leland Hode has a few people who might wish him ill.” She scribbled her name at the bottom of the report and returned the paper. She knew little about Hode, but since gripping his hand as he’d slipped into unconsciousness, she’d become entangled in his welfare. “There was a man at the festival who was angry with Leland’s son.”

      “I’m aware of that. Dante DeLuca.” Detective Gregg tossed the report into a tray on the corner of his desk. “I’ll be talking with Mr. DeLuca at the first opportunity tomorrow. Officer Anders, who was on duty at the festival, has already been in touch about what happened.”

      She wished the officer were there to add his impression of what had taken place. Could DeLuca’s rant about Pin Oaks be tied to the attack on Leland? She felt like a failure, unable to recall details of the attacker, all because she’d been overcome by the hysteria of an archaic legend.

      “I wonder what Leland was doing in that alley.”

      “Yeah. I wonder, too.” Standing, he switched off his desk lamp. “It’s late. I’ll give you a ride home.”

      “Thank you.” She hadn’t looked forward to the walk.

      He took her coffee cup. “By the way, what’s your impression of your neighbor, Len Kovack?”

      The abruptness of the question caught her off guard. “Who?”

      “Len Kovack.”

      The name sounded familiar but she couldn’t place it. “I’m sorry. I just moved in two weeks ago. The only neighbor I know is the woman next door, Mrs. Bonnifer.”

      “Formerly DeLuca.”

      “What?”

      His mouth tightened. “Imelda Bonnifer is Dante DeLuca’s aunt.”

      * * * *

      It was after ten the next morning when Maya finally wandered downstairs to make a cup of coffee. She’d slept restlessly, awakened now and again by a strange creaking sound she couldn’t place, but too exhausted to investigate. Her dreams had been plagued by a hulking creature who materialized from the fog on a rain-slick road and sent her car spiraling out of control. She’d dreamed of the Aether, the place where she’d lingered between the worlds of the living and the dead after her accident. The nightmares left her tired, feeling despondent. She’d splashed water on her face, brushed her teeth, and dragged a brush through her hair, but had bothered with little else. The circles beneath her eyes were nearly as black as the loose waves of hair brushing her shoulders.

      In the front parlor, she settled into a low-backed chair with a view of the Chinkwe. The water looked darker this morning, tinged with brown as if a storm had chased mud downstream. She must have slept through the rain. Or maybe it had wormed into her dreams, at fault for conjuring the wet, foggy road of her nightmares.

      Sipping her coffee, Maya surfed through the e-mail on her cell phone—a recipe she’d wanted from her sister, a notice her bank statement was available online, and promotional offers from various stores and retailers. The final message was from Ivy.

      Thought you’d like to see these. A few photos were attached.

      Maya grinned at several selfies of them with arms looped around each other, beaming up at the eye in Ivy’s cell phone. The night had been fun. Too bad it ended with Leland Hode in an ambulance.

      Clicking off the phone, she headed down a narrow hallway to the kitchen. A peninsula snack bar separated the cupboards and appliances from the breakfast area where she’d added a small dinette table. The formal dining room, facing the front of the house, was currently empty but for an assortment of boxes. Ivy was due around noon to help her sort through them. Maybe she’d been foolish to rent such a large home when all she really needed was a living room, office, kitchen, and place to sleep.

      Pouring the remnants of her coffee down the sink, she glanced out the window in time to see Mrs. Bonnifer stroll down Chicory Street.

      Dante DeLuca’s aunt.

      Imelda had introduced herself two days after Maya moved in, showing up at her door with a platter of homemade cookies.

      “It might be old-fashioned, welcoming someone with baked goods,” the woman had said as she’d stood on the stoop, the plate balanced on her open palm. “But there are only six of us at this end of town, and I make it a point to know my neighbors. Especially anyone who moves in next door.”

      Maya had invited her in, and they’d chatted for ten or fifteen minutes. Imelda plied her with questions—Where was she from? Did she have family in the area? Where was she working?—all asked discreetly, but with enough finesse to make an investigative reporter proud.

      In return, Maya had learned little from Mrs. Bonnifer. Her husband passed away several years ago. She owned an antique store in downtown Hode’s Hill—Maya later bought an old rocker from her—and she enjoyed gardening. Other than those minor tidbits, Imelda Bonnifer remained a mystery.

      She certainly hadn’t seemed like someone who was overly wealthy, if what Maya had heard about the DeLuca family was true. She’d shown up dressed comfortably in casual capris and a flowered blouse. The only jewelry Maya noticed was a plain gold wedding ring. She thought it touching Imelda still wore the band in memory of her husband.

      Turning away from the sink, she recalled her neighbor’s odd parting. Imelda had stood inside the front door, her gaze roaming the high ceiling and ornate crown molding as she prepared to leave. “Be careful here. This place has history.”

      “Excuse me?” Maya’s words came with a short breath of laughter.

      Imelda tugged open the door. “You need to learn more about Hode’s Hill if you’re going to make it your home.”

      Maya had waved good-bye, confused by the comment. Now, looking back on the discussion, she began to dissect the warning. Be careful here. This place has history.

      Had Imelda really been talking about the town—or the brownstone?

      The rent wasn’t cheap, but the property had stood empty for over eight months according to Ivy. Was that why Hode Development had

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