But Ms. Wright had already beaten him to it, lifting the freezer lid and taking a quick peek inside. “Nothing interesting. Just some frozen peas.” She let the lid slam shut and made a note on her clipboard.

“Are you sure?” Dobson asked, giving me a suspicious look.

“I can actually see to do my job, Captain,” Ms. Wright snarked, the first bit of bite that she’d dished out the entire time she’d been here.

He looked at the freezer again, as if he wanted to shove past her, grab the lid, and open it up himself, but in the end he gave her a curt nod. After all, she was the one supposedly conducting the inspection.

I stared at Wright. She didn’t so much as glance at me, but her hand trembled as she scribbled another note on her clipboard. I didn’t know if she really hadn’t seen the maid’s body underneath all the frozen food and bags of ice or if she just wanted to piss off Dobson by not letting him look inside. Either way, I wasn’t about to question my small bit of good luck.

With the so-called inspection complete, Dobson whipped around and shoved back through the double doors, with the uniformed officers following him. Wright headed in that direction as well, although she stopped a few feet away from me and dropped her head, as though studying the ketchup bottles that Dobson had strewn all over the floor.

“Tell Bria thanks again for helping me out with my ex-husband,” she said in a whisper-soft voice. “He’s never getting out, and he’ll never hit me again, because of her.”

So it wasn’t luck that had saved me—it was Bria’s kindness to this woman. I wondered what kind of nightmare my sister had saved her from. It must have been bad, for Wright to return the favor here and now and risk Dobson’s wrath.

She hurried after the cops. I waited several seconds, then followed her into the storefront.

By this point, Catalina had cashed out all of the customers except for two—Madeline and Emery, who were still seated in their booth, calmly eating the rest of their food. Of course they were. They knew that nothing was wrong with it and that the only things dirty and rotten in here were the two of them, along with their flunky Dobson.

If it had just been the three of us in the restaurant, I would have palmed one of my knives and attacked them, consequences be damned. But I knew that’s exactly what Madeline wanted—for me to lose control, fly into a rage, and assault her and Emery in front of the cops.

So I focused on remaining calm and pressed my fingertips against the scars in my palms, letting the feel of the runes center me. I was the Spider, and Fletcher had taught me to be patient above all else.

“So what’s the verdict?” Dobson asked Ms. Wright, as if he didn’t already know what he’d bullied or bribed her into saying.

The health inspector sighed, tore the top piece of paper off her clipboard, and passed it over to him. Dobson made a pretense of reading the paper, even though everyone knew that he was the one in charge here—not Wright.

“Well, I’m afraid that our tips were right,” he said in a smug voice that told everyone that he wasn’t sorry at all. “I’m sad to say that your restaurant has totally failed inspection on all counts, Ms. Blanco.”

“So how much will the fine be?” I asked.

I expected him to quote some ridiculous figure upward of a hundred thousand dollars, most of which would no doubt end up in his own pocket. But instead, he gave me a cruel, calculating smile that made that cold unease surge through my body again.

“Oh, there’s no fine,” Dobson crowed. “I’m afraid the violations are far too severe for that.”

I knew what he was going to say next, but that still didn’t lessen the impact of his booming voice and harsh words.

“The Pork Pit is closed.”

7

His words hit me like a shot to the heart—hard, brutal, and utterly ruthless.

It was one thing to accuse me of murder in front of my customers. Really, it wasn’t anything at all, given all the folks I’d helped move on from this life to the next over the years. It wasn’t an accusation so much as it was a fact. Many, many times over.

But shutting down the Pork Pit, closing my gin joint, that was like carving out a piece of my soul—one that I didn’t know how to live without.

And Madeline knew it, given the smirk on her face as she sipped her sweet iced tea.

But I kept my own face blank and my mouth shut as the health inspector handed over several notices to the cops, which Dobson took great delight in ordering his men to post all over the windows. They were just thin sheets of yellow paper, but somehow the notices seemed to shut out the afternoon sun completely and cast the interior of the restaurant in dark, murky shadows. A uniformed officer taped one of the notices up on the window across from the cash register, blocking the warm rays of sunlight that had been touching my face. I felt like someone had doused me with a bucket of ice water.

No, not someone—Madeline Magda fucking Monroe.

When the notices were all taped up, Dobson swaggered back over to the cash register, which I was standing behind.

“Aw, don’t look so glum, Ms. Blanco. You can always try to fix your violations and have another inspection.” He smirked.

He didn’t tell me that I wouldn’t pass, no matter how much I scrubbed and cleaned or how many bribes I doled out. His meaning was obvious.

So I pushed my sick heartache aside and smirked back at him. “I don’t know what Madeline is paying you, but I can tell you this. It’s not going to be enough.”

Dobson’s brown eyes narrowed. “Is that a threat, Blanco?”

“Oh, sugar,” I drawled. “I don’t make threats. Just promises.”

For the first time since he’d swaggered into the restaurant, the giant looked a bit rattled, so rattled that he did finally glance over at Emery, as if seeking her reassurance that she wouldn’t let me kill him for his arrogant stupidity. She nodded, which made Dobson relax. Fool. He was going to pay for this, the same as Emery and Madeline were.

Dobson reached into his jacket pocket, drew out a business card, and threw it at me. I snapped my fingers forward and snatched the card out of midair, making him blink in surprise.

“Call me when you’re ready to talk about the missing woman,” he said. “But be warned. The longer you wait, the less likely you are to cut a deal for her murder.”

Instead of responding to his taunt, I crumpled his business card in my fist and tossed it into the trash can behind the counter. Score one for me.