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I crouched and gingerly peeled back the cape covering the hand. The hand was fresh, no sign of decay. The skin shone unnaturally. Preserved?
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
I was getting on my bike when "People Are Strange" played again.
It was Jesse.
"Looking for an update?" I asked.
"Yeah, I hate to bug you, so if I am, just tell me to go to hell."
