Inked

That way the baby would be a gift from both of us, you see. Because she loved Steve, too.”

10
    LILY spent a little longer trying to pry out the “thing that was bothering” Mariah, but she was a stubborn, slippery little waif. Had to be, no doubt, to survive her father. Lily did get names and contact info on several of the others in Adele’s little group, and straight answers to some basic questions. Mariah had been home alone, except for her baby, the night Steve was killed. Her neighbor had been home, though. Maybe he could alibi her.
    No, she didn’t know any spells. Adele had offered to teach her some, but Mariah wasn’t interested in that sort of thing. Did Adele know that Mariah had a Gift, then? Maybe. Mariah hadn’t told her, but Adele might have guessed. They used to be really close.
    Used to be, Lily thought grimly as she pulled up in front of a narrow store wedged between a Mexican restaurant and a hardware store. Had their closeness ended when Steve grew especially close to Mariah? Mariah had clammed up when Lily asked that…which pretty much answered the question.
    Mariah’s neighbor hadn’t been able to alibi her. He didn’t say he’d been too high to know if he was home himself, much less his neighbor’s status, but Lily would bet on it.
    She got out of her car, shut the door, then stood there watching the patrol car roll slowly by. It was the same asshole. And that might not be fair, calling him an asshole, because it wasn’t his fault his chief gave shitty orders, but she wasn’t feeling especially fair.
    Practikal Magik was located at the edge of Del Cielo’s tiny downtown, and all the on-street parking was metered. Lily fed the meter a couple quarters on the theory that a touch of paranoia was helpful and she did not want the asshole ticketing her. Then she went to look in the window.
    The display included an array of quartz crystals—clear, pink, and amethyst—several books, a scattering of polished stones, and a large silver-colored cauldron set on a low stool. She couldn’t see inside the store—a gauzy curtain veiled the window behind the display.
    She went to the door. Locked. No note, but it was nearly noon. Adele had probably gone for lunch somewhere. Lily had two numbers for her—one for the store, one for her mobile phone. No answer on either, so she started knocking on doors.
    Adele wasn’t eating at Casa Gomez next door, nor had anyone there seen her, but Lily learned that Adele usually parked her three-year-old Honda in back. A quick check showed that the vehicle was gone. According to the owner and chief cook at the little restaurant—Maria Esperenza Valenzuela Gomez—that wasn’t unusual; Adele often took long lunches, shutting her store for a couple hours or more.
    No, she didn’t know where Adele liked to eat. Adele was one of those people who seem simpática, comprendes? A good listener, yes, with a nice smile, and always offering help or advice. But she says nothing of herself. And her help, it is always the help she wishes to give. Not always the help that is needed.
    Yes, Adele was odd in her ways, but Mrs. Gomez didn’t hold that against her. Did she not herself have a great-aunt who was a curandera? And not a Catholic at all, she added, crossing herself. But Tía Jimena was a good woman, and God understood her heart. But Tía did not talk to strangers about her craft, no, not ever. She lived in the same village in Mexico where she had always lived, and she would not speak with someone from outside, and so she had told Adele when Adele asked.
    After that, Mrs. Gomez said with a shrug, Adele had not offered help and advice so much.
    Wolfbane? Mrs. Gomez knew nothing about that. Tattoos? Oh, yes, Adele used to work at a tattoo parlor in the city. She knew this because her sister’s son had gotten a tattoo there, a dragon of all things, and Felicia had been so upset, but she—Mrs. Gomez—had told her it was nothing, to forget it. It wasn’t a gang mark, was it? Boys need to do foolish things, so thank the good Lord it was nothing more than a silly tattoo.
    After the interview, Lily ate a couple of Mrs. Gomez’s enchiladas, extra hot, at a tiny table while she jotted down notes. They were pretty good, though the “extra hot” should have come with an incineration warning. Then she checked her messages.
    Rule had texted her at eleven. He was going to check out the crime scene. Lily looked up, chewing her lip. She wanted him to call, dammit, not