He nodded, then perched on the edge of his desk. “So who hired you^?”

“Claire Kennedy’s mother.”

“I can check that, you know.”

“Please do. The lead investigator is Jesse Aanes, from the Seattle firm I mentioned. Here’s his card.” I passed it over.

He took it. “So Mrs. Kennedy doesn’t think small-town cops are up to the job?”

I struggled to remember the line Lucas always used. “No, she just hoped a private investigator might be able to ... cut corners.” Not exactly what Lucas would say, but I was improvising. “Go where the law can’t.”

“Huh.”

He held my gaze. I probably should have dropped it, acted deferential, but it took everything I had just to hold it, calmly, not challenging.

“Let’s cut the bullshit, Miss Levine. Maybe you talked Mrs. Kennedy into hiring you, but I know who called you first. It was Paula, wasn’t it?”

“Paula?”

His face darkened. “You really think I’m an idiot, don’t you? Small-town cop doesn’t know his elbow from his asshole. Paula Thompson called you because she doesn’t think I give a shit about what happened to her druggie daughter. She can’t afford to hire a PI, though, so she gets you to hit up Claire Kennedy’s rich parents. Am I right?”

I looked him in the eye. “No.”

He glowered at me and held my gaze. Did Lucas and Paige have to go through this crap every time they spoke to local law enforcement? I was tempted to walk out and dare him to do anything about it. I was even more tempted to practice my new persuasion spell. Memory loss in the recipient was the most common side effect. I could live with that, but there was also the possibility of a three-day power outage for the caster. I’d have to be in serious shit to risk that.